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“It was a dark and stormy night!” It wasn’t, really, I’ve just always wanted to start a story with the infamous line. In reality, it was a beautiful, balmy, summer evening; so there.
My brother, Ronnie, a friend and I were on our way up the Canyon on 178 out of Bakersfield to Bull Run Creek to get in some trout fishing. I was driving the friend’s dad’s truck, a ‘40 Studebaker. I hit the first “S” curve a tad fast and we managed a four-wheel slide through it. Fortunately, there wasn’t any other traffic. It did not bode well for our journey but we were young and, hence, indestructible and laughed about it.
It was great to be young and single in the Fifties in America and, especially, in California. Tax-fattened hyenas, otherwise known as “politicians,” hadn’t yet perfected their methods of robbing responsible, working folks blind, teachers were still trying to educate, welfare wasn’t yet an...
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