From Gramps

Michele,

Thanks for the challenge. I know you only asked for a few stories, but that prompted me to sort of start at the beginning of an autobiography. I wrote Chapter One. I wouldn't dream of boring everyone with the whole chapter on the blog, but, proving to you that I have started, here are a few paragraphs:

"I was born in an earlier century. I forget which one, 1929 seems proximate to the ice age. I'm older than many things familiar to modern mankind -- TV, computers, cruise control and flushing toilets. I'm older than some rocks.

"The account of my life which follows is true -- except the parts that aren't (just kidding). If, in reading, you were to come across anything even remotely interesting, you could be quite certain that I made it up. That gives you a clue that everything hereafter is going to be terminally boring, because I won't make up any of it. If I embellish at all, it will be because I've forgotten the details of what actually happened and have fabricated with something as close to the truth as I can possible get.

"The town in which I first saw the light of day has become pretty much lost in wind, dust and sage brush, its only recent emergence into the public eye being the Milford Flat Fire in the summer of 2007 and some of Utah's lowest temperatures in the winter of 2007-08. It's right to existence, once based on the harvesting of potatoes and the changing of crews on the Union Pacific rail line, changed several years ago to 'the site of one of the largest pig farms in the state.' Most of Milford's potatoes now come from Idaho and the UP trains don't even slow down passing through.

"In 1929, Milford boasted the second highest population in Beaver County. Beaver was first. Minersville was third. There weren't any others. Population of Milford was 1600. Probably still is . . . . same number, different people -- well, most of them anyway. There might be a handful of my vintage still shuffling around there. Why?

"I was born sixth of my mother's seven children, fourth of my father's five. Mom's first husband, surnamed Blackburn, died after the birth of Walden (Wally) and Peggy (Peg). Mom married Florentine Allen Bingham, a carefree, fast moving street fighter with a vicious left hook (never used on Mom or us kids), who owned a hot rod (1918 Model A Ford) which he used to ferry parts and messages to and from Milford and Frisco, a mining site west of town. That made him the only non-miner, non-farmer male resident of the area who actually made money off self-employment. My dad's free life style and macho image disappeared soon after the marriage."

(Well, that's enough of that. What I'd like to see is a regular (or occasional) entry in the blog from everyone in the family. Each individual has a different style and approach to writing and each contribution is interesting in its own way. I have enjoyed them all. Write! Again, Andrea, thanks for starting it!)