My recollection start in my early years as flashes that stand out as facts, like the earliest of my memories was of crawling across the kitchen floor, while relatives were visiting us. I plopped my diapered butt beneath the kitchen table in the midst of tall, tree like black clad knitted stockings adorning the legs of women in mourning. They were family members who gathered for a family member who had passed, who exactly it was or the year, nobody remembers. I heard a voice of one of the talking tree legs speak, "I think Olan understands us." I remember thinking of course I do, what you think I am, stupid, and the memory ends. Perhaps, an earlier memory was of my crib, and my brothers having to babysit me. The faces looked down at me as they said, "We hate you!" the younger brother chimes in, "Yes, we hate you. Because of you, we have to stay indoors on this great day, and watch you." These are the two boys cooing at me in a photograph in front of the purple lilac bush. I just smiled. What's a brother to do, poop his diaper?

Photo shows my brother Curtis pictured left, me in the stroller, and Walt (deceased) is pictured on the right. The bush in the back ground was a fragrant purple lilac. Our eldest brother Paul died at 5 months in 1942 from a cold, his immune system was compromised.

I recalled Dad changing my diaper in the backseat of our parked car, in our neighboring town of Moberly, Missouri, while Mom talked to someone on the sidewalk. I remember our car was struck from behind, and the memory fades. I told my father that story, and his eyes widened, and he asked, "You remember that?" Yes, I remember father, God rest your soul, it was traumatic, like watching my ice cream cone fall to the sidewalk. Perhaps it was my first "Old Settler Day Fall Fair and Festival," 1954. The fair brought people in from all over the county, including us, from the south side of the tracks. I remember that Mom carried me to our drugstore's soda fountain. Mom asked me what flavor of ice cream I wanted, I pointed at strawberry. As we left I remember Mom opened the door, and I was amazed at all the people gathered on the street, and as my eyes looked about I let my cone fall to the ground, and at the last moment I remember seeing it go splat on the sidewalk; I turned, buried my head in her bosom and bawled. These events are flashes in my brain, neurons and synapses firing, like water finding its way from under the ice to the surface, and these pathways are accounts of my life.

The house I was born in on June 30th 1953, with Perma Stone asphalt siding. We lived in poverty, but I didn't know I was rich on the inside. The window pictured left was the window where my crib sat in the spring and summer. The house was fueled by three stoves; main bedroom was wood burning, the living room was a duel coal/wood burner, and the kitchen was wood burning. Tom the cat made his appearance, stage left, and I was indoors in the crib waiting to explorer of this planet.

This photo shows our cars in 1953, my brothers (Curtis right and Walt pictured on the left, and very hard to make out was our kitten born the same year as me, "Tom."

Huntsville, Missouri's Randolph County Old Settlers Fall Fair and Festival, 1954. (photo credit: Galahn Kilgore).

My father: Walter William Smith, Sr. age 43, carrying me, and the year is 1954.

Huntsville, Missouri; 1954. Photo belongs to me.

Brother, Paul E. Smith, age 3 months 27 days, 1942; about two months before his death.