The secrets of gun violence in America: what we don't know is killing us.

I grew up in East Orange, New Jersey in the 1940’s and 1950’s. My high school was a mosaic of racial and ethnic diversity--equal numbers of blacks and whites, some Puerto Ricans, and a few Asians. We’d fight among ourselves from time to time--sometimes between kids of the same race, sometimes equal opportunity battles between kids of different races and nationalities. Our fights were basically all the same: some yelling and shouting, then some shoving, a couple of punches, and then some amateur wrestling. They weren’t gang fights--everyone but the two combatants just stood around and watched--until one of our teachers came over and broke it up.