The park was silent and green, with rows of slatted park benches. Tomorrow they would hold people listening to the first summer’s concert of The Manfred B. Smith Guard Band. Smithies the locals called them. The Smithies - a hundred year tradition of playing. Don looked at his watch… The hours he'd be playing in the band with college students, local business men, a a few girls from the high school. Clinching the black case of his cigaret under his arm, the high school senior walked the perimeter of the park. Just block square, it’s only feature beside a few trees and a refreshment stand, was the band shell. It looked as if somebody had taken an ice cream cone and cut at both ends and then sliced the cone…