I was reading an old post this morning from about 10 years ago. This jumped out at me. Even though it happened almost 6 decades ago, it seems like not that long ago. But it seems to typify my life, more especially my early life.

I was talking to my brother Kenny on the telephone a few minutes ago. I ask him if he remembered any Dubby stories.

The first thing came to mind was a time when Dubby was working for Wilford Fry driving a dump truck. They were hauling for us. I was running the track loader loading them with caliche. I was about 13 years old.

I was always real small and the target of all the big guys and the older men. In fact just about every male figure that came along, seemed to get pleasure out of picking on me.

The best way I could retaliate when we were out on a job was to fill the loader bucket as full as possible, get over to the truck and lift the load as high as possible, then dump it as fast as I could.
The result would be to send the driver, if they choose to stay in the cab, flying around like a rag doll.

One day I did it several times to Dubby. I guess he warned me to stop doing it, but as usual I didn’t pay much attention to him or anybody else.

Next thing we knew he went to the house and Kenny thought perhaps he never did return. At least on the job.

The most likely epilogue to this incident:

A bunch of the men around town would meet up most mornings early to drink coffee. Either at the Blue Bonnet or the Yacht. I can bet that Dubby most likely told Cecil Lewis what I was doing out on the job site. He then more than likely told me not to be doing it anymore. There’s a good possibility that I didn’t pay much attention to him, and went right on doing what I did. I was hardheaded like that.