In Charlottesville, Va., Alex Holliday, six and black, left in charge of a neighbor's baby, put the baby in a stove because it cried for its mother, hid under bedcovers as the baby burned to death.
In Manhattan, Peter Mathews, writer, awoke to find his bedroom door jammed shut. The telephone was in another room. Peter Mathews heaved, tugged, pried, cursed. Across the area way from his window was an office whence he endeavored to attract attention by throwing quarters, dimes, pennies, pencils, erasers, matchboxes, paper clips. No one paid any attention. Peter Mathews, smart, then tied an inkbottle to the...