When I was about seven years old I was allowed to walk all the way down to Red River with the older boys. It was only a half mile from my home but it seemed like a long way at that age; the river was definitely a world apart, and each trip was a new discovery. What looked like sandbars was really quick-sand. It was easy to sink in up to your ankles, and if you weren’t careful, up to your knees. Stories had people and even large cows sinking out of sight.

There was always a little stream of water that meandered along the wide river bed. It was fun to wade across this little stream. Of course, when it rained or when the river was at flood stage you didn’t go near Red River.

And that whiskey still that some of the boys discovered . . . Oklahoma was a dry state, so way down among the willows, which bordered the river, we discovered a man with a shotgun guarding his illegal whiskey still. We didn’t go near that place anymore. In another secluded spot the boys came upon an illegal cockfight; we avoided that spot, too.