Anderson (a classmate with whom I became friends while we both attended high school in my home town of Portsmouth, Ohio, in the late 1960s) and I (along with a third heavily built person) were standing on a bridge, gazing at the murky water flowing beneath the bridge. A recent flood had washed out much of the bottom land, leaving much debris floating on the surface of the water. Suddenly we beheld a ghastly sight: a lifeless-looking cow was floating submerged about a half meter below the water's surface. For a better look, we decided to go beneath the bridge to a concrete platform which abutted the edge of the stream.

Anderson was carrying a guitar which someone had lent me. I told Anderson to be careful with the guitar because it would have to be replaced if broken. As we began our descent to the concrete platform under the bridge, Anderson suddenly dropped the guitar; it smashed into splinters and wires. I became quite angry, scolded him and demanded he replace the guitar. He promised he would.

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