I was 15 years old, and my nephew Michael was 13, about to turn 14. I was working in a grocery store. A woman came into the store, and while I was sacking her groceries, she said that she heard on the radio that a 13-year-old boy had been shot. I said that I couldn’t imagine what that family was going through. That was August 4, 1975. My older brother walked into the grocery store moments later and told me I needed to come home. I told him to buzz off; I was working. I was planning to pick up my nephew Michael after work, so I could buy him a pair of shoes he wanted. We were very close, like sister and brother. My brother talked to my boss, and my boss told me I needed to go home. On the way home, I asked my brother if my dad was okay. I asked if my mom was okay. But he wouldn’t say. It wasn’t until I got home that I saw my mom and dad, and I found out it was Michael who was shot to death by two boys.