The Washington Post, August 16th, 1998
August 1948: I was 10 years, one month and three days old when Babe Ruth died Aug. 16, 1948. A group of us were playing on a gravel pile beneath stacks of lumber and tar paper in the midst of Hansen Park, a large open field on Chicago's west side. Half the field was given over to rows of barracks dubbed "the projects," rising to accommodate the growing numbers of vets and their families unable to find affordable housing in the cramped precincts of the inner city. Ronny was a slight, wiry kid whose malleable body formed extra syllables to convey the images as he spoke. He was giving us a tutori...
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