Over the weekend, a good friend of mine left a message on my answering machine, which at first I didn’t recognize, because his voice was so shaken with rage and desperation. But after a brief moment, I realized that it was my buddy, Danny, from the firehouse. At first I didn’t recognize him because Danny is as calm and collected a man as I have had the privilege of knowing. To hear the agitation in his voice was something that I could not associate with him. Living on the south shore of New York’s Long Island, Danny was naturally drawn...