<TITLE>08. Par 28-30</TITLE>L-28 I stood there and begin to think, "Now, Edward's gone. He's been dead for years. Just as soon as he got any age on him, he was killed." He died calling for me. I was working on a cattle ranch out west. And when... I stood there and begin to think about him. I thought, "I remember that handful of corn that I took out of that bucket." And I thought, "I'd give everything that I ever could own in this world, if I could go to him again and take him that handful of corn that I took." I can't do it. Here we have no continuing city.
I remember the old house that used to set up there, big, log house, and how big the logs was in it, and we had a little old apple tree on the outside. There's a piece of looking glass tacked up, a mirror on the win--on the little bench built on the tree, and we'd go out there and pop would come in and wash. He was about thirty years old, I guess, then he'd wash his hands and things on the outside, come into the little old cabin to eat. And I remember how strong. I used to look. My daddy was a small man, but a great, big muscle. And I thought, "My, he will live forever," such a strong man, and a wiry, real typical Irishman. And he was--he was as wiry as he could be. And I thought, "Oh, how strong my daddy is."

L-29 I just look at the old log house and see how tight she was put together; I said, "My, that old house, it'll be there when I--my children are--are old." And you know what? About twenty-five years, there's a housing project there.
The old spring I used to drink out of, filled up and gone. House is gone. Dad died at fifty-two years old. Here we have no continuing city. That's right. But brother, sister, we're pilgrims and strangers today, seeking one that has eternal foundations, whose Builder and Maker is God.
I was very bashful as a kid. I remember trying to be a business man when I was a kid. How many ever got in the old wagon, or something or other, and put some quilts around you and throwed some straw in a bed and ride downtown? Let's see. You go down to get the groceries... Oh, my. On Saturday, I remember we used to do that, and every time pop would pay the tremendous grocery bill, about two dollars and seventy-five cents, three dollars for a week, five kids. The grocery man was so pleased to get that big bill, why, he'd give him a little sack of candy. And when they'd bring that sack of candy out, old stick peppermints. You remember? Say, it's pretty good, isn't it? I used... That and salty crackers goes good for me yet.
So they had that little sack full of candy and bring it out, and setting in this pile of hay out in that wagon was about five little pair of blue eyes looking for that candy, waited all week for it. If there wasn't a stick around to go around to every one of them, they had to break it up, just exactly equally to each one. I remember every one waiting for his part. And we'd suck on it. We couldn't eat it, go too quick, had to suck on it.

L-30 So, I remember I used to take mine and wrap it up in a piece of paper and put it in my pocket. And Monday come, I lived like a king. Mother'd say, "William?"
I'd say, "Yes, mama?"
"Go to the spring and get a bucket of water."
"Yes, mama." I'd say, "Hey." Called my brother Humpy, I'd say, "Humpy, tell you what I'll do, if you'll go get that..." It was big old cedar buckets, you know, and a gourd dipper, and you... I said, "If you'll go get that bucket of water, I'll let you have five licks off of this piece of candy." I'd undo it and say, "Smell it. See, it's good." Salesmanship... Brother, I took it easy as long as that candy lasted. I really had it made when I had that piece of candy. He'd go get it. I'd be sure it was five licks alone; no, six, five licks. Anything that had to be done, I'd let him do it for me, the rest of them: businessman, with this stick of candy.


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