You're here. It was a rainy night on the north side of St. Louis. World War II had just ended and the city was in the mood for a party.

A young man was on his way home from a celebration and while he knew he'd had a little too much to drink,

he was being careful. The roads were wet from the rain and he knew his way home.

He'd driven these streets a thousand times.

He even knew the shortcuts, like the one he just turned on to

that would take him along Calvary Drive,

the street that ran between the north side's two biggest cemeteries.

Then up ahead on the right he spotted something through the rain-smeared windshield.

It was a young woman soaked from the storm.

She was wearing a white dress and her wet brown hair was plastered to her head.

The young man pulled over and offered her a ride.

A woman was happy to accept.

She climbed into the car and apologized for getting the seat all wet and the man laughed it off.

She was a knockout Dane.

A wet car seat was the last thing on his mind.

When the woman shivered, he offered her his coat and she took it wrapping it around her shoulders.

He'd drive her home, he told her.

And she offered her address.

It wasn't far away, and they chatted as he drove,

and he worked up his courage to ask her for a date.

A few minutes later, they pulled into the driveway

the house with a woman lived, and he turned to tell her they'd arrived, but to a shock, she was gone.

...