One afternoon I now know to have been September 1, 1967, my mother gave me a loaf of bread she had baked that morning and asked me to take it through the block to the Kangas home. Brother and Sister Kangas might not be there, she said, but I was to wait until they did come home.

She was right; there was no car in the carport and no answer to the doorbell. So I sat on the retaining wall and kicked my heels for a little while, until a car drove in and Brother and Sister Kangas got out. Sister Kangas was carrying a folded flag. I gave her my bread with a message from my mother, and she thanked me, and I skipped on home. Continue reading Clifford F.D. Kangas, 1947-1967 →