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In 1957, at the tender age of 11, Capitalism had hit me hard. I learned that people would pay you to mow their lawns. I loved this task so much, that I would have paid them for the privilege. I was outside and got to handle heavy equipment. Well, at least the equipment was heavy for an 11-year-old boy. Not only did I have a lawn-mowing service in Arvin, but also, when my parents went traveling. We would barely get into the house of the relative that we were visiting, before I was asking if I could mow their lawns. They were glad to agree, if for no other reason that to get me out from under-foot.
Some lawns proved to be quite tricky for a geeky, 90-pound boy from Arvin where everything in the town was flat. Our relatives lived in the cities back east and their small lawns were on such a slope that if you slipped on the wet grass, you slid all the way to the sidewalk on your rear end. I left more than one home with green...
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