Summer ’68, you may recall the Democratic Convention, Chicago, Grant Park, protestors and police, newspapers called it a riot. It wasn’t much fun. Separated from others, I walked over a knoll and a lone policeman walked toward me, blue shirt, helmet, billy club. We stopped two paces apart. He took off his helmet, wiped his forehead with his sleeve and said, “Hot!” I agreed. He was about my father’s age. We stood there a minute. He said, “Well, take care.” I said, “You too” We each went our own way but that moment remains the highlight of my Summer ‘68.