I am grateful to family and friends who humored my interest in reliving memories both good and not so good. They might disagree with my interpretations and even some of my recollections but they seemed to enjoy the opportunity none-the-less to talk about it. This is huge when memories have a potential of hurt or raising unresolved issues. Not talking about it is often the preferred approach but if that had been the case these pages possibly would never have been written.

I want to especially thank my son, Tim, for his work of proof-reader. He knows the English language better than I. I tend to write as I talk in colloquialisms and slang words and phrases with which the reader might not be familiar. I bow to his judgment in such cases. He was careful not to erase my fingerprint on this work. I assure you, it is all me.

I would be amiss if I failed to thank my dear wife not so much for helping me write this story but helping me live through it. I cannot count the times she was my listening post, my silent helper, the person who had to cushion the shock of my rage when I felt someone was painfully unfair toward poor me. More ideas passed her ears that had no right to reality because they would have irreparably damaged those we loved or came to love. She sheltered me from an incalculable amount of regret. And above all and through all she had to endure, I thank her for her continuing love.