Scott Hassett

It's November 1957, just before Thanksgiving, and we are headed to grandmother's house in central Wisconsin. From the backseat I hear my parents speaking in low tones about some horrible murders. I want to know more, but Mom just says, "A man did a really bad thing." I'm only 7, and they won't tell me anything else. We'll all learn a lot more, though, soon enough. more

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