William Parr was a 62-year-old white man from St. Louis who made his living behind the wheel of a Yellow Cab, taking calls that often sounded routine until they suddenly weren’t. Near midnight on March 17, 1981, he waited in the cab line at the Greyhound Bus Terminal downtown, first in position for the next dispatch. When the radio crackled with an urgent delivery run—pick up a package at First National Bank on Locust and carry it to a business out on Hanley Industrial Drive—he pulled away
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