Free A Lethal Legacy by P. C. Zick

country. While I knew the goals
of the hippies held an attraction for me, I saw many youth jumping on the
bandwagon because it was the cool thing to do as long as one had the money for
the drugs and the right clothes to project the image.
    By the beginning of
1968, I settled into the apartment on Main Street, just a five-minute walk to
my job at Pioneer High School. I enjoyed the challenge of keeping pace with the
current events swirling around us by trying to allow my students the space to
express themselves in a manner acceptable for the public school system.
    I learned much from
the teenagers in San Francisco, many of whom had left home because they felt ignored
and unappreciated. Ann Arbor's large student population was embroiled in the
fight for students' rights and protest of the Vietnam War. I learned quickly
that my high school students were not immune to the atmosphere of the city and
quite often took to the streets themselves. I tried to advise them about using
common sense while standing up for what they believed.
    My parents still felt
I should have done something more with my degree than become a teacher. After
all, my mother often reminded me, they had slaved to put me through college and
for what? To earn less than my father who worked in a factory? I didn't even
coach like Uncle Philip who had made a financial success of every venture he
attempted. I never bothered to remind my mother they hadn't paid one dime
toward my education, except to allow me to live at home during the years I
attended undergraduate school. She wouldn't have understood.
    I certainly never
mentioned that teaching was only a temporary stop before I became a published
author. They would never have believed me. Sometimes I didn't believe me. Recently,
I had become doubtful if I would ever finish a novel. I didn't seem to have a
real grip on what to write even though I knew I had plenty to say.
    I heard through the
family grapevine that Gary and Pam settled into life on Long Island. I hadn't
seen them since the summer, and I wondered how the marriage was surviving.
    Claire and Philip
visited them for Christmas, so I hadn't seen Gary in nearly a year when he
called in March of 1968 to tell me that Pam and he were expecting a baby in
September. When I heard his voice, I fully expected to hear the news of their
separation, not the beginning of a family. Things must have improved since last
summer, just as Gary predicted.
    "Congratulations,
that’s great news," I said. "How's Pam?"
    "Mom says she'll
get over the morning sickness soon, actually any day now. It's hard for Pamela
to be too excited right now when she's spending most of the day hugging the
toilet," Gary said.
    Pamela confessed to me
a year later, during one of her late night drunken phone calls while Gary
worked late, that she wanted to abort the unplanned pregnancy. Gary and she
fought and screamed for weeks over the accidental conception. Gary finally won
out because in New York they would either have to lie and say the pregnancy was
the result of rape or incest, or they would have to seek an illegal abortion.
Pam finally gave up the argument.
    I went to visit them
during the summer of 1968. Gary seemed worried about Pam's drinking, but she
wouldn't listen to him. In those days, no one knew the serious dangers involved
in drinking and smoking during a pregnancy so Gary stood alone in trying to
reason with his wife. He thought she should slow down on her drinking because
in her drunkenness she often became clumsy. He worried she would fall one night
and miscarry. She did seem to get drunk quite often during my short visit, but
she never fell.
    The baby, Kristina,
born in September 1968, weighed five pounds, three ounces. It didn't help
matters that she was a fussy baby, crying most of the time. Aunt Claire went to
stay with Pam and Gary after the birth, and she ended up staying two months.
According to my mother, Pam didn't seem to notice the baby much, and Claire was
afraid to