My brother Chris was sitting in the front passenger seat of a car being driven by my mother.  I was sitting in the back seat, right behind Chris. As we proceeded I began to reflect that I was actually very fortunate to have a brother who had muscular dystrophy: having such a brother was unusual – there must be some reason for it. It occurred to me that I was trying to write books of dreams, and that Chris could be the subject of one of those books. Writing such a book seemed appropriate and contemplation of the book pleased me.

We were headed from New Boston, Ohio to the Gay Street House. When we had passed into the Portsmouth city limits, I saw a phone booth in front of a store on our right, and I asked my mother to pull in to it. When she did, I told her I was going to call my father. It was about 11:30 Sunday morning. I thought my father might have another woman with him at his House, and I didn't want to unexpectedly show up without first calling him. If we showed up like that, my mother would probably cause problems.

I stepped out of the car and walked to the phone. I put in a quarter and dialed; but nothing happened: the phone was dead. When I hung up the phone, a bunch of quarters poured out the coin return. As I tried to scoop up the quarters, a tall, slender, black man (about 30 years old) walked up and butted in. He pushed me aside and also began dishing up the quarters. Upset, I pushed him back in an effort to get to the quarters. Some quarters finally spilled on the ground, and we both tried to pick them up.

As I scrambled for the quarters, I realized that I was now lower than the man, that I was in a vulnerable position, and that he was going to attack me. He immediately did so; he jumped on top of me and we began struggling.

I knew I had two brothers in the car; they would help me if they saw what was going on. When they did see, both ran to help me. The next thing I knew, the black man was lying on his back on the ground, and I was smashing his face. I continued until I had smashed his face flat into the ground. Smashing his face seemed appropriate for the way he had attacked me.

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