In 1949, my parents moved from a small Georgia town to a tree lined street in what later became part of Atlanta. For a five year old boy, the new neighborhood was ideal. One side of the street consisted of forrest. Behind us was a lake and a creek where us boys fished, chased ducks, and caught snakes and frogs. We played with knives, bows and arrows, guns, homemade explosives, rode bikes without helmets and did pretty much whatever crazy stunt that a “double-dog-dare-you” could elicit. Beside the lake was a mud flat where we played semi-touch football. I say...