The Arena Players, a talented local African-American theatre group, produced one of H.B’s plays at Loyola University’s theater. Mike Bowler, myself and other friends and family, were ferried there in style: a series of white stretch limousines. I was scandalized by the expense. But H.B. just said, “This is special. I’m going to celebrate the moment.” The miracle was not the play itself, excellent as it was, but that H.B. watched from the audience, a free man. Well, not totally free — still on house arrest, he wore an electronic ankle brace. Be home by midnight or he risked re-incarceration. He lingered until 11:30, savoring the moment, while Mike and I bit our fingernails. But H.B. jumped in his coach, arriving home moments before he would turn into a pumpkin.