* * * * * My dad was also a child of the Great Depression, which thundered into his life in 1929, the year he turned thirteen. Due to the lack of work, money and difficult times, his parents split up and headed for California. Afraid of what they wouldn’t find there in the way of work, they placed my father in a reform school, where they knew he’d get three squares a day and a place to sleep. He wasn’t incorrigible, nor was he a criminal; it was just that his folks didn’t know how else they could provide for him – things were that bad. He was large for his age, so all the older kids continually picked fights with him; testing him. That’s when he first learned to use his fists – the hard way. ...