Memory is a fickle thing.
“Hot Tamale Louie was the son of nobody knows who, the grandson of nobody knows who, and the great-great-grandson of nobody knows who. He had been selling tamales in Sheridan since Buffalo Bill rode in the town parade, sold them when President Taft came to visit, was still selling them when the Russians sent Sputnik into space and the British sent the Beatles to America.
By then, Louie was a local legend, and his murder shocked everyone.”
How quickly the town forgot that he was Muslim and a cherished neighbor.