I was the youngest entrepreneur I knew. The old Italian men in the neighborhood would pay us kids twenty-five cents if we brought them pigeons (squib), mostly roadkills. For my birthday, circa 1959, I got a badminton set. I remember holding the racket in my grubby little hand: dollar signs flashing in my eyes! Wearing one of my Dad’s big winter coats (it was July), I headed for the courthouse. I’d sit on the steps of the busy entrance waiting for an unsuspecting pigeon to venture too close. It one swift movement, I’d whack the unsuspecting bird with the racket and stuff it under my coat. The old men loved me!
Late in the Fall, my Dad donned his winter coat. Looking at me with a wary eye, he asked, “where the Hell did all these feathers come from?”