These are some of the ways that my life has been touched by gun violence.
In late 1967, my friend, the gentle and peaceful Paul Walsh, was shot and killed during a marijuana deal. He was dumped in a snow-covered Michigan ditch, where his corpse sat up and was discovered a few days later.
Back in October 1968, a friend of mine killed herself with a gun she had bought. She had attempted suicide many times.
Bob Z was a nice, intelligent guy. I had lost touch with him around 1971. He used his father’s shotgun to kill himself.
I owned my own taxicab for a while. In the summer of 1973, a young man, Daryl Georgia, had just started driving nights for me. He was robbed and shot dead. He had just started his shift and had only some change.
Our daughter told me that my wife’s sister, her aunt, killed herself with a gun because her arthritis was severe.