I was 10 years old and growing up in the lovely, bucolic village of Cranbury, NJ. No color TV, no AC. We played baseball and rode our bikes for fun, cooled off under the sprinkler, walked down to the corner candy store for a treat, or bought a cone or Popsicle from the ice cream truck that came around every evening. Dad made a few thousand a year, first as a milkman delivering milk and cream door to door, and later as a clerk in an office. But we owned our home, never went hungry, and went “down the shore” every year for vacation. It all seems so long ago.
I was almost 21 and engaged to my future husband