Saturday started out cool but sunny. The air was filled with the customary morning-in-a-camping-area smell of bacon, the culmination of at least fifty pounds of sizzling pork being fried at the same time in a hundred or more fry pans. In 1964, bacon was mandatory camping vittles, with the exception of corned beef hash—canned—with msg—and sodium. Only vegetarians and spoil-sports substituting ham changed the rule. Stacey prepared breakfast that year, and he ate as voraciously as anyone else in the family. However, after cleaning up, it was soon discovered that all Stacey’s preparation to clear the way to share a peaceful and enjoyable reunion with his friend Arlene, seemed to be for nothing. He had so many things to say, openly and out loud,
