Beech Tree News Network

A little I’s and ‘At:

At one time when I was 7 or 8, I considered becoming a Mormon missionary when I ‘got big”. This was because I could ride a Cushman motor scooter. This thought had its inception when a Mormon missionary came by my daddy’s store riding a Cushman motor scooter.

He was a quiet, thin, young man; wearing a dress shirt with elastic arm bands, and maybe suspenders… I’m not sure, he dressed kind of old for his age. He carried some books and a wind-up record player.

My daddy invited him in; he set up his record player and started it. As I recall he said very little. He let the record player do the talking. I was most impressed with the motor scooter. In retrospect I knew I was a boy because I liked anything with wheels. The Cushman ran quiet too. It had a kick starter. That too was cool.

I was afraid of motorcycles; they were too loud; I didn’t like loud noises. Omen Vincent had one, a red one. I liked it from a distance, but not too close. I covered my ears when he rode it by.

I did have a bigger bicycle later. It ran quiet; except when I affixed a piece of pasteboard in back where it would rub against the spokes. It had a motor them, but not too loud. It only ran as fast as I could pedal.

Well, I never became a Mormon missionary or had a Cushman motor scooter. My first bicycle, a small one, I bought from my third-cousin for three dollars.

It has no front sprocket, pedals or chains, all I could do was coast on it. This was during World-War-Two when new parts were hard to come by. When I finally got parts I was ready for a bigger bicycle. It was second-hand. I think I paid $16.00 for it. It was the one with the pasteboard motor.

I’ll wind this down. I always thought I looked okay, but never drop-dead handsome. Although people think strangely- but you knew that.

Bett and I were married six years before little ones came along; she was taking treatments to increase fertility.

At the time we had a black lady doing some ironing for us. Bett was telling her about her fertility treatments.

After looking at our picture on the dresser one day she said to Bett – “Miss Bett you’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s your husbands’ fault. He’s too pretty. It’s hard for a pretty man to get children.”

…And the wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…

Kindest regards…