Growing up during the height of the Cold War made a dent in my childhood, but there were a series of personal disasters that made a larger dent. I nearly bought the farm from scarlet fever, a black window nearly killed me with it bite, then occurred a boat accident where I barely survived drowning, and our family house burned to the ground, all of this before I became fourteen.

At sixteen I was in a serious car accident which my father blamed on me, and I paced up and left home. I became footloose and fancy-free, transferring from one school to another and working various and sundry jobs around California though the Sixties. My childhood mentor, a neighbor who worked for United Press International told me once that since I was so fond of my paperboy job, I should consider a newspaper career when I grew up. He said that the industry is overrun with those who would sell their own mother downriver for a good story. Someone of such upstanding character and integrity as myself, would be a credit to the Fourth Estate he flattered me.

I took to heart his encouragement. I did love my paperboy job. Becoming a newspaper reporter some day, had the natural feeling of graduating from the school of paperboy. On the other hand I thought, who would want to work daily in the slightest union with a bunch of bottom dwellers, those who would as much stoop to sell their own mother downriver for a story? It turns out, as one major life event after another befalls me over the years, a newspaper career seems fitting.

Meanwhile, between my many paycheck endeavors, I hawked newspapers on the street from LA to 'Frisco.

Sign up now to get the most out of Books2Read

Discover something great at Books2Read.

Thanks for signing up for Books2Read notifications!