Other People's Problems

In June, 1953, after my freshman year at Stapleton College, a twenty-minute drive was all it took to go from there to Roanoke, Virginia and a summer job with Piedmont Investigations. Looking back, it's hard to believe what all happened in those twelve short weeks away. And I didn't have to wait long for it to start. I mean, in the first hour of walking in the door I was smack in the middle of a blackmail investigation. High-octane stuff, and more to follow. We sniffed out the guilty in a bank robbery and later took an undercover job that started out harmless (just watching out a window, they said) before it plowed straight into espionage.
Confidentially, the summer of '53 was more than I bargained for in the dark-alley department. By the end of it, though, I'd developed a liking for boarding-house meals and landladies, grown full of my own opinions, rethought the law as a career. And you'll think this is a form of folly, but I could see where my life was going. Maybe not the whole puzzle but a great, big piece.