Some things never change. On my way back to Pryor after attending the District 16 TLI in in Tulsa, I stopped at a QuikTrip and bought a 20 ounce RC cola and a small package of peanuts. I was born on a dirt street in a sawmill camp in Arkansas and spent the first 9 years of my childhood there. For the times it was the perfect playground. There was a giant sawdust pile behind our house, a creek and a railroad track half a block north and a grocery store half a block south. In 1952 it was not that uncommon for an eight-year-old boy to roam the streets of Waldron, Arkansas by himself. Wearing nothing but a pair of overalls with the knees out and pulling a rusty red wagon behind me, I would pick up junk iron, copper, brass, and a pop bottle or two and sell them at Ralph Watts junk business in town located half a mile down the railroad track. Afterward I would take my earnings, which on a good day was 50 cents or more, to Claude Garvins grocery store and buy an RC and a small bag of peanuts. They cost 10 cents each. There was a little girl down the street toward the creek and railroad. Her name was Effie May Essman. She was seven years old. There were times I would stop by her house on the way to the grocery store and show her my take for the day then later return with the 10 ounce RC and share it with her. Effie May moved to California before I was sent to the orphanage in 1953. She was my first girlfriend, and I missed her. I often think of those days and compare them to today. Life was simple. We made our own money selling pop bottles and junk iron. Im sure the grit I called upon in 1952 has helped me overcome the challenges Ive face since, and the accomplishments Ive been able to achieve. It seems that some things never change.
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 23:56:09 +0000
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