What a time to grow up on a
farm. World War II was over. My Dad and Mom ran a 240 acre farm in
Kenosha County, Wisconsin. My paternal grandfather owned the farm.
I arrived on the scene in 1947 during the baby boom.
We didn’t have much money so
finances were a bit tight. But, being farmers, we always had
sufficient, good food. Not fancy food, but good, hearty food. I was
educated in a one-room school house about two miles from the family
farm. Growing up, I saw how neighbor kids were working the farm with
their Dads. Eventually they would take over the family farm. I
thought that was my lot in life, too.
My Dad had other plans. I
don’t remember how many times he told me that I was going to get
off the farm. While he would have loved to have me work the farm
with him, he felt that I could do better. Thankfully, I had the
intelligence to excel in school.
I had an interest in
engineering, especially electrical engineering. My parents supported
me in getting into one of the best electrical engineering colleges in
the country. There, I made good and bad decisions. When I dropped
out of school, first semester of senior year, the draft came after
me.
My military ”career”
worked out pretty well for me. The army taught me one thing: “I
really wanted to be an electrical engineer.” I buckled up and
finished my studies, but my dream job in the space industry was not
to be.
I was fortunate to land a job
with General Motors, Electro-Motive Division. For years I excelled
in my profession. But, I was not the 3-piece suit type of guy. I
preferred getting my hands dirty if it meant solving problems. I am
sure that restricted my rise in the company.
When the opportunity to retire
early presented itself, I jumped at the chance. I had sufficient
funds and a retirement pension. The excitement and rewards of the
job were gone. I was fortunate to retire at age 54-½, with a bridge
to 62 when Social Security would kick in. I relished my retirement
because I had so many things I could do now.
Retirement has not been a bed
of roses. I’ve had to weather health issues. On the other hand, I
rekindled my love for bicycle riding. Eventually, I moved to the
warmer, drier climate of New Mexico. A cousin lives 15 miles away
from me. We gather for food and craft beers regularly. Often during
out conversations, I remark that the two of us did prettywell growing
up poor farm boys from southeast Wisconsin!
This book attempts to tell the
story of my life, from its humble beginnings as a sharecropper’s
son.
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