Many years ago, I was lost in Madrid seeking directions to a ratty rooming house when I met an Algerian fellow who took pity on my hapless Spanish. He tried his best to help.
His problem was simple. He spoke Arabic, Spanish, French, and possibly the Berber’s native Tamazight. But he spoke no English.
Well, almost none.
The man from Algiers knew the lyrics to Paul Anka’s “Diana.”
Read my column on Anka and his amazing career in Sunday's Review-Journal.
COMING SUNDAY: Celebrating Anka's 'Way'
Due to an increase in uncivil behavior and dialogue the Review-Journal has temporarily disabled the comment boards. The Review-Journal will use the time to evaluate the effectiveness of the comment boards and find an appropriate time to reintroduce them to reviewjournal.com.