NINETHE CONTENTS of the briefcase were pathetic. Aunt Debby had treasured Bob’s 1943 fifty-yard swimming plaque, his 1947 county fair blue ribbon won in the seashell collection class, his 1949 private school senior yearbook (he’d been nicknamed “Bugs,” claimed water sports as his hobby, stated a life ambition of becoming a marine biologist). There were also letters from the headmaster trying to explain why a kid with such grades never got elected Class President, or even Class Secretary. “Lacks social orientation, deficient in personality adjustability.”
I got the picture of a dogged, lonely, unpopular boy. Not the type to have developed into a fifty-romance chap. Most likely be a one-girl man, and the girl was probably of the Florrie Schultz stamp.
Bob had started to college in the fall
