Columnist Bob Bridge: It was 1989 and I was in dire need of a haircut. Fortunately, that meant only a step out the front door of the newsp

I’ve often wondered if I could endure solitary confinement. One never knows for sure, but I believe I could.

Clouds hung ominously low, like an eerie yellow gauze, as the jet that would fly me out of Birmingham rumbled down the runway.