I was born in 1921, when memoirs were written on paper, not encoded on silver disks. My family lived on a 320-acre grain and livestock farm in central Illinois, in a home without running water or electricity. Even after we bought a tractor in 1936, men and horses did much of the farm work. Grasshoppers, cinch bugs, and drought destroyed our crops about every third year. During the worst years of the depression, farmers burned ears of corn for fuel because it was cheaper than coal.
I learned my ABC's in a one-room schoolhouse about a mile from home. The teacher lived with us, so I walked to school with her, or we would drive the horse and buggy during inclement weather. My job was to unhitch the horse and put him in the barn while she started the fire in the furnace.
Growing up on a farm meant having few opportunities to meet friends, so my transition to Springfield High School was overwhelming. Being separated from family by 20 miles and living with relatives during the week didn't help. However, thanks to early training on the trumpet and slide trombone, I was able to participate in the band and, later, in the University of Illinois football marching band. Music became my ticket to acceptance and friendship.
Studying agriculture at the University of Illinois was stimulating and pleasant, but Pearl Harbor was attacked while I was a senior. The military draft loomed. I toyed with the idea of becoming a conscientious objector, but this so angered my father that I dropped the idea.
Not wanting to get assigned to the Army (with all the hiking in the mud, it sounded too much like farm work), I joined the Navy at a recruiting office in Atlanta, Georgia, and got my Ensign's stripe at the Naval Mid-shipman's School in Chicago. Our crash course earned us the title, "90-day wonders."
You can read about my experiences during the war, which are the subject of Stand By to Ram.
