Dear Editor,
Age may have dulled some memories—but not all. As I remember it, I was 12 years old, in the 7th grade of a Wheatland County K-12 school. Summer vacation had just started. In those days, school ended in May so kids could help on the family ranches.
An old pickup crossed the cattle guard into the yard. A man got out; said his name was Willard. His dog jumped out, relieved itself and chased the chickens. He got some eggs from Mother, drank from a bottle and said he was going to get a Red Indian motorcycle and maybe give me a ride next time through. Next time he came, said he had got a Scout cycle but was pulled over for not having valid license, and it was impounded. Said he got a new one, tried to pass a cattle truck and plowed into a road grader. Said his cycle was totaled, and he lit on his face in front of the blade. Said he gashed his head, lost teeth and set out to buy another one. A couple weeks later, he came again. Said after he left the last time, his cycle quit. Was trying to restart it and never knew what hit the back and threw him into a barbed wire fence. Said he woke up in a hospital after a two-day coma, with casts on both legs, a concussion, more missing teeth and a bandaged head. That was the last time I saw Willard. Heard later he had joined the army. Reminded me of a private in the 12th Armored Division, who was transferred out on a Section 8 in 1942.
YCN reader/ subscriber
Bill Everling, MN
