Suicide touches home

Over the third weekend in September, my high school class (‘69) celebrated our 50th reunion in the Bay Area of California. We were a class of about 250 students. I was quite a bit more socially inhibited in those days, so I pretty much kept to my crew of about a half a dozen close friends. One of those close friends, perhaps the closest, was John Doe (not his real name).

John had continued to live in that part of the country. He had a successful dental practice, married, and had one beautiful daughter. John and I lived in the same suburban neighborhood and spent countless hours at each other’s...

 
 
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