* * * * * A bit after midnight on a clear, cool moonlit night in December of 1939, my father pulled his 1923 Buick “Touring Car“ up to the front gate of the bungalow that the Burmah Oil Company had provided for him. It was a spacious, comfortable two bedroom, two bath, structure resting well off the ground on teak pilings - possessing a twelve-foot hedge surrounding its grounds for privacy - with a kitchen and servant’s quarters in a separate building at the rear. Dad had recently purchased the Moby Dick-sized white Buick from another oilman returning to England. It sported a tan canvas top - without any side windows – having only rolled up, clear plastic drapes that could be lowered in the event of rain. Although this vehicle was nearly 16 years old, dear reader, rememb...