I was one of the last generation to be born in the South — that's South with a capital "S." There were still mules and wagons on the streets, along with pre-WWII automobiles, when I was young. There was an identifiable regional cuisine, and we said, "y'all;" but only when referring to more than one person. There was, at least in hindsight, a graciousness and gracefulness to that time that is lost — and with great regret. 

My grandparents were raised by people who had been through the Civil War, and I was raised by people who had been through the Great Depression. All of this left some sort of mark, but not necessarily the sort one might expect. I was never a segregationist, although it wasn't until the 60s that I thought about it in any kind of coherent manner. It just seemed unfair and inefficient. (Stores had to have four restrooms — white male, colored male, white female, colored female. In Lumber county it was even more complicated because they had yet another pair of bathrooms for indians.) My father, having endured the Depression thought that if you had a job, you kept it, and he stayed at a job he didn't particularly like for more than 30 years. After college I moved from job to job about every two years until I became self-employed in 1970. After that I changed the direction of the company periodically, moving into more interesting if not necessarily more profitable areas.

Now, with a lot more behind me than in front of me, I've found that it's worked out pretty well. I'm still married to the girl I first kissed when she was 12 and I was 15. I have two children who grew up to be good, responsible people and who have married good people. I have grandchildren who forever amaze me. And, browsing through all the work I've done, I still find a few things that make me very proud. I've been blessed beyond anything I deserve.