Acacia Crescent
June 9th, 1956. It was the day my life changed forever, in more than one respect.
I was ten years old and I was practicing my baseball skills on the driveway of our house in a cul-de-sac named Acacia Crescent in the subdivision of Shady Groves, when all of the sudden that car pulled into the driveway. A big black Buick with darkened windows. The car never honked or slowed down, it just drove right up to the house. In fact, if I hadn’t jumped out of the way, it would have run me right over.
For a moment I just stood there — my mouth hanging wide open, the baseball bat clutched to my chest — and watched as a big black Buick came to a halt. I watched the passenger door open, watched a man in a tailored pinstripe suit get out.
I could not see his features, for he was wearin
