ABSTRACT
Carl Whitehorse was no angel. Nor was he a devil. He was a laborer; a son to loving parents, a boyfriend to one, and a friend to many. Yes, he did get into a bar ght one night at a local watering hole, e Bare Bar,* in his adopted hometown of Del Mar. And in the course of that altercation, a fellow sheetrocker did lose an ear. Not merely an ear lent to a countryman, mind you, but an ear rent from its very roots. Blood «owed everywhere, dripping in a trail from the bar toward the parking lot. Whatever else he was, Whitehorse was neither weak, nor faint of heart-his now earless barroom opponent was 6 feet 6 inches and weighed at least 275 pounds. e one-eared sheetrocker ran away, crying out in terror. Whitehorse nished his beer, got in his van and drove home.
