One might begin a grand story thus . . .

A long time ago, when the world was wild, a family lived in the forests of the North, far from any other house.
The father was going hunting, and he said, "I'll take the boy with me."
Jedediah Johnson was my grandaddy's brother. Everybody has their favorite relative. Well, Uncle Jedediah was mine.
A tight corset that pinched the waistline and squeezed the chest! At least four layers of petticoats-including one made with scratchy horsehair-to puff out the skirt!
Harriet Hemenway was a very proper Boston lady-she never talked with her mouth full. But one day she almost did.
My grandmother was a gambler.
Many years ago in a small village in Japan, a huge baby was born. He was so big that everyone called him Baby Mountain.
In a tiny village, in a valley, high in the mountains of Tibet, a little boy was born. He loved to fly kites.
Ruby Bridges was born in a small cabin near Tylerton, Mississippi.
One hundred years ago in Paris, when theaters and music halls drew traveling players from all over the world, the best place to stay was at the widow Gateau's, a boardinghouse on English Street.