Ball-Bustin' Blues, Part One
September, 1983
One evening last spring, I arrived home to find a concerned younger son. "I got called down to the lobby this afternoon," he said. "There was a man there. He showed me his I.D. and gave me this paper to give to you. He didn't say much. What's going on, Dad?"What had been delivered was a notice from the Internal Revenue Service. I laughed at first. It seemed the IRS could always find us when it wanted to."They think we owe them money," I explained, "but we don't...
