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This Sunday, I test-drove a new car.The salesman buckled up and told me to drive from White Lane to Panama Lane. On the freeway on-ramp, we passed a cop who was sitting on his parked motorcycle.“He’s gonna catch somebody,” I thought. We passed more parked cops before coming to a blockade at Panama.“There’s been a shooting, obviously,” the salesman said. Then, we saw the people.They emptied the buildings; they pushed themselves to the edge of the sidewalk; and they stood waiting silently for what seemed to be a motorcade.I realized that I was witnessing a rare event. When Buck Owens fell asleep for the last time March 25, the veins of a close-knit community opened, and a great one had slipped out.And, as with all great ones who pass away — Lincoln, Kennedy, Diana, Mother Teresa — people poured out through the veins of the cities to pay homage.I was aware of the funeral, but after work, I decided to visit a car lot to see a vehicle I had...
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