Butchers Hill

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I am indebted to the usual suspects: John Roll and Joan Jacobson, my first readers; Mike James, Peter Hermann, Kate Shatzkin, and many more colleagues at the Baltimore Sun shared their advice or support along the way; Holly Selby and Connie Knox deserved to be thanked long ago, but they know me well enough to tolerate my tardiness.

I am grateful to Lee Anderson, the most resourceful searcher I know, and Patti White who introduced us.

I also want to thank every worker and volunteer who ever fielded a question from me about homelessness, poverty, child care, foster care, adoption, or welfare. You make Baltimore -and the world-a better place.

Five years ago…

He was deep in his favorite dream, the one about Annie, when he thought he heard the scratchy sound of pebbles on his window pane. Snick, snick, snick. No, he had been the one who had thrown the pebbles against Annie's window, so many years ago, back on Castle Street. Then he would sing, when he saw her pull back the curtain: " Buffalo girl, won't you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight." And she did.

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