ABSTRACT
"When we first moved here, people pulled their cars into their garages and put the garage door down before they opened their car door," Fran Sutherland, an attractive, fortyish Atlanta native reminisced about her first year in her new suburban Las Vegas neighborhood. "I couldn't believe it! We'd moved here from New Orleans, where kids played in the street, but here there was no one, no one at all." Her husband, Gary, a powerful-looting man of about forty-five with broad shoulders and Irish good looks who was a sales manager for a glass distributor, nodded in agreement, "We put two rocking chairs on our front porch, the only ones in the neighborhood." Gary had been a college hockey player, and within weeks, he'd rounded up the neighborhood kids and taught them how to play. They began on roller blades, with sticks flying and Gary coaxing something resembling team hockey from the chaos. By the time we met, rive years later, their street was full of kids playing, and Gary coached not only high school hockey, but a junior high club hockey and a team in the city youth hockey league. "We've still got our rocking chairs, and we're still the only adults out front," Fran laughed. "But the kids are all out here."
