Up �til the time my brother Sean was born, life in Newton, Iowa was pretty wonderful. I was an only child �til then, my Mom and Dad were mine and I was theirs and we could do about anything we wanted in the little house on South Eighth Avenue East. But he did come along and we had to move because there wasn't enough room and the next thing you know I'm getting the short end of the attention stick and having to fight my way up the pecking order of a new neighborhood.
Billy Walsh and Rodney Walsh and Charlie Hefford and I got it sorted out after a bit and soon they were every bit as close to me as my folks. There wasn't anything we couldn't do if we pitched in together from bailing hay to snowbound winter camp-outs to saving each other's lives. Boy, life in the new neighborhood was great for a long time - a good long time in kid's years. And we got most of our fun by learning how to be men, by learning how to shoot a gun straight and hunting, by fishing, by learning how to roll a cigarette and play a hand of poker. We were just getting good at being man-boys when a single rifle shot stole our boyhood and changed the men we were to be.
This is my story of boys and farms, work and play, life and death - a story that I lived and want to share with you.
