What are the odds that you and I are related?

I recently traced a particular branch of my father's family tree back for 21 generations! Maybe. I'll talk about the maybe part later, but at the moment I can make a pedigree chart starting with my father, then his father - a grandfather I never met, then his father's mother - my great grandmother, then her father, and her father's father, and his father's father, and keep doing this until the chart has "branched" 21 times.

Laura Jane "Jennie" Coleman - my great grandmother - is the key to this prodigious branch. Described as "very skilled and industrious" woman, my parents took a picture - back in 1985 - of a bed spread that she made. And when I say made, she spun the wool into even thread that she had dyed, using walnuts for the browns and berries for the the red color. At that time the spread was nearly 100 years old and still beautiful. My mother said, "the colors are not faded, nor does the wool look old."

The earliest individual in this long line is Sir Roger Coleman (or Sir Roger de Colville), born in 1215 probably in Lincolnshire, England, who married Margaret de Brewes, also known as Margaret Devereaux (de Brewes) or "Margery (de Braose) Colville." They had a son also named Roger and he and his wife had a son Geoffrey, and Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers... and you know the rest.

Twenty-one generations (or 23 generations from my own grandchildren) poses an interesting question. Just how many people could be descended from Sir Roger? A lot. It's a question that interests genealogists, mathematicians and the curiously idle (like myself), and surprisingly there is a lot of math that one can employ to find the answer, starting with the formula:

Total direct ancestors = (2 to the nth power)- 2, 

where n=the number of generations (counting yourself). 

I was never fond of math, so let me just sum it up. My grandchildren and I are part of more than 16 million directly related ancestors and family members of Sir Roger Coleman and Margaret de Brewes. People who study this stuff say that at 25-30 generations (67,108,862 direct ancestors) any person alive should by pure mathematics have a common ancestor with any other known person, alive or dead.

There's a whole lot more math involved besides the simple formula above. For example, purists insist that one must consider ancestors that pop up in more than one line of descent (like when cousins marry, which happened a lot in the earlier days). This reduces the number of direct ancestors significantly if it occurs in the first 8 or 10 generations. The second problem is that a huge total of direct ancestors does not necessarily mesh with actual population statistics throughout the time span involved.

And the "Maybe" I mentioned at the beginning? It's awfully hard to actually prove kinship through 21 generations. The genealogy program that I use to keep up with kith and kin is linked to a couple of major ancestral databases, including the vast genealogical holdings of the Mormon (LDS) Church. That's where this long list of Colemans came from, but it's only a list, and the LDS database, for reasons of their own, is woefully deficient in actual proof. So, while this line of Colemans is interesting, it may not be accurate.

But what one can take away from this exercise is that the next time some idiot cuts you off in traffic or otherwise riles you, be kind. He or she is probably your 26th cousin, 3-times removed. Heck, it might even be me.

Monday Meanderings - 3.28.2016

Well, it's official. More people are moving to the ATX metro area every day than to anywhere else. Anywhere. We passed the 2 million mark sometime last summer but it has taken this long to count everyone. I guess they had to wait until no one was moving - WHICH HAPPENS EVERY RUSH HOUR! Duh!

What's more, another recent analysis shows the Austin-San Antonio region along the I-35 corridor, is rapidly becoming the next Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. I suggest we call it ASA. You heard it here first, folks.

Barb and I came to the conclusion this weekend that checkers at the registers in places like the market and Walmart must lead very lonely lives. We base that on the long, long conversations we experienced at both venues. In fact at Walmart, the checker spent so much time talking to the customer in line before us, that the customer, after she finally freed herself from an interminable, one-way conversation, turned to us and mouthed, "Sorry."

Burger King has been running saturation TV ads for their new flame-grilled hotdogs. Don't think that's working out well for them - at least not at the store on Lamar, closest to us.

Some local restaurants are doing away with the pagers issued for notification that your table is ready. Now they just ask for your mobile phone number and text you when it's your turn. Just don't get the number wrong; you might be in for a long wait.

Yes, we still have the blanket on the bed, and we may keep it there a while. Our A/C-heater is very confused about whose turn it is to run. We went ahead and moved the plants outside last week, and several times since we have looked out to see them lined up at the door, begging to come back inside. Pathetic.

Aunt Lou Amma's Memoirs - Part IV

Lou Amma Bramblett Armstrong, my mother's oldest sister, at age 79 wrote down a few pages of her childhood memories growing up in Johnson County, Texas, in the early 1900's, along with 7 other brothers and sisters, parents and grandparents.

In this final segment, she describes one of the family enterprises - a local telephone company owned by her father, Lee Bramblett, and staffed by the entire family.

 Lou Amma and Elna, operating the switchboard

One day when Carl was attending the switchboard one line crossed with another and the man on the live end of the line helped the other one get central. He rang a long time. When Carl answered he said Helooooooooh, It made the man so mad he had his phone taken out. Later he got over it and asked for it back. Papa told him all right, but he would not get any better service.

Mama used to let Elna and me hitch up to the buggy and go as far as 4 miles to uncross lines or fix the telephone (watch the ground wire). She would tell us what to do and we usually fixed it. That was in the Fall when all the men were busy.

Carl could answer the phone when he was crying, and when he answered, it was always a very pleasant “Hello.”

One time an electrical storm suddenly came up and I was ringing someone. It knocked out every line on the board. Shocked me until my arm just ached for 2 hours. All was well when we went behind the board and put in new fuses.

John and Cora Latina Doss Hall

I remember when G’ma and G’pa Hall moved from west of Cleburne to the Indian Territory (before it became a state). Uncle Jimmie [Hall, brother of Cora] also lived out a claim and I remember G’pa had a 2 room dugout. Herbert [Hall; Jimmies' son] was 2 years older than I and used to tell about them driving 25 miles to Hammon and he saw a train “The largest one he ever saw before or since.”

I can’t figure out how papa and mama met. Maybe some of you know. They used to go to big singings all over the country. Papa sang tenor. Mama sang alto.

The memoirs end here. At least, I have no additional pages, and I suspect there were not any more. 

Monday Meanderings - 3.21.2016

You are probably not aware that I can control the weather. Yes, it's true. All it takes to bring a significant chill across most of the state is for me to utter the phrase: "Let's take the blanket off the bed. I think we are done with cool weather." Sorry.

Well, welcoming the FLOTUS to ATX for SXSW is a lot less trouble than preparing for her husband, the POTUS. She slipped in and out of town PDQ, and I can't think of any more letter abbreviations to stick in here.

There must be a law or rule, such as Murphy's Law, that postulates that you can't do a single repair to an automobile. Once you replace oh, say, the brake master cylinder, the O2 sensor will act up, which prompts the radiator to leak, which brings on a failed motor strut. I'm going to call it Anderson's Automotive Imperative.

The curator of the Traces of Texas posted a picture on Facebook the other day that jogged my memory.

The sign (which was on a BBQ joint in Hatch, New Mexico) is a remnant from the Dallas-Fort Worth Turnpike, which obviously connected those two cities after completion in 1957. And yes, it was as straight as the sign implies.

Dallas was the first place Barb and I lived after marrying in 1961. We spent 3 whole months there. We had many opportunities to travel this 30 mile superhighway during that period, and on many other visits to Dallas in the years to come. But the most memorable trip was right after we moved into an apartment on Rainer, in the southwest part of Dallas, just a few blocks from the Turnpike.

We had no money to speak of in those days, and one evening we splurged and spent what we had at a movie in downtown Dallas. New to the area, we thought we could take a shortcut home, but our route dumped us right into the west-bound toll plaza. I had no idea where the next exit was, or how much it would cost, not that it mattered. We couldn't pay it.

Back then, an attendant handed you an IBM-type punch card that you surrendered - with payment - at your destination. I remember pleading our case to the attendant, but neither Barb nor I clearly remember the resolution. I think the attendant had us circle around the back of the plaza and join the exiting vehicles arriving from Fort Worth.

Times have changed. Today, there are no attendants - at least on the toll roads in our area. But then again, the need for cash on hand has passed as well. They will mail you a bill. Or in our case, ding your credit card automatically. But perhaps the biggest change is that once the Dallas-Fort Worth Turnpike collected enough tolls to pay its cost, in 1977, they tore down the toll booths and just made it part of I-30.  Not holding my breath for that to happen in these times.

Aunt Lou Amma's Memoirs - Part III

Lou Amma Bramblett Armstrong, my mother's oldest sister, at age 79 wrote down a few pages of her childhood memories growing up in Johnson County, Texas, in the early 1900's, along with 7 other brothers and sisters, parents and grandparents.

One time a man with a covered wagon with a man, woman and baby drove up and said they were traveling for their sick baby girl’s health, but he needed a job and that an old friend of ours in Okla. (Mr Hallford, Beulah Hallford’s father) sent him to papa. He told them they could move in the buggy shed. The baby died in a few days. Mama saw it was going to die, so she brought it in the house to die.

Emma and Ruby [Ellis - neighbor children] were visiting and we - Emma and I - offered to sit up  with the corpse. The papa said he wanted to be with his baby since it would be his last chance. Mama told him do as he chose, but we would not want to stay up if we couldn’t catch up on our visiting and that we would go to bed. It took no time at all for him to decide he had to go to bed.

Next day the baby was buried over by Mr. Burt’s in a little cemetery at papa’s expense. They picked cotton all fall. The woman wore the dress she picked cotton in and left on the train. Dress was starched and ironed and we talked about her doing the best she could (how nice she looked under the circumstances).

The worst tragedy in our family was when the Frank Larimore boys came by to get Tommie to go hunting with them. I don’t remember if Homer was along or not (I believe he was) but as the story goes Buster Larimore & Tommie were ahead of the others and Buster told Tommie to shoot straight up to scare the others. As he brought the gun down it went off again and shot Buster through the head. He died instantly.

Word came in over the switchboard that someone had been shot. Papa and Mamma drove up in a buggy about that time and I remember mama throwing pkgs. out of the buggy for them to go down there. This was Frank Larimore’s son. Mrs. Chris Larimore lived to be over 106 I believe it was (Elna will know).

Instead of them resenting Tommie they seemed to take him on as a son. Tommie was always present when they had a death in the family.When mama died, Tommie went after Mrs. Chris Larimore and brought her over at Elnas. The reason that this impresses me so is this is the day (21 years ago) mamma was buried and Tommie died.

The second tragedy was when Homer was riding on their motorcycle and Buster Ellis was cutting corners. He darted right out in front of Homer and Homer ran over him broke both bones in his leg. It was not Homer’s fault. He (Buster) was not at an intersection. Homer really hated it and was so attentive while he was laid up. Papa paid all expenses. The Ellis’ held no ill will.

John Boyd, Sheriff of Johnson County

Uncle John Boyd... was sheriff of Johnson Co. It became his duty to hang a man and he resigned his job. Just couldn’t do it. I believe he was a superintendent of a reformatory place down south before being a sheriff.  One time when Uncle John lived at Watts Chapel, Dr. George Truitt, Pastor of First Baptist Church came down (his best friend came with him) to hunt. As Dr. Truitt crawled through a wire fence his gun went off and hit his friend. He later died, It was said of him he never was the same he was saddened so, Dr. Truitt loved anyone by the name of Boyd thereafter.  He said they treated him so well.

In the next segment, Lou Amma describes working on the telephone exchange that Lee operated out of their house.

Monday Meanderings - 3.14.2016

We survived Carmageddon - the total gridlock caused by simultaneously scheduling Austin Rodeo, SXSW and a visit from the POTUS all on the same day. As it turns out, we did need to go south on Friday, from North Austin to San Marcos, so we took the alternate route.

It added a little time, but we totally avoided downtown Austin.

Obama says he likes to come to Austin for the food. Last time he was here, he jumped the line at Franklin's BBQ; this time he stopped at Torchy's Tacos. Austin and San Antonio have been skirmishing over who has the best tacos. I guess the Prez voted in that election.

I was sitting in a doctor's waiting room the other day and two women - who were at least within hailing distance of my generation  - were looking at something on an iPhone. Comparing grand-kids, I thought to myself. Then I tuned in on the conversation (i.e. eavesdropped) and I realized they were discussing "latent delays on server A versus server B, and wondering if they could better balance the workload by offloading this or that task to another network." I think I misjudged these ladies.

Have I mentioned before how I don't care for Daylight Savings Time? Still don't. Setting aside the 12 clocks in our household that needed resetting, there's the whole body-clock thing for the next week or so. Who ever thought this was a good idea?

Barb and I have long thought the loading dock at Home Depot is a place that is in desperate need of marriage  counselors. This week we decided that the produce section of Central Market might benefit as well. Overheard: "I don't care. Get what you want - I'm not going to eat any of it!"

Aunt Lou Amma's Memoirs - Part II

Lou Amma Bramblett Armstrong, my mother's oldest sister, at age 79 wrote down a few pages of her childhood memories, growing up in Johnson County, Texas, in the early 1900's, along with 7 bothers and sisters, parents and grandparents.

 Lee Bramblett, member of the Stubblefield Cornet Band

Papa was smooth tempered. Didn’t get mad often but when he was mad, he was mad all over. He went on peoples notes and would have them to pay. That’s how he owned his first Jackson car in 1908. [Marginal note: “My calculation was wrong. It was some later.”]

The slogan for the Jackson Automobile was, "No hill Too Steep, No Sand Too Deep"

He went on Dr. L. L. Harris’ note and had it to pay and Dr. Harris turned it over to him - No. 300 plus in the country ever bought. (Mr. Blasingame’s was #26 for the first car in county and the first car I ever saw) Dr. Harris operated on Elna for appendicitis at 13 years (I think) he would not take a penny for it.

John and Frances Boyd Bramblett

When papa and mamma married papa took his bride into his parents home [John and Frances "Fannie" Boyd Bramblett] and they lived there until Tommie was born then G’Pa died and papa moved to Stubblefield and G’ma with them. G’ma was partial to Homer. He admitted later she would slip him nickels.

G’ma had strokes for 5 years and 2 years before she died she broke her hip. She couldn’t have it fixed and suffered a lot. Papa took care of her of nights and mama in day. Papa averaged getting up 3 times a night to let her sit on the side of the bed awhile then lay her back. We didn’t have a rolling chair but papa bought her a chair (recliner) much like we have. Cost over $200.00. A foot rest and etc.

She broke her hip by stepping off the porch. One day she asked me to help her walk. I did and have felt guilty all my life because I figured that she only fractured her hip and the walk I took her on broke it. She was only 73 when this happened. Since mama was pregnant with Erwin I did the lifting and for a while never got to go anywhere with her. Elna was too little to lift her.

When Elna was 2 years old she would talk only by whispering. G’ma said “I wish to the Lord couldn’t any of you talk above a whisper.”

In 1913 papa was very anxious for a rain before July 4th (makes for a better cotton crop and that’s what ginners liked). He promised us if it rained enough to run the tank dam over he would build us a new house. About 4 PM that day a dark cloud came up from the N.W. and rain it did and build the house over he did. We have a photograph and the floor plan is still in my mind.

The new house, which burned in 1918

On the south was a living room, boys bed room and a back porch that had a wall on it. Middle had a hall, Dining room and kitchen. On North was papa & mama’s room. Had 2 beds in it, Cora and Ina on one, the parents on the other.  Girls room had two beds in it and next was bath room that also opened into the kitchen. The fire place was in papa and mama’s room. Mama never like us sitting on the bed. Homer attempted to break us of the habit so he fixed up some pins and placed them point up under the spread. Guess who got caught first? He did.

Our bath tub was galvanized iron, had to carry water to it across the kitchen from the well. In the many shelves that was across the west end of bath room I found Erwin’s baby clothes hid out. Mama was too modest to tell her 14 or 15 year old girl she was going to have a baby brother (I was smarter than she thought).

Papa built an out building, a room we called meat house, a buggy shed and a wash house with 2 wash pots in a furnace. We had a hand powered washing machine.

In the next segment: life was hard in those days, and death was a frequent visitor.

Monday Meanderings - 3.7.2016

Okay, I have a confession to make. I've devoted so much time to coffee on the patio this past week that no meandering took place. The only things that I can reliably comment on are the trees leafing out, the grass greening and the dandelions and sticky willy weed proliferating. It's been a hard winter in ATX.

But for those of you who might be inclined to think of this as an endorsement to move here, let me remind you that temperatures of triple digits, humidity in the 90's and the increasingly deadly mosquitoes are just around the corner. Enough said.

However, I have not been a total slacker this week. While doing a little genealogical research the other evening a link led me to transcripts of early editions of the Arlington Journal - a newspaper that began publication in 1897 and lives on today as the Arlington Citizen-Journal.

Browsing through issues published in 1904, I was struck by how tenuous life was for citizens of the day. Death was frequent and often tragic, and there seemed to be recurring themes.

For example a leading cause of accidental death seemed to be fire:

The little daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bob Tate, living in the Caddo Mills community, died Friday from the effects of burns received Tuesday by falling into the fire.

Monday afternoon the 16-year-old daughter of Fritz Marquot, living near Plum, was so badly burned that death resulted in a few hours afterward. She was burning cotton stalks in the field when her clothing caught fire.

Broeton Baker Bledsoe died at his home in Village Mills of the burns received from an exploded lamp. Mr. Bledsoe was born in Cobb county, Georgia, in 1844. He was a Confederate veteran.

Shreveport: Mrs. C. E. Parker was probably fatally burned Saturday as the result (of) stepping upon a match, igniting her clothing. She sustained severe burns upon her hips, right shoulder and back. Her condition today is precarious. This is the third similar case reported within the past two weeks, the victims in each instance being women whose clothing became accidentally ignited, resulting in burns that produced death.

It is reported that W. H. Johnson a brother to H. O. Johnson, former editor of this paper is reported to have lost his life in the great Chicago Theater fire.

Decatur: Mrs. Fannie Cooper of this place, who was reported as having her clothes burned from her body while starting a fire under a wash pot in the yard Thursday, died that night from the effect of her injuries.

Or by gunshot. Sometimes accidental, sometimes not:

Dallas: At Wilmer Saturday night D. H. Weaver was shot and killed and Osa Tyre, aged about 28, received a pistol wound through the fleshy part of his shoulder. Weaver, who was an elderly man, 53 years of age, was instantly killed, being shot in the breast above the heart. Another ball entered his hip, while a third cut a hole through his hat. Tyre was arrested and brought to Dallas.

Tuesday at Enterprise, I. T., Will C. Davis and Miss Lulu E. Smith went to the photographer to have their pictures made, carrying a target gun, which as usual was not loaded. In some way the gun was exploded, the ball entering the breast of the young man, and as a consequence he is in a precarious condition.

Fooling with a supposed empty pistol, Callin Jones, a Dallas negro, shot and killed Maggie Porter, another negro.

Police Officer Howell Cobb shot and instantly killed Robert O. Emma, a Mexican, at El Paso. Emma was resisting arrest, and after knocking the officer down, slashed him with a razor, inflicting ugly wounds.

Since there were few automobiles in 1904, trains figured prominently as a cause of death:

J. W. McNeal, a resident of Curtis, in Woods county, Ok., was struck by an extra Santa Fe freight train at Curtis and instantly killed, both legs and his neck being broken. He was a Civil War veteran.

Temple: At the Santa Fe stone quarries near Belton late Thursday afternoon Tom H. Lipscomb of Temple, a Santa Fe freight brakeman, was almost instantly killed by being run over by the engine attached to the train he was working with. The train was setting some cars at the quarry and Lipscomb was riding on the pilot of the engine for the purpose of uncoupling a car that was being shoved onto the siding in front of the engine. 

Hugh A. Mullen, one of the proprietors of the Sunday Philadelphia World was killed by being struck by a train. Among the papers found in his pocket was an accident insurance policy for $5000.

While crossing a track from his work, August Schoenberg, a cotton screwman at Galveston, was run over, necessitating the amputation of his right leg just below the hip. The chances of his recovery are doubtful.

And then there were the less common, but no less deadly causes of death:

Skeekity Tehee, a full-blood Cherokee Indian, while trying to ride a wild horse, was thrown violently to the ground and instantly killed.

Arthur Curry, a Cleburne youth, while walking a picket fence with a playmate, fell, sticking two of the pickets in his body. His injuries are very serious.

Bessie Dean died at the Sealy Hospital at Galveston from morphine poisoning, self-administered. She had been a resident of Galveston for several years and had led a wretched life for the past three years.

Frank A. Biggs, aged sixty-seven years, died at San Antonio Friday. He was injured December 23 by an emery wheel breaking while he was sharpening a chisel, a piece of the emery striking him on the forehead and fracturing his skull.

Waco: Sam Bell, a farmer, descended into a well near Hewitt, Mclennan county, to put in a blast, intending to go deeper to get a better flow of water, and was overcome and killed by carbonic acid gas, commonly called fire damp. His friend, Charles Johnson, descended to the rescue, and was overcome. A third man went down and got both men out, to late to save Bell, but in time to save Johnson.

And sometimes, it was a combination of tragic events:

Eagle Pass: The wife of Antonio Sanchez, a miner, was burned to death Thursday evening. She was cooking over an open fire, when her dress caught fire, and before aid could be given was mortally injured. Her husband was notified, and while ascending the shaft of the cage, swooned and fell, his head striking the wall of the shaft and his neck was broken. He was brought up dead. His wife lingered till midnight.


 

Aunt Lou Amma's Memoirs - Part I

In 1979, at age 79, my mother's sister, Lou Amma Bramblett Armstrong, wrote down some of her memories as a child. Aunt Lou Amma was the forth of eight children of Lee and Maggie Ertle Hall Bramblett, and the first daughter, after the boys; Homer, Tommie and Carl. Daughters, Elna, Cora and Ina would follow; then the fourth boy, Erwin. 

Carl, Tommie, Erwin and Homer
Maggie and Lee

Cora, Lou Amma, Elna and Ina

  
Pages one and two of her hand-written transcript are missing, but what remains provides glimpses of life in and around Johnson County, Texas at the turn of the century. She first describes a journey the family made to visit maternal grandparents, John and Cora Latina Doss Hall , who had moved from west of Cleburne, Texas to the Indian Territory of Kiowa, Roger Mills County, Oklahoma a few years earlier. Lou Amma was only two at the time, so the details of this particular journey no doubt came to her as family lore. 

 In July 1902 (or first of Aug.) papa and mama hitched up to a covered wagon with a mattress in the back for their 5 children to ride on. Elna being about 3 months old and Homer about 7. Must have had springs under the mattress because they had to take cooking utensils along to keep us fed. It took them 11 days to go to grandma Halls. They stayed 11 days and returned in 11 days. Papa said, “It was fun.” Mama said “Never again.”

They took along one bicycle and in town or up along a long hill Homer would get on one peddle and Tommie the other. They attracted lots of attention. I remember one thing about the trip. Wading barefooted in the sand going up a hill.

Note: Roger Mills, Oklahoma is about 300 miles from Johnson County, Texas. Today, that's a 5-hour auto trip. 

Next she describes family life when your papa is a jack-of-all-trades, but primarily a “ginner”  - owner and operator of a cotton gin.

Lee Bramblett (2nd from left) and his gin crew

Since 1902 was the date of our gin burning, [the trip] must have been not long after that. I don’t remember when the gin was built but after papa got it clear of debt he put his Ins. with a Mutual Ins. Co. to be less expensive. Anyway when it burned he could not find a piece of the Mutual Co. left. So he had to go in debt to rebuild.

Later he decided to trade his 144 acre farm (which was located on what we knew as Cris Larimore farms) for a section of land out close to Sweetwater Tex. Then later I remember papa and mama were standing out at the well, I was near, when he told her he traded his section of land for a cotton gin at Egan. Mama cried she was so put out with him. It did no good there so he mortgaged both gins and moved it to Barnsville.

 Mama told on paper that he traded the Barnsville Gin for a grindstone and threw it in the well. Papa sold what equity he had in his grist mill, blacksmith shop, telephone exchange and moved to Cleburne to work for Mr. Powell at a gin about 1918. I believe Tommie bought the telephone exchange wire and etc. but as I remember it was a loss to him. That is not clear.

When I was 15 or in 1915 papa would leave the stands for me to run while he went to Alvarado to run a grist mill over there. I have one of the printed meal sacks to this day. On Saturday, when all gin hands had finished for the day and left, two other bales of cotton came in. Carl was 17, I was 15, Elna was 13. Carl ran the engine to one bale. I ran the stands (also did the weighing) Elna ran the packer. The man that bought the cotton fed the suction. Then Carl went up stairs, tied out the bales and loaded it on the wagon. Then we proceeded in the same order for the next.

One day Uncle Jimmie Hightower brought in a bale and I carelessly failed to weigh the cotton and all. So this is the way I worked it out to know what he owed for ginning. When the bale was tied out and weighed again I knew about how many lbs. It took to make a bale that size so I filled in the gross weight and Uncle Jimmie made me happy when he said, “That was exactly my field weight.”

In the next segment, Lou Amma tells about living in an extended family, early automobiles in Johnson County and  building a new house.