I went to Los Altos grammar school. I just went to a party with a fellow that I started school with, Waldo Griffin.  We started grammar school, graduated, got inducted into the army, and we both went to basic training together, all on the same days.  Then we went to Korea together.  We split up at Pouson and I never saw him until after the war. That was that a good life too.  He lived down the road and we tromped all over that country.

The railroad tracks went through Los Altos and Alta Mesa was a stop on the railroad. We would run over there at nighttime and bring the grease for the tractor and grease the tracks so that the wheels would spin. After a few times, we got caught. We did some nice things, but we never hurt anybody. After a few times of doing that, the engineer jumped off the train and chased us. Waldo got away but I didn’t. But we never hurt anyone.

My dad was Italian and my mother was German. We always had get-togethers at the holidays. Easter we always killed the goat and barbequed it. I think of the photos of what we had back then and what we have now. I could never get my wife to go kill the goat with me.

They had a guy would come out. This guy would come out and kill the pig. My mother would catch the blood to make blood sausage. I can still see that poor pig squealing. Today when you see this stuff on television they make it look inhumane.