"Finally,
Joe Naden, himself -- his head skinny and bald entered the barn to discuss the
practical aspects of the unwanted rain. A victim of heart disease -- rather
heavy -- worn out at 55 -- his only son a military casualty -- he seems a
pitiable person to me. He has one big
interest in life yet -- His eyes fairly light up when he talks about the bumper
oat crops. ‘I think it'll make 60 bushels to the acre,’ he predicts with a tone
of voice alive, and different from the usual whiny voice."
--Letter
from my father, Bloomington, Kans., to my mother, Winfield, Kans., Thursday, June
19, 1947.
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