Brother Gifford Croons: Buddy, Can You Spare a Vote?
So there was A. Gifford Miller, standing around in khakis and one of his candy-stripe Sea Island cotton button-downs outside the Western Beef on Merrick Boulevard in Queens.
“We Know the Neighborhood,” the acid orange sign stated flatly. A big black dude in blue-tinted square-frame sunglasses cannonballed out of the supermarket’s automatic doors. Read More
