EXCERPT
I also have a Green Thumb
THIS EXCERPT IS THE FIRST THREE PAGES OF MY BOOK.  IN
THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS THE BOOK CONTINUES WITH
MY INVOLVEMENT IN FLYING, THE HEARTACHE OF LOOSING
TWO OF MY CHILDREN AND THEN TAKING YOU ON SOME
OF THE MANY CHARTERS I SO ENJOYED IN MY WORK.

On April 14, 1924, Dad made a fast trip to town in the old Model T to get the doctor, but when they returned,  it was
too late. I had already arrived in this world.

I grew up on a farm in Ellis county, near Forreston, Texas. We lived quite a distance from our nearest neighbor so I
had very few friends during the early part of my life. My dog, Sport, was my closest and truest friend, and I never
ventured away from home without him at my side.

My Dad bought a twenty-two rifle for me and taught me to hunt at the age of six. A rifle is a dangerous weapon in
the hands of most minors, but after Dad showed me what damage the rifle would do, and my nearly shooting my
dog, I never forgot about gun safety.

Old Sport and I spent many memorable days hunting rabbits and exploring the countryside. No closer friend and
guardian can you have than a dog. I was never drowning, and old Sport never had to jump in and help pull me out,
but I know he would have been there, had the occasion ever arose. He seemed to know and understand when I
needed help and he some how communicated with me. I will never forget my dog and the good times we had
growing up together. He was like a brother to me.

He disappeared one day and I never knew what happened to him. He had been in a fight with another dog and
received a severe injury to his head. The injury became infected and old Sport was looking very bad the last few
days of his life. I am not sure but I think my dad shot him to put him out of his misery and buried him before I came
home from school.

During the Depression I kept my family supplied with fresh rabbits and squirrels. I was also the meat supplier for
several families that lived in town.  No one had much money to spend those days but my family was blessed
because we lived on a farm. My mother canned several hundred quarts of veggies that we grew in our huge garden
each year. We never went hungry at any time because we had chickens, cows, fresh pork and beef when we
needed it. We had no money, to speak of, but our need for cash was very small.

I would shell a gunnysack full of corn every Saturday morning and we would take it with us when we went into town.
We dropped the corn off at the mill and then when we were ready to leave town for home, we would go by the mill
and pick up the freshly ground corn meal. The mill kept a portion of the corn for their fee for grinding it, so there
was never any money exchanged.

Even during those years my dad could always come up with a quarter for me on Saturday. I would then go to the
Strand Theater and spend the afternoon watching a western movie. The movie cost me a dime and a bag of
popcorn was only a nickel. After the show I would go off the main street into an alley to Hap’s hamburger stand.
There I could get the best hamburger I have ever tasted for another nickel, and a soda with my last nickel. That
would take care of my quarter and I was ready to go home.

It was at Hap’s Hamburger Stand that I learned the difference between a co-cola and an orange crush. When Hap
was there I would ask for a hamburger and a co-cola. Hap would cook my hamburger and then ask me what kind of
co-cola I wanted. I would say an orange crush or a grape. He knew I didn’t want a Coca-cola. One day Hap was sick
and when I came to the stand I told the man I wanted a hamburger and a co-cola. He made my hamburger and then
grabbed a bottle of coke and snapped the lid off and set it upon the counter.
I stood looking at the coke and the man said, “That will be ten cents.” I said, “I didn’t want that kind of co-cola. I
wanted an orange co-cola.” The man very patiently explained that coke only made that one drink. If I wanted an
orange drink I should have said I wanted an orange drink. I ended up having to drink the coke and it kept coming
out my nose and eyes. I could not handle a coke, besides there was only six ounces in a bottle of coke. This little
Texan was a fast learner and I have never forgotten since, to say what kind of (co-cola) I wanted.

I was soon in the business of making my own money by selling rabbits to several families in town. I sold them for ten
cents a piece or three for a quarter. My business soon grew and it required that I go hunting every day to keep up
with the demand for rabbits. There always seemed to be an endless supply of rabbits in my area and always a
family to buy them.
I always had change in my pockets from then on so I never had to ask my dad for any more money. I could buy a
box of fifty, 22 shorts, at the Western Auto store for nine cents and I never was one to go around shooting tin cans
so my bullets lasted me a long time.

During these times while out hunting or just outside the house, I would hear, on occasion, an airplane flying
overhead. This was in the early 1930`s and commercial aviation was just getting started. I would cease doing what
ever I was doing at the time and sit down and watch the plane until it was completely out of sight. I would then sit
and ponder the miracle of flight. How can anything this large go flying through the sky?
At this time I had never seen a plane on the ground and had no idea of how it could fly through the air. An airplane
was so fascinating to watch that I never failed to freeze up when I heard one. I would search the sky until I spotted it
and my eyes would be glued to it until it was out of sight. Nothing in my life had ever intrigued me like the thought of
an airplane. I grew more excited every time I saw one fly overhead and I knew I had to -----------

This story continues in my book, along with many other true life experiences.  You
will find both happiness and sadness in some chapters:  however, that is life, my
life, as it happened to me.
Photo of my dear friend, Charles Hummel, showing the old barn where I played rubber
guns while growing up near Forreston, Texas.  In my book Charles is holding I tell
about my Dad shooting me in the ankle in this barn.  Charles made a special trip from
Round Rock, Texas  to get this photo for me.  Thank you Mr. Hummel.