I remember waiting outside thePolo Grounds in New York as a young boy hoping to get the autograph of Willie Mays. He was to a six year old boy a knight in shining armor who had the skills of a super star. When he came out of the clubhouse I with my Dad raced with pen in hand to ask for his autograph. He smiled at the crowd, and stayed until each child had received the gift they sought. On the subway going back to Jersey City I stared at my new prize over and over.Last week George Zimmerman whose claim to fame was the following of a Draconian law that snuffed out the life of an teen age boy who was unarmed and had just , and I find this almost incomprehensible. I picture Willie racing around the bases to the sheer delight of the fans and try to comprehend how the image of a young unarmed dead boy on a pavement deserves the signature of the man who took his life.

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