I was in my darkroom when the fire horn sounded. In those days (and as far before as I can remember), my little town’s fire house had a huge horn which blasted out coded signals that not only called in the volunteers but announced the location of the fire to everyone for miles around who knew the code. This one was near the intersection of Lake and View Streets – a ten minute walk away, at most. I grabbed a camera (I don’t remember which one) and headed for the scene. When I got there, thick, hot smoke was billowing from every door and window of the doomed house. Then the roof caved in, and the place was enveloped in roiling, roaring flames that blistered the paint on the side of the fire truck. Fortunately, there were no injuries.