My father carries around the picture of the kid who came with his wallet.
I BUSTED OUT OF every juvenile home they placed me in when I was a kid. Industry, The New York State School for Boys, fifteen miles south of Rochester, New York where my parents were, was the largest juvenile reformatory in the Empire State. I thought of this escape hundreds of times throughout the years as the seminal moment I became bad. Not real bad mind you, but bad none the less. Still thinking I was Matt Helm or James Bond, I plo…