One day in 1958 or 1959, without warning, some men and equipment showed up and began ripping out the forest. Then they rolled out the earth movers and started digging out the hillside, chopping it away within three or four feet of our house's foundation. We were aghast and, as it turned out, helpless to do anything about it. It seems that our property line actually sliced right through a couple feet of the southeast corner of our house. Luckily, the house was firmly planted on a solid ledge of clay, but that was little consolation at the time when we looked down into the yawning abyss. Father erected a retaining wall to prevent what was left of the land right below the house from sliding away.

For several years, the gaping hole remained empty. Eventually, an ugly apartment house was built down at street level, a good 75 to 100 feet from the edge of the chasm, making the whole business seem even more insultingly pointless.

I won't mention the name of the excavation company that was painted on the equipment, but from that time on, we regarded it as synonymous with "Satan."