One Pharmacist’s View

No place like home I always say and for sure Allen is my home. I think mom felt that real strong for Allen on one “bad” day in 1938. The day we moved to Centrahoma. The old house dad had rented was in horrible shape. Our new landlord had stored hay in it and now he had rented it to my broke and, as mom put it, “gullible” dad. I remember the giant red-ant bed in the front yard. No drinking water. Had to haul it. The outdoor toilet was hiding out in a dangerous looking sticker patch. No respectable snake would venture out there. For a bit of respectability and as an odor chaser, Mom repapered both rooms (of the house) with Daily Oklahomans using flour and water for paste. After Gerald wept over it, she tore the news print off the walls and repapered with comic strips— cheering my unhappy brother up.