Fifty years ago today, I was a college junior on spring vacation. I had flown to Chicago to visit a friend who attended the University of Chicago. He was a friend/maybe to-be boy friend. When I arrived I found out it was just going to be friend, which was fine with me. He lived in an apartment with two roommates in a predominately black neighborhood, though he and his friends were white. Students from the University commonly lived in his neighborhood.
The weather was lovely, the company fine. We sat out on the upstairs porch, played loud music and cooked shared meals. We were all on break from our studies and spring was just breaking out for real.
It was April 3, 1968. All was quiet. All was good.