The old gray house stood alone and empty. Silent, without a trace of the screaming fights we heard coming from within in the past. The whole neighborhood was there, on the street, sidewalk and alley. I stood with my circle of friends at the front of the crowd. Sometimes it was good to be six years old.

Then, they began to arrive. Workmen in dusty, dirty clothes. A serious look of determination on their faces. They began their work. Sawing, hammering and prying. The work continued throughout the day and by evening it was done. …

Jack McCabe

Vietnam vet, retired realtor, published author.

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