I was dropping my son at school, two blocks west and eight blocks south when Main Street Bozeman exploded. Though folks on the ground felt the blast ten blocks away, my son and I, having been in my truck during the explosion, heard and saw nothing except wailing police cars.
Just exiting the truck on West College, we made our way into his school, as we did every day, noting the throng of police cars racing north through thick Willson Avenue morning traffic, toward what we surmised was some major traffic accident downtown. It was only at the office that I heard what had happened; with no knowledge anyone was missing, my mind went to the loss of our favorite restaurant, Boodles, a quaint, unassuming, upscale restaurant you might find in Boston or Dublin...
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