It occurs to me, of all the states I have lived in, Texas, Louisiana, New York, New Jersey, and Georgia, none have been “land locked.” I have always had access to the ocean. Maybe it required a drive for five hours, but I could still get there in a weekend. So as I sit at the picnic table at White Sands Monument observing the different families, I realize this “monument” is not just a tourist attraction for nomads and bucket listers. Continue reading
My brother Don is three years older than me. We have mutual childhood friends our respective ages, George and his younger brother Fred. We had a lot in common as kids. We all grew up on a farm, and Fred and I shared a mutual love of music since “the early years.” Still to this day, Fred is the only person to whom I can say “They just don’t make music like they used to,” and know he feels my same pain.
It’s the autumn of 1966. Football season is winding down, while basketball season is in full swing in Small Town Texas. Camaraderie is fierce during this time of year, with parades, floats, band practice, and giant homecoming mums. So it doesn’t take long for word to spread among the small town community that there has been an “accident.” Continue reading