As a boy in the early 1960s, I’d go up to my grandmother’s second floor apartment on York Avenue several times a week. Her hallway was lit by one low-watt, exposed bulb. The dark hall frightened me. Sometimes my fear was compounded when I’d hear fuzzy radio sounds coming from the usually locked basement. I assumed it was a foreign station, maybe German based on the marching music, waltzes...

I remember that night well. The night that I first thought about doing what I ended up doing, what I’m going to tell to you now. I remember I had a headache and was in that state of being where you aren’t quite tired, but you’re almost apathetic to doing anything. I suppose lethargic would be the best fitting word, but I’m not sure that encompasses the feeling in its entirety. ...