Then one Saturday when I was eight or nine years old, this was in the mid-1960s, my father took me to Mister Joe’s apartment. I think my father had ...oaned him money or something because Mister Joe handed him an envelope when we got there.“Anyway, Mister Joe lived on the third floor of an old red brick row house, an end unit, and we had to climb a rickety, outside stairwell on the side of the building, almost like a fire escape. Even as a little boy, I could tell his home was barren, with no. Don’t tell Letty I called. Let me call back in a few minutes and then talk to her. I think something is up.” I told him.“OK, Lee I follow what you’re saying. If those two are up to something, let me know. I’ve gotten a few bad vibes over the last couple of months,” George stated. “Remember, we have not talked. This is for me also.”So, five minutes or so later I called back and Letty answered.“Hey Letty, this is Lee, how are you feeling?” I asked her.“Oh, Lee, hey there. I’m feeling better.. More

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