In the memory of my 7-year-old self, there was so much that made Racine, Wisconsin, special. As a brand-new arrival from Mumbai, I thought Racine possessed many of the traditional trappings of Americana I had extrapolated from secondhand 1950s Archie comics: four complete seasons requiring four different wardrobes; Kewpee burgers the size of your head served with unapologetically caloric malted milkshakes; a singular Main Street; local festivals with hulking cream puffs; and freshwater fishing tournaments with participants lamenting the ones that got away. At the same time, Racine had so much that made it unlike any other city in the country: Frank Lloyd Wright architecture; preserved remnants of the 1964 World’s Fair; the incomparable Lake Michigan shoreline; and the epicenter of the greatest prom in the world.
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