My father was a mailman. This street was on his route. In those days the mailboxes were on the house porch so my father walked these steps up & down 5 days a week. On the 4th of July in 1958 we had a holiday picnic at the local roadside park. We watched the fireworks and came home. My parents tucked us in for the night after a long fun filled day. They turned on the 11:00 News to see what Peter Grant had to say about the world happenings. And a few minutes later, my father had a massive, unexpected heart attack and died an hour later. At age almost 69, I still miss not having a father.
