It's weird, the things you remember about certain moments in time. Just about anyone who was old enough to remember Nov. 22, 1963 can tell you where they were and what they were doing when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I’m not usually one of those people, although I do remember being at Mike Miller’s house on an August day in 1977, when his sister Diana came outside and told us Elvis Presley was dead. “Yeah, right,” several of us responded, almost in unison. As it turned out, of course, it was no joke. Aside from the day The King died, there is only one other day I remember so clearly. It was the last time my dad called me. I was mowing the lawn. “I think I need to go to the doctor,” he said. Again, no joke. Frank Puskas didn’t go to a doctor or hospital unless it was a matter of life and death. A few minutes later, I got to his house and my worst fear was realized. That was exactly what it was. My dad was pale and clearly in pain.