Max the Knife: The Life and Times of a Country Surgeon

By Max Heeb

It was a balmy early September evening in 1998. The event was the annual fund-raiser for the Missouri Delta Medical Center, and I was the guest of honor; to receive a meritorious service award and recognition for services performed as a surgeon for more than four decades, as well as my work in various community projects and promotions.
This was the second annual fund-raising event sponsored by the Missouri Delta Medical Center Foundation. The first one, the year before, had paid tribute to Judge Marshall Craig, a distinguished circuit court jurist, a legal icon in our region, and an all-American basketball player at the University of Missouri during his college days.
It was my privilege to introduce the out-of-town special guests in attendance that had come to honor Judge Craig. The president of the University of Missouri, Dr. George Russell, originally from Bertrand, Missouri, a small town just east of Sikeston, and the renowned coach of the University of Missouri Tigers basketball team for more than twenty-five years, Coach Norman Stewart, had traveled down from Columbia, Missouri, to help honor Judge Craig.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503592735

Max Heeb

About the Author Dr. Heeb grew up poor but didn’t know it in Chaffee, Missouri, a town of three thousand in Southeast Missouri. After serving in the navy from 1945 to 1946, he realized if he was ever going to be successful, it was up to him and no one else. With a wanton academic high-school record, through hard work, persistence, and the grace of God, he earned a BS in science, magna cum laude, in three years from Southeast Missouri State University. Dr. Heeb entered medical school at the University of Missouri and received an MD degree with honors from Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis, Missouri. After completing a surgical residency at the Jewish Hospital of St. Louis, he earned board certification in general surgery and was accepted as a fellow of the American College of Surgeons. From a practice of surgery in Sikeston, Missouri, a community of less than twenty thousand, he experienced many exciting and unusual cases. He attained national status in the American Cancer Society and American College of Surgeons, as well as numerous state organizations. Dr. Heeb has published numerous surgical articles in national surgical journals, as well as articles related to doctor-patient relationships. He resides at Kentucky Lake and Cape Coral, Florida. He retired on November 9, 2008, after over fifty years as a general surgeon, but still advises friends with medical and surgical problems. Sailing with friends in Florida is still enjoyed.

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Copyright © 2015 by Max Heeb, MD, FACS.

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Rev. date: 08/04/2015

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

The Early Years

The Beginning

School Years

Introduction to Religion

The Chaffee Red Devils

Making Ends Meet

My Musical Career

Near Misses of Tragedy

Back to Football

Teenage Capers

The Last Years of High School

Some Lingering Impressions

Afterthoughts

Serving My Country

Preparing to Become a Surgeon

Southeast Missouri State University

The University of Missouri

Washington University

Washington University School of Medicine Clinics

Internship – Jewish Hospital

City Hospital Fracture Service

Residency Training – Jewish Hospital

Medical Research and Publications

Invention of a Gastrointestinal Tube

My Career as a Surgeon

Assisting the Dexter Memorial Hospital

Competent Assistants along the Way

Jean Ann Eason

Ricky Huls

Dorothy O’Neal, CRNA

Billy Jean Waldron

Emerson Jackson

Some Interesting Surgical Cases

Comments on Specific Types of Surgery

Breast Cancer

Colon Cancer

Aortic Aneurysms

Hypothermia

Perineal Tear

Skin Cancer

Pathology at Missouri Delta Medical Center

Giving Back to My Community and Profession

Sikeston Public Schools

The Sikeston Bootheel Rodeo

State and National Organizations

The American Cancer Society

Some Specific Services and Programs

The American College of Surgeons

Division of Family Services

Missouri Delta Medical Center Foundation

Some Unusual Cases and Experiences

Greener Pastures

Doctor-Patient Relationships

Some Gray Areas

Notable Influences

Legal Issues

The Three Worst Days of My Life

Patients to Special Friends

Slowing Down

Medical Care in Other Lands

Leisure Times

Some Enjoyable Events

Close Calls

Back on Kentucky Lake

Some Depressing Times

In Retrospect

Notable Vacations

The Windward Islands

Being Prepared

Turkey and the Aegean Sea

The Concept of Sharing

Our Florida Home

Studebaker

My Three Presbyterian Churches

Tribute to Marianna

Conclusion

About the Author

Acknowledgments

My life has been influenced by people and circumstances; none by accident, I am convinced, since I fervently believe that God had a plan for me when He created me and put me here on this earth. It seems that doors were opened for me that I became introduced and acquainted with the proper people at exactly the right time and sequence during my entire life.

The events and scenarios described in this memoir are true. Some of the names of individuals have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the guilty.

There are special people, of course, that occupy a special place in my heart. First and foremost, among them is my dear wife, Marianna. She has been my loyal and loving supporter and friend for nearly half a century. I love her and sincerely appreciate her steadfast patience and understanding—necessary to be the wife of a surgeon.

Then I must tell my children that I remember those many times I had to be absent from them because of my profession. I want them to know that I cherish them—their continued love and respect. They and my grandchildren give me great joy and happiness.

It is important for me to recognize my friends. Most of my close friends are mentioned in this memoir, but there are many more who are not. I know who they are, and I thank them for being an important part of my life and career.

I want to express my great appreciation and admiration for the American College of Surgeons and the American Cancer Society. Those organizations allowed me to serve in various levels of leadership within their structures for many years, and in doing so gave me an opportunity to provide some assistance in the progress of health care.

Two institutions greatly enriched my life and career are Missouri Delta Medical Center and Sikeston Public Schools. I was honored to serve on the board of directors of the hospital and, for a time, as the chairman of the board. It was also a privilege for me to be a member of the board of education of Sikeston Public Schools for nine years, the last three as president. Both of these excellent organizations provided me an opportunity to gain insight into the missions and purposes of medical care and education.

It is important for me to express my profound thanks and admiration for Ferguson Medical Group, as I knew it. I was privileged to be involved in its formation and continued operation as a valued, effective health-care institution for over forty years—from early in my career as a surgeon until I began to reduce my surgical practice. During those years, Ferguson Medical Group was the center of my professional life.

And last, my thanks go to Dr. Samuel Harbin, his wife Del, Anita Clodfelter, and Julie Harbin Cook for their assistance in organizing and arranging my notes and dictated tapes into an autobiographical account of my life and career. Their work and support are greatly appreciated.

Introduction

It was a balmy early September evening in 1998. The event was the annual fund-raiser for the Missouri Delta Medical Center, and I was the guest of honor; to receive a meritorious service award and recognition for services performed as a surgeon for more than four decades, as well as my work in various community projects and promot ions.

This was the second annual fund-raising event sponsored by the Missouri Delta Medical Center Foundation. The first one, the year before, had paid tribute to Judge Marshall Craig, a distinguished circuit court jurist, a legal icon in our region, and an all-American basketball player at the University of Missouri during his college days.

It was my privilege to introduce the out-of-town special guests in attendance that had come to honor Judge Craig. The president of the University of Missouri, Dr. George Russell, originally from Bertrand, Missouri, a small town just east of Sikeston, and the renowned coach of the University of Missouri Tigers basketball team for more than twenty-five years, Coach Norman Stewart, had traveled down from Columbia, Missouri, to help honor Judge Craig.

I pointed out that I knew Stormin’ Norman Stewart as a celebrated cancer survivor who had been congratulated by Pres. Bill Clinton and who, along with Jerry Quick, the executive secretary of the Missouri division of the American Cancer Society, promoted Coaches Versus Cancer, a significant and very successful fund-raising program for the American Cancer Society nationwide.

After the ceremony for Judge Craig had adjourned, a young man who was the husband of Judge Craig’s granddaughter came up to me and said, I bring you greetings from Dan Narsh. Oh my god, I thought. My second cousin Dan Narsh had not been heard from since I told him my life would not be compromised if he never contacted me again. The only time he ever got in touch with me was to ask for money to get him through a financial crisis, which seemed to be a chronic problem with him.

Much to my surprise, the young man was an employee of Dan Narsh and was responsible for Dan Narsh’s business enterprises in Hong Kong. I was relieved to learn that the greeting was from Danny Bill Narsh, the son of my cousin, the wayward Dan Narsh. Danny Bill was a very successful entrepreneur in Texas. Wonders never cease, I thought.

My mind reverted to the present as I listened to the many testimonies presented by my friends and colleagues of many years, overwhelming me with gratitude and feelings of appreciation for them and for their longtime friendship.

Dr. Paul Rother, my roommate during the last two years of medical school at Washington University in St. Louis and the first years of my residency at Jewish Hospital there, said many good things about me that I didn’t know he felt.

Bob Patterson indicated that I was like the older brother he never had and continued on and on with compliments, causing considerable emotional feelings not only within me but the audience as well.

Dr. Sam Harbin was the master of ceremonies. He had been the superintendent of Sikeston Public Schools during the nine years I served on the board of education. He and his wife, Del, produced a video made by using pictures and other materials depicting my heritage and major periods of my life. It was well received by everyone.

John Hux, a noted agri-businessman and the president of the Hospital Foundation Board, had some nice things to say about me and told me I cleaned up well, which was a private joke between us.

Jim Moreton, a prominent farmer from nearby Charleston, Missouri, a sailing buddy of mine, and a very good friend, continued showering me with compliments, much appreciated by both me and the audience. Jim, representing the Missouri Delta Medical Center Board of Directors, presented me with a gift certificate for $250 to be used at a noted fishing resort in Southwest Missouri.

Dr. Fred Thornton, God love him, thought the event was a roast and proceeded to deliver his presentation. It was hilarious and added much mirth and amusement to the evening. He could have reported, though, that I did the first vascular operation at the hospital, the first hip prosthesis, the first vagatomy, and a few other firsts, but that would have been too boring. He was funny, and it brought a welcome break to the program.

After all the accolades had been presented, I had the opportunity to thank everyone involved and to recount some unusual experiences and the changes in medicine and surgery, especially the funding of medical care, occurring during my more than forty years of practicing medicine.

I had been asked many times, What was the most difficult surgery you performed during your career? I thought, Was it the gunshots and stab wounds in the heart? Was it the death in the operating room of a Cesarean section patient due to a coagulation problem, the automobile accident resulting in the squirting of the left kidney into the chest, or perhaps the cardiac arrest resuscitation of a two-year-old child? Actually the most difficult surgery involved an ordinarily simple case, but under unusual circumstances became difficult, technically and emotional. I had to amputate a mutilated leg in an auger at an anhydrous ammonia fertilizer plant. I describe these and many other unusual cases in this memoir.

As I listened to the applause from the audience at the conclusion of my brief remarks, I wondered how many of those present deserved this tribute more than I? How many people not present who could not afford the price of admission would never be recognized for their good works? How many people in the extended community who had spent their lives helping others through their selfless acts of compassion and concern would remain anonymous? Someone once said, A true hero is someone who does good deeds that no one knows about. I pondered if I would ever qualify for that honor.

By the time the evening was over, many in the audience surmised that I was retiring from practice, but I knew that I couldn’t do that, both for financial and psychological reasons.

My life flickered across the screen in my mind as I listened to the many positive statements made by my close friends and professional colleagues. I remembered that it started so long ago, yet it didn’t seem long ago at all.

The Early Years

The Beginning

My life began on June 25, 1927, in a small four-room house located in the town of Chaffee, Missouri. Our family was blessed with a rather solemn, hardworking, honest, responsible father, and an organized but caring and loving mother, fiercely proud and protective of her children and a loyal, dependable supporter of her husband, my fa ther.

The first few years, I am told, were rather uneventful except for the perception of my mother that I was ready to go to school. Since she knew that I could read a little, count to one hundred, recite the ABCs, plus do some simple mathematics, adding and subtracting, she sent me off to school a year before I was eligible according to school and state regulations.

The first day of school was exciting! The school was only a block and a half from our house at 322 Wright Avenue (it has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?). My excitement was short-lived, however, because the teacher sent me back home with a note pinned to my overalls notifying my mother that I was too young to enter school. Such disappointment! But as my mother often said, Rules are rules, so I had to wait another year to begin my formal schooling.

The next year, 1933, my younger brother arrived on June 24 as a birthday present for me, my mother said. Also that year I began attending school for real. The school was a two-room wooden structure called the Little White Schoolhouse by the local residents. That was long before the trend to name schools after prominent local residents or state and national celebrities or politicians.

School Years

Shortly after I became a first-grade student, I was introduced to the term and process of discipline when my teacher, Miss Hale (teachers were not allowed to be married at that time), objected to my making up the words to a song we were singing and sent me to the cloakroom. The cloakroom was a short hall where the students hung their coats and left their galoshes. The hall serviced both classrooms, since it was located between them. I have always thought that it was no accident that a paddle, three inches wide and longer than me, with holes in it, was standing in the corner. Why had I not noticed that instrument of torture before? Had she put it there just for my benefit? Whatever the reason, it got my attention! It was much later that it was used on me in front of both classes, and for the life of me I can’t remember why I got three licks, but it must have been worse than making up words to a song. I know it wasn’t for pushing Kathleen Bolton into the frog pond because I got away with that. Kathleen was all wet, but she didn’t go crying to the teacher. Regrettably she was known thereafter as Froggy Bolton.

The first few years of school passed quickly, although a major event occurred in 1935, when the family moved from our little house on Wright Avenue to a two-story house on Davidson Avenue, a real step-up in the world, we thought. Then suddenly, it seemed, I was in the eighth grade and beginning to take notice of the pretty girls in my class.

My first real date was with Betty Campbell. I had been smitten by Marlene Mirley until she took an interest in my older cousin Gabe.

Betty was a very pretty girl and a bit better endowed than most of the other girls in the eighth grade. I knew she had had dates before and probably knew how to kiss. I walked her home from the movie, and we hesitated at her door. There she was, standing there puckered up, and I knew I was expected to kiss her. This was an act I was totally unfamiliar with, not having the opportunity or the inclination to kiss a girl until now. Just as I got up the courage and placed my lips on hers, her dad turned into the driveway, and his car lights shone on this unbecoming act.

I was so scared I ran down the alley, which was adjacent to the house, and stopped about halfway to the next street to see if he was chasing me. I figured I could outrun him, since I was a fast runner and as tall as I was ever going to be, actually about three-fourths of an inch taller than I am now, since osteoporosis settled in my vertebra, as it occurs in old coots seventy six years of age. My second surprise came when a cow stuck her head over the fence and licked me in the face. Two surprises and two kisses in one evening!

Introduction to Religion

At about twelve years of age I, like most of my peers, became a church member. Reverend Holt talked to a small group of us about Jesus and told us that if we believed in Jesus, we would be saved from damnation. That little talk had a great impression on me, so I joined the church, was sprinkled (baptized), and that was that.

My parents, especially my mother, required my appearance in Sunday school and church every Sunday. I wondered how I could continue to associate and run with my juvenile delinquent friends, participate in turning over toilets and dropping water balloons on people, and still claim to be a practicing church member. Our bunch was shooting out streetlights, playing tic-tac-toe under people’s windows, and calling grocery stores and asking if they had Prince Albert in a can? which always elicited a positive answer, to which we would reply, For God’s sake, let him out!

The tic-tac-toe process required darkness, a long string and a dinner knife. The knife had the string tied to the lower end of the handle and was placed near the windowsill in a position that when the string was pulled, the knife handle would strike the window ledge or sill, creating a loud tat-tat-tat. If there was no response, we would repeat the process until someone would come to the door or turn the porch light on. Then we would run. Later we would sneak back and remove all the evidence, the knife and string.

Our mothers knew exactly how many knives they had, and if one or two were missing, an intensive investigation would follow, and I was never good at lying to my mother. The usual result was I would be instructed to go to the peach tree in our backyard and select a suitable branch to be used as an effective switch. If my mother did not think the switch was big enough, I would be sent back for one that was a more appropriate weapon of fanny destruction.

One of the more-sordid pranks we indulged in during those years was the poop fire sack. Anytime we became aware that some of the girls were having a slumber party, or even sometimes when one of them would visit one of the lady teachers, we would do this terrible deed.

The material needed was expendable, produced by one of us and deposited in a large paper sack. The sack was then placed on the front porch, near the front door. A match quickly lit the paper sack, which would burn slowly enough to allow one of us to knock loudly on the door or ring the doorbell, bringing one of the girls to the door. Of course, the knee-jerk reaction to a small smoldering fire was to stomp it out, and the result, of course, was rather messy, again causing us to quickly run away from the scene. Later we would act horrified and very sympathetic when the girls would reveal the incident to us. We knew they were diligently trying to find out who would do such a thing! Most of these delinquent deeds occurred after I became a church member. Thinking back, I guess I was not a bona fide Christian, but somehow at that stage of my life, I thought that believing in Christ and doing all those pranks was compatible.

When I was sixteen years of age, I became involved in the Methodist Youth Fellowship, MYF. We had our own district meetings in Chaffee, Sikeston, Jackson, and Cape Girardeau, as well as in Benton and Dexter. I became acquainted with young people my age, especially the girls, and these new acquaintances made lasting impressions on me. We would be appointed to present part of the programs and by doing so became very involved. Many of our leaders were people of strong and sincere faith, and those attributes trickled down to some of the teenagers who participated in MYF.

Some of the songs we sang, Just as I Am, Come to Jesus Now, and Onward Christian Soldiers, had more meaning when shared with other teens than when they were sung with the whole congregation. I really became a Christian through the Methodist Youth Fellowship. I looked forward to going to other towns for meetings and sharing my faith with other teens.

There was an annual meeting scheduled to take place in Arcadia, Missouri, which was the location of the Methodist campground. The entire Methodist conference sent their youth to this meeting, and I was asked to give a talk at one of the campfire meetings. I had never given a talk before, and I was really scared. I convinced myself that it would be a positive experience for me, no matter how scared I was. Everyone in the Southeast Missouri District knew that I had been asked to speak at the conference, so I was very reluctant not to do so.

I asked Reverend Holt to help me, and he suggested that I use the theme and title You Build the Ladder by Which You Climb. I had heard about Jacob’s ladder, but this was different. Reverend Holt helped me get started, and then I embellished a lot of examples in life that supported the theme of the talk. I typed it all out and began to memorize the words in case I got stagestruck and forgot all the words.

I had been in several high-school plays, but this appearance was going to be different. I would be standing before more than one hundred teenagers and their counselors. Just me! There would be no one to prompt me if I forgot my lines. I practiced my speech in front of the mirror, developing certain facial expressions and hand/arm gestures to further illustrate the points of the speech. I had typed the speech on cards so that if I got lost or forgot, I could always refer to my cards.

I rode the bus to Arcadia and hung my only sport coat up above my seat so it wouldn’t wrinkle. I was so excited about meeting my friends from all the towns in Southeast Missouri and meeting new friends from all over the eastern half of the state. My only other experience of this kind was being selected to attend Boys State as a representative from Chaffee, but that was political. This was spiritual.

When I got to the meeting hall, I realized I had left my coat on the bus. Then it really hit me. I had my speech cards in one of the coat pockets. How could I be so stupid and forgetful? I guess God knew better because I had practiced my speech so many times and so well, I was able to deliver it verbatim, without referring to any nonexisting script. My presentation was considered highly successful, and I was nominated and elected by the St. Louis Conference Board to become the conference recreational chairman. No, I wasn’t nominated to be president, vice president, or secretary-treasurer, but I was happy and pleased to be noticed and elected to a lower office within the conference.

I had to make a trip to St. Louis as recreational chairman, where we met in a huge cathedral. The entire Chaffee Methodist Church could have fit in to the auditorium there. Later I was allowed to travel to the Midwest meeting in Fayetteville, Arkansas. I subsequently gained the necessary knowledge and ability to organize and plan recreational activities to be implemented at the annual campground meeting and other smaller meetings within our district.

I credit MYF and Jesus Christ for rescuing me from myself. I have wondered many times what direction my life would have taken without the experiences I was privileged to share in MYF and the development of a basic faith originating in that excellent organization.

Regrettably, I have not been courageous enough to witness my faith in God and Jesus Christ in a strong, overt manner over the years. I learned a lot while serving as the head elder in the local Lutheran church in Sikeston. I also grieved a lot in that important position. As a managing partner of Ferguson Medical Group, I drew upon my faith and basic beliefs to assist in healing many personality problems and turf confrontations that came up from time to time.

When I became a managing partner of Ferguson Medical Group, I perceived a lack of togetherness and common sense of purpose among the medical staff working in the medical group. There were quite a few problems involving egos, personality differences, professional status, and control at various levels of the organization. I decided to try to remedy some of these problems to make our group more effective and operate at a higher level.

I used the scripture Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians as a beginning, informing them that they were all parts of the body of Christ and, each in their own way, very important to the functioning of the church.

I made a large poster, six by four feet, on which was depicted the picture of a man with the major anatomical outlines. At one of our staff meetings, with around twenty physicians in attendance, I unrolled the poster, pinned it up on the wall, and proceeded to deliver a short summary of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, its purpose and meaning, and how it could apply to us at Ferguson Medical Group.

I made the analogy between the dissension and confusion in the early church and suggested that we as physicians, whether we be pediatricians, family practitioners, ob-gyns, or whatever our specialty, we were all an equally important component to the goal of rendering quality medical services to our patients and maintaining and improving the image of the Ferguson Medical Group. Each discipline depended upon all the others for efficient and effective medical care provided to the community. I suggested that each could decide for themselves if they were the brain or the gastrointestinal track that received information and funds and distributed them through the vascular system to the rest of the body. Maybe some of us were the legs that supported the medical activities and services, or the hands that held us together.

I was chairman of the hospital board for two years. I initiated the practice of opening each meeting of the board of directors with prayer, never done before or since, I am told. The first time this was done, I was hesitant and a little scared, but I asked God for His guidance and support, and it was well accepted by my colleagues.

The meeting started on a more serious note instead of the usual frivolity, and I was proud and grateful that I had the courage to open the meeting with a prayer. Our Heavenly Father, we come here today, to this important meeting, as board members and administrative staff of Missouri Delta Medical Center. From time to time we will be asked to make important decisions that may affect our ability to deliver quality health care to the community we serve. We ask that the administration provide us with sufficient information to make decisions and that You give us the wisdom and courage to then make the proper evaluations and decisions. In Jesus’s name, Amen.

My suggestion, and sincere hope if you have children, is to get them involved in a church youth program, whether it be in your church or another church that has a good youth ministry. I don’t know what would have happened to me had it not been for my experiences in the Methodist Youth Fellowship organization.

The Chaffee Red Devils

Upon entering high school, I tried out for the Chaffee Red Devil’s football team and was pleased and proud to make the team. Our football coach, Mr. Best, whose name fit him well, was an outstanding person and an excellent coach. Coach Best started me out playing the position of left end, primarily because my older brother, Arthur, had been a superb athlete and played left end on the varsity team. Arthur was shorter than normal, being stunted in growth by a misdiagnosed lung abscess when he was five years old. He tried harder than anyone else and was very good not only as a football player but as a basketball star as well.

It became apparent that I would never be successful as an end. I was too fumble-fingered to be relied upon to catch a pass, and it didn’t take Coach Best long to see that. He placed me on the line at tackle on defense and guard on offense. This I could do, and do well, since I was big enough and didn’t have any fear of body contact.

Coach Best sent me in the very first game against Cape Girardeau, a much larger school in the nearby city, where Rush Limbaugh was later born and raised. I was so excited that I ran out onto the field without my helmet. Imagine the humiliation, but I soon forgot the embarrassment and really got with it. I was substituting for George Campbell, Betty’s brother. He was a junior and much more experienced than I. We never knew what happened, but he either got kicked off the team or quit. I never asked, and from the third game on, I played first-string football the remainder of my high-school years.

Making Ends Meet

I had part-time jobs delivering papers and working at my father’s service station. With working and playing football, plus later becoming interested in the Black Key Drama Club, I must admit I wasn’t a diligent student.

It was necessary that I accumulate most of my own spending money; hence a variety of entrepreneurship activities ensued during those early years.

We had a significant clay pit in the hills around Chaffee, which provided me with enough clay to mold small flower pots and shaving mugs by hand. I rigged up a fire pit in our backyard on Davidson Avenue, my second home, then cooked the flower pots and shaving mugs until they were ready to finish to sell. I had never heard of a kiln before, but somehow I had learned that the clay pots and mugs had a tendency to sag if not cooked. This business never extended beyond my family, neighbors, and friends.

In retrospect, I had a perfect way of advertising my clay products. I could have put little handwritten flyers in the newspapers I delivered, telling potential customers Flower Pots and Shaving Mugs For Sale! Handmade, 5 Cents Each. I wonder why I didn’t do that, but it’s too late now.

I also formed other business ventures during my attempts to make my fortune. I sold Sassafras Roots for five cents per bundle. I set up and operated a lemonade stand for a short time. I clamped a cooler on my bicycle handlebars and peddled ice cream bars for Mr. Lee, the owner of a local grocery store. Eskimo pies were the favorite, and I would holler, as I pedaled my bicycle around the streets, Ice cream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream! Ice cream for a nickel, five cents, come and get your goody-goody ice cream for a nickel, five cents!

I was hired to ride Jimmy Stubbs, my classmate, on my bicycle to and from school each day. Jimmy was one of the original Polio Poster Children of March of Dimes fame, and I got ten cents each day as payment for that task. Many years later I learned that my father-in-law, Dr. Clarence Crego, chief surgeon at Shriner’s Hospital for Crippled Children in St. Louis, Missouri, had done several tendon procedures on my friend. Jimmy was a gung ho kid and wanted to go and do everything everybody else in the class did, and he did most of it. He became an expert gemologist and married my first girlfriend, Marlene Mirley. Jimmy has become an excellent wood-carver in his retirement years.

Jack Haney and I decided we could make home brew and sell it to our friends as well as enjoy it ourselves. Knowing