Issue 47, Summer 1969
My father was not really an unusual man but he was, after all, more than eighty years old. My wife and I had to learn to live with the various problems of having him around and with his little eccentricities, brought on by his age. But we did just that, and without too much difficulty. Or so we thought. And then it happened.
Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Jim Norcross, and I am an engineer with one of the big aerospace corporations on the West Coast. Sally and I were married while we were both still in college, eleven years ago this spring. We have two children—boys, Jim Jr. and Paul—in the second and fourth grades. Naturally we’re pretty proud of them, but I guess they’re really not much different from most kids their age. All either of them can think about is the Rams.