I AM IN THE back seat of my father's Buick Special, for the long drive to Grandma's house. The trip started with gaiety in the dark hours of the morning, but as the day wears on it becomes a nightmare. It is 1958. I am almost eight years old, quenching my thirst with bladder-busting cold drinks...

The three Hopkins children posed for the portrait on an opulent pearl-white sofa inside a beautiful pink split-level home in Capitol Heights. A week ago, Robert Jr., Rhonda and Shanay were living in an abandoned building, and an old, moldy sofa was their bed.

I am inside an abandoned building in Southeast Washington, looking at three children who live here. Rhonda, 5, is coloring a book about Cinderella. Shanay, 4, is looking for a crayon so she can join the fun. Robert Jr., 6, is showing me a toy from a McDonald's Happy Meal.

In February 1991, I met Ernest L. Myers at the Eagle Barbershop, which he owns, on Georgia Avenue in Northwest Washington. The 67-year-old World War II veteran was cutting hair while vigorously defending the war against Iraq -- then known as Desert Storm.