A Never Ending Pandemic, Systemic Racism by Hank Silverberg August 19, 1967 was a hot day. As evening came, the heat and humidity lingered and the windows were wide open in my parent's home in West Haven, Connecticut. We had no air conditioning. At age 13, I was watching TV, wearing nothing but cut-off jeans when I decided to take a few minutes away from summer repeats and get myself some milk and cookies. That one decision influenced the way I have viewed the world ever since. (The bottle looked like this) I opened the refrigerator and the glass milk bottle, soaked with condensation, fell out of my hands and shattered into dozens of sharp pieces on the floor. The price for trying to satisfy my sweet tooth included one very big puncture wound on my right foot. My parents helped me to the car with my foot wrapped in an old towel and off we went to Yale New Haven ...