"Choices" (standard:Editorials, 45684 words)
Author: Kenneth Nash	Added: May 29 2007	Views/Reads: 4900/9261	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Auobiograpy of author Kenneth Nash

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the table and drink some of it.  After making the rounds to each card 
player the beer began to make me feel “like I could fly”.  In fact that 
is what I told dad as I promptly jumped off the stair landing down the 
flight of stairs.  Uncle Ira quickly grabbed my shirt saving me from 
the inevitable result of the law of gravity. “Uncle Ira” wasn't really 
my uncle. He was a co-worker, friend, and drinking buddy of Dad's. I 
liked him he was always telling me stories. 

At the time that we lived in Decatur my sister Jeannie was only four and
I think mom was pregnant with Jim (Butch).  We had never lived in a big 
city before so mom would always walk me to school after leaving Jeannie 
with a neighbor. After I was safely deposited on the school ground mom 
would go by and get Jeannie. She usually stayed for a cup of coffee and 
visited a while.  The first two or three times this happened when mom 
got back home I would be sitting on the steps waiting for her. She 
decided then and there it was time she took me all the way to my school 
room and left me with the teacher so I wouldn't escape. 

After dad's job in Decatur was finished, he was transferred to Bath,
Illinois.  He and mom separated and eventually divorced. They didn't 
tell me why but I got the idea it had something to do with dad's 
drinking and a lot of yelling and screaming by the both of them. Kids 
do not, cannot, understand the pressures, of not enough money, moving, 
and stress of everyday life that parents go through. This was in 1946. 
Times were definitely hard on young parents. My mom and dad both loved 
us kids and did what they thought was best at the time. 

Mom, Jeannie, and I took the train to St. Louis, Missouri where her
brother, my Uncle Boe and his wife Aunt Bea, lived.  While making a 
change from one train to another, mom told me to watch Jeannie while 
she went to the ticket counter.  What she said was,”Do not let her out 
of your sight”.  Well, for a six year old to keep up with a four year 
old that liked to run away and hide, this was a challenge.  After 
trying to hold her hand and keep her in check, I finally hit upon the 
answer to the problem. When mom returned with the tickets Jeannie was 
tied to the bench with the belt of her little dress. She was wailing at 
the top of her voice, but I knew where she was. 

St. Louis was even bigger than Decatur.  I remember being amazed at all
the traffic. We went to visit the famous St. Louis Zoo. I had never 
been to a zoo, never seen any big wild animals before. Remember this 
was before television and the Animal Planet. I wanted to go back every 
weekend. 

I think we must have lived in St. Louis for most of the school term
because I missed the second grade completely. 

I was old enough to go into the third grade when we moved to Brinkley,
Arkansas. Mom met Elmer “Hitch” Hitchcock.  Hitch was a big man tall, 
with coal black hair. He was mostly Indian I think.  He was a gentle 
man that loved to hunt and fish. The best thing for me was he brought 
to the relationship four boys!  By that time Butch was born, and two 
other children, both little girls, Elmarie and Johna were added to the 
family. Let's see that makes nine kids and two adults living in a two 
bedroom frame house at 602 N. New Orleans St. in Brinkley, Arkansas.  
Even though it was crowded, to say the least, it was fun having all the 
brothers and sisters a boy could want.  We cut canes from the backyard 
and made swords.  Hitch, somehow, came up with the 25 cents each 
Saturday to get the older kids in the movie matinee. Hence, the sword 
fighting. We loved the old Zorro serials. Mom was a talented seamstress 
and made all our clothes. She had made all my clothes from the time I 
was born.  Back then the thread spools were made of wood and we would 
put notches in them and use a rubber band twisted around a wooden match 
to make “tractors” that really moved!  Now tell me, what kid needs a 
Game Boy when he can have a wooden “tractor” and “cars” made from 
matchboxes? We got in fist fights over who was the best cowboy in the 
movie matinees. Tom Mix, Hop-a-long Cassidy, and Gene Autry were good. 
But my favorite was the “King of the Cowboys” Roy Rogers. 

One day I found an abandoned baby ‘possum. Since I was sure mom wouldn't
understand the need for me to adopt him I sneaked him into the “boys' 
bedroom”. Everything was okay until bedtime.  There were five boys 
sleeping in the same bed (Butch was young enough to sleep with the two 
oldest girls, Jeannie and Elmarie). With three boys at the “head” of 
the bed and two at the “foot” I figured we would have enough room for a 
little ‘possum. The little pet didn't agree and sometime after we were 
all asleep he couldn't find a way out from under the covers and darned 
near chewed our toes off. I guess I should have warned the other guys 
that he was there.  Boys were yelling, and scrambling out of the bed 
when mom came into see what the ruckus was about.  Needless to say, mom 
put an end to the ‘possum adopting adventure. 

Summers in Arkansas can be very hot. Most of the people on our side of
the tracks didn't have the fancy electric refrigerators.  We didn't 
have hot water or a refrigerator. The Ice Man would come by once a week 
to deliver block ice for the “ice boxes”. The ice wagon was pulled by 
an old horse. There was always water dripping from the back of the ice 
wagon.  Every kid in the neighborhood would run along behind the ice 
wagon and let the ice cold water drip on our feet. In our house all the 
kids went barefoot from May ‘till September -  we saved our new shoes 
for school. When we ran behind the ice wagon barefooted in the dirt 
streets our feet were covered with mud when we returned home. 

When school started in September mom enrolled me in the third grade at
Brinkley Elementary. I mentioned earlier that I had missed out on the 
second grade of school completely.  I didn't know how difficult it was 
to go from first grade to the third. I was a long way behind the other 
children. I will never forget my third grade teacher, Mrs. Henderson. 
She knew it would take a lot of patience, extra hours after school, 
love, and understanding to get a frightened little boy who was about a 
foot shorter than the other kids, had wire rimmed glasses, homemade 
overalls, and didn't know how to read or write past the first grade to 
make a passing grade in the third year of school. But work we did! She 
was a great influence on my young life.  Mrs. Henderson encouraged me 
to do the best that I could do with what I had to work with. I saw Mrs. 
Henderson for the last time about thirty years later. (I will talk of 
that special visit later). 

A very special time for me when I lived in Brinkley was being able to
spend time with my Granddaddy Wallace, my mother's father. Granddaddy, 
John Richard Wallace, was born February 5th, 1898; he died November 18, 
1948.  He had moved to Brinkley some years earlier from around Eastern 
Arkansas. Granddaddy was a colorful character. He was a man short of 
stature, tough as a boot, with a heart of gold. He loved to work hard, 
dance, and spend time with his kids and grandkids.  My first memories 
of Granddad go back to when I was just a little kid. I can remember him 
working on his tractors in that big old shop of his. I would watch him 
wash parts in gasoline as he put the engine back together after a 
repair. I tried to do everything he did. One time my sister, Jeannie, 
only a newborn, was in her cradle in the yard as Granny and mom were 
hanging out the wash. I was about two. Mom said I got the gasoline wash 
rag that Granddad used and was going to give her a bath. I had seen mom 
bathe her and I was just trying to help. And besides, if that was what 
Granddaddy did, it must be the thing to do!    Granddad, I am told, had 
been a circuit riding preacher when he was young, later a bootlegger 
during prohibition, and eventually becoming a rice farmer.  He married 
my Granny, Vernie Morea Wallace, born February 12, 1901, and was raised 
on a Cherokee Indian reservation in Oklahoma. She passed away May 12, 
1994. Granny was an extremely beautiful young, (as we referred to her), 
Indian Princess. She was so, unlike granddaddy, quiet and serious. He 
was just the opposite. They would go to the barn dances on Saturday 
nights. She played the guitar, and he danced! I think there were one or 
two children that were born to them that did not live. My mother was 
the oldest living, then there was my Uncle Boe,  Aunt Annie, and the 
baby Bonita who, by the way, is two years younger than me. Granddaddy 
farmed rice in Arkansas.  My father worked for him and there he met my 
mother.  There would be times when  mom and dad would have an argument 
and she would call Granddaddy to give her moral support. Granddaddy was 
always fair and honest. He would say to mom,” Now, Susie, (his pet name 
for her), right is right no matter whose side of the fence it's on”.  
How many times have I heard my mother repeat those very words! 

In all our moving around before I reached the age of eight, I didn't get
to spend a lot of time with Granddad. I am grateful for the time I had 
with him in Brinkley. He died as a result of gall bladder surgery 
complications in 1948. He was 50 years old. My Granny Wallace died in 
1995 at the age of 95. 

I finished the third and fourth grade at Brinkley Elementary School and
moved to live with my father in Greeley, Colorado. The year was 1951. 

Dad had met and married Shirley Ann Brown, a dairy farmer's daughter, in
Hereford, Colorado.  She had just graduated high school. They didn't 
tell Grandpa and Grandma Brown that he had three children by a previous 
marriage. They said they were afraid her parents wouldn't agree to the 
marriage. Of course they eventually sprung the news on them just before 
they came to Arkansas to get three little kids ages 11, 9, and 5. After 
a couple years of marriage and no children between them, Mom (Shirley) 
was ecstatic to have kids in the home. I really think that excitement 
was short lived. We weren't the model kids of the Brady Bunch! The only 
thing I knew about Colorful Colorado was what I had seen at the movie 
matinee on Saturday.  I knew it was “out west” and there must be gun 
totin' cowboys there. Well, everyone did wear cowboy hats and boots, so 
Dad had to fork over the money for three pairs of cowboy boots the day 
we arrived in Greeley. For the most part, our stay in Colorado was 
happy. We missed mom but wrote letters to her. I still have some of 
those letters today. (Mom kept everything). Dad worked for Farr Farms, 
a cattle feeding ranch just outside of Greeley.  One of my favorite 
persons was the foreman, Bill Redman.  Here was a real live cowboy 
right out of the movies. He wore chaps, rode a horse all day, and could 
do “hundreds” of rope tricks. He was right up there with Roy Rogers in 
my book. 

Once again I missed part of the school term, the sixth grade.  I entered
Meeker Junior High at Greeley and spent the seventh and eighth grade 
there. 

I had never seen snow like we got in Colorado. Sometimes it would drift
up so high on the garage door that we couldn't get the car out. Some 
winters, the snow would stay on the ground nearly all winter. When the 
weather permitted, we walked to school. Jeannie and Butch's school was 
about ½ to ¾ miles and mine was about a mile and a half from home. 
Butch was in the first grade. He was always such a sleepy head, we had 
to nearly pull him out of bed and drag him to school. He would cry all 
the way. One of the many jokes we pulled on him was to get up early 
Saturday and tell him to hurry and get ready for school. We would, 
push, pull, and listen to him cry and complain about half the way and 
then tell him it was Saturday. He didn't appreciate that at all!  I 
remember relating this story to him again when he was about 50 years 
old. He didn't seem to appreciate it any more then. 

We lived in a rented two bedroom house, owned by the company dad worked
for.  We had no hot water, and the toilet was outside, around the 
corner of the house, at the end of the fence. Once my dog Shaggy fell 
in the toilet. Dad made me pull him out. Neither I nor Shaggy was happy 
with the outcome of that adventure. Another incident concerning the 
outhouse was when Jeannie and a little girlfriend of hers thought it 
would be fun to lock me in the toilet. I yelled at them and told them 
to let me out but they were afraid to come unlock the door. Our yard 
was made up of rocks, no grass, just rocks the right size for throwing, 
which I got pretty good at.   Her friend wanted to let me out if I 
would promise not to throw rocks at them.  Jeannie knew me much better 
and said not trust me because if they opened the door, I would still 
throw rocks at them. Well, after what seemed like hours they sneaked up 
and opened the door and ran. I was right behind them with a handful of 
rocks.  The little girl lived up on the hill a ways from our house. She 
ran all the way and told half the story to her mother.  She got the 
rock throwing right but left out the toilet imprisonment part.  Down 
the hill came Ms. Bauer, madder than an old wet hen. She jumped on me 
for throwing rocks at her little girl and said she was going to tell 
dad. Her husband and dad worked together. Well I was still even madder 
than Ms. Bauer,  and knew I was already in big trouble for throwing 
rocks, so I tossed a few at her. Not smart! Dad reminded me of that 
truth that very afternoon when he got home from work. 

Jeannie and I were old enough to have some chores. If my memory serves
me right, I was 12 and she was 10. Our job was to do the dishes each 
night after supper. I can still remember the arguments we had over who 
would wash and who would dry. We both wanted to do the washing so we 
could play in the water. Since we had no hot water in the house, 
Shirley would put a big aluminum dish pan of water on the stove to 
heat. On night Dad and Shirley went to the store, or somewhere. We were 
told to wait until they got home before we tried to move the hot water 
to the sink. Jeannie decided to get started on the dishes anyway. She 
tipped the boiling water over on her and it burned her from her chest 
all the way down to her legs. I was frantic. I ripped her dress off and 
saw the burns. She was screaming from the pain.   I took her outside; 
hoping the cold wind and snow would help. I didn't know anything else 
to do for her. We did not have a telephone back then, so I ran up the 
hill to Mrs. Bauer's to tell them we needed help. There was a big snow 
on the ground, and in my excitement I had not put on my shoes. My feet 
were almost frost-bitten by the time Mr. Bauer drove me back home. Dad 
and Shirley had arrived by that time and took Jeannie to the hospital. 
I can still remember her crying.  I felt so bad for her. (I had 
forgotten the part about taking her out in the yard. I talked to 
Jeannie just recently, and she reminded me of this.) 

As I was speaking with Jeannie, she reminded me of another thing that we
kids did everyday. (Whose story is this anyway?!) Seriously, I 
appreciate the help from others about times and incidents, that over 
the years, have slipped from my memory. 

Anyway, Dad would come home from work and park the big truck he fed
cattle with, in the garage about a hundred yards from the house. Nearly 
everyday, all three of us kids would hide behind the door, jump out, 
and say, “Boo!” We were sure we scared him each time. I think dad 
expected it after the first few times, but, he would always say, “Oh my 
stars! You kids almost scared me to death!” Then one of us would get on 
his back, the other two on each leg, and he would drag us the hundred 
yards or so home. This was after he had put in 10 hours of shoveling 
feed for the cattle. He never seemed to mind. The love of a parent for 
their children, sometimes, “passes all understanding”. 

Another dish washing story, not near as sad, was the time Jeannie and I
were arguing about something and she pushed me through the kitchen 
window. I really don't know how our parents put up with us. Well, that 
is not really true since I have had five kids myself! 

Our house was at the end of the cattle corrals. The front faced a big
alfalfa field. Behind the house was the La Poudre River. I remember the 
name ‘cause about every other day dad would tell us kids if we didn't 
stop arguing, fighting, and mind Shirley, he was going to put us all in 
a toe sack and throw us in the “Pooder” River. 

We spent a lot of time down at the river. Butch decided he was going to
collect those little “swimming things” at the river. He carried a dozen 
coffee cans full and put them in a wash tub filled with water. We had 
no idea that the “little swimming things” turned into frogs. Dad 
couldn't believe it one morning when he went out to go to work and saw 
frogs hopping everywhere. We knew very little about evolution or 
reproduction, as the next episode of our adventures will attest. 

Shirley's brother, Roger (Buster) Brown, raised rabbits.  I begged dad
for weeks to let me have a couple of Buster's rabbits. For reasons not 
really clear to me he insisted they be both male, or both female.  
Roger, the rabbit-raising expert (because he was a year older than me), 
said I needed to take one boy and one girl. Well I came home with the 
brother and sister bunnies. Dad trusted Buster to give us the same sex 
species. Not!  To mine and dad's amazement it wasn't long before I was 
really in the rabbit business.  I liked all of that except the part 
where dad made me get up early every morning and go into the wet 
alfalfa field out front and cut hay for the rabbits that were 
producing. 

While writing this story I talked to mom (Shirley) on the phone. She
asked, “Buddy, do you remember the tool box you made for your dad?” 
Yes, how could I forget that?  It was in 1952 I was 12 years old. For a 
woodshop project I made Daddy Paul a wooden toolbox. Just a few days 
before I was to paint it and bring it home, I dropped it and broke the 
handle. I was devastated. I had worked hard and wanted it to be nice 
for my dad and now it was broke. I started to cry, and took it to the 
shop teacher. He said not to worry we would fix it and the handle would 
be stronger than before. He drilled a couple holes down through the 
handle applied some wood glue, pounded a couple dowel rods into the 
holes. We let it dry overnight and I painted it a bright red. I was so 
proud to give it to dad. My dad carried that little red toolbox. full 
of tools, in his trucks or cars for forty-four years until his death in 
1995.(And the handle never broke). Mom is going to mail it to me and I 
will give it to Kendall. At the time of this writing the toolbox is 
over 53 years old. 

Chickens and lariats! How could I forget that story?!  As I mentioned
before, the foreman, Bill, was an expert with the lariat. He taught me 
how to tie the rope just right and rope fence posts. I thought since I 
had mastered the art of roping a stationery fence post, I was ready to 
move on to something more challenging. Dad had purchased 50 baby 
chicks.  With money being scarce then, as always, he wanted a good 
return for his money. He was very particular and careful with the 
chicks.  When they got old enough to run pretty fast, I thought that it 
would be good practice to try to rope some of them. After all if I 
could rope a chicken head, surely I could be a good enough cowboy to 
catch a steer.  The problem was the knot in the rope hit the chickens 
in the head and knocked them crazy.  After trying several times and 
several of dad's chickens wobbling around, I give up on that. Dad 
wasn't happy when he found the chickens in that condition either. 

The summer after I turned 12 in March of 1952, Uncle Troy, dad's oldest
brother, came to visit us. It was on a Saturday morning and we (the 
kids) wanted to go to the park for a picnic. Dad and Uncle Troy were 
drinking that day. Vodka, if my memory, serves me right. We kept asking 
several times when could we go. Since the answer was always the same, 
“after we get through drinking our drinks”,  I took it on myself to 
help them get finished. I sneaked the last full bottle out of the 
house, sat in the car, and proceeded to drink it. Now, dad had taught 
me to drive the old Plymouth and I had driven it to the mailbox several 
times (but never in the condition I was in after a snoot full of 
Vodka!).  I remember very little about what happened after that. There 
is a vague recollection of driving through a herd of sheep and the old 
man tending them making a lot of noise and obscene gestures. Everybody 
got in Uncle Troy's car and went looking for me. I am told I was gone 
an hour or so. What I do recall is somehow getting back home safe and 
no one was there. I went into the bedroom and went to sleep. I should 
have been punished for that escapade. Shirley and dad were relieved 
that I was okay and just told me never get into dad's drink or use the 
car without permission.  I had experienced what is known as a 
“black-out”, meaning I had done things and could not remember. 
Unfortunately that one would not be my last. As a youngster I was able 
to spend some of the summer months with dad's family. Grandpa and 
Grandma had seven children that lived. In order of age there was Aunt 
Leanor, Uncle Troy, my dad Paul, Uncle V.L (Bud), Uncle Arthur (Ott), 
Aunt Ruby, Uncle Johnny, and Uncle Dale. (At the time of this writing, 
April, 2005, only Aunt Ruby is still living). 

Grandpa, William Alvie Nash, was a small man. I never saw him wear
anything except khaki shirts and bib overalls. He kept a new pair of 
overalls for church and the old faded ones that Grandma washed in the 
wash pot of boiling water and homemade lye soap. to work in. Papaw, as 
we called him, was the most fun person I knew. He would get out in the 
yard and play with all the kids for hours after he had cut wood all day 
or worked in the fields. He taught me how to shoot marbles, throw 
cotton bolls at tin cans on fence posts, and how to respect my elders. 
I miss him greatly. I loved to visit that old farm house. There was no 
running water, no electricity, no indoor bathroom, but there was a lot 
of home-grown food, and much love. 

Grandma was a big woman.  Her name was Maudie, but she was “mawmaw” to
all of us cousins. The thing I remember about her was how particular 
she was about keeping that old frame house clean. She scrubbed the 
floors everyday even though you could look through the cracks in the 
wood planks and see the ground underneath. I thought then, and still 
do, she was the world's greatest cook. All the cooking was done on a 
big cast iron stove heated with wood. Papaw knew just the right length 
to cut the wood, and she knew just how many sticks would cook two big 
pans of the best biscuits you have ever tasted. 

They would go to town about every two or three weeks for “staples”,
which was flour, sugar, coffee, salt, pepper, etc.  Everything else 
eaten was food from the garden, or meat from the smokehouse. 

Going to town was fun too. Grandpa never owned a car or truck! He had a
wagon pulled by two big horses named Bill and Jenny. It was probably 
8-10 miles to the town of McCrory, Arkansas. We had to cross a stream 
that in the spring and summer would come up almost to the floor of the 
wagon. The kids that got a chance to go with them would dangle our feet 
out in the water as we forded the stream. 

At one time all of grandpa and grandma's children, and their children,
lived within a ten mile range of “the old farm house”.  Saturday 
afternoon and nights, the grown-ups would listen to the Grand Old Opry 
on the battery powered radio. All 18-20 cousins would be running around 
like little wild injuns. 

While we were still living on Farr Farms in Greeley, dad went to
Arkansas to get grandma and grandpa for a visit. Shirley always made 
pancakes or waffles for breakfast. I had never tasted a waffle until I 
met Shirley. Evidently, grandma hadn't either.  One morning at 
breakfast she said,” If we ain't having flapjacks, we are eating them 
there “wobbles” 

CHAPTER TW0 

As I mentioned earlier I was born with my right eye severely crossed. I
started wearing glasses when I was three years old.  I was the brunt of 
many jokes with the crossed eye, and my short stature. I think I have 
heard every “short people” joke known to man. I even made up a few 
myself, just to keep ahead of the jokesters. It was 1953; I was 13 
years old, when dad and Shirley decided to let the eye doctor perform 
corrective surgery on my eye. I was all for it. I had to wear glasses 
for about a year after that. But at least after the year was up, no one 
could call me the “four-eyed midget”. Just “midget”.  The doctor put me 
to sleep and not only fixed my eye, but removed my tonsils and adenoids 
at the same time. Talk about a sore-head! The one complication from the 
eye being crossed for so long is that I had developed monocular vision. 
Even to this day, I still just use one eye, but, I alternate them, one 
for close up and one for distance. That makes eye exams a little 
complicated. 

During the period that I was in Greeley, Colorado, mom (Judy) and Hitch
separated. She moved to Lancaster, California. There the union between 
her and John Larley began. They came to Greeley, with my two younger 
sisters, Elmarie and Johna. I had not seen them for over two years. And 
I met my new dad. We moved back to California with them. I will always 
remember the 1950 Studebaker car. The front end looked like a jet 
plane. That was the newest car I had ever ridden in. When I use the 
term “dad” Larley it is because he was and is deserving of that title. 
I was treated like a son, and still am to this day. (At this writing, 
dad, age 82, is in a rest home in Grant's Pass, Oregon. My sister, 
Jeannie and her husband Ron live there). 

The fall of 1954, I started high school at Antelope Valley High School,
Lancaster, California. I went all four years there. That was the 
longest I had been in any school since I was old enough to attend 
school. 

Again, mom made me my school clothes for the first day of school. It was
a pair of tan gabardine pants with a matching “Eisenhower” jacket. 
Later she would custom make me a full suit, but that is for a later 
story. 

Mom and dad bought a “brand new” tract home that year.  The three
bedroom, one bath, stucco, house at 1141 West Pillsbury, cost them 
$9,500.00 in 1954. I had never lived in a new house. 

Providing for five kids didn't come easy for mom and dad. Mom made
drapes for various companies, such as Sears and Penney's, and 
eventually opened her own drapery and upholstering business. 

Dad worked as a carpenter, a subcontractor, and later was licensed as a
general contractor by the State of California. 

Mom and dad gave us kids everything they could afford, and a little
more, on occasion. 

I learned how to work hard with dad's training.  In 1955 when I was 15,
dad paid me laborer's wages during the summer.  I carried lumber for 
the carpenters that worked for him. I was making $2.54 an hour. I think 
minimum wage was around a dollar.  Not bad for a kid not old enough to 
get a driver's license. 

Antelope Valley High, my Alma Mater! In 1954, the year I enrolled at
A.V., the school was called, Antelope Valley Joint Union High. It was 
the only high school in a 20-30 mile radius. It was, by far, the 
largest school I had attended. During the first month the school paper, 
the Sandpaper, ran an article, along with a front page picture of the 
tallest senior and the shortest freshman for that year. Tom Putman was 
the star football player and the biggest kid in school. In the picture 
he stretched out both arms and I stood about a foot or so under his 
arm. Tom became one of my best friends that year.  He took it upon 
himself to make sure no one made fun or jokes about me. Wow, a personal 
body guard! Life was good.  Friday nights found us at all the home 
games of the “Antelopes”; we won district championship three out of the 
four years I attended there.  Our band was very good. They marched two 
times in the Rose Parade. There was a tremendous amount of school 
spirit then. After the games, there was the weekly “sock hop” held in 
the gym. We would remove our shoes and dance until midnight to the 
likes of Elvis, Fats Domino, Chubby Checker, Richie Valens, and many 
others to numerous to mention. R&B in the ‘50's. Now that was music!  
Today they are called Oldies, But Goodies, or the Golden Oldies.  I 
fell in love every Friday night dancing to “Earth Angel”.  It didn't 
matter who the girl was. 

On Saturday nights we had “garage parties”.  A bunch of us kids would
get together, bring our old 45 rpm records, and dance all night. I had 
more than my share of parties in our garage. All the kids thought that 
mom and dad were the greatest. They would, at our request, come out to 
the garage and dance a couple dances. They were good dancers. Of 
course, the “jitter-bug” was a new dance to us kids. But they even knew 
how to do the “bop” and “twist”. 

My first “girlfriend” was Susie. She was a sister to Larry, one of my
best buddies. We danced together most of the time. Made up some really 
neat “routines” and even won the best dancing couple at the school sock 
hops. Mom made us clothes that matched. We always planned to go on 
American Bandstand, but never made the trip.  It was during our “going 
steady” that we both experienced our first “heartbreak”.  Her dad, Mr. 
Sawyer, got transferred back to the Boeing Aircraft Company in San 
Diego, California.  It was at least a three hour drive from Lancaster. 
That meant she was moving away!  At the age of 14 and 13, that was 
devastating to the both of us.  We decided that she wasn't going to 
move with her family. We were going to hide out until they were gone. 
We didn't have any plans on what to do after that.  We started sneaking 
canned goods out of our houses and hiding them in the old dilapidated 
shack behind her house. But, alas, her parents found our stash, had a 
talk with us about how we could visit each other, and all that adult 
reasoning stuff. I will always remember Susie looking out the back 
window of Mr. Sawyers old DeSoto, crying and waving.  I was standing on 
the curb crying and waving back.  I do believe it is true about the 
impact of “puppy love”. I am happy to say that I did get to visit Larry 
and Susie many times after they moved to San Diego. 

Larry and Susie made several trips back to Lancaster to visit their
sister, Gloria. During one of the visits, I borrowed Uncle Boe's Jeep 
Wagoneer to take Susie to the drive-in movie. By that time I had turned 
16 and had a driver's license. We watched the movie and then fell 
asleep. When we awoke the place was deserted, the movie screen was 
blank, and we were in big trouble!  It wasn't until a few weeks that 
the Everly Brothers came out with the hit song “Wake Up Little Susie”.  
How did they know about our incident?!  We got a lot of teasing over 
that. 

One of the things I did for entertainment, besides go to the dances, was
learn to roller skate. Back then we didn't know anything about roller 
blades. All we had was the old “quads” with four wheels. The Lancaster 
Roller Rink was “the place to be” in those days.  We would go to the 
Saturday matinee session, take a break, and go back from 7-10pm, and 
then stay from 10- 12am for the second session. Most of the guys my age 
joined the Lancaster Race Team. We had a lot of fun along with the 
bruises, and broken arms. 

The Fair at Antelope Valley Fairgrounds each September was an event we
all looked forward to. The year I was 16 I met Johnny Longdon, a famous 
race-horse jockey at the fair. Since I was so short and weighed not 
much over 100 pounds, he wanted to take me with him and train me to be 
a jockey. I ran and found mom and told her. She said I had to go to 
school. Johnny Longdon said that a school would be provided for me, 
but, we couldn't convince mom to let me go. Just think I might have 
become rich and famous! 

Jeannie met her husband-to-be, Ronnie Smith, at that skating rink. He
was a marine stationed at China Lake, several miles from Lancaster.  I 
think they will be celebrating their 45th or 46th wedding anniversary 
this year (2005). 

I had several part-time jobs before I worked with dad in the summers.
With the money I made from them, I saved up and bought my first, and 
only, pair of precision racing skates. They were “top of the line” back 
then.  Aunt Bea and Uncle Boe gave me a beautiful metal skate case for 
Christmas, 1956.  I have the skates and the case in my closet today. 

My first job after I moved to Lancaster was with the local newspaper,
the Ledger-Gazette.  The paper was starting a home delivery, rather 
than newsstands. I was one of the first “paper boys” in Lancaster.  We 
went to the homes in our neighborhood and sold subscriptions.  I worked 
hard, had the largest route, and most subscribers. I was doing great! 
The only problem was I didn't have a bicycle. I found an old bike, mom 
“loaned” me the money for some parts (since I was going to be making 
money --  she taught me the value of paying my own way). I fixed it up 
and painted it. I was ready to get rich.  Regular delivery was Tuesday 
and Thursday with a free paper every other Wednesday.  It was a lot of 
work to pick up the papers after school, fold, and rubber band them and 
then ride the bike to deliver them. I was kinda sorry that I had done 
so well with selling subscriptions.  Often, mom would pick up the 
papers and have them all folded and ready to deliver when I got home 
from school.  She took me around in the car when it was raining (which 
was not real often in the desert).  What would I have done without my 
mother?  I have asked myself that question many times. 

My next job was working at Tom Sawyer's Potato Chips. The warehouse was
right across the street from mom's drapery business. I would help 
unload the semi trailer, and stock the potato chips, candies, and nut 
meats. I did this three days a week after school. Eventually Don, the 
owner/delivery person offered me a job of stocking, rotating stock, and 
filling his next morning deliveries. It paid more than the newspaper 
route.  I liked the job. We had a “breakage” clause that meant we could 
eat or take home anything that was in a package that broke.  If nothing 
was accidentally damaged we could use up to the limit of our breakage 
allowance. I ate everything except peanuts; remember the “bellyache 
incident”. 

Later, after I got my driver's license, I went to work for Fisher Buick
in Lancaster. Uncle Boe was the service manager. He hired me to wash 
cars, clean the shop and help the mechanics. I really enjoyed that, but 
mostly I liked driving around the new Buicks and Pontiacs. 

One of the mechanics that worked with Uncle Boe, Eddie Pickering, rode
motorcycles. He and Uncle Boe went to his house out in the desert to 
work on one of the bikes, and I tagged along with them. They were 
drinking beer and doing mechanic things. After the motorcycle was 
running real good Uncle Boe said he would take me for a ride. We were 
going, what seemed like ninety miles per hour, bumping across the sandy 
desert. I yelled, “Uncle Boe, this is cool, I ain't never rode a 
motorcycle before!” He yelled back, “I haven't either, Kenny!” I still 
don't know if he was teasing me or not. 

My first car was a 1946 Ford coupe.  It was solid black and the paint
was still in pretty good shape.  It cost $25.00. It didn't run, but 
Uncle Boe at that time was the best mechanic in the country and it 
wasn't long until he had it purring.  I was ready to roll! There was 
just one hitch. Mom and dad said I couldn't drive it until I saved 
enough money for the insurance. So while I was putting back a few bucks 
each week, I washed it everyday and waxed it every week.  Mom helped me 
put new upholstery on the seats and dad bought me some Olds 88 spinner 
hubcaps. I paid my insurance, put $2.00 worth of gas in it (that was a 
lot of gas at 26 cents a gallon), and cruised Lancaster Blvd. 

Social life for us teenagers was right out of the TV show “Happy Days”.
Our hangout was the Burger Haven. We gathered there after school and on 
weekends. The owner, I am ashamed to say I cannot remember his name, 
was a really nice old guy that loved kids, and tried his best to act 
grouchy. We ate hamburgers, drank milk shakes and danced to the 
Rock-ola jukebox complete with the lights and bubbles. Of course, it 
had all the latest ‘50's music. 

We knew nothing about marijuana or any of that stuff back in those days.
Very few of my friends even smoked cigarettes. This reminds me of a 
time when dad was working at Pismo Beach, California.  He was building 
a tract of houses right near the beach.  It was during the summer and I 
had worked the week with him. We stayed in our travel trailer that 
week.  Mom came down and spent a couple of days, then she and dad went 
back home for the weekend. I was 16 at the time and decided I wanted to 
stay at the beach. Dad paid me for the week's work, left me the 
Studebaker pickup, and told me to stay out of trouble. 

Pismo Beach is the clam capital of the west coast. I wanted to go clam
digging and surprise dad with some fine clams when he got back Sunday 
night. I rented me a digger, a sack to put them in, and went hunting. I 
saw people all over the beach digging away. But to my amazement, there 
were clams laying everywhere on the beach.  Why was everyone working so 
hard?  I just went around and picked up a big sack full then went back 
to the camper.  Then I noticed the big sign in red letters. Clams have 
to be so many inches before they can be taken legal. I had a sack full 
of “culls”, or illegal clams. I was afraid to be seen taking them back 
to the beach. I wanted to get rid of the shells and keep the clam meat. 
I didn't have a clue how to cook them, so I boiled, baked, and fried a 
sack full of illegal clams. I never told dad that they were not regular 
clams. I suspect he knew it and just didn't want to say anything. We 
ate a good portion of them that next week. I remembered this story when 
I mentioned not smoking at that age. Well, it was Saturday night and I 
took the pickup into town and went to a movie. Everybody was waiting 
for the show to start and was standing around in the theater lobby 
smoking (you could do that back then).  I decided since I was out on my 
own for the weekend, I would act grown-up and buy a pack of cigarettes. 
They had them in machines back then. I had never tried to smoke before, 
so I had no idea of the brand I wanted. I chose a pack of Chesterfields 
because I saw an ad for them somewhere. Cost me 25 cents for the pack. 
I lit one up and it tasted terrible, but I was determined if I spent 
that kind of money, I was going to smoke. Well after trying for about a 
quarter of the cigarette I gave up.   Not wanting to be wasteful I 
tried to give that pack to several people. No one would take them. They 
would just give me a strange look and walk away. I tossed the nearly 
full pack in the trash can and watched a movie I cannot remember. 

Terry Holmes, Larry Sawyer and I were inseparable during teenage years.
We were all about the same age.  What one couldn't think of to get 
into, the others could. One day we decided that we would go around to 
the trash cans and find old broken appliances, repair them and make 
some money.  We found an old automatic iron -- the kind that has the 
big pad that gets hot. The type used in a laundry and dry cleaners.  We 
plugged it in and the thing got just as hot as could be. It was a real 
find; we didn't even have to fix it!  I knew just the customer that 
needed that contraption. Aunt Bea!  She had to wash and iron all of 
Uncle Boe's mechanic's uniforms; this would save her a lot of time on 
the ironing.  We showed it to her and she said she didn't want to buy 
it.  We said we would give her a free demonstration. After much 
salesmanship effort on our part, she finally agreed. She gave us one of 
Uncle Boe's work shirts. We heated the thing up and ran a sleeve 
between the pressers. Well, it got real hot and ironed good, but 
wouldn't turn loose of the sleeve. It started smoking and before we got 
it turned off and pulled the shirt out it had burned the sleeve off!  
We didn't make the sale. In fact, Aunt Bea, who was normally a very 
calm, refined lady, showed us the other side of her personality and 
suggested we take that d--- thing out of her house. You would have 
thought that we learned a lesson about “get rich schemes” but there 
were other episodes. Anyway, I guess some things are better left 
unsaid. 

Fire plugs! Another story that sticks in my mind after all these years. 
Before I got my first car dad would, on occasion, let us used his new 
Studebaker pickup to go to the skating rink. Normally, I was a very 
careful driver.  Larry and Terry were with me that night as we were 
leaving the rink. As we made the curve on Yucca Street just down from 
the rink, my skates started rolling on the floorboard. Without 
thinking, as some young drivers do, I reached down with my right hand 
to catch them. When I looked back at the road there was the fire plug 
centered directly in front of the truck. Too late to stop, we ran over 
the fire plug.  I could feel and hear the water hitting the underside 
of dad's new truck. I backed up. Not a good move. The water was 
shooting at least 20 ft. in the air and all over the truck.  I ran back 
to the skating rink to use the phone (this was before we even thought 
about cell phones). When I called home, mom answered the phone. I 
really didn't want to tell her anything.  I knew she would worry (until 
she knew no one was hurt) and then start with the lecture the way that 
only mom could do. Anyway, dad told me to stay right where I was, and 
he would come get me. By the time dad got me and we got to the scene of 
the accident, there was a crowd of onlookers gathered, along with the 
Sheriff and Water Department personnel. Some “concerned citizen” told 
the police it was a hit and run because he saw the driver, some kid, 
running away from the scene.  Larry and Terry tried to tell what 
happened, but no one would listen. I remember being very frightened. 
“Let's see; destroying public property, leaving the scene of an 
accident, how many years in jail would that get me?” Dad walked up to 
one of the officers and calmly said,” This is my boy and that is my 
truck -- now what do we need to do next?” I sure was proud to have him 
as dad at that time. The insurance paid for getting the grille fixed on 
the truck. The city charged $25.00 for the flange on the fire hydrant. 
(I paid that out of the savings I had for my car). I felt that was the 
worse night of my life.  Dad had trusted me with his truck and I 
wrecked it!  We had a family trip planned the next day to Lake Mead 
near Las Vegas. The whole family, including Uncle Boe's family, was 
going camping for the weekend. I felt so bad about what had happened I 
didn't want to go.  Mom and dad talked to me, told me it really wasn't 
the end of the world, the truck would be fixed the next week, so go 
pack for the camping trip. Mom and dad always supported me and somehow 
made things look better. Oh, I'm not saying I escaped the inevitable 
lecture from mom, but I knew she gave it with my welfare in mind. It 
wasn't as funny then as it is now, but for the next couple years every 
birthday card I received had something to do with a fire plug on it. 

Speaking of dad helping me out, I will never forget our deer hunting
trip to Utah.  I was fourteen that year. 

Dad, a fellow by the name of Jim Burling (who worked for dad), and
myself went to Northern Utah one year to hunt for deer. We each took a 
different mountain to hunt on and made plans to meet back at camp at a 
certain time.  I shot my first deer early that morning. But it was too 
big for me to carry it out. I didn't want to go back down the mountain 
without the deer. I was afraid I could not find it again. I cut sticks 
and brush to mark the place where the deer lay. After making several 
circles I discovered that I was lost. I couldn't see the sun for the 
trees, and I didn't have a compass. It was getting late in the 
afternoon by then. I tried to see if dad was still on the other 
mountain across a huge valley. I could see no one there.  I fired my 
rifle three times and dad fired his back. Then he came searching for 
me. He hiked across the valley and up to where I was and carried my 
deer out for me. 

Another guy that worked for dad had some car trouble and dad let him use
our truck while we were hunting. Tony was supposed to be back in camp 
with the truck by sundown. 

Jim was already in camp when dad and I returned with the deer. The
temperature was beginning to drop and Jim had built a fire. We were 
getting concerned when darkness fell along with the temperature, and 
still no sign of Tony, or the truck. Most of our extra camping gear was 
in the truck and that included sleeping bags. The nights in Northern 
Utah can be extremely cold and the temp got down to below freezing. We 
had nothing to eat except the snacks that were in our backpacks for the 
hunt. I was so hungry. I kept telling dad I wanted to cut off a leg of 
the deer and cook it over the fire. He wouldn't let me. We tried to 
take turns staying up and keeping the fire going during the night.  It 
was Jim's turn to watch the fire, but he was so cold and sleepy he let 
it go out. Dad woke up and found the fire out and Jim curled up asleep. 
 I was so cold I just wanted to go to sleep. Dad knew that was one of 
the symptoms of hypothermia, which could kill me. He took his coat off 
and put it over me and hugged me real close to him to keep me from 
freezing to death. It was a real rough night. Tony came driving up 
about daybreak the next morning. He was drunk and forgot to come back 
to camp. It took me and Jim both to keep dad from whipping him right 
there on that mountain. The positive side to this story is we each got 
a deer that hunting trip. 

In my sophomore year I took driver's education.  From Starksen's
Chevrolet, the school leased a couple 1955 Chevy's. They had standard 
transmissions, “stick shifts on the column”. (Boy, I would like to own 
one of those now)! Anyway, if I could see out of the windshield my feet 
would not reach the pedals. At first, I thought I would not be able to 
take the driver's education class.  Our instructor, Mr. Freeman, went 
to the wood shop teacher and they made some special wooden blocks that 
would fit on the pedals so my feet could reach.  It was an 
embarrassment at first, but, at least I got to pass driver's education. 


When my sister, Jeannie, enrolled as a freshman in high school, I was a
junior. We had one class together that year.  Mr. Howard Most taught 
several classes. I had him for drafting class my sophomore year.  
Jeannie and I took arts and crafts (I believe my memory serves me 
right), and Mr. Most was our instructor.  He was already acquainted 
with me from the previous year.  When he would call roll each day he 
would say,” Nash, the good one”. Then when he got to my name, he would 
say,” Nash, the other one”. 

Mr. Most was good teacher.  We loved to pull pranks on him, and he was a
pretty good sport about the whole thing. We did things, like a bunch of 
us boys picked up his Volkswagen Bug and slid it between two metal 
poles set in concrete. There was only about six inches from the front 
and back of the car to each pole.  It made it impossible for him to 
maneuver out of the parking spot. Of, course, after watching him for a 
time, we lifted his little car out and set it in the parking lot. 

If we brought candy, or gum to class, he would let us eat it. The only
rule was each time we took a piece of gum, or candy, we had give him 
the same amount. Larry, Terry, and I each had classes with Mr. Most. 
They were all different periods. We each took a Chiclets gum box and 
filled it with Feenamint, a gum laxative which looks just like the 
Chiclets gum. I think you get the idea of what happened next. We each 
chewed a box of Chiclets, and Mr. Most chewed three boxes of Feenamint. 
The next day I asked,” What's wrong, Mr. Most, you look tired?” He 
replied,” I think I have the stomach flu. I have been on the pot all 
night!” We never confessed our practical joke to him. After all, we 
needed the class credit. 

I graduated from high school in June, 1958.  College, at that time,
wasn't thought about by our family. I was the second child to ever 
graduate from high school in the history of both mom and dad's family. 
Gerald Nash, my cousin, graduated one year ahead of me. In families 
before ours, kids usually didn't go past the 6th, 7th, or 8th grades. 
They left school to work in the fields or take care of the younger 
siblings. That summer I started work full time in construction with 
dad. I did laborer work, and since everything was union, went to 
carpenter's school two nights each week. I completed apprentice school 
and received my journeyman's carpenter certification. 

CHAPTER THREE 

I enlisted in the U.S. Army Friday, November, 13th 1959. I signed up
for, and was guaranteed, the electronics instrument repair school. But 
first I had to learn how to become a soldier. I left the Army induction 
Center in Los Angeles, along with about 50 other kids, on a train bound 
for Fort Ord, California. Fort Ord is a basic training post near the 
Presidio of San Francisco.  I was really looking forward to army life 
until the next morning about 3:00am when all the lights came on and 
some big sergeant was yelling something about our mother's not being 
there to wake you “little darlings” up. He used a lot of other words, 
most of which are not suitable for a, “G rated”, story such as this. 

I didn't mind basic training much.  In fact, I rather enjoyed the
marches. Some of the guys in our platoon had not done much hard labor. 
I had been used to running in the sand and carrying as many pieces of 
lumber I could hold in both arms for over a year, so I was in fairly 
good physical shape. 

After completing basic training, I shipped out to Fort Gordon, Georgia
near Augusta.  Alan Bartow, from Eureka, California, was in my basic 
training platoon.  We were the only two from our unit to be assigned to 
Signal school in Ft. Gordon. Alan and I graduated from electronic 
instrument repair school (military occupation specialty 295.2) on June 
10, 1960. 

We went back to Ft. Ord for further orders.  When orders came down, we
were hoping for a duty station somewhere close to California so we 
could take leave regularly. “Bartow and Nash, Ryukyu Islands!!” Now 
where the hell was that? Alan didn't know, I had never heard of it, so 
we asked a sergeant that had been in the army all our lives where that 
island was. He said,” Beats me boys, I ain't never heard of it either.” 
 We were doomed! I just knew I was going to be spending the next 
two-and half years in a place like Siberia, or some other God-forsaken 
outpost. We were finally informed that we were going to spend the next 
eighteen months on Okinawa, a part of the Ryukyu Island chain. Now that 
we could at least find on the world globe. 

I was supposed to have a short leave after basic training. But, my
school started almost immediately, so I didn't get the leave. I called 
mom and told her that I would have a few days layover until I 
transferred to Okinawa. The next morning I was called to the post 
commander's office. I couldn't figure out why I was being summoned and 
was pretty nervous about the whole thing.  I walked in, saluted, looked 
out of the corner of eye, and there sat mom. She was having coffee and 
donuts with a major in the U.S. Army just like it was an everyday 
thing! She had explained that I didn't get my leave, and if the 
commander would let me have a pass, she would make sure I was back to 
make the trip to Okinawa. He agreed; mom was always pretty persuasive. 
Later she wrote, and received a personal letter from President John F. 
Kennedy. That story comes later. 

I enjoyed the few days I had with the family. I had to take all my
military issue clothes with me in my duffel bag.  Mom spent most of the 
time “tailoring” every item of clothing I had.  My uniforms looked as 
though they were made for me. And, by the time mom got finished with 
them they were just that. I left Fox Field airport going back to Ft. 
Ord on June 19th. It was Father's Day.  Early the next morning I was 
aboard a military air transport (MATS) heading for the Far East. 

I had never been outside of the United States.  It was like going to
another world. Now a MATS (military air transport service) flight is 
not exactly like flying “the friendly skies” first class.  For one 
thing all the seats faced the rear of the plane. Another thing we 
noticed right away that instead of pretty flight attendants, there were 
just guys in Air Force uniforms. And the snacks and service wasn't 
anything to brag about either.  Another thing was the lack of humor 
with those guys. We Army guys tried to be polite when we asked them,” 
Honey, may we have our champagne now?” Oh, well, I guess it was just a 
job to them. To me, it was a real experience.  We made a stop on Wake 
Island and again on Guam. Then it was on to Okinawa. 

We arrived at Naha Air Force base in Okinawa very early the next
morning. It was very hot and humid.  Far different from the Mojave 
desert of Southern California. We boarded an army bus for the short 
ride north on the island we would come to know as the “rock”.  The Army 
Signal Corps we were assigned to was located on the base known as 
Machinato. I was there for two days of orientation before I could get 
out of the barracks, off the post, and walk around in some of the small 
villages.  My post was close to the village of Yafuso -- a very small 
village made up of some of the poorer Okinawa people on the island. 

Okinawa is located on the East China Sea. It is close to the Japan,
Taiwan, and China coasts. Most of Okinawa is on coral reefs. Hence, the 
name “the rock”. But there are some of the most beautiful beaches in 
the Far East located there. The temperature is subtropical. It is very 
hot and humid in the summer months. The temperature in the winters 
never get below 50 degrees F. 

The island of Okinawa is approximately 60 miles from the northern to the
southern tips. The width is an average of 5 miles east to west. 

The village people on Okinawa were very friendly to “G.I.'s”.  Most of
their income  is from products, and services purchased by Military 
personnel. 

The battle of Okinawa in World War II was known as the “bloodiest”
battle of the war.  American military has been a presence in Okinawa 
from 1946 until the  present. 

“Ichariba choodee” is an Okinawan proverb that means “Once we meet and
talk, we are brothers and sisters”. 

Shortly after my arrival at the Signal barracks in, Machinato, I met
Higa, or Mike, as he liked to be called.  Mike was one of the three or 
four “houseboys” for our platoon.  One houseboy had as many as ten 
soldiers to take care of. Since we were working at least a forty hour 
week at the Signal depot, it helped to have the houseboys do laundry, 
(they took it home to the village and washed in the small streams), 
cleaned the barracks, and other chores that would otherwise take up our 
time off duty. The houseboy charged $5.00 per month for his services. 

I remember shortly after Mike had become my houseboy, we had to stand an
Inspector General (I.G.) inspection. Foot lockers, closets, beds, etc. 
had to be just perfect and according to military regulation. If 
anything was not right, we received “gigs”, or points off. That goes in 
the company file and can determine who gets privileges, such as off 
duty passes, etc. I was telling Mike just how I wanted it done. I had a 
good record with inspections and I didn't know if I wanted to trust it 
to an Okinawan civilian.   Finally, Mike said,”Skoshi-san, how long you 
in Army?” I told him about 7 months. He replied,”Skoshi-san no worry, 
Mike be Army houseboy 12 years now. Never get gig on inspection!” 
Needless to say I passed inspection and never worried about Mike 
getting ready for the next ones. 

I must take time to tell about my duties in the Signal Corps. The
“depot” was a very large building that maintained communication devices 
for use in the field.  There we repaired and calibrated radios, 
teletype machines, facsimile (what is now the modern fax) machines, 
etc.  My specific duties were to repair the instruments that were used 
to repair the radios, etc.  We worked on multimeters, tube testers, 
oscilloscopes, signal generators, and stuff like that. I was eventually 
transferred to the RADIAC unit in the depot.  I was the only person 
working in that unit. That helped me make rank faster, but also, 
resulted in two extensions past my 18 months allotted time on “the 
rock”. I worked with radiation sources to repair and calibrate, Geiger 
counters, film badges and dosimeters, used in and around areas that 
contained radiation. It was a much classified, secure facility at that 
time. 

Our barracks were open style for soldiers under the rank of E-4. That
meant private and private first class rank. (After I attained rank 
equivalent to corporal, I had a private room.) We slept on double 
bunks, just the regular army style cots. The bunks were lined up along 
the long outside walls. Each soldier had a locker, and what we called a 
foot locker. Each bunk had mosquito nets, which was very important. The 
mosquitoes on Okinawa sounded like helicopters. Well, maybe that is 
stretching it a bit, but they were pretty big. 

Usually, as soon as we were off duty for the day, had a shower, and chow
at the mess hall, the time was our own. There was television and a pool 
table in the “dayroom”, and one movie theater on the island. The 
enlisted men's club and the NCO club (again for E-4 and above) was a 
popular place to hang out. Then there were always the villages to 
visit. One could find some night clubs, which were actually smaller 
than the clubs on post. Also lots of bars that were called “sake bars” 

I really enjoyed going into the villages. The houses were made of grass
thatched roofs and bamboo. The floors were all rice straw mats. That 
meant you had to take off your shoes when you entered a home. The 
houses were constructed without the use of nails. The Okinawan people 
used wooden pegs to hold the wood together. The reason was the huts 
would sway with the typhoon winds instead of breaking. I will talk more 
of typhoons later. None of the homes had bathrooms, at least not the 
ones I was in. The kitchens consisted of a small “hibachi” that was 
like a portable grill. There were no chairs; we sat on pillows on the 
floor. Tables in the homes were like what we call coffee tables. The 
beds were mattresses made out of feathers, and could be rolled up to 
make more space in the very small one or two rooms. 

The local people were very friendly. I always found it interesting to
see all the open air markets. Some of the Okinawans worked for the 
military at different jobs. But, most of the families worked in rice 
fields, or fished in the China Sea. It wasn't unusual to see mama-sans 
working the fields with little babies strapped on their backs. Even 
little children would carry the younger babies on their back as they 
worked or played. School children all wore the same kind of uniform to 
school. The girls and boys all had short hair because of the extreme 
heat and humidity. I loved the little kids there. They were very 
polite. When I got paid, which was once a month, and about $75.00, I 
would buy candy and give it to the little kids in the neighborhood. I 
have a feeling they looked forward to payday almost as much as I did! 
There would be a bunch of kids following me around town like I was the 
“pied-piper. 

I spent a lot of time with an old papa-san in Yafuso. He spoke very
little English and I spoke even less Okinawan. But we drank beer and 
sake together. We bowed, smiled, nodded a lot and just enjoyed each 
others' company while mama-san made up the Okinawa fried rice dish. 
(She taught me how to make it. Everyone that I have served it to seems 
to like it). 

One thing I might add about going into the villages. If you take a ride
in one of the little “skoshi cabs” make sure your life insurance is 
paid up! 

At the time I was on “the rock” the Vietnam War was just getting
started. We were on full alert a lot of the time. That meant we could 
only go to places on the post, like the barber shop and Post Exchange 
(PX). All leaves and passes were cancelled. Our duffel bags had to be 
packed and we had to be ready to ship out when notified. 

Another type of “alert” was the typhoon alerts.  A typhoon is the same
as a hurricane. In the Atlantic, they are referred to as hurricanes; in 
the Pacific, typhoons. Typhoons are tropical storms with sustained 
winds in excess of 75 mph. Okinawa has several a year. I have seen 
semi-trailer trucks toppled over from the winds. 

When a typhoon alert is issued, we were confined to the barracks and all
bunks had to be moved to the center of the room. There have been times 
when we didn't get the bunks moved, and the wind would break windows 
and send slivers of glass that cut through the mosquito nets on the 
beds. 

Life confined to the barracks with twenty other soldiers can get
interesting, to say the least.  We found ways to amuse ourselves, and 
escape boredom. I remember when we had a “basketball tournament”. 
Actually it was a big wad of newspaper wrapped with masking tape. We 
marked off the free throw line and used a round trash can for the 
basket. Someone would keep score of the points made by each player. You 
would not believe how serious we took the game. Somebody would always 
holler foul, or cheat, and the fight was on. 

We played cards a lot, mostly poker. Someone had bought an old Honda
50cc motorcycle (who knows when). Whenever the guy that owned it left 
the island, he would sell, give it away, or as in most cases, lose it 
in a poker game.  That is how I came to be the proud owner. I kept it 
for over a year before I left Okinawa. 

To say we had a cast of colorful characters in our platoon would be an
understatement. 

Probably my best buddy was James “Lucky” Luckett. Lucky was from Bronte,
Texas.  He had been drafted in the Army so he only had a two year 
commitment. Regular army enlistees, like me, had a three year 
enlistment. Lucky and I would go to the post club on Friday and 
Saturday nights. They usually had live music on those nights. Bands 
from the ‘States would come to the island and perform for the troops. 
We especially liked the country music groups. When we went into the 
club, we would get a straw cowboy had and a cigar. And, of course, 
plenty of San Miguel beer. You would have thought we were at “Gilley's” 
in Texas! 

Lucky left Okinawa quite a while before I did. He had become acquainted
with mom and dad by phone and letters. Mom and dad had moved to Las 
Vegas where dad was building houses, so they invited Lucky to stop 
there for a visit before going on to Texas. A couple of days after he 
arrived in ‘Vegas he called me and said, “Hey, Skosh, I am sleeping in 
your nice bed, eating mom's good cookin', and I just wanted to know if 
you wanted me to go by and see your girlfriend too”. Let me tell you I 
could have killed me a Texan.  Seriously, I was glad he was enjoying 
his visit. That visit turned into several months. Dad gave him a job 
and he worked there for some time before going on home to Texas. 

Some of the other guys that come to mind are Dennis Edward Patrick
Mahoney, an Irishman from Brooklyn, New York.  Also, from N.Y was 
Eugene Scardini, an Italian. We called him “Mafia”. On my 21st birthday 
Scardini and some of the other guys treated me to pizza. That was the 
first pizza I had ever tasted. I liked it, and still do. I cannot leave 
out Gladstone (can't remember the first name). Gladstone was the only 
Jewish guy in our outfit. We nicknamed him “Hebrew”.   Now the Jewish 
religion has many holidays.  On the mornings that Hebrew didn't want to 
go to work he would look at his calendar to see if that day was a 
holiday. He would yell,”Hey, Sarge, I can't work today it's my 
holiday”. We found out that the only time he was “religious” was early 
in the mornings. 

Fred Bandy was an ex –marine, that had re-enlisted in the army. He was a
good singer, and guitar player. In fact, he played with George Jones' 
band when they were in the marines. Fred could have been a star, but 
the booze kept getting in the way.  Bandy was “busted” from Corporal 
back to Private so many times, he started putting his stripes on with 
Velcro! 

There are many more of the guys that I could talk about.  Lucky is the
only one that I have kept in touch with over the years.  I called him 
not long ago and we had a nice visit. 

Sports took up a lot of our off duty time.  I became involved with the
boxing team.  I, also, coached our Signal Corps softball team.  One of 
the most interesting things I did was coach an Okinawan boy's football 
team. The kids were 10-12 years old. Most of them knew very little 
English, and, as I said before, my island language was not that good. 
Mike, my houseboy, was our interpreter. 

Before I shipped out to Okinawa, I had become engaged to marry my
girlfriend of two years.  I had given Carol an engagement ring I was 
paying for on monthly installments.  We corresponded on a regular basis 
for several months. Then she stopped writing. A friend of mine still in 
Lancaster wrote me that she was seeing someone else. I couldn't really 
blame Carol, eighteen months is a long time for a young girl to wait on 
a guy half way around the world. But, hey, at least I should have 
received the proverbial “Dear John” letter. I was pretty bummed out 
about it at the time. 

I usually wrote to mom regularly. When my letters were short and spaced
further apart she always knew things were not going well with me.  I 
had been going through a little “down in the dumps period” and wasn't 
aware of the time that had lapsed since I last wrote to her. (I must 
add that mom kept every letter that I wrote her while I was on the 
Army,) One morning, I was summoned to Major Kelm's office. He was the 
Post Commander.  I knew that I had done nothing to be in trouble for, 
and it wasn't time for another promotion. When I reported to him he 
said, “Nash, see that desk and writing paper?” “Yes sir”, I replied. 
Then the major said, “Sit your butt down there and write your mother a 
letter. And I want at least two full pages!”  He told me that he had 
received notice from the Pentagon, who had, received notice from the 
White house staff, who had in turn been ordered by President John F. 
Kennedy, to have a soldier on Okinawa by the name of Kenneth Nash send 
a letter to his mother immediately.  Mom had written to the President 
that she had not heard from me.   I had not been given my leave times 
on schedule, and she wanted to know what was going on over there in 
Okinawa! 

Mom evidently wasn't aware that the army chain of command started at the
bottom. She went directly to the top and worked her way down. But it 
got the desired results. She had a letter from me, and I was granted my 
thirty days leave that was way overdue. 

I received my orders to go back stateside during the Christmas holidays.
I got a “military hop”(which means that I could fly free, if space was 
available, on commercial airlines). I went from Naha Air Force Base to 
Tokyo, Japan; the next leg of the flight was to Anchorage, Alaska. We 
had flown almost half way to Anchorage, and the pilot advised us that 
we were returning to Tokyo! The instrument landing equipment was not 
working and visibility in Anchorage made it impossible to land safely. 
So we ended up back in Tokyo. It was late at night and the airlines put 
us up in the famous Maranuchi Hotel. Now that wasn't half bad. I had 
never been in a place as fancy as that. I am talking room service and 
all!  (For the next five years I was still receiving Christmas cards 
from the hotel because I had been a guest there). 

Early the next morning we were back on the plane to Anchorage. The sun
was just rising as I looked out the window of the plane. There, framed 
in the window, was Mount Fuji, with snow on the top and the sun shining 
so bright above the famous mountain. It was just like the pictures and 
post cards I had seen before, but, in much more splendor! 

When we arrived in Anchorage for a brief stop, I started down the stairs
to the terminal. It was so cold I thought my nose froze!  I had been on 
a tropical island with the lowest temperatures about 50 degrees. 
Anchorage temperature was about 30 below!  I turned around and went 
back into the warm plane. The flight attendant said I could stay on the 
plane, and she brought me some hot chocolate and a blanket. While I was 
on the flight from Anchorage to San Francisco, my first niece, Debra 
Jean Smith, was being born. It was December 15, 1961. 

I hated to leave the family and return to a small island halfway around
the world. But I was in the United States Army, and duty called, so I 
was on my way back to Okinawa. 

Before I leave the saga of Okinawa, I must at least mention “Miki”. 
Mioko, “Miki” was from Osaka, Japan. She was eighteen years old and had 
come to Okinawa to work for the military. I went into the PX to buy 
some personal items, razors, and the like. At the checkout was the 
prettiest girl I thought I had ever seen in my life! Being the shy 
type, I made small talk with her!!  But somehow I found the need to buy 
plenty of razors for the next few days.  Finally, I asked her to go to 
the movie with me. She said no. After a week, or so, I asked her again. 
Still the same answer. That went on for about a month, and then she 
consented to go with me. She wouldn't tell me where she lived, although 
I assumed it was in Yafuso, the neighboring village. 

Later she told me that she didn't want to date “G.I's”. After awhile she
explained the reason.  She had dated a sailor, he promised marriage, 
and she had gotten pregnant.  When she told him, he shipped out without 
telling her. Her opinion of military guys wasn't real high. Well, I 
knew you couldn't trust them “swabbies” anyway. 

It was several weeks before she took me to mama-san's house to see the
baby. Akihito was six months old. He was named after the Emperor of 
Japan, but, since Miki liked American movies, she called him “Buster” 
after Buster Keeton. 

I loved that little guy. It was like having a baby of my own. The guys
in my barracks made him the official mascot of our group. We all had 
some jackets made with our names in English and Okinwan sewn on them. 
So, we got Buster one just like ours. We used to take turns giving him 
rides on that old Honda motorcycle. We would strap him on the seat and 
away we would go. He loved it!  It is hard to imagine, but he would be 
about forty-five years old now! 

Mioko and I shared many good times together. We stood one evening on the
shore of the East China Sea and talked about how terrible it was for so 
many lives to have been lost because of the war (WWII).  She pointed to 
some old wreckage of battle ships, and told me her father was a ship's 
captain, in Japan's Imperial Navy, during the battle of Okinawa. His 
ship was sunk somewhere off the coast we were standing on. He gave his 
life, like thousands of others, for his country. 

Mioko and I were inseparable. We were aware that there would come a time
when my tour of duty there would be over. We never talked about that. I 
am sure she thought about it as I did. Several soldiers had met and 
married Okiawan or Japanese women. 

I was promoted to the rank of E-5 (Spc-5/Sgt.). That was the rank
required for bringing a wife back to the ‘States. 

We were so young, 20 and 21 years old. We never discussed our reasons
for the decisions we made then.  When my orders to return to the U.S. 
came down, Miki said she didn't want to see me get on the ship to 
leave. She and Buster flew back to Osaka, Japan about three weeks 
before I departed Okinawa. I was on my way to Washington D.C; my last 
duty station in the Army. 

Over the years, I have thought of her and Buster. On occasion I wonder
about what path our lives might have taken if we had decided to stay 
together. I like to think that she, too, remembers the moments we 
shared both far away from our homelands.  I believe that, in most 
cases, things happen for the best for all concerned. If I had not made 
the choices I did back then, I would never have known the children and 
grandchildren who may be reading this today. 

Before my duty tour on Okinawa was up, I put in a request to be
stationed somewhere in, or near, California.  I mentioned Utah, Nevada, 
and Arizona. True to form, the Army sent me to Washington D.C. This 
time it wasn't by airplane. I boarded a troop carrier Navy ship. It 
took twenty three days to make the “sea cruise” to San Francisco. I had 
never been on a ship before. This thing had three decks. The upper deck 
was reserved for officers, their families, and civilians employed by 
the government. The middle deck had “their” pets, and navy personnel. 
The army troops were in the lower deck under the water level! And I 
thought barracks life was confining. The Privates and PFC ranks had to 
pull janitorial and painting duty. I supervised the details. My job was 
really boring. Nothing to do except watch them do stuff. It didn't take 
me long to be glad I hadn't joined the Navy. 

Most of the soldiers were getting discharged in San Francisco. I boarded
a plane and flew to Washington D.C.  I arrived there the first part of 
July, 1962. I had four and half months left in the army before 
discharge. I was assigned to the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology 
(AFIP) repairing electronic/medical equipment. AFIP is located next 
door to Walter Reed Army Hospital. My last duty station was probably 
the best I could ask for in the army. I was the only technician 
assigned there. My superior officer was a Lt. Colonel that I met the 
first day I arrived, and did not see again until the week I was 
discharged in November of that year. I had an“off post” housing 
allowance,  meaning that the army paid for an apartment or room and 
board in the city. I didn't have stand “muster”, or roll call, just 
show up at my office and keep the equipment repaired. I had a lot of 
spare time on my hands. I spent way too much time at the NCO club. I 
did get to do some sight-seeing of the many memorials and prominent 
buildings in the D.C. area. 

I rented a room from a policeman and his wife. She cooked meals and I
had use of the laundry facility, bathroom, and television. It was just 
like having a family again. They had a little girl about four years 
old. She was a cute thing. We were “buddies”. She liked to wear my army 
hat. We would watch cartoons together. 

The only other person that was renting a room at the time was a guy that
worked as a bartender downtown. We shared my alarm clock. I would use 
it to get up about 6:00am then set it for 1:00pm and take it to his 
room. He worked afternoons and nights, so he would use it and set it to 
wake me up the next morning. This part of the story has a tragic 
ending. I found him in his room one morning. He had committed suicide. 
I knew he had been depressed for several weeks due to a failed 
marriage. It was a shock to us. 

It was while I was stationed there, the crisis concerning the Soviet
missiles in Cuba was making the headlines.  I remember the day that 
President Kennedy called the “military alert” and it looked like we 
would go to war. It was about three weeks before I was scheduled for 
discharge.  If it had not been resolved, I would be looking at another 
extension of service. I can only recall that my thoughts were, “this is 
what I signed up for and, if that is what happens, I am ready to do 
what the Commander-in-Chief orders.” Fortunately, Khrushchev backed 
down and I was discharged November 13, 1962.  Before I signed the 
discharge papers the army offered me the rank of E-6 (almost unheard of 
in three years of regular military duty) and a thousand dollar 
re-enlistment bonus. But, I had received only one regular leave and 
missed my family, so I declined their gracious offer and became a 
civilian again. 

CHAPTER FOUR 

Civilian life! Now what?  I wasn't sure, but I couldn't wait to get
started! 

After being discharged I took a passenger train to Greeley, Colorado. I
had not seen my natural father since I graduated in 1958. He had left 
Farr Farms and was working at the Weld County Livestock Auction in 
Greeley. I may have mentioned that dad had a problem with drinking ever 
since I could remember. Jeannie had written me when I was in Okinawa 
that dad had stopped drinking and joined Alcoholic's Anonymous. That 
was in September, 1960. (He never took another drink after that and dad 
passed away February, 1996). I arrived in Greeley, and Shirley came to 
get me at the train depot. That was the last time I rode on a train. 
That night when dad got home from work he said, “Come on, Buddy, let's 
go to a meeting.”  I thought dad had everyone fooled about them AA 
meetings. As far back as I could remember anytime dad went to town it 
was to get something to drink. By that time I was old enough to drink 
legally. So I just knew we were going to have a few drinks together. To 
my surprise, we passed all the bars and went to an AA meeting. I didn't 
know anything about Alcoholic's Anonymous at that time. I just supposed 
it was some kind of secret club. I even envisioned something like the 
KKK. That “anonymous” thing had me baffled. Later, when I told dad 
about that we had a good laugh. 

I met Betty at the truckstop café across the street from where dad
worked. We dated a few times and got engaged. She was about to turn 
eighteen in a couple months. I was rushing right back into civilian 
life alright! Our plan was for me to go to Las Vegas, get a job, and 
then, when she reached her eighteenth birthday, she would join me in 
the bliss of happy matrimony. 

I went to ‘Vegas and was hired by the General Telephone Company. I
installed telephones. Learned to climb poles and everything. It was a 
good entry level income job. I rented a cute little one bedroom 
bungalow-type house in North Las Vegas near where mom and dad Larley 
lived. I was twenty-two at the time. 

During this time, my brother Jim had decided he was going to go into the
Navy, but first he wanted to visit sister Jeannie in Oklahoma where she 
and Ronnie were living. 

While he was there he met a girl by the name of Ruby Newberry. Ruby had
a son, Terry, about two years old.  Ruby was divorced, so, Jim told her 
if she came back with him to Las Vegas he would introduce her to his 
older brother, whom he just knew she would like. So, she, baby Terry, 
and Jim, all came to Las Vegas. Well, Ruby did like me. And since she 
was so cute, I liked her too. We decided to get married. I didn't know 
how to tell her about Betty, and knew even less how to tell Betty about 
Ruby. I read something years later about the, “the tangled webs we 
weave” and understood it perfectly. 

As it turned out, Betty did arrive and I told her about Ruby and said I
would pay her way back to Colorado if that is what she wanted. She said 
she wanted to stay in ‘Vegas.  Somehow, I believe she was relieved that 
we weren't getting married. A few months after Ruby and I were married, 
Betty came by our house. She was driving a brand new Cadillac, or 
Lincoln (can't remember which). I asked her where she got the new car.  
She told me it was her husband's. She had married the wealthiest 
General Contractor in the Las Vegas area. I was happy for her. Guess 
she got her part of the web untangled okay. 

I was happy to have Terry there. He was such a cute little fellow. Kids
are so funny at that age. I remember one Easter we got him a live 
bunny. I put Terry to bed and the bunny in a box with a towel over it. 
We were going to surprise him on Easter morning. During the night he 
woke me up to take him to the bathroom. About the time we passed the 
box the little bunny poked its head out from under the towel. I hoped 
Terry didn't see it, or at least, forgot about it. The next morning, 
before we gave him the “present”, he came running into the kitchen all 
excited and said, “Daddy, last night I dreamed I saw a ‘rooster bunny' 
in my eyes”. 

Mom and dad Larley had moved back to Lancaster, California. We would try
to visit them when we could. At that time, we had an old Volkswagen 
bug. One New Years eve we started out to Lancaster. It was about a 3 ½ 
- 4 hour drive. I decided to take a short cut. We got way out in the 
desert away from any service stations or houses. The little bug 
sputtered a couple times, so I turned the lever to the secondary gas 
tank. It continued to sputter, and then Ruby told me she had already 
used gas in that tank. She forgot to tell me when we left ‘Vegas. We 
were stuck in the boondocks of the Mojave Desert. What a way to spend 
New Years eve! A man came by in a pickup with 5 gallons of gas. He sold 
me the five gallons for $5.00. I had to get it but I told him that he 
was a highway robber. A dollar a gallon for gasoline! (I wish I could 
get a gallon now for just a buck.) I think it was about 28 cents then. 

We moved to Lancaster a short time later and I went to work for my Uncle
Boe at his service station and garage. As I mentioned before, he was a 
good automobile mechanic. He taught me a lot about auto repairs, and 
how to run a service station. I enjoyed working with him. He would get 
frustrated at me because when I changed out a part I would sometimes 
tighten the bolts too tight. On several occasions he had to drill out 
the bolts I broke off. I love Uncle Boe. He sure had a lot of patience 
with me. Aunt Bea and Uncle Boe have two children, Georgetta, and Roy 
Eugene. Georgetta married Leroy Goodman, her high school sweetheart, in 
1968. They are still married and live in Eldorado, Arkansas. Eugene (he 
goes by Roy now) was such a funny little guy. I could write a chapter 
on him. One year, when he was six or seven, it was just a few days 
until Christmas. I asked him if he still believed in Santa Clause. He 
said, “Yes, but this is my last year!” I guess he wasn't taking any 
chances since it was so close to Christmas. 

I had not met Ruby's family yet. Toy and Rosie McClelland had two
children younger than Ruby. Linda and Jimmy were about 14 and 12.  The 
McClelland family followed the fruit harvests sometimes. The year after 
we moved to Lancaster Toy, Rosie, and the kids were going to be up in 
central California picking cherries. They had a pickup with a camper 
and tents. Ruby, Terry and I would go up on the weekends to see them. I 
had never picked cherries before. But, we made enough money to pay for 
our trip, even, after we ate about as many cherries as we picked. We 
made several trips in that old Volkswagen bug. Going up the hills 
everyone would pass us and going down the hills we would pass everyone. 


Ruby was pregnant with our first child. Terry was so happy he was going
to have a little brother or sister. They couldn't determine the sex of 
a baby then as they can now. Ruby carried the baby without 
complications right up until the last month and Johnny Paul died just 
before he was born. That was such a hard time for all of us. My 
firstborn son would have been forty years old this year. Shortly after 
the loss of our baby, I went through a period of depression, such as I 
had not known to that time.  A friend of mine, Ernie McBride, had a 
Datsun dealership in Lancaster. He came by the old Signal gas station 
that Uncle Boe owned. He was going to Long Beach to pick up a new 
Datsun pickup. He wanted me to go and drive it back. He said the trip 
would be good for me and Uncle Boe agreed. The little pickup was the 
first one in the Lancaster area. It was a 1966 model, bright red, and 
had 40 miles on it when I drove it back to Lancaster. I fell in love 
with it, but I knew I couldn't afford a brand new truck. A couple days 
later Ernie came by with the little red Datsun. He said he wanted to 
sell me the truck. I told him to stop teasing me about that. He tossed 
me the keys, said to bring him the title to the old Volkswagen, and 
sign the contract. I couldn't believe it! The contract total was 
$1,666.00 (that included a custom-built camper shell for it). My 
payments were $66.00 a month. Just parking it out front of the station 
probably sold several  Datsun pickups for Ernie.  I finally sold that 
truck to my uncle years later. I think he still has it on his farm in 
El Dorado, Arkansas. 

It was 1966 that Ruby, Terry, and I moved to Colorado. The U-haul
trailer that we rented was packed. I didn't know if that little Datsun 
truck would pull it over the Rocky Mountains. But we made the trip 
okay, and stayed with Daddy Paul and Shirley until we found a place to 
rent. I went to work for a Datsun/Volvo dealership in LaSalle, a few 
miles from Greeley. We moved into a small rental house and began to pay 
off bills and save some money. 

Shortly after we got our own place, I bought a baby pot-bellied pig. We
didn't have a dog, so I made a pet out of the little pot-bellied pig. 
Terry and I liked the idea. Ruby wasn't so fond of a pig in the house. 
That little pig would try to run on the tile floor and slip and slide. 
It was a lot of fun to play with. 

My goal was to lease a service station and go into business for myself.
Daddy Paul helped me get enough money to open an Enco station. I drove 
to Denver, which was 52 miles from Greeley, every day for two weeks for 
service station management school. Colorado had a mandatory state 
inspection for vehicles.  I applied for a license to inspect and issue 
inspection tags.  The inspections proved to be very profitable and 
brought in more income for the station.  The mechanical work, brakes, 
exhaust, etc., brought in more income the gas sales, tires, batteries, 
etc.   I was grateful that Uncle Boe had trained me to do this type of 
work and for the experience he gave me by letting me work with him. 

Ruby had gone to work at a nursing home and was taking classes for her
Nurses Assistant certification.  We needed two cars and I found a nice 
Chevrolet Chevelle for her. She loved that car. It was really pretty. I 
was keeping long hours at the station, and keeping employees that would 
work, and not steal from the till was not easy.  Ruby and I began to 
have problems in our marriage. The last couple years had been hard for 
both of us. She wanted to go back to her home in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. 
It was getting too hard to keep up with the station and have family 
problems too, so I sold the station, and we moved back to Oklahoma. Her 
father had found an old farmhouse outside of Tahlequah and we were 
waiting until some repairs were completed. We had moved in with her 
folks. Ruby had a lot of friends there. It was the place she was born 
and raised in. Since we were not getting along that well, she spent 
more time with her friends.  I really felt left out and lonely. Looking 
back now, it seems trivial, but at the time it wasn't so funny. One 
Friday Jimmy, Ruby's brother, asked me to take a big pig to the auction 
for him. I put the pig in the back of my truck in the camper. Before I 
left for the sale barn, Ruby and I got into another one of our 
arguments. She had some friends with her in her Chevelle, and tried to 
get away from me. I was so angry. I chased them around those winding 
mountain roads. Of course, she knew the roads better than me and I 
couldn't catch them. I sure did give Jimmy's pig the ride of his life! 
I had completely forgotten about him being back there. I went into 
Tulsa that night and started drinking to “forget my troubles”.  Yeah 
right!! I spent the night at a hotel and got up the next morning, went 
to a café to eat, and got into a fight with a big Indian guy. I don't 
know what I was thinking! The short story is he pushed me down and I 
hit my chin on the curb. It messed up my face pretty bad, separating my 
chin muscles, so I couldn't eat anything; had to drink from a straw. I 
was still bleeding when I got back to Tahlequah.  I made up my mind 
that I was not going to stay in Oklahoma one more day.  I had $40.00.  
So, I filled up the tank on that little red Datsun and headed for 
California. That was a rough trip. I drove straight through without 
sleeping. 

I had done another crazy thing a few days before. Ruby and one of her
friends were “bleaching” their hair, so I decided to do mine too. Back 
in those days my hair was real black, not the mature, distinguished 
gray that it is now (just kidding about the distinguished part!!). Well 
the result was it turned my hair a bright orange. 

I stopped somewhere in New Mexico early in the morning for coffee, which
I had to drink through a straw because of the injuries to my chin and 
jaw. There was a pretty little waitress that served me. She asked me 
where I was traveling to. She said she had never been to California. 
So, I asked her if she wanted to go. She took a long look at my messed 
up face, orange hair, and black beard. And then she replied, “Yes I 
would like to go California, but not with you”!  In retrospect, I can 
certainly understand her reasoning. 

When I arrived in Lancaster, mom was glad to see me. She didn't say much
about my appearance. But, she wanted me to go to the doctor about my 
chin injuries. I didn't go and everything healed up just fine. 

A few days later Ruby called and wanted to know if I was coming back to
Oklahoma. I told her I wasn't. She said, “At least you can make the 
payments on the car”. I tried to explain to her that since I wasn't 
there to drive it, someone else could pay for it. I have never heard 
from Ruby again. I have talked with her mom several times over the 
years. 

That first marriage was one of several to follow. When I started writing
this autobiography, I wasn't sure how I was going to write about the 
relationships that have ended.  I have been fortunate to have spouses 
that were, and are, good women. I don't want to say anything unkind 
about anyone.  In separation and divorces, emotions run rampant at 
times, and I recognize there have been mistakes made by all concerned. 
At this point in my life I can say, with sincerity, that through it 
all, the mothers of my children and I have remained friends. 

By the time I had returned to Lancaster, I had accumulated some debts
from the station and everything. The bill collectors were driving me 
crazy and I didn't have the money to pay them. As bad as I despised 
doing it, I decided to file bankruptcy. I didn't have the money for a 
lawyer, so, I went to the library, studied up on the subject, went to 
the court house to get the forms and did it myself. It came out okay. 
The bill collectors weren't happy, but I was getting more sleep at 
night. I was not even thirty years old at the time. 

Everyone was talking about how to make money in real estate in those
days.  I wanted to take the real estate course and get my license. As I 
said before, I didn't have the funds to enroll in a school. So, again 
to the public library I went. I checked out books on real estate 
courses, tests, etc. When I went to Los Angeles to take my test, I 
missed passing by one point.  I never went back for a re-test! I have 
done many unintelligent things in my life and that ranks near the top. 
I could have passed the test and, perhaps had a career in a profitable 
field. 

A few months after I had been in Lancaster I met Johnnie Indiveri. I was
really surprised to see her! While I was living in Las Vegas, Johnnie 
was working as a dancer at one of the casinos. I was out with a couple 
of guys I worked with, and I jokingly said,” See the third girl from 
the left? I am going to get a date with her”. Well, sure enough, we did 
go out a couple times. I had not seen Johnnie for several years. She 
was divorced, as was I, so we started seeing each other again. The 
night we met, after so many years, was at a dance hosted by the Arid 
Club in Lancaster. I made a date with her for the next day which was 
Sunday. I was so excited about seeing her again that I forgot I didn't 
have a vehicle at that time. I worked for Ernie McBride at his used car 
place, so he let me use one off the lot. I chose a white Chevy 
convertible. We began to spend all our time together. We both liked to 
go dancing. She was a great dancer. 

When she was a child, she received a head injury from a diving accident
that caused epileptic symptoms, and was on a lot of medication. The 
problem she had, and the medications she took, caused severe bouts of 
depression.  Johnnie had just gotten out of the hospital when we met. 
Her children, Christine and Carmella (twins) were five years old at the 
time. Also, there was little Ricky, age three. The children were in a 
foster home in Littlerock, near Lancaster. We visited them every week 
and, finally, were able to bring them home with us on the weekends. 

They loved to ride in that convertible that we had bought from Ernie.
The twins loved to play tricks on me. Since they were identical twins, 
the only way I could tell them apart was Carmella had a small cataract 
on her left eye. It looked like a little star. She had surgery that 
year to remove it, and then I really couldn't tell who was who! They 
sure liked to confuse me. I would call Christine, and Carmella would 
come. Then they would reverse the procedure. (Johnnie could always tell 
them apart). We would dress them in different color shirts so I could 
identify them, so they would change shirts. I loved the kids and we had 
a lot of fun with them. 

The foster mother was an old black lady named Mrs. Thomason.  She and
her husband had been caring for foster children for over forty years. 
They had adopted several. On one afternoon, she was showing us pictures 
of her adopted kids. I recognized a gentleman that had been my health 
teacher when I was a sophomore. Mr. and Mrs. Thomason had adopted him 
when he was just an infant, sent him through college, and he was the 
first black teacher at Antelope Valley High. She was so proud of him. 
They were very special people, and loved the kids very much. 

Johnnie had to go back in the hospital several times that year. Her
former husband applied for, and received custody of the three children. 
They moved up to Central California. The courts' decision was 
devastating for Johnnie, then, just a few weeks later, we learned she 
was pregnant. 

Shanneen Paulette Nash, the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, was
born July 11, 1969. She looked so much like her mother, and still does 
to this day. I remember after I came home from the hospital, the next 
morning, I used mom's typewriter and wrote my newborn baby her first 
letter. I think it is still in her baby book 

After Shanneen was born, Johnnie remained in the hospital for a couple
weeks. Mom would take care of Shanneen during the day and I would take 
her home with me each evening after I got off work. That was an 
experience.  It was my first time to care for a newborn.  I was afraid 
to let her stay in the nursery we had fixed up for her. I moved her 
bassinet near my bed. I must have got up ten times a night to see if 
she was breathing okay! She was such a good baby, and so, my lack of 
sleep was my fault. When we were in the car on the way to mom's in the 
morning, I would talk to her and tell her how much I loved her and that 
I would always be there for her. Just like she could understand every 
word I said. There have been times since then that I could not “be 
there” for her. I think that is the case with all my kids. But, it is 
not because I wanted it that way. 

Johnnie and I decided to move to Arkansas in December of 1969. Shanneen
was 6 months old. Before I tell you about our move, let me regress 
some. 

Before her birth, I was drinking. There are things you will read about
concerning my drinking bouts that I am not proud of. But, they are 
facts of events that happened in my life. I feel I need to be truthful 
about the bad as well as the good times.  Many of the events are 
humorous, while others are tragic. 

One day I had been to the bar and met Carl Lumpkins. I liked country
music, and Johnnie barely tolerated it. Now, she liked R&B, jazz, and 
was absolutely crazy about Harry Bellefonte. As it happened, Carl came 
into the bar with an old guitar and began singing country songs. I knew 
many of them, and as the evening progressed, and the beer flowed, we 
sang every song we knew. He had just come from Missouri and had no 
place to stay, so I invited him home with me. When we got home, I told 
Johnnie how well Carl could play the guitar and sing. Well, as penalty 
for my absence, she had saved a sink full of dirty dishes. Her comment 
concerning the “talent” that I had discovered was,” Take his butt in 
the kitchen and see if he can wash dishes as well as he can sing”.  She 
had a knack for getting right to the point. Carl stayed in Lancaster 
and worked with Dad Larley for awhile. He is now living in Neosho, 
Missouri. I have called him a couple times. 

During some of my irresponsible days before meeting up with Johnnie, I
had accumulated several speeding tickets that I failed to take care of. 
 Consequently, I was arrested and spent some time in Los Angeles' 
famous “gray-bar motel”. The day I got out, I asked Johnnie if she 
wanted to go to Arkansas. Without any questions she said, “Sure”, and 
she got up and started packing. We told mom and dad, and they said we 
would be back in a couple months. It was almost twenty years before I 
went back to California, except for brief vacations! 

The Greyhound bus ride to Arkansas with a little six month old baby was
quite a trip. Johnnie and I would take turns feeding her and changing 
diapers.  We arrived in Little Rock and went to Granny Larley and Uncle 
Leon's home. 

Granny was Dad Larley's mom and Leon, his brother. They are both
deceased now.  They both fell in love with Shanneen. Both of them 
called her “my baby”.  She had heard them call her that so much she 
thought that was her name. As she was cutting her little teeth, sitting 
in her high chair, she bit her tongue. All of a sudden she puckered up 
her face to cry and said, “I bite my baby”! There are so many things 
that come to mind as I think about her early childhood. She loved green 
beans, and called them “bean beans”. There are many other amusing 
incidents concerning my first living child, but for the sake of 
continuity, I will talk about them in a later time frame. 

Granny lived in North Little Rock. The Arkansas River was near and I
enjoyed watching the ships and fishing boats float by. I liked the big 
trees and green grass. We had lived in the desert for so long where we 
had to water our lawns everyday. Arkansas was so green and I loved it. 
I wouldn't even pull up a weed if it was green. I got over that and 
have had my share of weed pulling. 

Granny attended the Church of God. The preacher came to visit each week.
Of course, he would invite Johnnie and me to church. Granny wanted us 
to go with her. Leon didn't attend at the time; he owned Sportsman's 
Repair Center in North Little Rock. It was a good business; he spent 
lot of hours there, so on the weekends he was usually at the lake 
fishing or in the woods hunting.  I bought a used Dodge car and to 
prevent Pastor Davis from having to drive across town to get granny, we 
started going to church with her. I will never forget the first Sunday 
morning we attended. Granny always sat in the second pew from the 
front, so we sat down beside her. ] Johnnie had never been to a 
Pentecostal church. Brother Davis is a good preacher, and like many 
Pentecostal preachers, he is very animated, and tends to speak quite 
loud.  About half way through the service, Johnnie said, “Why is he 
yelling? We are sitting right here in front of him!” After church, the 
Pastor asked her,” Did you enjoy the service, young lady?” She 
answered,” Yes, but I'm not deaf -- you didn't have to yell!” Brother 
Davis just gave her that smile as only he can do. She really learned to 
like him. She, also, wanted to go back each service. One Sunday night 
after the preaching and people were at the altar praying, Johnnie got 
up and went down and accepted the Lord into her life. 

Johnnie and I were very much in love. But, we had our troubled times
too. As I said before, she suffered from serious depression at times. I 
tried to understand, but at times, it was very trying for both of us. 

We moved into a small house on Frank Street a few blocks from granny and
Leon. I was working for Heritage Printing, running a mailing machine. 
We had to work nights quite often. Johnnie had not been feeling well 
for a few days and granny was keeping the baby. One night granny felt 
anxious about Johnnie. We didn't have a phone, so she called Brother 
Davis and asked if he would go by and check on her. There was no 
response when he knocked on the door. So after several minutes, he went 
on into the house. There, he found Johnnie. He called granny, the 
authorities and me. The examiner's report was that she had apparently 
had a grand mal seizure that took her life. 

It is difficult to fully explain my feelings at that tragic point in my
life. I felt lost, alone, and I missed my wife so very much. I was 
really afraid. How would I care for a little seven months old baby girl 
by myself?  I had granny, but, still she was my responsibility. I was 
angry because Johnnie had not taken her medication regularly. I was mad 
at God for taking her. After all just a little over five years earlier 
He took my baby son, and now my wife. 

Brother and Sister Davis really helped me during those dark days, weeks,
and months. 

CHAPTER FIVE 

After much praying and direction by granny, I went back to church. In my
own way, slowly, I began to seek God's help and guidance for my life. 

Although I had just turned thirty years old, Brother Davis and granny
encouraged me to get involved in the youth group at the church. There 
were quite a few young people, with several from the Air Force base 
nearby. We formed a Pioneer's For Christ (PFC) club.  Brenda, Pastor 
and Sister Davis' daughter, was the leader. I helped her start a church 
newsletter and library. We had social activities, such as picnics, 
hikes, and pizza parties, in addition to our work in the church. It 
helped me pass the time on my days off work. 

Wednesday nights were designated “youth night”, and Brother Davis
encouraged young people to conduct the service. We did Bible quizzes, 
skits, etc. 

The times I wasn't working, or at the church, I was reading the Bible. I
cannot explain how after not ever reading the Bible, I became so eager 
to learn from it. There were so many things that I didn't understand.  
I would ask granny, pastor, and Sister Davis dozens of questions. Also, 
I found out the more I prayed and read the Bible, the more I could 
comprehend it. 

Every other month a district youth meeting was attended by all the
churches from our area.  Brother Davis, at that time, was District 
Youth Pastor. He asked me if I would get the “devotions”, as he called 
it. I really didn't want to do it because I knew so little about the 
Bible. But, after much prodding from him and granny, I consented. Well, 
I had about two weeks advance notice and figured I could come up with 
something.  I studied way into the night each night for the next two 
weeks. The day before I was to “speak”, I was so nervous I couldn't 
eat. I had never spoken before a public gathering, much less a 
congregation of five or six churches that knew a lot more about the 
subject than I did! 

I had all my notes, and a topic picked out. I really can't recall much
of what I said that night. I know my title for the “devotion” was in 
the form of the question, Don't Trust Anyone over Thirty?  That was a 
slogan used by many young people at that time. The core of the message 
was that we could trust Jesus and His teachings, even, in this day and 
time. And, He was 32-33 years old when His teachings changed the world, 
and provided salvation to every person that would accept Him. 

That night I began to understand why I had such a desire to learn more
about God's Word. What I thought would be a 10-15 minute devotion 
turned into about a 35-45 minute sermon. I hadn't planned on that, and 
was the most surprised person at the meeting. After the service, each 
pastor said they didn't know I was a “preacher”. Well, I didn't know it 
either!  It is hard to explain to one who has not had that experience. 
I never looked at my “notes” that night. Thoughts and scriptures were 
coming to me faster than I could speak them. I kind of thought God 
should have warned me he was calling me to the ministry, but, in His 
wisdom He knew I wouldn't accept the offer to speak at that youth 
rally. Every pastor invited me to come speak at their youth service. 
This was the beginning of entering the ministry as an evangelist. 

Brenda is Brother and Sister Davis' oldest child. There were four
others, Randy, now a pastor in Stuttgart, Arkansas, Sherry, a pastor's 
wife, Joey, and Scotty, both of whom are deceased now. 

Brenda and I started spending more time together, though she was much
younger than me. She is twelve years younger in fact.  After she 
graduated high school, she went to St. Louis to visit her aunt and 
possibly stay and get a job. I was still working for the printing 
service, and getting invitations to preach on occasion. 

That summer, I think it was August; the Church of God had their
International General Assembly in St. Louis. I wanted to attend and had 
saved up enough money to go, but, I couldn't get the few days off work. 
I had seen Brother Davis' Thompson Chain Bible and wanted one. I didn't 
have enough money for both and since I couldn't go to General Assembly, 
I bought the Bible. The next day my boss told me I could have the days 
off!  If I had known earlier I would have ridden with the Davis'. I 
told granny, she told Uncle Leon, and he gave me gas and expense money 
to drive to St. Louis.  Brenda and I went to a Cardinal's baseball game 
while we were there, and attended all of the General Assembly sessions. 


We decided we didn't want to be apart, and she told her Dad she was
coming back to Little Rock.  We were making plans to be married, 
although she had promised herself she would never marry a preacher.  
She had been a “preacher's kid” since she was just a baby.  We didn't 
want anyone to know we were planning a wedding until we had all the the 
details worked out.  Brenda loved Shanneen. We took her everywhere we 
went.  Brenda, in the excitement of our upcoming marriage, kept telling 
Shanneen she was going to be her Mommy.  One Sunday morning at church, 
Shanneen (then a little 15 month old) saw Brenda and ran to her saying, 
“Mommy, Mommy”! There went our secret wedding plans! 

We were married October 23rd that year. For a few months, we rented a
small house in North Little Rock and then moved into a mobile home 
owned by Brother Pace, a retired minister, in the church. 

When I think of Brother Pace being retired a funny story comes to mind.
Randy, Brenda's brother, was about 11 or 12. A man came by the church 
and asked if the pastor was there. Randy said his dad was the pastor 
and was working. And then he said if you need to talk to a minister we 
have a retarded minister in our church and he just lives around the 
corner. 

The little trailer we lived in had one bedroom and a little “nook” off
the hallway. We made Shanneen's “bedroom” in that. We eventually bought 
the trailer from Brother Pace. 

One day I picked up a “hitch-hiker” (it was safer to do that in those
days than it is now). I was just going across town, but, the young man 
told me he was going back to the Midwest somewhere (I cannot remember 
the state). He said he had to get home due to an illness in his family. 
I was sad for him, bought him a bus ticket, and gave him some cash. It 
was all the cash I had. He said he would send me the money when he got 
to his destination. I was unconvinced that I would get repayment, but 
nonetheless, gave him our address. 

Months later, as usual, Brenda and I were faced with too much month at
the end of the money. We had a utility shut off notice, and I didn't 
want to go to her parents and borrow money. We didn't know how we were 
going to get the money. When Brenda went to the mailbox that very day, 
there was a money order from the young hitch-hiker we had helped. Not 
only did he send the entire loan, but added $20.00 along with it. The 
amazing thing is the sum was, almost to the penny, the amount of the 
utility bill.  That was just one of the many incidents yet to come that 
proved God would provide if we tried to do what we thought was right. 

One weekend Brenda and I wanted to get away for a couple days. Uncle
Leon had a deer camp with an old cabin out in the woods. It was located 
several miles off the highway on a dirt lane. So, we packed up our 
camping gear, got directions from him and were ready for an adventure. 

Leon warned us if it even looked like it was going to rain to get out to
the highway so we wouldn't be stuck there.  Well, we had quite an 
adventure! And, it was fun for the most part. I had brought some pinto 
beans I wanted to cook. Now I cannot remember ever cooking beans 
before. It looked easy when granny did it. I wasn't aware that the 
things swelled up as they were boiling. I love to cook now, but, I had 
much to learn about it back then.  Brenda took a nap and I began my 
“chef duties”. I filled big pot full of dried beans and, kept adding 
water, while searching for more pots, as the beans seemed to 
“multiply”. When she woke up I had enough beans to feed a small army! 

We went to bed, and early the next morning awoke to thunder, lightning,
and a heavy downfall of rain. We, quickly, put our gear in the trunk 
while being soaked from the rain. It was only after we started to drive 
off that I realized we had a flat tire. We got out in the storm, 
changed the tire, and slipped and slid through mud and water to the 
highway. The adventure was not over. We were about five miles from the 
nearest service station when the spare tire blew out!  It was still 
storming, and we slept in the car until daylight.  Then we got another 
tire, and were on our way home.  Life was good, and besides, we had 
plenty of beans to eat!! 

Daddy Paul and Shirley bought a house in Casper, Wyoming. Dad did a lot
of remodeling on it and his pet project was to construct a big garage 
to use as a workshop and keep his old Ford pickup in. I mentioned 
before that he was very active in AA. When the garage was completed he 
wanted to celebrate with a dinner and AA meeting for the people in his 
group. He didn't think about it becoming an annual affair. I think the 
first meeting of what was called “The Nash Bash” was held in June 1970. 
It was so well attended that they decided to do it again the next June. 
Dad called me and asked me if I could be there. Brenda, Shanneen, and I 
made the trip from Arkansas to be with him that year. I signed the 
roster dated June, 1971. 

What started out as the garage meeting turned into, what is now called,
the June Jamboree.  People come from all over the country to attend 
each year, and it is a two day event. 

When Bev and I moved to Casper we had the opportunity to attend the 1997
Jamboree. That was 26 years after I went to the one in 1971. 

The numbers attending are now in the hundreds each June.  Dad, and the
others that helped organize the meeting wanted it to always remain free 
of charge. And it still is to this day! 

I was evangelizing quite a lot at that time. I studied and received my
ministerial license with the Church of God. I wanted to be a pastor, 
and a very small church at Sheridan, Arkansas came available. Brother 
Davis tried to talk me out of taking it. He knew how hard it was to 
support a family on the income from such a small congregation. He had 
been there and done that, so to speak. We went to visit the Sheridan 
church one Sunday. It was about 40-50 miles from Little Rock. There was 
no parsonage at the church, not enough Sunday school rooms, only about 
15 members, and no inside bathroom. But, we moved our trailer into a 
mobile home park in Sheridan. I felt that was what the Lord wanted us 
to do. 

I started contacting folks that used to attend and the membership began
to increase. There was very little income from the church; most of the 
money was used to pay the utility bills. Sheridan is a small town and 
jobs were not abundant. Brenda and I were in town one morning, and, I 
said, “I think I will go to work in that parts store over there”. I 
didn't even know if they needed help or not, but I went in and talked 
to the owner. To my surprise, he said he needed someone to come in on 
Tuesdays and Thursday to put up the parts. I had never worked in an 
auto parts store before. But, I remembered when I was just a kid 
working at the Buick dealership with Uncle Boe, I thought the guy in 
the parts department had the best job. He didn't get all greasy, and 
got to work in a nice cool room! 

Charles Dismuke was the owner of the parts store. What started out a
part time job turned full time. He was paying me a fair wage, and 
teaching me about the auto parts business. Back then we didn't have 
computers. Every part was listed in catalogs on the counter.  I don't 
know how we would have survived if it had not been for Charles. 

Sheridan Auto Parts was open six days a week. And, since I had the
church to attend to, I had Sunday and Mondays off. There were times 
that Charles would give me extra money and tell me to put it toward the 
church bills. He attended the First Baptist Church which was the 
largest church in Sheridan. But, he was always understanding of the 
needs of our small congregation. I learned a lot about the parts 
business, and began to help with the ordering, banking, etc. so Charles 
and his wife, Marie, could take some time off. Charles' mother passed 
away in a hospital at Little Rock. During her illness, Charles spent as 
much time as he could with her. I was working everyday; he would come 
in and sign checks so I could keep the business going. And, he never to 
failed to tell me how much he appreciated me being there to help. About 
ten years later, I went through Sheridan on vacation. I stopped in to 
see him. He said, “Your job is still waiting for you when you get ready 
to come back”. 

Our congregation consisted of people that didn't have a lot of money.
But, they were good country folks, and did the best they could for 
their pastor and his family. I will always appreciate the sacrifices 
made for us. On more than one occasion, we were given groceries by 
members that I knew needed them as badly as we did. 

After various fund-raising projects, we were able to build a bathroom in
the church. We saved enough money to put in a septic tank and Brenda 
and I used the little trailer to make a down payment on a new three 
bedroom mobile home. We moved it onto the church property. It rained so 
much that spring that it was two months before it could be set up for 
use. We only had Shanneen, so, I was able to have a bedroom for my 
office. We used our living room as an extra Sunday school room. 

When we moved to Sheridan, they didn't have a piano player. And, I could
not play the piano, but, I learned how to make a few chords on it. If 
we couldn't sing a song in the key of “C” we didn't sing it! By trial 
and error, much prayer (I think on the congregation's part) and 
practice (my part), I got to where I could play most of the songs in 
the old red hymnal. About a year later, a family started coming that 
could play guitar(s), drums, piano, and sing. I was happy to resign as 
church musician and stick to preaching. 

Shanneen was the Davis' first grandbaby; Brenda and Sister Davis made a
project out of dressing her up in pretty, fancy, little dresses, and 
fixing her hair so cute. Brenda decided we should let her go to a local 
television station in Little Rock and be on the famous “Bozo the Clown 
Show”. Since it was very popular, it took several weeks to get on the 
schedule. We were really looking forward to seeing our beautiful girl 
in the audience of children watching Bozo entertain them. It was a 
custom for him to try and get the kids “hyped up” before air time by 
interviewing each one. He would try to make them laugh, and feel 
comfortable before the cameras. We watched as he went from child to 
child, and had them all smiling.  Then, he got to Shanneen. She had 
that “dead pan” expression on her sweet little face, as she often did 
when she met a stranger.  He said something to the effect of, “Are you 
excited to see Bozo, little girl?” She said, “No! ‘Cause you ain't 
really real!” And, as if that wasn't enough injury to the world famous 
“clown”, she reached up and pulled the big red nose he had fastened to 
his painted face with an elastic string! She didn't want anything to do 
with Bozo or his show. So, after weeks of anticipation, a trip to 
Little Rock, and the wait at the TV station, we took her home.  She 
was, and remains, full of surprises! 

Brenda and I wanted to have another baby. There were several times that
we had our hopes up and were disappointed. We went to the doctor and 
had tests performed and everything seemed to be normal. Shanneen was 4 
½ and she wanted a baby brother or sister, too. 

Granny called Brenda and told her a lady that she was acquainted with
needed someone to care for a newborn baby. We discussed it and 
consented to give it a try. The lady brought the baby to us and said 
there was enough formula, diapers and all the other “baby stuff” for a 
week. Well, as it happened, we didn't hear from her again for about 
three weeks. 

Shane was about 3-4 weeks old when he came to stay with us. He was the
cutest little; chubby, baby I had ever seen.  He had bright red hair. I 
couldn't wait until I got home from work to play with him. I knew we 
were getting too emotionally involved with Shane. After all, his 
grandmother might come and take him away at any time. We wanted to 
adopt him, but was reluctant to mention it when the grandmother, 
finally, did call to find out about him. We had been praying that 
something would happen, and we could keep him with us. When Mrs. Mathis 
did call, the first thing she said was, they couldn't keep the baby, 
and would we consider adoption?  It was like a dream come true. I 
called the city attorney. He got all the legal documents in order, they 
were signed, and then the judge approved the adoption. 

Shane Matthew Mathis, born May 8, 1974, became Kenneth Shane Nash, with
a new birth certificate to verify it. He was less than three months old 
at the time, and went with us to Dallas, Texas for the General Assembly 
in August. We were so proud of him. I will tell you more about Shane 
and some of the laughs he provided us with. 

Several incidents concerning the church services come to mind, one of
which I want to share with you. It was a Sunday evening service. After 
the singing, prayer requests, etc., I went to the pulpit to bring the 
Sunday night message. I gave the scripture setting, and all the lights 
in the church went out. Our church was out in the country without 
street lights. It was total darkness. I couldn't see my hand in front 
of my face. I thought, “Now one of several things must have happened. 
Someone hit a power pole; Sister Evelyn didn't send in the electric 
bill, or, I went blind as a bat!” I had memorized the scripture 
reading, so I just continued on with the sermon. I figured if I missed 
a word, (and I wasn't blind), no one else could read it either. A 
couple of the men opened the front door of the little church, pulled 
their trucks up close, and provided light for our service. I am sure 
this wasn't exactly what God had in mind when He said,” Let there be 
light”. But, it proved to be a memorable experience for our 
congregation. 

An elderly gentleman, always in attendance, was Brother Young. We
referred to him as old Brother Young. As was his custom, for the 
greater part of his eighty-plus years, he was in bed by 7:00pm. That 
is, except on nights we had church. And, he rose early in the morning, 
around 4:00am. His sleep schedule was no concern of mine except each 
morning about 4:30 when he would wake me. He always said, “Pastor, it 
being as late as it is, I figured you would be up”.  I didn't want to 
be rude and tell him that I didn't go to work for another 2 1/2 hours. 
After this went on for about a month, I began to call him about 9:00 
every night. I would say, “Brother Young, I just wanted to call you 
before it gets too late, to see how your day went”. It only took a few 
calls, and I think he got the inspiration to come by the parts store 
and visit, instead of telephoning so early in the a.m.  Brother Young 
sold roasted peanuts. He would bring Charles and me a bag of hot, fresh 
peanuts every morning. I loved that old man. He was a good Bible 
teacher, and a wonderful friend to our family. 

Thomas and Lilly Long were good friends also. This young couple had
three children, Ruthie, Daniel, and Barbara. Thomas worked in logging 
near Sheridan. He had a new Dodge pickup, and would come early every 
service to help bring people to church that had no vehicle. That was 
about 75% of them. The old Plymouth car that Brenda and I drove was 
worn out by the time we moved from Sheridan, as most of the people 
lived a good ways out in the country on roads that was less than 
desirable for travel. 

Despite the poor financial situation of our church, it continued to
grow.  God blessed the few that stuck it out, visited new members, and 
contributed what they could to that little church. Our membership grew 
to about 30-40, a bathroom was constructed, Sunday school rooms were 
adequate, and there were a good group of young people each service. 

Patsy Harp was one of the young girls in our congregation. She lived way
out in the country, and was the only one from her family to attend our 
church. Patsy would get off the school bus on Friday afternoon and 
spend the entire weekend with us. Brenda's brother, Joey, was about the 
same age as Patsy. I think that was about 14 or 15. They “liked” each 
other, so Joey visited every chance he had. 

A few years later when Patsy was to be married, she asked me to come to
Sheridan to perform the ceremony.  It was an honor; she was like a 
daughter to Brenda and me. 

We stayed at Sheridan until 1975. As I said before, I am not real good
with actual dates. Just as recently as a week ago, I called Brenda and 
asked for assistance with some of the dates I couldn't remember. She 
laughed, and said, “Well, I can tell you that you forgot our first 
anniversary!” That wasn't, exactly, the kind of help I was asking for. 
That temporary lapse of memory occurred thirty four and a half years 
ago, but, I presume there are some things a woman will never forget! 

We moved to Heber Springs, Arkansas to pastor the church there. Heber
Springs is a lovely little town near Greer's Ferry Lake. It is, for the 
most part, a retirement and tourist city. The church was about the size 
of Sheridan when we left there. And, they did provide a parsonage. The 
Sheridan congregation assumed the payments on the mobile home so there 
was a parsonage for the next minister and his family. 

The church in Heber was an old building, but, it was a pretty church. I
can't say as much for the parsonage next door. But, it was adequate and 
we were glad to be living in a house after several years. 

The members were excited about a “young” pastor and wife with small
children. They were eager to work on some of the projects that I wanted 
to see initiated. The first year there, we started a local radio 
program. I would go into my office and record the weekly radio series 
on an old reel to reel tape recorder. The radio station would air it on 
Sunday afternoon. I had a question and answer period, after the 
message, and received mail from many of the listeners. It was 
challenging and rewarding. 

During the summer months we leased a mobile concession stand. Each
Saturday we would set it up at the city park and sell hamburgers, hot 
dogs, and drinks at the singings and other activities sponsored by the 
City of Heber Springs. That venture brought in some revenue for the 
church and gave us a chance to meet a lot of families in the community. 


Each September, we would have a “Back to School” party. The young people
invited their teacher, and classmates, to visit their church. The kids 
looked forward to this program in the fall. 

While at Heber, I joined the Ministerial Alliance. Pastors in the
community met once a month and considered ways to help people in our 
area.  Since there were many tourists, we held services at Greer's 
Ferry Lake. Those on vacations could still be in Sunday morning 
service, and it was “come as you are” sessions, and, there was no need 
to “dress up” to attend church. 

I am grateful for the opportunity to have worked, and fellowshipped with
the fine folks in that church.  I remember the Pastor's Appreciation 
Days that were held for me and my family.  I still have many of the 
cards made by the kids in Sunday school class. The cards are over 
thirty years old now, and I still get them down and read the little 
handwritten messages. 

One of the families that stand out in my mind is the Crouch family. Gene
and his wife had four children, ages 3- 10 or so. They had moved out to 
Arkansas from “back east” somewhere. I think it was Maine. They just 
happened to visit our church one Sunday, and from that time forward the 
whole family was there nearly every service. Gene was, later, elected 
Sunday School Superintendent. 

When the Crouch family first started attending, they drove about forty
miles each way to be in church. Brother Crouch was a house painter. 
Jobs were scarce and he had been out of work for some time, so he 
decided to just spend his time off painting the church. He, of course, 
wouldn't take any payment for it, but we did persuade him to accept an 
offering for his time. He would say, “God will take care of the 
payment”.  And that is what happened. One day a man stopped by the 
church while Gene was busy painting. He asked him how much he was 
charging for the work and Gene told him there was no charge because he 
attended church there. The gentleman said, “I have watched you for 
several days. You are a good painter, a hard worker, and if you work 
like that for free, I will pay you a good wage to work for me”. The man 
owned several properties in, and around, Heber Springs, and Gene 
supervised all his painting jobs for several years. While working at 
that job, he was able to move his family into town about a mile from 
the church. 

Gene eventually started contracting his own jobs. Occasionally he needed
help and would put me to work. That's how I learned to paint and hang 
wallpaper, a trade that would serve me well for many years to come. 

It was in Heber Springs that I began a career that I would work at for
several years. It was quite coincidental the way this happened. 

One morning I was driving to Little Rock, and came upon a terrible
vehicle accident. I was the first person on the scene.  I didn't know a 
lot about first aid, and felt really powerless to aid the severely 
injured persons in the cars. I tried to comfort one of the victims that 
was, very, seriously injured. I didn't know the young lady's name, at 
the time, but when the ambulance arrived, she didn't want me to leave 
her. I knew the county sheriff, Delane Wright, from visits to the jail 
with the Ministerial Alliance. Sheriff Wright said if I wanted to go 
with her in the ambulance, he would give me the authorization. The 
ambulance transported her to a hospital in Little Rock. I stayed with 
her until family members arrived. The young woman died that night of 
injuries sustained in the accident 

A couple days later, I talked with Delane Wright and told him I would
like to take a first aid course of some sort.  I did a lot of traveling 
in my pastoral duties, and thought it might be beneficial should I come 
upon another accident. It happened that the Cleburne County Hospital in 
Heber Springs was offering an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) 
course. Delane said he would make sure I got into the class. I really 
enjoyed the studies. I would come home, late at night after the class, 
and keep Brenda up telling her everything I had learned that evening. 
Near the end of the course, the hospital offered me a part time job 
riding/driving the ambulance. I was “on call” on certain days each 
week. 

Arkansas had just started licensing emergency medical personnel a year
or two before, so I kind of got in on the ground floor. Our ambulance 
service was busy, especially in the “tourist season” months, and I got 
quite a bit of experience there. 

Shanneen was in Kindergarten and her teacher was Sheriff Wright's wife.
One day Mrs. Wright called me and said, “Reverend Nash, we have a 
slight problem. Shanneen cut her hair with the scissors we use in 
crafts.” I told her not to worry about it her hair would grow back. She 
had cut it in the front, where her mom trimmed her bangs. Only she 
hacked it all the way to the scalp. Mrs. Wright said, “that is just 
part of the problem; the little girl sitting next to her laughed at 
her, so Shanneen gave the little girl a haircut just like the one she 
gave herself” I thought maybe we do have a problem here. Of course, I 
had to call the girl's parents and apologize for the unpleasant 
incident. 

When we moved to Heber, Shane was less than two years old. He was an
outgoing, friendly, energetic little boy. He always made friends 
easily. People were always commenting on his red hair. And, it was 
really bright red. Shane had a strong personality, and did not give up 
on anything he tried to do. He learned to walk and talk early. And, he 
loved to climb on things. 

We had an old upright piano, and he would climb up and sit right on the
very top. Shane hardly ever walked, he ran everywhere. One day Brenda 
came from the grocery store and was carrying in the bags, Shane ran to 
the car, fell, and hit his head on the open door. He lacerated it 
enough to require several stitches. He had a little “boy doll” with red 
hair that he played with a lot. I took a pen and drew “stitches” just 
under the dolls bangs in the same place that Shane's sutures were. We 
would be in church or at the market and  Shane would see someone, lift 
his hair and say, “See my “titches”, then lift the doll's hair and say, 
“See the baby's “titches”! 

One day I was cooking, and I put one pod of boiled okra onto his plate.
I gave him a spoon and waited to see what he would do. Well, he tried 
to pick up the slick okra with the spoon. After working at it for some 
time, he threw the spoon on the floor and said, “Daddy, this “okie” 
won't come on”.  I must have told this story a hundred times. When 
Shane was in his early twenties, we had okra one night for supper. 
Shane did the same thing he did when he was two years old. “Dad, this 
“okie” won't come on”.  Did I forget to mention he has a sense of 
humor, too? 

I used to call him “a little Houdini”. His bedroom didn't have a door on
it and on the rare occasions when Brenda and I could sleep late, he 
would get up and go outside while we were still asleep. I put a baby 
gate on his room to keep him in. He learned how to unlock it. I did 
everything short of nailing it up and he could always get out! 

When he was a little older, he got angry at his mom about something.  He
said he was leaving home. Brenda packed him a sandwich, put a shirt in 
the bag, and told him goodbye. I went out on the porch to see what he 
would do.  He walked around the block, and I followed him at a 
distance. He came back to the house and I said, “Shane, I thought you 
were leaving home”. He said, “Well, I was, but Mommy told me I couldn't 
cross the street by myself.” 

After serving as pastor at Heber Springs, I went back on the
evangelistic field. We moved to Little Rock, and, until I had enough 
meetings scheduled, I worked at a large ambulance service called 
Medi-Vac. It was a full time job, but the owner let me off to preach 
when I had a revival scheduled. I appreciated his kindness in that 
regard. I began to get more meetings, and finally went full time on the 
evangelistic trail. 

I had an old Chevrolet car and a small camp trailer I towed. I had
meetings scheduled in all of the 78 churches in Arkansas. There were 
times it would get pretty wild pulling the trailer in snow or ice 
storms as I crossed the state going from church to church. 

God watched over me. 

I remember my mother telling me about the time I was less than a year
old. I was very sick, and they couldn't determine the cause of my 
illness.  Mom said she prayed and said to God, “I know this baby is 
really yours, and You just lent him to me. If You decide to take him I 
will try to accept that. But, if You will let me keep him, I ask You to 
always take care of him”.I believe God heard a young mother's prayer 
that day. He has never failed to take care of me. And I realize that I 
have been very undeserving of that Divine Care. 

After a few months, I was appointed as State Evangelist. That meant
that, since I was full time, the Church of God State Council approved a 
“supplement” to help with my expenses. It wasn't much money, but it 
sure helped. 

Brenda had found a job in Little Rock with a credit company. We were
living in the Terrace Green Apartments. Mom and Dad Larley managed them 
for several years. 

At this point I must go back a few years, and let you know how the
family came to be in Arkansas. Before Brenda and I moved to Sheridan to 
pastor, my youngest sister, Johna, moved from California. Shortly, 
thereafter, another sister, Elmarie, and her family joined us. 
Eventually Mom and Dad Larley made their home near the rest of us in 
North Little Rock. 

Elmarie and Carl had four little boys, John, Joe, Justin, and James.
Shanneen was happy to have cousins to play with. Carl and dad built 
houses around the Little Rock area. They even made a trip to Alaska one 
year. Carl went into the ministry after I did, and served as an 
evangelist, and a very good one at that. Later he went to Stuttgart to 
pastor the church there. 

Thinking of the little nephews, a story comes to mind. When John was
around three or four, he came into the house with a pocket full of 
crickets he had been catching. Elmarie asked him what he had in his 
pockets. He told her they were “hypocrickets”.  He must have been 
confused about the biblical reference of hypocrites. 

Mom and dad moved into a house near the church in North Little Rock.
Each morning Shanneen would go to see Nana and Papa. As I have said 
before, my mother had a sewing machine for as far back as I can 
remember. (The first one was an old treadle type that didn't require 
electricity). Shanneen was used to seeing the many things that mom had 
sewn on her machine. On this day mom and dad's little beagle had given 
birth to some puppies, and, mom had placed the box near her machine so 
she could keep an eye on them. Shanneen saw them and came running, all 
excited, and said, “Daddy come see what Nana made this time!” 

I mentioned earlier that mom always made my clothes. Well, I was in the
ministry now and was buying used suits most of the time. Occasionally, 
I would save enough money and buy a new one, but they always had to be 
tailored. Mom made me several three piece suits and, of course, they 
fit perfect. I had the habit of sticking a paper towel in my pocket 
instead of a handkerchief.  Mom wrote a short story about that and 
titled it, “The Paper Towel Preacher”. 

While I was evangelizing, our second son, Brendan Shawn-Paul was born
February 4th 1978. I cancelled the revival meetings and returned to 
Little Rock for his birth. Brendan developed some severe medical 
problems and was admitted to the Arkansas Children's Hospital. He was 
there for three weeks and, was in critical condition for the first 
fourteen days. I knew I could not go back on the road with him being so 
ill and I spent the entire time at the hospital with him. Brenda and I 
were very worried, and there were many prayers by churches all over 
Arkansas, for this small, frail, beautiful baby. We decided that I 
needed to stay close to home, and I cancelled my distant revivals. 

The Church of God State Overseer knew of our troubles and promised he
would give me a church to pastor when one came available. 

I was appointed to start a new church in Brinkley, Arkansas, the very
place that I had lived so many years before, twenty-eight years to be 
exact. The church was an old Episcopal or Lutheran church that had been 
abandoned. The members of our new church consisted of our family which 
now included Brenda, me, Shanneen age 9, Shane 4, and Brendan, our 
newborn son. 

The pastorate was considered a “new field work” and the state council
gave us financial help as much as they could manage to pay for. 

We moved into an old mobile home (back to trailers!) that was heated
with propane gas. I didn't know anything about heating with propane, 
but, I learned soon enough. We spent almost all the money we had to 
fill the tank.  It was in the winter and cold. About two days later, 
all the propane was gone. We found out there was a leak in the line. I 
borrowed some money, and we got it repaired and filled it again. We 
didn't want to take any chances with Brendan catching a cold and 
getting sick again. I began to try to find work, and after looking for 
about a week I went to work part-time, in the parts department, at the 
Ford dealership. 

The old trailer was virtually unfit to live in, so, we found a house out
in the country. It was near a rice field, a nice house, in the winter, 
but, we didn't think about the mosquitoes in the summer time. 

The neighbors had a billy goat, and every morning I would find that darn
goat standing on the top of my car. He would jump on the hood and run 
right up the windshield to the top, I was afraid he was going to break 
the window or dent the car. The same neighbor had an old red rooster 
that used to chase Shane around the house. Shane didn't like the 
rooster any more than I liked the goat. 

I started doing some painting, wallpapering, and remodeling when I
wasn't working at the Ford company. Two jobs and the church kept me 
busy. We managed to save enough money to buy an older home in town. It 
wasn't all that great, but the payments were affordable, and I started 
fixing it up and painted it so it looked pretty good. We had a fenced 
in back yard and I got some ducks. Well, we were going to have baby 
ducks. Shane and I would check them every morning. He was so anxious to 
see the little ducks. 

One Sunday afternoon, we were having an important meeting in the church.
The State Overseer, District Overseer, and several State Council 
members were there. The church was about a block from our home, and 
Shane came racing through the front door. He was all out of breath from 
running; his little face was almost as red as his hair. He, excitedly, 
yelled, “Daddy, daddy, we got ducks! We really got ducks!” I was 
embarrassed that the meeting had been interrupted, but, to my surprise, 
the State Overseer, Brother Bennett, said, “Gentlemen the meeting is in 
recess until we go check out Shane's ducks”. And, that is exactly what 
we did! 

I had volunteered some time to the small ambulance service in Brinkley.
The city was in need of a director for the ambulance crew, and since I 
had experience, I was hired. It was pretty much a full time job. I was 
the only full time EMT, everyone else was volunteers, or off duty 
police officers. The job consisted of keeping the ambulances stocked, 
routine maintenance performed and all the paperwork in order. Trip 
forms, medical notes, etc, were made out in triplicate, and the Health 
Department was real strict about everything. 

All emergency calls, police, fire, and ambulance, were dispatched
through the police department. One of the dispatchers left the 
department, so, the Chief asked me if I would come to work as a 
dispatcher. Of course, I took the job. Our family could use the extra 
income. 

I eventually moved to the position of patrolman and attended Arkansas
Law Enforcement Training Academy (ALETA) in Camden about 75 miles from 
home. I drove our Criminal Investigation Department vehicle, an “almost 
new” unmarked Ford.  I stayed in Camden all week and drove home on the 
weekends. 

On one of the drives home, I was in a big hurry, and was cruising about
85 mph. A voice came on the state frequency, and said, “On your way 
home from ALETA?” I recognized it as the Arkansas State Trooper 
frequency and said, “Yes I am.” He told me to keep it below 80 and have 
a safe trip. I guess my “unmarked” car wasn't all that “unmarked”! 

I enjoyed the classes at the academy. We had fingerprinting, crime scene
investigation, arson detection, traffic control, accident 
investigation, and others. Of course, we had firing range we had to 
qualify at. Several classes were taught by FBI instructors. There was a 
lot of legal stuff to learn, also. 

After I graduated from the academy, I was full time in a patrol car. On
weekends we usually had two officers in each unit. But, during the week 
we rode alone. Our shifts were 6:00 am – 2:00 pm, 2:00 pm – 10:00 pm, 
then the last shift was 10:00 pm until 6:00 am. We rotated shifts every 
four months and just about the time I could sleep (nights or days), I 
changed shifts. 

The late shift from 10 p.m. until 6 a.m. was okay until early in the
morning when there was no traffic out and not much to do except drive, 
check doors, and try to stay awake. 

One of the leading causes of law enforcement officer “burn-out” is known
as the “adrenalin stress factor”. One might spend hours alone, no one 
to talk to, just listening to the chatter on the radio. Bored! Then 
that call comes across the two-way. An emergency situation! And, the 
adrenalin level jumps from zero to maximum in one second. This may 
happen several times in an eight hour shift. 

It was a cold, rainy, night, about 11:30 p.m., when I got the call. 
Dispatch informed me of a serious accident on Interstate 40 eastbound. 
The location was about 4 miles east of the Brinkley exit. I advised him 
to tell the EMT on call to meet me with the ambulance at the freeway 
entrance. That was before the days of cell phones, but, fortunately 
about half the motorists had CB radios, and, someone had reported it to 
a State Trooper, who called our department. While on the way to the 
scene, further information came in that an infant was trapped beneath 
the overturned vehicle. In the years of working in medical emergencies, 
I had experienced everything from industrial injuries, boating 
accidents with leg amputations, and burns from motorcycle explosions on 
impact, even emergency childbirths, but I really didn't want to have to 
pull this baby out from under this car! I can vividly remember 
thinking, “I am getting too old for this. I hate this job!” Then, as we 
arrived, on the scene the training and experience took over. It was, as 
expected, a nightmare. There were no other apparent injuries, but the 
mother, the driver of the overturned car, was screaming hysterically 
for someone to help her baby, and praying that the infant was still 
alive.  I ran to the wrecked car.  All I could see was two little bare 
feet sticking out. When I crawled up under the car I could see the 
little baby, a boy, about six months old. He had been thrown from the 
car (no car seat!), landed in a ditch, and the car came to rest about a 
foot over his body. He didn't have a scratch on him. He just looked at 
me with those big blue eyes, and turned his head from side to side. A 
big part of the initial examination was completed in that instant. He 
was breathing, not bleeding, and could move his feet and head. From 
where the mother and onlookers were, it appeared that the car was all 
the way down on the little guy. But, I believe, that the Lord provided 
that ditch that supported the weight of that heavy car off of that very 
small child. I pulled him out, handed him to a very thankful young 
mother and we transported them to the hospital to get checked out 
further.  I can still recall how my thinking had changed in the last 
few minutes. I loved the job. I was glad to be trained to do what I was 
doing. This event was one that had a better ending than some I had 
experienced. But, it was occasions like this one that made the others 
worth the effort. 

Speaking of happy endings, being grateful, and all that, let me tell you
about one other time that stands out to me. It was Sunday morning; I 
was on routine patrol. I saw a man mowing his lawn. Just as I was about 
to go past him, he fell to the ground. I stopped and ran to him, after 
calling dispatch for an ambulance. (We didn't have the fancy radios on 
our uniforms back then).  He wasn't breathing and I could get no pulse. 
 I started CPR, and when the ambulance got there we transported him to 
our local hospital and then to Methodist Hospital in Memphis. He had a 
massive heart attack, went through heart surgery, recovered, and 
returned, a few weeks later, to his home in Brinkley. Mr. Simon was the 
owner of a chain of restaurants on I-40 from West Memphis to Fort Smith 
Arkansas. Later he gave me a note signed and dated stating I could eat 
anything I wanted, whenever I wanted to at any of his establishments 
free of charge.  I appreciated the gesture, and tried to explain that 
there was something in the “ethics code” that prevented me from 
accepting his offer. There is a little phrase in there that has to do 
with receiving “gratuities”. But, to be honest, I did drink all the 
“free coffee” I wanted at the Brinkley restaurant! (You know I think 
the Chief did too!) 

Brinkley is a small town (or was at the time I lived there) with a
population about 3,500. We had three or four gas stations that stayed 
open all night. Interstate 40 runs from Memphis to Little Rock, and 
Brinkley is just about halfway in between. 

We had a problem with armed robberies at these businesses late at night.
The four-lane that runs through town has an overpass on-ramp to I-40. 
Unless we could spot the crime vehicle before it got across the 
overpass we couldn't know if they were east or west bound. But we 
usually got a description and radioed departments and State Police in 
both directions. 

One day while on patrol in the afternoon, I saw the traffic was backed
up and moving very slow in the north bound lanes of the four-lane. I am 
thinking accident, break-down, or something like that. I turned on my 
emergency strobe lights and crossed over to the yellow lines to get 
around the traffic, then, I saw it and couldn't believe it! A little 
boy was driving right down the center line of the two north bound lanes 
in a little battery operated kid's car. When I got closer, I saw the 
red hair! I used the unit's loud speaker, and said, “Get on the 
sidewalk!” Shane looked over at me and waved real big and yelled, “Hi 
Daddy!” I just knew everyone in Brinkley would be talking about the 
cop's little boy blocking traffic for half a mile! When I got the 
traffic moving, I had a conversation with son # 1. He couldn't 
understand the problem. 

We had bought him the little battery powered car, and, he thought he
could drive to the corner store and get some candy. After I calmed 
down, and knew that he was safe, I even thought it was funny. To my 
knowledge he never “cruised” the four-lane again. 

Another incident that comes to mind concerns Shane and his bicycle. (If
I seem to talk a lot about my “kids”, it is because the kids are the 
best things in my life. Therefore, an enormous part of my life story.) 

He had a little bike with training wheels, and tried to keep up with the
older boys in our neighborhood. I felt sorry for him trying to pedal 
that small bike and always way behind the other kids. We got him a 
larger bike.  The first problem was, due to his short little legs, he 
couldn't straddle it without climbing on the fence, giving it a push, 
and then away he would go. He could keep up with the fastest kid on the 
block. The second problem was trying to get it to stop! When he wanted 
to stop he just jumped off; he would wait for the bike to come to a 
halt, and then go get it. 

Kendall DeShay Nash was born July, 15th 1979. During the last month of
her pregnancy, Brenda was having “false labor” frequently. We didn't 
want the baby born at the Brinkley hospital, so I took her and the kids 
to Little Rock to be with mom and dad. I think her mom was there also. 
Anyway, I was about an hour and half drive from the hospital, so I went 
back to Brinkley to work. On the day I got the call to come to 
University Hospital, I hurried to get there before Kendall did. I think 
I beat him by about two hours or so. I know I didn't even change 
clothes I was still in my uniform. 

After the several years of having only Shanneen, now, we were blessed
with four children. There is seventeen months between Brendan and 
Kendall's birth dates. 

God had blessed us and answered our prayers, but, we decided against
having more children. I guess after we found out we could have kids we 
decided to stop! 

The next day Brenda went to surgery to have a tubal ligation. We had
agreed upon the name Kendall if we had a boy baby. Brenda reminded me 
that she wanted the middle name to be Mason (her middle name is Mae). 
While she was in surgery the nurse came by to fill out the birth 
certificate. I couldn't remember what we decided on for the middle name 
so I thought about it for awhile. There is a county in Arkansas called 
Deshay County and, I always thought that sounded nice. I told the nurse 
to put down Kendall DeShay Nash, and she did. Brenda didn't say much 
when I told her what had happened, but, that was before the anesthetics 
wore off. When she woke up and realized what I had done, I think her 
first words were, “You did what?!” By the time Kendall was born, 
Brendan had, pretty much, traded his bottle for a training cup.  But, 
when he saw “the baby” with a bottle, he remembered it. Sometimes, he 
would see us feeding Kendall, grab the bottle, and put it in his mouth. 


As I mentioned before, there is was only seventeen months between them.
When Kendall learned to walk, they were so funny together. They loved 
to wrestle, and would go to different sides of the living room, one 
would say, “ding-ding”, and the match would be on. Whoever got tired 
first said, “ding-ding”, again to signal the end of the round. 

Kendall was slow learning to talk or at least we thought he was. Brendan
took it upon himself to be Kendall's spokesman. When Kendall wanted 
something he would just grunt, or jabber, something totally 
unintelligible, then Brendan would say, “He wants a drink, or cookie, 
(or whatever)” It seemed that they had their own special communication 
system. As you might conclude, they were very close, where you found 
one, you would see the other. 

About a year after Kendall was born, I was appointed to the church at
Batesville, Arkansas.  It was the best church of our pastorate so far. 
There was a nice parsonage, and the church had a real potential for 
growth. We built some extra Sunday school rooms, and an extra room for 
a fellowship area. I did not have to seek other employment, except what 
was required by pastoral duties. 

I was in the tenth year of the ministry at that time. 

There are a lot of terms that are used to describe the feelings I began
to have about my personal ministry. The most common is “burn-out”.  I 
cannot say that is what was happening, but I know that, at the time I 
should have been most contented, I was feeling restless, irritable, and 
discontent. I was doing all the physical things, going to the hospital, 
visiting members, building Sunday school rooms,etc. I had been an 
evangelist, pastor, worked in a new church, and been appointed to 
district youth director a couple of times. What was missing?  Looking 
back now, I realize I wasn't taking time to study, meditate, and depend 
upon God as I had in the past. I suspect those are areas that have an 
effect on most preachers at some point. 

In a person's life, there are a many things that influence choices that
are made -- good and bad. 

Writing about my feelings is the most difficult part of this narrative.
It has always been easier to convey the happy times and thoughts. But, 
in order to be candid, I must attempt to communicate a true picture of 
my life. 

Without casting blame, or negative feelings I will say that, while
things with the “church” were going well, our marriage was beginning to 
demonstrate some things less than that. 

Over the years I have learned that relationships that end in separation
and divorce, it is, usually, not fair to put the entire fault on one 
person. There has to be a lot of “give and take”, sharing of 
responsibility, and communication between all involved. It appears 
that, sometimes, by the time we learn these things, it is too late to 
benefit from that knowledge. 

Anyway I made the decision to give up the church and leave Brenda. It
was not an easy choice to make. No matter what the problems in our 
marriage were, I knew it had to do with us and not our children. I, 
also, knew that the children would need to stay with their mother. 

CHAPTER SIX 

I moved back to Brinkley, and went to work for the police department
again. One of the big differences was I started drinking. After ten 
years of doing the “good things”, I was back to the old “Kenny”.  I had 
a lot of mixed emotions during the next year or so. The guilt of 
leaving my kids was agonizing at times. I would convince myself that is 
was the only way out at that point. And, usually end the day after too 
much booze under my belt. 

I had met Kay a few months earlier; she was staying with my mom and dad
in Little Rock. Before I left Batesville, she had moved to Benton and 
was living with her mother. I found out where she was and made a couple 
trips to visit her in Benton. I wanted her to come to Brinkley, and 
told her so. At first she was hesitant, because she thought that I 
would go back to Batesville. Finally, she consented and came to 
Brinkley. 

I had rented a room in the old Malmar Hotel. It was like a studio
apartment, and was really rundown. We only had two plates, cups, a 
couple pans, and a coffee pot (not the electric type). I was putting in 
as many hours as I could at the police department, and working with the 
ambulance service again. Kay went to work as a cook at the Sonic Drive 
In. I would go by everyday and she would fix me a super Sonic Burger, 
fries, and vanilla milk shake which were deducted, each week, from her 
paycheck. She saved the plastic containers that oil came in and we made 
a canister set out of them. The room was furnished, so, we didn't have 
to buy furniture at that time. 

Kay kept telling me she wanted a kitten. I found out a farmer had some
kittens; he said if I could catch one, I could have it. On my day off I 
went to get the little kitten. I tried to catch one of the little wild 
things, but, the only one I could capture was frail, and sick. Anyway, 
I surprised her with the kitten. She was up most of the nights feeding 
and doctoring that little cat, which, by the way, made a full recovery 
and lived up to her name, Frisky! 

Shanneen came to stay with me in Brinkley.  Brenda and the boys moved to
Harrison, in the northwest corner of Arkansas. The Ozarks. Brother 
Davis was pastor of the church there. 

Harrison was a three and half hour drive from where I lived, but I made
the trip each weekend I had off to be with the boys. 

I wanted to be closer to the kids, and we decided to move to Berryville,
about twenty miles from Harrison. 

We found a mobile home park just west of town with a vacant trailer for
rent. It wasn't a whole lot better than the Malmar Hotel room! But, it 
had two bedrooms. I think we moved in November.  It was getting cold. I 
applied for work as an EMT at Carroll County Hospital, but they put me 
on a waiting list until a position came open. Meanwhile, I went to work 
for Chappell Chevrolet. It was a new dealership and had no parts 
department to speak of, so I stocked shelves with needed parts, created 
the card file system (this was still before the age of computers!). 

That first year was pretty rough money-wise. We lived about 4-5 miles
from where I worked. Our car broke down, we had to wait until I got a 
payday to get it repaired, so I rode an old bicycle to work, and, in 
the snow on some days. 

It was a Christmas to remember, though. Kay was very creative and wanted
to have a Christmas tree, even if we didn't have many gifts to put 
under it. We went out in the woods and she found a tree. I chopped it 
down, put it in the car, and brought it home. It barely fit through the 
front door. Now, it didn't look that big out there in the woods! We 
strung popcorn that she had colored with food coloring, and made every 
ornament, except for a string of lights that we purchased, even though 
we couldn't really afford them. 

The day that Kay and I were married was another unforgettable
experience. We decided to get married in Springdale, about 60 miles 
from Berryville. We drove over there and proceeded to look for a 
minister to perform the ceremony. The old car we had wouldn't start 
once we turned the key off.  We had to get some one to give us “jump 
start” each time. After about an hour or two, we found a preacher who 
agreed to meet with us at his church and do the wedding.  We didn't 
have the money to buy or rent a wedding dress for Kay, so, she borrowed 
one from the neighbor next door to us. She tucked, and, sewed on it 
until it fit her, put it in a bag and we went to Springdale for the big 
day. I guess I will never forget stopping at a service station, her 
going into the ladies rest room to put on the nice wedding gown, while 
I changed into my suit.  We returned to the car, dressed for the 
wedding, happy, and excited. As usual, the car wouldn't start. I don't 
even want to think about what the guy that gave us the jump start was 
thinking.  After the ceremony we went to Pizza Hut for the reception, 
just a party of two. 

Prior to the wedding we had found a place just outside of Berryville,
quite by accident that we thought was beautiful. (On days that I didn't 
have to work we would go “exploring”. We would choose a dirt, or 
gravel, road, follow it, and see where it led.) 

On one of those days we found, what we called, “Butterfly Creek”. It was
a stream with several big rocks that caused three waterfalls.  It was 
off the road and surrounded with big pretty trees. And, I had never 
seen so many butterflies in one place. The view reminded me of 
something out of a Walt Disney film! 

We packed our sleeping bag, some food, the old non-electric coffee pot,
and spent our honeymoon at “Butterfly Creek”. 

Ozark country is one of the most stunning places I have ever seen. The
area we moved to is in the extreme northwest corner of Arkansas. 
Branson, Missouri is 35 miles, Eureka Springs and the Great Passion 
Play are located about 8 miles from Berryville. The landscape is 
mountainous with lush green meadows and dense forests. The roads and 
highways are very crooked. Most of the towns are small and in a rural 
setting. There is a lot of history dating back before the Civil War 
period, and many attractions, such as the Annual Muzzle Shoot, museums, 
and other events. Kay and I enjoyed the events, especially the 
re-enactments of the “old days”, and log homes that dotted the 
countryside and mountains. 

We planted a small garden behind the old trailer we lived in. One night,
just about dark, Kay went to the garden. I heard her yell for me to 
come quickly! She had found a little baby bobcat in the garden! We 
assumed the mother had been killed and the baby wandered into the 
trailer park. I have already mentioned our cat Frisky, well; she had a 
litter of kittens that was not weaned yet. I put the little bobcat in 
with the other kittens. Frisky let him nurse right along with the rest 
of the “family”. We named our bobcat “Tigger”. Tigger was, evidently, 
younger than the other kittens, but he outgrew them quickly. It was fun 
to watch them play, although as Tigger began to get bigger, we had to 
watch him so he wouldn't play too rough. When he was a few months old, 
he would go out at night, and return the next morning.  I would find 
him sleeping in the shed out back. 

The neighbors had a little dog that liked to chase our cats, and one day
I saw the dog run around the house. In just a few minutes I heard 
Tigger growl (he didn't meow like the other kittens) then, the little 
dog came yelping and running back around the trailer with Tigger right 
on his tail. He never went back around the house to chase any more cats 
that I know of.  He, probably, had never seen a cat like our bobcat! 

We had Tigger until we moved into town into some new apartments. One
night he disappeared and we never found him. There was a lot of traffic 
and people in the apartments, and, I know he must have gone back to the 
woods in the country. I still have pictures of him. He used to play in 
Kay's flower pots and we took pictures of him then. 

I went to work for Carroll General Hospital as an EMT/NA. I was assigned
patient care on the floor, or to the emergency room. When we would get 
an ambulance run, someone would take care of my patients until the 
other EMT and I would return to the hospital with the patient. I was 
happy to be back working in the medical field. Just recently, I have 
been in contact with some of the doctors and nurses I worked with so 
many years ago. Many of them are retired now. 

The new apartments we moved to are located on Freeman Street in
Berryville. We applied for it about six months before the construction 
was completed. Kay had started babysitting for several children; most 
of the parents worked at the hospital. 

Brenda had enrolled in college in Harrison and I would get the kids on
alternate weekends and a couple of weeks during the summer. 

Kay enjoyed helping the children with craft projects. They would make
birthday cards, Father's Day cards, etc. And, I still have most of the 
cards that were made with their little hands. 

Living in the apartment was much different from the country. There
wasn't enough room for a garden, but I did plant some cantaloupes. I 
weeded, watered, and cared for the few little plants until the fruit 
was about the size of a baseball. I came home one afternoon to find the 
kids in the neighborhood had pulled them all off the vine and used them 
to play ball with. I didn't try to do the garden thing, again, while we 
were in the apartments. 

I transferred to the surgery department of the hospital about a year
after I went to work there. I will tell you more about that later in 
the story. 

Kay and I wanted to have a baby, she had prayed she would get pregnant
for several months. And, she just knew when she did, it would be a 
girl. One morning she told me she wanted me to take her urine sample to 
the lab, and have Joetta Littrell, the chief lab tech, do a pregnancy 
test. She said she wanted no one else to do it. I didn't want her to be 
disappointed and told her not to get her hopes up. Well, I took it in 
about 6:30 that morning and told Joetta to call me when the results 
came back. It seemed like an agonizingly long time before she called at 
8:00 AM. She said, “Ken, I have good news, or bad news, depending on 
whether or not you want to be a daddy again.” I immediately called Kay 
to tell her the good news. The phone rang once; she picked it up and 
said, “I am pregnant”. That was before we had caller ID, it could have 
been anyone calling, but she said she knew it was me and what the 
result would be. Kay started making dresses and buying little baby girl 
stuff. If we had a boy, we might have named him “Sue”. (I am just 
kidding about that part!) 

Having worked at the hospital, we were acquainted with all the doctors.
Kay went to Dr. Flake's clinic and Dr. Harold Stensby started doing her 
check-ups. Harold was a young doctor and an exceptionally good one at 
that. In between checkups, I would see Dr. Stensby at work and he would 
ask me how Kay was feeling. 

We attended the Lamaze classes together. I had delivered three babies,
in emergency situations, and here I was learning how to do it! Doctor 
Stensby told Kay the baby would be born on December 15th. Well, for a 
woman having her first child, that was a bold statement! He didn't even 
say “on or about”. 

Kendra Kay Marie Nash was born at noon, 12:30 to be exact, on December
15th, 1983. Kay didn't take any medication of any kind. It was a 
natural childbirth. 

I was there throughout the labor and delivery. The nurse in attendance
was Maryanne Schaefer RN; she was also a Physician's Assistant (PA) and 
was voted Arkansas Nurse of the Year in 1983. You might say Kendra was 
in good hands. 

When her little head was showing, Dr. Stensby said, “Yep, it's a girl”
Maryanne said, “Harold, how do you know?” Dr. Stensby replied, “I have 
never seen a boy with a face as pretty as this!” He seemed, almost, as 
proud as I was. Harold then handed me the baby, I cut the cord, and 
placed her in her mother's arms. She had done all the work and was the 
last to see our beautiful baby girl. 

A couple weeks after Kendra was born, mom and dad Larley came up to
visit us and see the new baby. They brought Shane, Brendan and Kendall 
with them. Shanneen was living with us at the time, so I had all my 
kids there for Christmas. They tied a big red bow around Kendra and her 
little bassinet and placed her under the Christmas tree with a note 
that said, “Merry Christmas, Daddy.” 

On one of our “exploring” trips that next summer, we found a road that
had blackberries growing along the fence. When they got ripe and ready 
to pick, we took all the kids, except Shanneen, berry picking. Kendall 
was a little over four years old, and Kendra was eight months, so they 
stayed in the car while we picked the berries. We would fill our 
containers and put the berries in a big pot in the back seat of the car 
where Kendall and Kendra were. Since it was hot weather we took Kendall 
and Kendra's shirt off them. Those babies were eating the blackberries 
by the handful. Of course, the berries had not been washed and they 
probably ate some bugs too. It was a sight to see them with purple 
stains all over their little faces. They had berry juice running down 
their bellies, and arms. I think they ate almost as fast as the rest of 
us picked. 

We lived in the apartment on Freeman Street until Kay had an offer to
care for an elderly lady that lived a few miles out of Berryville on 
Hwy 21.  The agreement was we would live in the, nice, old rock house, 
and take care of “Susie”. Susie was confined to a wheelchair, or, bed 
due to a severe stroke. It was a twenty-four hour job, but, we enjoyed 
being in the country again and had a pretty garden. The old house is 
still there right across the road from Cosmic Caverns. Randy and Joann 
Langhover owned and operated the famous cave. Randy was a jailer at the 
county jail and Joann worked at the hospital. Kay had baby sat for 
their two children, Jennifer, and Chris for a couple years, so, it was 
handy for us to live close to them. 

The kids liked living near the caverns. They would play with the
Langhover children, who had a Shetland pony, and a couple of real cute 
little miniature horses. It was a nice place to live. The only problem 
was, Susie required constant attention; she would call for Kay all 
through the night, and slept very little during the day. At this time, 
Kendra was just a toddler, and we hardly had time off to do shopping or 
anything else. 

The schedule was beginning to take a toll on Kay. Her health was being
affected by lack of sleep and the hectic 24/7 duties. Although we 
needed the extra money, we decided to find another place to live. 

I mentioned this to Dr. Flake one day, and, he suggested we move into
his old office, which was a two bedroom house right behind the 
hospital. 

I mentioned earlier that I transferred to the surgery department from
the medical unit and emergency room. 

Sue was the only fulltime surgical technician and she was leaving that
position. I put my name on the list for a transfer.  I had never worked 
in surgery before, but I thought I would like to learn something 
different in the medical field. Doctor Flake, Chief of Surgery, asked 
me to observe a couple procedures. I can still remember the first day. 
I didn't “scrub in” but just stood back and watched how things were 
done. I was amazed at the team effort of each person. I told him I 
wanted to learn more and would be happy to go to school, or whatever 
was required of me to become a surgical technician. With the experience 
I had in Emergency Medical Services, I was told to just show up and do 
what I was told to do for the next couple weeks. The second morning he 
told me to go scrub up; I was going to be at the operating room table! 
I was excited, and, a little anxious that I could not do the job. Sue 
had been a “scrub tech” for many years and she assured me that she 
would show me exactly what to do, and how to do it. 

After the two week period, I was on my own. For the next several years,
I was the only full time surgical tech at our hospital. There was so 
much to learn. Hundreds of instruments had to be learned, and the use 
of each one. One of the things that helped was the fact that, after 
surgery, I had to wash all the instruments, put them in trays for 
different procedures, and then auto-clave, or sterilize them. I took 
classes at night in physiology, anatomy, and pathology. During the day 
I was spending 40-60 hours a week in the operating room. Dr. Flake was 
a natural teacher, in fact, he taught at Ben Taub Hospital in Houston, 
Texas. He was very firm, but, he taught me so much. I really enjoyed 
the work each day. 

Our hospital was small compared to some, but it was a progressive
facility with the latest equipment, and a great staff of physicians. We 
performed nearly all procedures except open heart, and brain surgeries. 
I was privileged to be a part of the team that installed the first 
“pacemaker” in Carroll County. 

Being a scrub tech is demanding at times. Especially, when it comes to
emergency operations. There is no time for the surgeon to tell you what 
he wants to do next, what instrument, or suture he needs. It is in the 
“job description” of the scrub tech to know all that, and sometimes, 
“read his mind”! 

Of all the surgical procedures, I think the Cesarean, or, “C-Sections”
were in most cases the most rewarding. Dr. Flake and I would do them 
with no other physicians attending. We had done so many together, that 
we never spoke a word during the entire procedure. If, it is an 
emergency, and the mother is given an anesthetic, the baby has to be 
out and breathing in four minutes, or less, to keep from being 
compromised by the medicine. The circulating nurse keeps an exact 
record of the time. Dr. Flake and I could do the entire procedure in 
ninety seconds! Practice makes perfect. 

I worked with several other surgeons on staff also. I was fortunate to
have a great bunch of “docs” to learn from. 

I enjoyed making rounds with the docs, meeting the patients before and
after surgery. I would try to put the kids at ease when I talked to 
them before the procedure. Kay had made me “special” custom made scrub 
caps to wear instead of the old paper disposables. With her sense of 
humor, she made some out of material that had “Disney characters” When 
a child was about to have an operation I would let him, or her, wear 
one of my Mickey Mouse hats. It seemed to cheer them up, as much as 
possible, before the scary moment. 

After we left the home out in the country, we moved into the house that
Dr. Flake used for his office. He had built a new clinic and the 
office/house was vacant. It was a nice house, nice paneling indoors, 
and western cedar siding on the exterior. We had a big picture window 
in the living room facing the street. Kendra was about a year old at 
the time, if my memory serves me right. It was hard to keep clothes on 
that little girl! She would pull off her shoes, and all her clothes. 
One day Kay found her up on the shelf in front of the picture window, 
naked as the day she was born, just dancing away. 

The house was located right behind the hospital, which made it easy to
walk to work. Kendra seemed to know what time I would be home, so she 
would wait at the back door and when she saw me come out of the 
hospital she would run across the grassy lot to meet me. The boys, 
especially Shane, liked to climb the two big trees in our back yard. 

I asked Dr. Flake if I could enclose the carport and use it for another
bedroom, or family room. He agreed to buy the material if I would do 
the labor. I used some of the lumber that was not needed in the 
construction of the enclosure and built the kids a tree house. They 
spent a lot of time in that old tree house. 

I remember that we had a picture gallery in the living room. My mother
had given me an old photograph enlargement of me taken when I was about 
six years old. I had my hair slicked back, except the ones that were 
sticking up in the back. I had on my eye glasses, and a little shirt 
that mom had sewed for me. On one of the occasions when the kids were 
visiting, Brendan, about five at the time, took a look at the picture 
on the wall and said, “Hey Dad! Who's the little nerd?” I said “That 
little nerd is your father” He put his little hand to his mouth all 
embarrassed and said, “Ohh!” I think he giggled, but didn't want me to 
notice it. Over the years we have had a lot of laughs telling, and 
re-telling that story. 

One morning, while at work, I got a call that Brenda and the three boys
had been involved in an auto accident. She was finishing her college at 
Jonesboro, Arkansas. It was about a five hour drive from Berryville. 
Somehow the car they were in turned over and landed in a steep ditch 
full of water. Brenda was unconscious for a short time and, Shane was 
only nine or ten at the time, but he had the good judgment  to hold her 
head above the water that was flooding into the car. Brenda was 
probably the most seriously injured, with cuts and bruises. Some 
motorists stopped to help, and when the police arrived Shane told them, 
“This is my grandpa's car, he is a preacher in Jonesboro, and when he 
sees what mom did to his car, is he gonna be mad!” When I received the 
news of the accident, I immediately set out for Jonesboro. 

Shane and Kendall were uninjured.  Brenda was still in the hospital for
overnight observation, and Brendan suffered a fracture to his upper 
arm. When he was telling about the wreck, he just remembered Kendall 
falling on him. So, he told everyone that Kendall hit him and broke his 
arm! 

I spent the night in Jonesboro and returned home the following day, a
very relieved dad, knowing that everybody would be okay! 

Shane was interviewed and presented with an award, by the local
television station, for his quick thinking, bravery, and probably 
saving his mother's life. 

Brenda graduated with her Bachelor's degree and later continued her
education at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, earning a 
Master's degree. I am very proud of her. It is an enormous 
accomplishment for a single parent to care for three boys, work 
part-time and achieve her goals. 

Before she went back to school for her Master's, she took a job as
director of the Arkansas Art Center in Little Rock. She encouraged the 
children to become involved in some of the stage plays the Art Center 
offered. Kendall wasn't as interested as Shane and Brendan, but he was 
in one of the plays. It was different with Shane and Brendan. They took 
to acting like the proverbial duck takes to water. Shane had the 
starring role in the stage play “Tom Sawyer” The play “opened” on the 
night of his 13th birthday. The Little Rock newspaper ran an article, 
along with his picture, on the front page of the entertainment section. 
He certainly fitted the part with his brilliant red hair and freckles 
on his nose. 

Later he did “Music Man” playing the actor, Ronnie Howard's, part in the
original play. If I recall correctly, it was a “salaried role” at a 
prominent dinner theatre in Little Rock. 

Shane loved acting. He did a tour of Arkansas schools starring in “The
Ransom of Red Chief” along with some professional actors.  Kay, Kendra, 
and I went to see the play when it was in Fayetteville.  After the play 
he was introduced and talked with many of the students, answering 
questions about his role, his school work, etc. He was very polite and 
professional. And, of course I was so proud of him! 

Brendan, also, excelled in several stage plays. After seeing him perform
a couple of times, an agent approached Brenda and suggested a “photo 
shoot” with a resume to distribute for commercials. Not only was 
Brendan very photogenic, but he had a personality that drew people to 
him. He was offered several commercials that were aired on television. 

I can recall one weekend he came to visit us. He had a commercial
scheduled on the following Monday. Kay and I picked the kids up in 
Little Rock that Friday afternoon, and about half way back to 
Berryville I asked Brendan did he bring his script to study. He said he 
had forgotten it! I was about to turn around and go back when he said, 
“Dad, it is okay, I have to get my hair cut before the filming so I can 
study it then.” Mind you, he was only about eight years old at the 
time.  I worried all weekend that he couldn't memorize his lines. We 
left early Monday morning, went by his house, retrieved the script and 
headed for the hair styling session. By the time we arrived for the 
filming, Brendan had remembered his lines perfectly!  In fact, the 
“professional” actress that was “his mother” had to do several retakes. 


The television commercial was for a “heat pump” manufacturer. The scene
took place with Brendan in a bathtub playing with a little sailboat. 
Actually, there was no plumbing to the tub, and after each retake, they 
had to add warm water, touch up his makeup and do the lines over. He 
was getting very cold sitting in the water for an hour, yet, each time 
the actress would forget a line, Brendan would say, “Its okay, you'll 
get it next time.” I was so proud of him! I still have that little 
green and white boat sitting on my desk today. 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

Although we liked the little house behind the hospital on Rice Street,
we really needed a larger home, especially when all the kids were with 
us.  I still had my VA loan available, so, we saved money for a down 
payment and started searching for a home to buy. We located a nice 
three bedroom, two bath brick home in Green Forest, eight miles east of 
Berryville. It was on a very large lot with a chain link fence around 
the entire property. It was by far the nicest house we had lived in. 
Beautiful wood paneling, and fully carpeted. Kay fell in love with the 
big kitchen with a pantry and plenty of cabinets. We even liked the 
address; 1002 Easy Street! (Life on “Easy Street” was not all that easy 
at times!) 

Kay went to work for Tyson's Food a few blocks from our home. We really
needed the extra income to make the mortgage payments. I continued to 
drive the eight miles to work at the hospital. 

We spent a lot of time and a little money fixing up the yard. We planted
a small Colorado blue spruce tree in the front, and lined the fence 
with grapes in the backyard. We had room for a vegetable garden and put 
out some fruit trees. I mowed the front and back yard each Saturday. I 
can still see Kendra, who was about three at the time, reaching up as 
high as she could to hold the handle of the mower as I pushed it. She 
would walk every step daddy did! She loved to do things with me. 

Living there seemed like a dream come true! 

As in other chapters of my life, I am entering into an area that is not
only regrettable, but painful. But as I stated earlier, I am trying to 
relate events as they happened, not as I wish they had been. 

I had not drunk alcohol for several years. But I started drinking one
night. I will not go into details, just say that I made bad decisions 
that were irreversible in Kay's and my marriage. 

There have been many times in my life that I wondered why I have allowed
the choices I made to lead to self-destruction. 

Kay and I were divorced the following year. It was an amicable divorce,
(if there is such a thing). Kay took her and Kendra's personal 
belongings, signed the house over to me, and moved out. She let Kendra 
spend as much time with me as possible. I will always be grateful for 
the fact that she never used our daughter as a way to extract revenge 
or soothe her hurt against me. 

I had never felt so alone before. Yet, I knew that you “pay for what you
get and get what you pay for” My drinking increased, and caused a lot 
of problems in my life. I became severely depressed, and irresponsible. 
After a few months, I resigned my position at the hospital, signed my 
house over to mom and dad Larley, and moved to California. 

The geographical change was not the answer I was looking for. I found
work, but the drinking continued, along with other drugs that I am not 
proud to remember or relate in this story. 

CHAPTER EIGHT 

In November of 1990, I voluntarily entered a drug and alcohol
rehabilitation center in Acton, California. It was a ninety day 
program. I extended to 110 days, did not drink, and started setting 
some goals for my life. While I was at Acton, I sustained severe injury 
to my right shoulder, playing basketball (at my age!) of all things. At 
any rate, that helped me get some disability assistance to enter 
college. 

My time at Acton was challenging, yet rewarding. I had lost contact with
Kendra since they had moved after I entered the program. I am thankful 
that Kay got in touch with my mother, found out where I was, and placed 
a call to Acton, so I could talk with my youngest daughter. We have 
been in touch since that time. 

Brenda was completing her Master's degree at this time. She made a trip
to Los Angeles and came to Acton to see me. We began to communicate 
regularly at that time. She gave me some good advice concerning my 
goals to enroll in college. I will always appreciate her sound counsel 
and encouragement. 

I enrolled in Los Angeles Mission College in San Fernando, California. I
studied hard, and did well. In spite of the years of being out of 
school, lack of study habits, and my fear of competing with kids right 
out of high school, I graduated (on the Dean's list) with a California 
Certification in Chemical Dependency Counseling. 

After she graduated from the Masters program at the University of
Arkansas, Brenda moved to Lancaster. We were remarried and were 
determined not to make the same mistakes that we made some ten years 
ago. 

After receiving my certification, I was hired by a county funded program
to counsel clients that had received 2 or more drunken driving 
violations, and/or was on probation for drug or alcohol related 
convictions. And, Brenda went to work teaching speech classes at the 
Antelope Valley College in Lancaster. 

While I was still in school a speech class was required so, I enrolled
in Brenda's class. We didn't make an issue about being husband and 
wife, even though our last names were the same. We rode to and from 
class together each night. After the first two or three classes, an 
elderly lady attending the speech class approached Brenda and said, 
“Ms. Nash you are a very good teacher, but I think you need to be 
careful about getting involved with one of your students. I notice you 
leave class every night with him!” Of course, Brenda explained that 
“the student” was her husband and we have four children as proof of it. 
Needless to say, we both had a good laugh out of that. 

I was happy to be back with the “boys” again, too. We moved into a large
house, with a big beautiful swimming pool. There was also a pool 
house/apartment with bathroom, kitchen facilities, and large living 
area. I set up an office and started doing some private practice 
counseling there. I had attended the Hypnosis Motivation Institute in 
Topanga Canyon, California. It was an interesting and helpful addition 
to the counseling service I provided in private practice. 

Speaking of the nice home, before I forget, let me relate a funny story
concerning Shane. (Yep, another one!)  Brenda and I were sitting at the 
dining room table one morning and we felt the shock of a small 
earthquake, quite common to California. Now Shane, typical teenager, 
didn't always have the most orderly bedroom. But he took advantage of 
the “quake” and running from his bedroom shouted, “Mom, Dad, come see 
what that earthquake did to my room!” 

One day I received a call from Kay, asking if I could come to Arkansas
and bring Kendra to stay with us for awhile.  Shane and I left on 
Friday evening of the Labor Day weekend. He was about seventeen and 
loved to drive, so we took turns and drove straight through. We arrived 
in Arkansas, spent the night in a motel, and picked Kendra up the next 
day. She was seven years old that year. Shane had not seen her since 
she was about 3 and I had been separated from her for about 2 years, so 
it was an enjoyable occasion for all of us. 

Kendra loved the swimming pool, and, we spent a lot of hours there. I
taught her to swim, took her to get her ears pierced (after getting 
permission from her mom, of course).  I enrolled her in the grade 
school a block or so from our house. When my work schedule would allow 
it, I would go to the school and walk home with her. A few months later 
Kay called saying she was moving to Santa Barbara, about two hours from 
Lancaster. I would take Kendra up every Friday afternoon to stay with 
her, then go back to get her Sunday night. It was time-consuming, but I 
wanted Kendra to be able to spend as much time with her mother as 
possible. She later moved there to live with Kay. 

My work schedule was pretty hectic, as was Brenda's. Seemed like we just
met like ships passing in the night. There was the occasional lunch 
together and sometimes supper after we got off work. I think both of us 
really tried to make things work out but we each had our careers, 
different goals, and ideals. We were like oil and water, just could 
never stay blended. In the recent past, we have had the opportunity to 
reflect, and communicate with each other about the problems we created 
for ourselves. Both of us came to the same conclusion: we will always 
be friends; we just cannot live together. 

We separated, but did not get divorced. She and the boys moved to Texas,
near Dallas. I remained in Lancaster. I couldn't afford the house, so I 
rented a room and moved out. 

I have never done well living alone. I guess with no one but myself
around, I felt I was in pretty poor company. Again, what happened to 
the dream? There was that loneliness again, and I suppose a certain 
sense of failure. Over the next few weeks, I began to experience the 
old familiar irritable, restless, discontent feelings that I had known 
so well in the past. The “irritable” attitude didn't fare well for me 
in the work place. After a heated argument with the manager, I turned 
in my resignation and headed for the nearest bar. 

There is a term used in psychology called “cognitive dissonance”. This
time I learned the real meaning of it first hand. I had been a 
counselor, and one of the things I had taught my clients was “it 
doesn't matter what you know about your problems, it is what you do 
about them”.  How well do I remember the night that a former client 
found me in the bar, glass in hand, and said,” I never thought I would 
see you here!” My reply was,” See you didn't pay attention in class. I 
told you it wasn't what you knew it was what you do that counts.” While 
that may have sounded like a witty thing to say, it didn't drown the 
sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a failure in marriage, 
as a father, and as a person that was supposed to help others. So I did 
what I always did when I felt that way; I ordered another drink.  
Choices!  Sometimes it appeared that I just could not make the right 
ones. 

I was unemployed so I signed up for general relief from the state. I had
never done that in my life, and here I was over fifty years old. I am 
not telling you these things for any other reason but to let you know 
that while I am not proud of my circumstances at that time, it was the 
reality of the consequences from the choices I made. 

I continued on the road to self destruction, drinking, and getting back
into even more devastating habits, namely drugs. I saw Kendra on 
occasion but, I am sure I wasn't the best of company physically or 
emotionally. 

One morning I awoke with the feeling that I was going to die soon. The
only thing I could think about was going to see the boys one last time. 
 I called Brenda and asked her if I came to Dallas, could I see the 
boys. She said of course you can see your kids. Again, I went to my 
“rock”.  I asked mom for enough money for a bus ticket. She gave me the 
money and, as always, packed that lunch of fried chicken, bread, boiled 
eggs, and fruit. It was a long trip to Dallas, Texas! 

Brenda and the boys, (with the exception of Shane, who was in Little
Rock) lived in Carrollton, Texas. Carrollton is close to Dallas. They 
had a real nice condominium. Shane came to live with us a couple months 
after I arrived. Brother and Sister Davis pastored the Farmer's Branch 
Church of God near Carrollton. I started attending the church, much to 
the boy's delight. I enjoyed the church and it was good to go to church 
with Brendan and Kendall, again. Both of the boys were real active in 
the youth ministry there. 

Shawn, Michael, and Jessica moved there also. And even Kendra would soon
join us. All the kids together again! 

Brenda was employed at ITT College in Dallas. She would later go on to
be director of a number of ITT schools in other states. I signed up for 
a temporary maintenance service and traveled to different apartment 
complexes in the Dallas area. Since I didn't have a vehicle, Brother 
Davis let me use his truck and tools. I don't know what I would have 
done without his help. 

The year was 1994. On his 16th birthday, February 5th, I took Brendan to
get his driver's license. He was really excited to get it and, of 
course, it was a pleasure to see him pass the test and drive me home. 
Brendan was a real good driver, very responsible, and we let him use 
the car when he needed to. He used it to pick kids up for church, go to 
the store, etc, but never just to be out running around. 

One night he and some of the kids from the church wanted to go to a
neighboring town for a youth service. It was a very stormy night. And, 
normally, I would have consented, but I had a bad feeling about the 
storm, and flooding that night. I felt compelled to deny him use of the 
car. Of course, he said,” But why dad, I will be real careful”. I have 
always regretted having to tell my kids “no” about anything. But I had 
that feeling that parents get at times, and I told him, “Son I love 
you, I trust you, now you have to trust me on this call”. He was upset 
at the time, but a few minutes he later came to me and said, “Dad, it 
is okay; I trust your judgment”. (I would later remember our 
conversation, and the impact it would have in my life). 

That year I knew why I had to make the trip to Dallas. It was the last
year I was to spend with my son, Brendan. 

God gave us some memorable times together. We watched Nolan Ryan pitch a
perfect game for the Texas Rangers, cheered the Arkansas Razorbacks to 
a national championship, shared the joy of him getting his driver's 
license, attend a youth camp meeting, and just lay on the bed and watch 
television and talk. 

Brendan went to the laundry to help Brenda dry some clothes one night.
It was about an hour later that I received the call that Brendan had 
passed out and the paramedics were on the way to get him. I rushed to 
the laundry, and got there just as the ambulance arrived. They 
transported him to the hospital, and the doctors told us he had 
suffered a massive heart attack. 

My son had a history of heart problems, but we were told that the
“problems were not life-threatening”.  In fact, he was scheduled for a 
minor surgery in a couple weeks. His surgeon was waiting for a certain 
anestheolgist to return from vacation! 

Brendan died two days later. 

There are no words to convey the loss that I felt.  I knew the stages of
the grief process, the denial, anger, depression, acceptance, etc.  But 
I could not bring myself to the acceptance part of God taking Brendan 
from me. 

I remember very little about the service or the arrangements that we had
to make prior to the funeral. I guess I just shut down emotionally. One 
of the things that do stand out in my mind is the night I was in the 
back yard, alone.  I was angry, confused, and helpless. In my mind, I 
was asking God, “Why would He take my son, which was as near perfect as 
any son could be, so early in his life?” It was as if I heard God's 
voice and the very words that I had told to Brendan a few months 
earlier, “Son, you just have to trust Me on this call”. 

I wish I could have been as trusting and accepting of God's will as
Brendan was of mine that stormy night I denied him the car and asked 
him to trust my judgment. 

I was experiencing depression, as I had never felt before. I would go to
work, try to concentrate on the job at hand, and then return home only 
to fall into bed as soon as I got there and sleep until time to get up 
and go to work the next morning. 

While I should have been giving, and receiving, support from those
around me that were also grieving, I turned inward, trying to cope on 
my own. 

I remember hearing from those that had lost a child that the pain
lessens, to some degree, over time.  I couldn't comprehend that. I have 
found out that God's Mercy allows us over the years to think of, and 
appreciate, the good times, those special occasions, and memories that 
exists in the present, rather than spend every waking hour dwelling on 
the tragic loss of a loved one. 

But, it seemed I could not get past that point. When the pain was too
great, and I felt I couldn't talk to anyone, I went back to the 
“familiar crutch” of alcohol, and chemicals. Brenda and I separated and 
divorced within months. 

“Choices....The story of my life!” 

I was employed at Windsor Place Town homes in Plano, Texas, as
maintenance supervisor. I rented one of the town homes on the property. 
The rent was reduced to me because I worked there. I sure couldn't have 
paid market price! Kendra and I moved there about July or August. We 
had to literally start with nothing. We obtained some used furniture 
and a few pictures for the walls. But, our refrigerator and cupboards 
looked like “ol' Mother Hubbard's”. 

Kendra was eleven at the time. She got busy decorating, and made a
shopping list of the essentials needed. When I got my paycheck, we went 
to the market. I was surprised at how well my little girl could shop. 
She was very thrifty.  We purchased all we needed, a few things we 
wanted, and had enough money left to go to a nice restaurant for some 
French onion soup! 

In September I enrolled her in the sixth grade. She was so worried about
changing classes during the day that she made me “time” her when we 
attended the “open house” a few days before school started! We enjoyed 
living there. I had never been a single parent before, but it was fun. 
We went to some Texas Rangers baseball games, had reserved seats, 
compliments of my boss. 

Kay called and asked if I could help her move from California to Plano
and her family would take her on to Arkansas.  Kendra, a fellow that 
worked for me, and I took my vacation and went to California and helped 
her move. Since Kay and Kendra moved to Russellville, she didn't finish 
the school year with me in Plano. 

CHAPTER NINE 

I met Bevely Jo McNeil, (no that is not a typo, there really isn't an
“r” in her first name) November, 15th 1995. After a few dates, I found 
it easy to define her character, and just some of the reasons I fell in 
love. She is honest, straightforward, considerate, tenderhearted, and 
generous (sometimes to a fault). 

Bev was recently divorced after 23 years of marriage. She worked as
computer network manager for Jewish Family Services in Dallas. And, she 
had been there for several years. 

I loved spending time with her from the beginning of our relationship,
and still do to this day!  She always made me feel good. She laughed at 
my corny jokes, and cried with me when I told her about the loss of my 
son. 

Daddy Paul, my natural father, passed away in February of 1996. I went
to Casper, Wyoming for the funeral, and she called me every night that 
I was away. Almost every time we were together, I would say, “Bev, 
wanna get married?” She always said  “No!”  One night I asked her that 
and she surprised me and said, “Sure!”. We were married on the 5th of 
July, 1996. After the wedding, I told her that was my last Independence 
Day.  She replied, “You will always be just as independent as you were 
before we got married”. 

In August of that year we made the decision to leave Dallas, and move to
Casper, Wyoming.  We put our furniture and all our belongings in 
storage, except for some clothes, packed the car and headed for 
Wyoming.  The temperature in Dallas was 105 degrees and the humidity 
about 98! When we arrived in Casper, the temperature was 90 degrees and 
everyone was complaining about the heat wave. Bev said it felt like 
“heaven” to her, and I had to agree. We stayed with mom (Shirley) for 
about a month. Then we found a really small house in North Casper. 
Family members helped us get furniture, dishes, etc. and we worked at 
fixing the little house up. I remember telling Bev, when we first met, 
that she really didn't want to get mixed up with the likes of me. She 
couldn't understand at the time, but when we couldn't afford the 
storage payments, lost everything we owned, including her new Mercury 
Tracer, I think she began to see the gravity of that statement. Things 
were not easy for us in a lot of ways. I was convinced that Bev would 
tire of our situation soon. She had been accustomed to a more 
financially secure lifestyle than the one she was now in. 

I went to work for Checker Auto Parts for just a little more than
minimum wage; she found work for a temp service as a 
secretary/receptionist. We worked hard at managing to stay within our 
meager budget, and things began to look a little better. 

We liked the little house there on “K” street. She decorated the inside
real pretty, and I painted the outside, and worked on the lawn and 
flowers. It was pretty there. We lived about half a block from the 
North Platte River. I used to go down and watch the wild geese, and 
beavers. We kept the birdfeeders full and I built a feeder for the many 
squirrels that visited our backyard. They would come down from the 
trees and take peanuts from our hands. We had one special little 
squirrel we named “Frisky”. She would come in the back door and eat 
from her own private feeder, a bowl of peanuts, in our dining room. If 
the bowl was empty she would come where we were sitting at the table 
and dance around begging until we gave her the peanuts. I still have 
pictures of her. 

That first winter in Wyoming was one of the coldest in many years. The
temperatures dropped to -25 degrees, and stayed there for weeks. I had 
not seen snow that deep since I was a boy in Colorado. Bev was used to 
Texas winters, so it was new to her. 

One evening, November 27th to be exact, Bev was sad and began to cry.
When I asked her what was wrong, she said it was her daughter's 
birthday. She had not seen her daughter in 36 years. (I will not go 
into details about the reason. That is her story. If she would like to 
relate it to you, I would be happy for her to do so in a chapter of 
this story). I will relate some of the events that occurred about a 
week or so later. Jana (her daughter) found out where we lived and 
called us. Bev was ecstatic. They talked for a long time, and made 
plans to come visit us that next April. We had a granddaughter we had 
never seen. Lydia spent her 2nd birthday with us that April. 

I fell in love with that little girl. She was, and still is, beautiful.
She has long black hair, and the complexion of china. I called her my 
“china doll”.  She became my buddy at that first meeting. Lydia 
followed “paw paw” everywhere. I took her “Wal-Mart shopping, something 
we have done several times since. 

I began to look for a better paying job, and went to work as a
maintenance supervisor for some single family residential units at 
Cottonwood Estates just outside of Casper. They were new homes, but 
were built, in a rush, by out of state contractors and had a lot of 
maintenance to be performed to make them livable for the price of the 
lease.  But at least I was making a decent wage. 

Not long after that Bev started to work at Life Care of Casper, a
nursing home, as part-time receptionist. She quickly advanced to lead 
receptionist and the added income allowed us to at least stay ahead of 
most of the bills. 

It was about this time that Shawn and the two grandchildren, Michael and
Jessica, came to Casper from Dallas. We made the trip there to bring 
them back. We were able to visit with Shane and his wife Michelle, and 
also to see our new grandbaby Mejia. What a beautiful child she was! 
But that was to be expected with her handsome daddy and pretty mommy. 

Lest I forget let me add another happening while we were living on “K”
street. Bev was doing some bookkeeping for a friend of our family. 
Wanda had a kitty that Bev fell in love with. (If it is an animal, Bev 
loves it!) Wanda said she couldn't keep the cat, so Bev brought it home 
with her. Now the problem was that Burl, the landlord, didn't like 
cats! He said we couldn't keep her.  Bev said, “If I can't have my 
kitty, we will move somewhere that I can!” Burl relented and the cat 
became a part of the family. 

She had been tagged with a very original name “Miss Kitty”.  Miss Kitty
is a black and white cat with six toes. We have been told that this 
breed is “very expensive”, or some say, “very lucky”. I don't know 
about all that but I do know she is a unique kitty. She will stare at 
her food bowl for a few minutes, and if she can see the bottom of the 
bowl, she will fuss until we fill it all the way full. No left-overs 
for her. She is the only cat that uses the litter box and instead of 
doing the traditional scratch and cover thing, she just scratches the 
wall next to the box. I gave her the name “psycho kitty”, but she has a 
way of ignoring me when I say that.  Miss Kitty was about three years 
old when we got her. At the time of this writing, she is around eleven 
years old. 

One evening Bev and I went to the laundry to wash clothes. While we were
folding them I had an episode of feeling very weak, I became 
disoriented, and had to sit down to keep from falling. Bev was 
concerned for me but, I told her I was probably just tired, and hungry. 
It never happened again, but I noticed that I would become real sleepy 
if I was inactive such as sitting down, or lying down. I finally went 
to the doctor for a totally unrelated minor problem with a pinched 
nerve in my elbow. During the exam he suspected that I had some 
problems with a partially blocked carotid artery.  I was scheduled for 
some sonogram studies and the test results came back that the left 
carotid was 97% occluded. I was referred to a vascular surgeon that 
scheduled the surgery immediately. The operation consisted of an 
incision about six inches long on the left side of my neck and cleaning 
out of the plaque in the carotid. After surgery, the doctor told me it 
was even worse than the test revealed. According to him there was just 
enough blood getting to the brain to keep me from having a massive 
stroke. That explained the incident in the laundry a few weeks earlier. 
We were fortunate that we had insurance at the time. They paid that doc 
over $10,000.00 to cut my throat. I know some people who would have 
done it for nothing! 

Just before my surgery, Kendra came to live with us. Since the house
only had one bedroom she slept on the couch. We began to look for a 
larger house. After a week or so, we located one within our budget. It 
was a nice old home with two bedrooms, a pretty fenced in front and 
back yard. We moved into the house on Wolcott Street, and I began to 
work on the lawn, etc. I built a nice wishing well, fixed up the old 
windmill in the front yard, and landscaped the flower beds. The first 
year, I planted 60 tulip bulbs. And, more important, at least to me, I 
had room for a vegetable garden. 

It was the next year that Kendra turned 16, December, 15 1999. She had
studied very hard and was now ready to take her driver's test. The 
morning that I took her to the motor vehicle department she was so 
nervous. “Daddy, what if I fail it?”  “Honey, you will do fine, but if 
you don't pass the first time you can re-test” From the way she looked, 
that wasn't a lot of comfort to her. She passed the test with flying 
colors, and drove her daddy back home. I was so proud of her, and, I 
thought of the time I took Brendan for his driving test. 

Kendra got a nice little car. She was so proud of it. I think she spent
about as much time washing and waxing as she did driving it.  I believe 
it was in May or June of that year that Dave and Kay came out from 
Arkansas for a visit, and Kendra drove her car back with them. Kay had 
met Dave Price in Russellville, and they were married a short time 
later.  Dave is a good guy; we became friends I will tell you more 
about him later in this story. 

One evening Bev brought Coco home with her to keep “for just a few
months”. Coco is a miniature dachshund that belonged to a resident 
where Bev worked. The elderly lady's son kept the dog and was going on 
vacation and needed a doggie sitter. Of course, Bev volunteered.  The 
son's wife said she hoped we would take the dog permanently. We both 
loved Coco, and the answer was “yes”.  Bev said Coco was about ten 
years old at the time, she is now 19, blind, and can't get around very 
well, but we still take care of her needs. After all, she is family! 

We loved the old house on Wolcott. My garden did well. We had a barbeque
with family over nearly every weekend, at least, in the spring and 
summer months. Well maybe I should change that, I remember putting the 
grill up on the wrap around porch, grilling hamburgers, and watching 
the weather add to the two feet of snow already on the ground. 

I left Cottonwood Estates and started my own business. It was a full
service home maintenance business, remodels, painting, air conditioner 
repairs, etc. I did very well and developed a growing list of clients. 
I did most of the work myself, but occasionally, I needed a helper. In 
the initial phase of getting the business going I did a lot of 
advertising. Stacy, my sister Linda Kay's daughter, was living with 
Shar, another sister of mine. Linda had passed away several years 
earlier. (Linda Kay and Sharlynn are my sisters born to Daddy Paul and 
Shirley.) Stacy was about 16 at the time and she helped me pass out 
flyers, and advertised the new business venture. One day I asked her if 
she wanted to help me paint a house. She agreed, so I picked her up and 
took her to work with me. I was surprised at how hard she worked. 
During our lunch break, I asked her if I had told her how much I was 
paying her. She told me no. I think it was $7.00 an hour or something 
like that. She couldn't believe it. She said she had never made that 
much money in her life. I wished I could have given her more; her work 
effort was well worth it. 

Stacy still keeps in touch with me on a regular basis. She is married
now, still living in Casper, and has a darling little girl, Trinity, 
that will be one year old this December, 2005. 

It was June, 2000 when Jeanne called and said mom (Larley) had been
diagnosed with leukemia. She had been ill for several months, but was 
now in the hospital. Shar, mom (Shirley), and I left for Lancaster 
within hours.  We drove straight through, arriving at the hospital in 
Lancaster, California around 2:00 am. My brother Jim was there at her 
bedside. She had been unresponsive for sometime, but when I held her 
little hand, and Jim asked, “Mom, do you know who is here?” she 
responded, “Why yes, it's my boy, Kenny Paul.” Shar and Shirley had to 
go back home the next day or so but I couldn't leave my mother. I 
stayed a week. The doctors said she could linger along for some time or 
go at any minute. My heart wanted to stay in Lancaster, but I knew I 
was needed back home, too. 

Over the next three months, I made several trips to Lancaster, I would
stay awhile, go back to Casper and try to catch up on the jobs that I 
had not been there for and then rush back to be with mom. 

A few months earlier, Jeannie and Ron bought a house next Jim's on
Avenue N in Palmdale.  Jim and his construction crew totally remodeled 
the house. They did this because Dad Larley was, also, not well and 
they wanted mom and dad near someone that could care for them. 

It was at that point that Bev and I made the decision to move to
Lancaster. Jeannie said we could stay in the house on Avenue N. I could 
stay with mom at the hospital, and give Jeannie and Johna some rest. 
Bev would be there to care for dad, take him to Los Angeles for his VA 
appointments, etc. 

CHAPTER TEN 

We sold, or gave away nearly all we had, packed up the car, Miss Kitty,
and Coco and left for California. Starting all over again! 

Mom was still in the hospital when we arrived there October 20th.  She
came home for just a few days and then we had to rush her back to the 
emergency room. 

My mother left this earth and went to be with her Lord October, 30 2000.
God gave us ten more days together. I have a feeling He honored her 
request for that. 

My mom, who was ALWAYS there, was gone. When I was wrong in thinking or
actions she would tell me, sometimes, rather strongly.  She would let 
me know she didn't condone my misbehavior, but she, also, let me know 
she was there for me no matter what. I wasn't fully aware how much I 
depended on her. Who was I going to talk to when things were going 
wrong? Who would I call and share the good things that were happening 
in my life? 

It has been five years now and when something happens in my life I find
myself thinking, “I have to call mom”. I wish I would have stayed in 
touch with her more often. I wish I would have told her how much I 
loved her more often. I wish I could raid her refrigerator again. I 
wish we could eat snow cream together one more time. I wish we could 
play one more game of checkers, even though she rarely let me win. 

Choices!  If I had made different “choices”, I wouldn't have so many
“wishes” today. 

As children we, somehow, imagine our parents being around forever. After
all they always have been. 

I suppose the older I get the more I realize the need to keep in touch
with those we love, especially family. 

After mom passed away, Bev and I remained in the house in Palmdale and
cared for dad for about a year. I put in a pretty good size garden, 
using Jim's tractor. (And I am sure Jim will agree I ain't much of a 
tractor driver!) But that old sandy desert soil does pretty good if you 
spread enough manure on it. 

I went to work for Nash Construction. Jim taught me how to do insurance
estimates, and use the estimating program Xactimate.  It was 
interesting work, and it was good to work with Jim. We had not lived 
close together for many years. 

Carl, our brother in law, (Elmarie's husband), was the superintendent
for the company. I would normally get to the office early, open up, and 
make coffee. One morning Carl came in and told us that a plane had hit 
some towers in New York. The early reports were just coming in and he 
heard it on the radio on his way to work. It September 11, 2001. 

A couple months later dad went to stay with Johna in Lancaster.  Bev and
I moved into a house on Gadsden Street in Lancaster. It had a fenced in 
backyard so we took Babe, dad's chow dog with us.  Dad got Babe when 
she was just a puppy. Bev and I saw her when we came to Lancaster on 
vacation from Dallas in 1996.  She was just a bundle of red fur, the 
cutest little puppy I had ever seen!  Dad loved Babe, mom tolerated 
her. Babe had been kept outside in a fenced area most of her life, and 
she liked to escape. When she would get out, she would run.   I 
couldn't catch her and no matter how much I tried to get her to come 
back, she wouldn't. I have always hated for a dog not to come when I 
called. Maybe it's a control issue on my part, you think?  Anyway, I 
would yell, “Babe, when I catch you I am gonna beat you half to death!” 
Then I would call for her to come to me again. Now I ask you -- would 
you go to someone that just told you when you got there they were going 
to beat you half to death? 

We let her stay in the house most of the time. She amazed me, after a
month or so I could leave the front door open and she would not attempt 
to go out. If we were sitting on the front porch, and she got off on 
the lawn, I would tell her quietly to come back and she would obey me. 
Babe is a really good dog. She looks and sounds vicious, but she is 
really gentle. That is as long as we are in the house. I would not 
recommend anyone trying to enter the home with us away! 

Jana called and told us we were grandparents again. Our newest
grandbaby, John David (everyone calls him Johnny), was born September 
10, 2001. I now had two grandsons, about 14 years apart. We were happy 
for Jana.  She had several miscarriages, and was worried that she could 
not have another child. But he was a healthy little baby.  Lydia was 
glad to have a little brother, too. 

I left Nash Construction after I started receiving my social security
retirement check. I got my first “rockin' chair” money on May 8th  2002 
(my oldest son's birthday!).  Bev and I wanted to move to Arkansas. We 
had made a trip up here in the Ozarks before we left Dallas back in 
1996. I love this area, and she liked it too. I asked Dad Larley if we 
could move into the house in Green Forest that I had signed over to him 
so many years ago. He said yes, and we began making plans to move. We 
had to wait until my next check came in to have enough money for gas, 
U-Haul trailer, etc. 

Jim helped me build a trailer hitch on the little '86 Toyota hatchback
that we purchased for $1,000.00 in 2001. We packed up the trailer, made 
a bed for Babe, Coco, and Miss Kitty in the back and headed for 
Arkansas on November 6th, 2002. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

For the first part of the trip things went well. Then we started having
car trouble. Too make matters worse, I had fallen on the front steps of 
our house and separated the cartilage in my sternum. It was painful 
enough that I had gone to the VA clinic in Lancaster before we loaded 
the trailer. The doctor said it would heal but I needed to take it 
easy, and not do any lifting. Well, Bev and I had to get the trailer 
loaded so I did what I had to do and paid for it later. I hurt so bad I 
couldn't tolerate the seat belt across my chest. 

Anyway we would drive about 50 miles or so and the car would just quit
running. I checked everything I knew to check, and decided it was an 
electrical problem. I got the battery charged, but as soon as I turned 
on the lights it would die again. We would try to get to a city where 
they could check out the alternator. We were about three miles from an 
exit, on the shoulder of I-40, when a state trooper pulled up behind 
us. I took the alternator off and he drove me to an auto parts store. 
It was 7:00 am and they didn't open until 8:00 am. I got a cup of 
coffee at McDonald's and waited. The alternator checked out, or so the 
guy said, so I walked back to the car and put it back on. Someone came 
by and gave us a battery boost. We made it to the same parts store and 
purchased a new battery.  We did alright for awhile, but when we had to 
use the lights or heater, the car died again. We spent more time on the 
side of the freeway than we drove! 

When we were making forward progress, it had to be between dawn and
dusk. Just before the sun went down we would pull into a rest area or 
truck stop and spend the night. Not only were we running out of money, 
but I had already run out of patience. I have to say I was beginning to 
think that moving to Arkansas was not a good idea. Bev, bless her 
heart, never lost faith. I would leave her, Miss Kitty, Babe, and Coco 
in the car on the side of the freeway and walk to get help. I worried 
about them, and Bev prayed a lot. She tried to encourage me that we had 
made the right decision. And she was right. 

The last night we slept at a big truck stop waiting for daybreak.  Miss
Kitty darted out of the car early the next morning. She ran under some 
of the big trucks, and was frightened because of the engines running. 
It wasn't quite daylight yet and Bev and I tried to find her. Finally, 
we gave up and thought we would have to leave her. While we were in the 
coffee shop, I spotted Miss Kitty trying to get in the front door. She 
had come to find us. I think she was as relieved as we were. 

It was cold in November, and trying to sleep with a chow dog, a
miniature dachshund, and a six-toed kitty was an experience! 

We made it almost to the Arkansas line when the little Toyota quit for
the last time. Kendra, Kay, and Dave lived in Springdale, about 70 
miles from the rest area in Oklahoma where we were stranded. The only 
thing we could do was to call them and try to get off the road. Kendra 
came and got us. We left the car, and trailer (with all our worldly 
goods), in Oklahoma and spent the night with Kay and Dave in Arkansas. 
The trip from California to Arkansas took exactly seven days! We should 
have made it in three. 

We called Jana and David the next day. He deals in used vehicles and has
a car carrier, so he came and got us and we went to their house just 
outside of Little Rock. Thank God for family that is willing to help! 

The next day we unloaded the trailer and turned it in to U-Haul. David
and I began to try to find out what was wrong with the car. I took the 
alternator apart, and found a brush that was worn out. I replaced the 
brushes for about $5.00, and we have not had any electrical problems 
since. I didn't have the tools to do it or I would have tried to fix it 
when we first started having trouble. We were completely out of money 
when we got to Arkansas. But we made it! 

The house in Green Forest that we were moving into was occupied, and we
wanted to give the people time to find another house. Brother and 
Sister Davis live in Pine Bluff. They invited us to stay with them 
until we could move to Green Forest. It was a pleasant experience for 
us to be able to stay with them. Brother and Sister Davis are some of 
the finest people I know. 

Sister Davis needed some remodeling on her kitchen. I was glad to help
do that for her. Brother Davis and I built shelves, refinished cabinet 
doors, put in a new stove that Brenda had bought for them, enclosed her 
portable dishwasher, and put new Formica on all the counter tops. It 
was quite a project, and we enjoyed every minute of it. We stayed with 
them from the last of November until February 1st, 2003. 

The day we left, Sister Davis told us she wanted us to stay with them.
If that was said by some people I would have thought they were just 
being nice. But, I have known that dear lady since 1970, and if she 
said she wanted us to stay longer, I know it was the truth. We owe 
Brother and Sister Davis a debt of gratitude for their graciousness and 
hospitality. 

We rented another U-Haul trailer and got our stuff from Jana and David's
house and “headed for the hills”. It was cold that February day. We 
slept on a mattress on the floor, and the next morning we got up made 
coffee and started inspecting our new home. I was really disappointed 
in the condition of the house. I remembered it an almost new house when 
I left here almost fifteen years before. There had been two or three 
families with little children living in the house at the time we gave 
them notice to vacate. The thermostat was not working, just hanging out 
of the wall, so the only heat was from the cook stove in the kitchen. 
Even the oven wasn't working. I repaired the oven, bought a thermostat, 
and got the heater operable again. We had to replace the kitchen 
faucet, and only one bathroom had water. There was so much to do just 
to make the house livable. Our money was about gone. We paid the 
mortgage payment for January even though we didn't live here that 
month. I knew the former residents would not make the payment and I 
didn't want Dad Larley to have to come up with it. Bev's social 
security check would not start until June, and we had to put up 
deposits, and get groceries. To say money was scarce is an 
understatement. It was more like non-existent. 

Mom and Dad Larley had stored a lot of things in the, now run down, shed
in back. Bev and I started digging through all the stuff. And to my 
surprise, most of the nick-knacks and pictures that mom loved had 
survived the rains, snows, and mice. I carried boxes of her things in 
the house, cleaned them up, and placed them on a desk in the living 
room, or hung them on the walls. She always wanted to come back to 
Arkansas and get her things, but never made it. 

Shortly after we got moved in Kay, Dave, and Kendra came for a visit.
Kendra was about four when she moved out of this house. She was excited 
to see “her room”, again. 

I looked forward to putting in a vegetable garden in the spring. I
didn't have a tiller and couldn't afford to rent one but, in early 
April, I started breaking up the garden with a shovel. It was all lawn, 
and pretty thick. I got a real workout before I had it ready to plant. 
I learned the meaning of “plowing new ground”! 

I planted tomatoes, okra, squash, green onions, cucumbers, peppers,
collards, beets, green beans, and radishes. It was a lot of work, but 
that first summer I canned about 32 quarts of veggies. 

We made a trip to El Dorado, in southern Arkansas, to see Uncle Boe &
Aunt Bea . It had been about twenty years since I had seen them. Of 
course, Bev had never met them. We spent the night and he told us 
stories about Granddaddy and Granny Wallace. It was so good to visit 
with them. Uncle Boe had been seriously ill for several weeks, and I 
was happy to see him doing so well. Bev really liked both of them and 
appeared to enjoy her visit too. They live out in the country, and have 
a couple big ponds stocked with catfish. I went with Aunt Bea to feed 
them that evening. The pond was just swarming with big catfish. I told 
her not to catch them all ‘till I could get back down there and help 
her. 

Although there are a lot of lakes, rivers, and ponds in this area, I
found a pond in Berryville that is stocked with fish each year. I love 
going over there and just sitting on the bank fishing. I stocked our 
refrigerator freezer with some nice size catfish that year. We later 
got a deep freeze. 

One weekend we went to Springdale to visit with Kendra, Kay, and Dave. (
I believe I mentioned before that it is about 65 miles from Green 
Forest.) On the way home the timing belt broke on the old Toyota. Dave 
brought us home and we had the car towed back to Green Forest. I 
decided I would try to replace the belt myself. We bought the timing 
belt, went to the library and got a repair manual, and started to work 
on it. Much to our pleasant surprise, when we finished the job, the car 
started right up! I had never replaced a timing belt before. So much 
for the old dog and new trick's learning theory! 

Retirement took some getting used to. I would wake up early in the
morning and feel kind of guilty for not going to work. If I had enough 
money to do everything that needed to be done on this house, I 
probably, would have worked myself to death. 

I did get a part-time job at the Berryville Community Center. It
consisted of janitorial work mostly. I was working for $7.50 per hour. 
I had not worked for that low wage in many years. But, it gave me 
something to do and a few more dollars to help with expenses. 

We made several trips back to Pine Bluff and Little Rock to visit with
family. Bev's “rockin' chair” money started in June. So, I resigned 
from the Community Center and we were able to visit family more often. 

Shanneen and Melvin Watson were married in Casper, Wyoming May, 17th
2003. We didn't have the finances to make the trip. I regretted that, 
but Shawn seemed to understand. It was a very nice wedding and she made 
sure we got pictures of it. 

Kendall and Robin called and told us they were engaged to be married.
She is a sweet little girl. She and Kendall have been dating for 
several years. At first the wedding was set for April the next year 
(2004). Later they changed the date to January of that year. Bev, 
Michael, Jessica, and I made the 3-4 hour trip for the wedding at 
Earle, Arkansas on January, 24 2004. 

In November of 2005,(at the time of this writing) Kendall called and
gave us the good news that we were going to be grandparents, again. 

In October 2003, Shawn and Melvin called and said they wanted to move
here. They were living in Grand Junction, Colorado. Bev and I made the 
trip there to help them relocate to Green Forest. They stayed with us 
until January of that following year. They both found work at a nursing 
home in Eureka Springs, about 15 miles from our home. 

I know it seems like I am unable to keep events in a chronological
order. Some people have told me I never could keep my story straight. 
But, it's my story and I'm stickin' to it! 

The first week of January, 2004, on a Monday morning, I woke up
experiencing some rather severe weakness in my left arm and leg. I told 
Bev I thought I slept on them, because they felt numb. The weakness in 
my arm got better as the day progressed, but my leg got to the point I 
couldn't stand on it. I couldn't move my foot or leg from the hip down. 
I called the VA hospital, and they instructed me to get down there as 
soon as possible. We left almost immediately, and I checked into Urgent 
Care at the Fayetteville VA hospital. 

After the initial exam, a CAT scan, MRI, and blood tests, it was
determined that I had suffered two strokes. The first one was the 
episode in Casper, (in 1998); the second was the one that did the 
damage. Since I was unable to walk, they gave me a wheelchair, and a 
walker, sent me to Orthopedics for a leg brace, and started some 
physical therapy. 

In March I went to the VA in Little Rock to see a neurologist, and to
have another Doppler study on the carotid artery repair that was done 
in Casper. Apparently, the surgery didn't heal properly, and they were 
thinking of doing it over. I wasn't looking forward to that! After the 
vascular surgeons had their consultations,  it was decided that the 
risk of another stroke on the operating table wasn't worth it. I was 
getting adequate blood supply even though it wasn't properly healed. 

It has been two years now since the stroke. I have to admit it is quite
an adjustment for me. I have not been able to drive at all. That, at 
times, is a little depressing. It about made me crazy the first few 
months, I couldn't even wiggle my toes on the dead foot! I can get in 
and out of the shower now by myself, so that is a bit of improvement. 
My balance and coordination is not good on some days, and it is hard 
for me to get my brace, and shoe on, get up from a sitting position, 
etc. 

I would be hard pressed to make it without my wife. This ordeal has put
a lot of extra work on her. Yet, she never complains. I cannot help her 
run errands like I used to. That bothers me a lot, too. Even through it 
all, I realize that I am blessed or lucky, call it what you will, that 
I am not totally paralyzed on my right side. It could have been a lot 
worse. All the recent tests at VA looked good, and I just have to make 
annual visits unless something comes up that I need an appointment. 

I do miss being able to drive myself to the pond to go fishing at night.
Bev has trouble with “night vision” so travel after dark is out of the 
question for us now. 

I didn't put in a garden that year. Just didn't feel like trying to
stand up on the walker and do all that. 

The year 2005 had some bittersweet times. 

As I mentioned before, Dad Larley went to live with Johna the year that
Bev and I left California. It was in 2003 that he moved to Colorado to 
stay with my niece, Deborah. He was there a year and was transferred to 
a rest home back in Lancaster, California. 

In February of 2005 dad went to the nursing home in Grants Pass, Oregon.
Both Jeannie and Jim live there now.  Dad died July. 10th 2005, he was 
moved back to Lancaster and buried, with military honors, next to mom. 

In May of 2005, I had a dream come true. Ever since Bev and I moved to
Green Forest, we had wanted to have a reunion picnic with all our kids, 
their spouses, and children present. I started making plans six months 
prior to the Memorial Day weekend. I called all the kids, sent them 
follow-up emails, and called again! We reserved the pavilion at the 
park here in Green Forest. The weather was beautiful, and we had at 
least 20 family members present. All our children were there except 
Shane. He tried so hard to make it. He was in helicopter pilot school, 
and had a flight that afternoon. Mejia, his little daughter, 8, was 
ill. Shane called me a couple times and said he was going to try to 
make the four hour drive, but he would be rushed to get back for the 
required helicopter training flight. I told him I would rather he stay 
there and take care of Mejia and his school. I didn't want him to be on 
the road, especially feeling rushed, on the holiday weekend. He felt 
really bad that he couldn't be there. And, of course, we missed him 
very much. But it will not be the last Nash Family Reunion, God 
willing. 

We made three poster boards, filled with pictures of all the kids at
different ages, from babies to present.  Also, each person present 
signed, and made comments on a table cloth with a permanent ink marker. 


Well, that year Bev and I gained some additions to our family! No! Not
more babies, we learned what causes that! 

Shawn and Melvin bought a Beagle/Terrier puppy, and later, a full
blooded Basset hound. They moved into a home that they couldn't keep 
the dogs. Bev and I took both of them. Now we have a basset, (Sadie 
Sioux age, 7 months old), a beagle,(Apache “Patches”, two years), a 
Chow, (Babe, 9 years), a miniature Dachshund, (Coco, 19 years), and of 
course,  the six-toed, lovable, “psycho-kitty”,(Miss Kitty, 11 years 
old). Sometimes I tell Bev that I am gonna get rid all of ‘em!  She 
just says, “Yeah, and you will be the next to go!” Guess that defines 
my position in the peckin' order. 

Michael came to live with us that year, also. It's been a long time
since we had a teenager in the house. He turned seventeen on September, 
3rd, just a few weeks after he moved in with us. It has been a joy to 
have him. Mike is a good kid.  He is currently awaiting testing for his 
GED diploma. He studied very hard, and went to all his classes. I am 
proud of him. (Since this writing he has passed the tests and has 
received his diploma.) 

Mike and Nicole met in the GED class. She is a pretty girl, very sweet
and polite. We enjoy her visits with us. Her grandmother is Japanese, 
and of course, Nicole is interested in that history and culture. We 
have had some good conversations about Japan and Okinawa. Her 
Grandfather was stationed on Okinawa while in the U.S. Air Force. 

Mike and Nicole have plans to attend North Arkansas College in Harrison,
about 20 miles from home. He wants to go into law enforcement. I think 
he would do well in that field. 

I mentioned before that Bev had been married for 23 years. Her husband,
Jerry McNeil, passed away in 1996. He had three children that lived 
with him and Bev for some time when they were small. The youngest, 
Billy Joe, called Bev and told her of Jerry's death. We knew that Billy 
and his family lived up in the Ozarks but, wasn't sure exactly where. 
He had moved and we had no recent phone number. 

About a month ago, we got a call from him. He, his wife, Pam and two
children, Amanda and Marshall, ages 19 and 17 live just an hour and 
half drive from us. 

Billy and Pam came down the next weekend to get Bev and me. We had the
pleasure of spending a couple days in their home. Billy is a general 
building contractor, and is doing very well in that profession. They 
have 28 acres outside of Branson, Missouri. Although, they are just 
raising cattle on the twenty-eight acres, they have access to over 
128,000 acres. The owner, Chip, is the Missouri Forestry Commissioner. 
He has the largest buffalo herd in the U.S. on that ranch. 

Although Chip is a very wealthy man, he is appears to be down to earth
and personable. He is a good friend to Billy. 

He surprised Bev with two dozen long stemmed roses and a chocolate cake
for the celebration of her and Billy's reunion after 17 years or so. 

The country there is beautiful.  We drove around in the middle of the
buffalo herds and visited the hunting lodge that Billy and his friends 
use each hunting season. The lodge is a very rustic structure, with 
horses and mules, homemade bunk beds, etc. but I noticed the microwave 
and big screen TV (with satellite). 

Saturday we went to Branson to see the Son's of the Pioneers dinner
show. It was a great performance and the food was good too. Billy 
surprised Bev and me with a ride in the horse drawn carriage that 
night. Not only was it interesting and historically informative, it was 
quite romantic! 

Another thing he and Pam did for us that was so generous was to buy us a
beautiful three piece sectional with matching recliners. After seeing 
my old beat up recliner, he probably felt sorry for this old man! 

In the spring of 2005, I put in another garden. It was about the same as
the first year, except Michael was here to help me. We rented a tiller, 
and did it right that year. The garden produced well and we put up a 
lot of veggies, only this time I froze most of the produce. I really 
enjoy making “gumbo” in the winter time. 

We had a pleasant surprise on November 30, that year.  Bev's only
brother, Dale (Scarborough), and his wife, Ginger, came for a short 
visit. They live in Belton, Texas. That is near Waco. The last time we 
saw them was in 1996, nearly ten years earlier. Needless to say, we had 
a lot of “catching up” to do. 

Before I end this story, I want to say how proud I am of my children.
Shanneen (Shawn) is employed at Eureka Springs Nursing Home as a 
Certified Nurse's Assistant.  Shane is living in Memphis, attending 
college there and is near completion of helicopter pilot school. 
Kendall is also in Memphis and graduated college with two degrees. 
Kendra is living in Springdale has a nice apartment and working full 
time in a clothing store there. 

Well writing this “story” has been interesting. I will admit there were
times that I almost couldn't bring myself to continue writing. Certain 
parts of my life I didn't want to “relive”. I suppose most of us are 
like that. It is easier to write about the good times, and dwell on the 
right choices, rather than face the hurts, disappointments, and wrong 
choices. I mentioned earlier in this modest writing that I would try to 
be as honest and truthful as I could. And, I have tried to tell it like 
it was, not as I wish it could have been. 

Some have told me that I should just continue writing, but I feel it
necessary to make “Choices (The Story of My Life)” available, to those 
who want to read it, while I am still living. 

It is for this reason that I have set the date of March 3, 2006 as a
completion date. That is my 66th birthday. 

In the 66 years that it took to come full circle, and be back in my home
state, much has happened.  But, you know that if you suffered through 
this story and are reading this page! 

I have much to be grateful for. 

If I could take a blank page and on one side list all the “bad” things
that has happened, and on the other side note all the “good” things, I 
know that I would be way ahead in this thing called “life”. And I am 
fully aware that is just by the “Grace of God”. 


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