When I was born 30 years ago, America was a much smokier place. Even in the 1950s, our chimney gushed black smoke because our furnaces were poorly designed to burn coal.
In 1949, I helped my Dad burn off 20 acres of land. In 1958, I arrived in Berkeley, Calif. to see many homes burning paper and other waste in crude backyard incinerators. In 1965, in Chicago, all the residents of my apartment building threw our garbage in the building’s incinerator.
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