Zachary Stevens, a kid from the 50s, saw and felt it all – an assault and robbery of an old friend; marching in cadence as a Christian soldier or as a Boy Scout; the acceptance of abnormality of human behavior in the raw, viewed in mentally disturbed patients and one lone pedophile. And, most importantly, discovering childhood gang camaraderie.

The squealing sounds were vocalized from the flatbed of a Ford truck and were loud, rhythmically repeated every few seconds.

A girl appeared pinned underneath a guy who wore a cowboy hat that partially covered his head and face. Zachary Stevens witnessed from afar and thought she was in danger. He was concerned for her welfare and voiced his worries to gang member friend, Steve, who replied, ‘No, leave them alone. She is okay, they are just relaxing.’

At that point, the cowboy and the girl heard the kids’ voices, jumped up, and someone yelled out, ‘Who is there, ’ and then some non-stoppable cussing began. The guy adjusted his jeans, which appeared to be bulging in the front, while the girl yelled out some undecipherable words and readjusted her blouse. A shadow-like figure moved around toward the front of the dirty, rusty vehicle where a gun rack with a rifle was mounted. Two young boys felt fear as hearts pounded; was this to be the end of them?