A Shroud for Aquarius

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The portions of this novel pertaining to gaming and Las Vegas could not have been written without the advice and help of Charlie Stump, formerly of the Four Queens; the author’s friend Chuck Mosser; and the author’s father, Max A. Collins, Sr. Thank you, gentlemen.

M.A.C.

I don’t remember where I was when I heard President Kennedy was shot. It’s a bench mark of my (and several) generations, I know; but I just don’t remember, exactly. I know I was in junior high at the time, in one of my classes, and it came over the intercom; but which class, and what time of day, and who was sitting next to me, and other such specifics have faded from memory. Sorry.

On the other hand, I doubt I’ll ever forget the moment when I heard Ginnie Mullens was shot. No one in my (or any) generation, other than the few of us who knew her, would ever consider that a bench mark of any kind. But I can tell you this: till senility or sudden death takes me, I’ll remember that moment — frozen in my memory, like the proverbial fly in amber — when I heard about Ginnie dying.

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