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9

water. And I knew that I was really living. And a haunting thought passed through my mind that maybe I was out of place.
   That was the spring I drove to Cleveland to meet Nana, who was coming up to visit us and help Willie for awhile with the children and the housekeeping. I elected to drive to Cleveland on the theory that it would save money over having Nana make the trip to Erie by train from Cleveland. Like putting the whisky bottles inside the storm door, this also proved to be a mistake. Nana's train was due in from Cincinnati about 7:30 a.m. so I left Erie about 4:30 in order to get there in time to meet it. Not long after I'd left home, a freezing rain began to fall which made the driving a nightmare. The windshield was soon covered with a pebbled-ice surface that was translucent but that was all. I had to stop every few minutes to scrape off the ice. However, this got so difficult and time consuming that I finally opened the window and drove with my head struck out into the weather; that way, I could at least see although it was a bit hard on the face. Fortunately, the ground was warm enough that the road didn't freeze. I approached the viaduct which takes the road across the gorge into Ashtabula. I was driving about 20 mph and felt safe enough as I drove onto the viaduct--but the road surface on the viaduct was like a sheet of glass. Instantly I lost control of the car completely. It spun around 180 [[degrees]] and crashed broadside into the curb, narrowly missing an oncoming car. Fortunately Dodgem had wire wheels which were able to withstand the impact fairly well; had they been wood wheels, they probably would have been shattered. But my composure, what little I had left, was completely shattered. I got the car turned around and drove gingerly into Ashtabula and left the car at a gas station. Then I went to the depot and took the next train to Cleveland. Luckily I got there in time to meet Nana and we took the train to Erie. Then I returned to Ashtabula by rail, picked up Dodgem, and drove home. It was indeed a "traumatic" experience. In fact, I wrote a short-short story based upon it, only with some embellishments, titled "Motives of Economy" which I thought was pretty funny besides carrying a powerful message, and I sent it to Liberty Magazine which was a weekly and published a "short-short" in each issue--but, dammit, it came back promptly with a curt printed rejection slip. It was worth a try though because I think they paid several hundred dollars for such a piece and that would have put us on easy street for awhile.
   A more successful project which I carried out, and in a way designed to save money, was the picket fence I built in the backyard that spring. I fenced in about half the area back there so we could put Rog there and not have to worry about his straying away. This fence appears in various photographs which are included. But my money-saving method was to buy the lumber at the GE scrap house instead of a lumber yard. The boys cut the pickets, posts, and beams to size for me and I think charged me about $5 for the whole batch. It was a good fence.