But for thirteen-year-old Frank Drum it was a grim summer in which death visited frequently and assumed many forms. It was a time of innocence and hope for a country with a new, young president.
The Twins were playing their debut season, ice-cold root beers were selling out at the soda counter of Halderson’s Drugstore, and Hot Stuff comic books were a mainstay on every barbershop magazine rack.
Yet I have never across the forty years since it was spoken forgotten a single word.” A grace so ordinary there was no reason at all to remember it.
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