What a life I've lived!
I left Philadelphia in the ’30s, trying to outrun the long shadow of the Depression. The city was tightening its belt, and opportunities were drying up like rain on hot pavement. I headed south, figuring there had to be something better down there—or at least different.
In Atlanta, I scraped by selling books door to door, knocking on strangers’ porches with a salesman’s grin and a suitcase full of hardcovers no one could really afford but sometimes bought out of politeness or pity. It wasn’t much, but it kept me fed, kept me moving.
Eventually, I drifted farther south, down to Miami Beach. The sun was brighter, but the future still looked hazy. Then came the draft notice—one of those neatly folded letters that changed everything in an instant. Before I knew it, I was in uniform, just another kid in the army, part of something bigger than myself, not quite sure where it would all lead.
In Atlanta, I scraped by selling books door to door, knocking on strangers’ porches with a salesman’s grin and a suitcase full of hardcovers no one could really afford but sometimes bought out of politeness or pity. It wasn’t much, but it kept me fed, kept me moving.
Eventually, I drifted farther south, down to Miami Beach. The sun was brighter, but the future still looked hazy. Then came the draft notice—one of those neatly folded letters that changed everything in an instant. Before I knew it, I was in uniform, just another kid in the army, part of something bigger than myself, not quite sure where it would all lead.
