It was in the Spring of 1961 while attending the University of South Carolina,
a rock n' rock group called the Swordsmen came to my attention. I grew up
on rock n' roll and to be this close to a band was just plain exciting. I was a
major in music, played a little piano, some guitar and excelled with the clarinet.
Some years ago there lived in an English city a man whom I shall call Fred Armstrong.
He worked in the local post office. He was called 'dead-letter man' because he handled
mail whose addresses were faulty or hard to read. He lived in an old house with his
little wife and even smaller daughter and tiny son.
It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year,
and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl,
with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true she
had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use.
They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother,
and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid
two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate.