The Keoughs were wonderful neighbors, he said. Its true that occasionally Don would mention that, unlike me, he had a job, but the relationship was terrific. One time my wife, Susie, went over and did the proverbial Midwestern bit of asking to borrow a cup of sugar, and Dons wife, Mickie, gave her a whole sack. When I heard about that, I decided to go over to the Keoughs that night myself. I said to Don, Why dont you give me twenty-five thousand dollars for the partnership to invest? And the Keough family stiffened a little bit at that point, and I was rejected. I came back sometime later and asked for the ten thousand dollars Clarke referred to and got a similar result. But I wasnt proud. So I returned at a later time and asked for five thousand dollars. And at that point, I got rejected again. So one night, in the summer of 1962, I started heading over to the Keough house. I dont know whether I would have dropped it to twenty-five hundred dollars or not, but by the time I got to the Keough household, the whole place was dark, silent. There wasnt a thing to see. But I knew what was going on. I knew that Don and Mickie were hiding upstairs, so I didnt leave. I rang that doorbell. I knocked. Nothing happened. But Don and Mickie were upstairs, and it was pitch-black. Too dark to read, and too early to go to sleep. And I remember that day as if it were yesterday. That was June twenty-first, 1962. Clarke, when were you born? March twenty-first, 1963. Its little things like that that history turns on. So you should be glad they didnt give me the ten thousand dollars.

The Snowball by Alice Schroeder