I was ten years old in the early summer of 1971 when my dad found a new job downstate. It took almost five hours to drive to our new house, and we were tired when we got there. We towed a small U-Haul trailer loaded with necessities behind our station wagon in case the movers hadn’t arrived yet, but they were just finishing up the delivery when we pulled into the driveway.
Dad was unlocking the trailer when a boy my age came over from next door and said ‘hi’. His name was Alan, and he offered to help us carry stuff inside – Dad said we could always use another hand.