My cellphone pinged and I checked to see who was texting me at 11 p.m. It was my friend Rita, and she had attached a photo to her message. When I clicked on it, there was my dad, standing outside of his fuel delivery truck in 1972, like he had just hopped out and was about to shut the truck door. That would not have been unusual, except for a mysterious aberration: instead of work clothes, my dad was wearing a satin vest, a long-sleeved white shirt, an armband and a felt hat! And he was sporting a beard, which was definitely not typical.
Our August Issue
Those Long, Hot Summers
How We Kept Our Cool
Now That's Funny!
Collecting Comic Books
Totally Amused
Parks, Parades and Carnivals We Loved
Dear Friends of the Good Old Days,
I can still smell that pungent hot tar. I was 7 years old and my friend Nadine and I were sitting cross-legged along the edge of Water Street, poking at the emerging tar bubbles with sticks. It was another sizzling summer day in Ohio in my Good Old Days, and we, as always, were out in it. There was no air-conditioning in our homes, so it was no use retreating indoors to escape the humidity....
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Until I reached the age of 9 in 1962, our family made our home at the corner of McNary and Mechanic streets in Princeton, Ky. We lived in a drafty house with a dusty attic into which we rarely ventured.
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