April ,1977. The year I witnessed something that would change who I was forever. Witnessing the death of a friend, up close and personal. It's no wonder I sat in a tavern trying to remember – but also to forget. I have waited a long time to write this story, and I want to make one thing perfectly clear: my friend, David Vanlue, was not at fault that fateful night, and I am here to set the record straight.