It's with a mixed heart that I continue to close up the personal affairs of my parents, who both died four years ago; including today, having a realtor with potential buyers for my parents home, of which I am a co-owner; talking to these people about my parents lives, not expecting people to be traipsing through our house, where my folks used to sit and pass their last days. Still, I am the one into whose hands, many final responsibilities and remnants of prior lives, now passed. That, includes slowly sorting through NYPD Police Department records that my father held onto, that in turn had belonged to his father, who was only 51 yrs old when he died, in 1925, when my father was only 8 years old. Historic police department memorabilia, from Lt. Detective J Quinn of the NYPD. Letters from/to the Detective Bureau. With some interesting back stories. Someone with a fertile imagination could fill in a lot of blanks, create an interesting piece of drama, using these very old NYPD letters I now possess, from my dad, from his dad. Like this one. From over 100 years ago. Some guy, lived on East 83rd Street in Manhattan, was in a bar (or, "cafe"), on 2/14/1914. Valentines Day, evening. A bar on Lexington Avenue and 59th Street. Claims he has given a knock out pill by someone. He was dragged off to a hospital. Makes a big stink, it goes to the NYPD Detectives. A doctor examined the guy. No. He wasn't given a knock out pill. He was just drunk, wasted in fact; a real alcoholic evidently, trashed at 11:30 pm on Valentines Day evening by himself in a Bar on 59th & Lex. Cops called. A big whoopdeedoo ensued. Enough so, that, perhaps as an amusing example of life as a NYPD Detective, my grandpa kept a copy of this particular record. Memorializing the episode. And since my dad was 8 years old, he kept that letter. And now I have it. And now, you've seen it too. I wonder where the grand or great grandchildren of that forelorn drinker, may be today? On the same LIRR train in which I am now traveling? I wonder.   (2015)