The Setting
The history of where you live has its fingerprint on everything that happens there.
I grew up in Bridgeport Connecticut surrounded by factories that were making bullets and guns. America was involved in a massive war that stretched from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. While men were out fighting, the women took over their jobs in these factories.
In May of 1945, the war ended in Europe and everyone went crazy. Church bells rang, factories blared their horns. I was only three and a half years old, but I remember my grandfather throwing me up in the air. He couldn’t stop kissing me.
We ran outside to see the traffic stopped on the busy Boston Post Road where we lived. Strangers were hugging in the middle of the street. Friends and neighbors were dancing on the sidewalks. Fireworks lit up the sky. It was the beginning of the end of the Second World War.
Before I started school, I spent most days with my grandfather. We did everything together. We went on long walks exploring the streets of the city. We spent hours in the library where he taught me how to read. We saw movies at the Colonial Theater down the street. That’s where I saw “Treasure Island,” my favorite movie. My grandpa told me there was once a pirate that sailed in Long Island Sound where Bridgeport was a port. That’s when I decided to become a professional treasure hunter. I figured if a pirate had sailed in these waters, there was a good chance he buried some of his Booty around here.
Our lives do not follow a straight path. Here’s how my life twisted and turned after finding my first treasure.