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It happened on a Friday during the third week of August, 1975.  I had loaded up my car to go off to college.  At the age of 18, I was excited about the challenge that was ahead of me.  I went into the house and told my mom I was leaving and she walked me to the door.  I kissed her goodbye and tears started streaming down her face.  She didn’t say a word.  She just stood there looking into my eyes.  And the tears kept on flowing.

On a Saturday night in March of 1999, at around 11:30 pm, the telephone rang.  Our children were all home so my first thought was, “I wonder who that is?  I hope everything’s alright.”  It turned out that everything was not alright.  Georgette answered the phone and it was one of my relatives.  She said that my cousin Harry LaHood was in the hospital and it didn’t look like he was going to make it.