C.N. Bean When children burned in Ben-Hinnom’s valley was it like the hell of fiery red sparks that lit black plate glass and a tired man’s face? Only twice did he race forth barefooted, once the night that followed a day of heat, dry grass burning right up to our door step, the other the time a waning horn chased a car that hit me with almighty force. Two different life experiences, bare feet the common denominator, the feet of a...