It was early in the afternoon one day when Henry came to the park. We were just a bunch of guys engaged in our weekly game. The air was chilly, but not cold – you know, late October before the grip of winter has taken hold: the end of autumn. Each Saturday, after our chores were done – around noon – a few of us from the neighborhood would head over to the park, which lay just across the freeway, to play touch football. Sometimes we’d see some people already there and invite them to play in our game. At other times it would be just the six or seven of us.

But none of us, save Mucho Pani, had ever seen Henry before.

On this particular day, Eddie Meyer was already running routes with Billy Washington. Billy is the only black guy in the neighborhood. He teaches up at Jefferson High. Eddie was, I guess you could say, the best friend Billy had in the neighborhood. Eddie didn’t have any pretensions. He said what he thought and was not self-conscious about living in the smallest house while having the largest family on the block. He was a foundry worker, I think, and I’m quite sure he never finished high school. Still, there was something dependable about Eddie.