Here I am, looking dapper in my bib overalls and slouch hat, on my swingset with neighbor Jeannie Taylor, sometime around 1948 or 1949.
Jeannie lived in a big brick double across the alley from our house and she was my first girlfriend, or friend who was a girl, or something.
Her dad was a bombardier on B-17s in World War II and kept his Colt 1911 in a desk drawer. I didn’t understand how to work a semiautomatic pistol, so I never knew if it was loaded.
Jeannie’s family moved to Rossville, Ind. sometime in the 1950s and I lost track of her.
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