As dusk approached, I left my room and climbed into my little rental. I drove around a while looking at old landmarks, even passing by Mom's home – dark and apparently no one at home – the old Craftsman house still looking much as I had remembered it from all those years ago.

Finally, I headed towards Mom's supposed workplace. After a couple of wrong turns, I found the Step Right Inn, still a seedy looking brick and cinderblock tavern that catered mostly to the working class people of the city. The gravel lot hosted maybe a dozen or so cars that were illuminated by a blinking street-side sign that...