RW> Kinda like mine, 6'1 and 5'...
 
Yep.
 
RW>RN> Everybody has a story.
 
RW> Yes sir.
 
I actually started to write mine, just before and during my 1st marriage,
as a contribution to our medical profession.  Don't know what wife #1 did
with it, but I think I can guess.
 
RW> My mouth is watering.
 
My mother and her 6 sisters were excellent cooks.
 
RW> Kinda like my dad's uncle who owned a bakery. Everybody worked there as
RW> they grew up and learned how to bake everything from crackers to breads
RW> and cakes. That was during the depression.
 
At one time, I worked 50 hours a week at a fried chicken place here and the
first thing I was taught was how to cook and make a concoction to dip the
chicken in.  I was a manager-trainee and went up the ladder fairly quick
only to decide that wasn't for me.  The cleanliness regs in those places
are really something and have to be done or the city health inspector would
shut the place down.  Then the boss would get on us for throwing chicken
away that had been on the heat lamp rack over 45 minutes.  It was his rule
(and maybe that of the health dept.) to do that and we got chewed out for
doing it. Anyway, nobody wants to eat fried chicken that had the juices
evaporated from too much time on the rack.
 
RW> A great experience.
 
And one you don't forget.
 
RW> I was aware of that war and in junior high then. The only thing I can
RW> remember about it was that a girl in my 'home room' got news that her
RW> brother was killed in action. As you would expect, she didn't take it
RW> very well.
 
On the surface, that doesn't seem like the prudent thing was done.
 
RW> He was too busy staying out of sight to eat at first. Then he found that
RW> he could get a bit of rice from farmers. I have no idea where he escaped
RW> from or where he went.
 
The important thing is he escaped.
 
 
Regards,
 
Roger

... My other tagline's a Rolex...
--- D'Bridge 3.31