During the last few years of The Depression, my dad got married and so did Allen Holmer’s dad. Al was born on Feb. 2, 1939, and I was born on July 15 the same year. When the war broke out, Allen’s dad and mom moved to Seattle where Ray joined the Coast Guard. Dad and Mom ended up in L.A where Dad bossed in the shipyards fixing Navy ships that had to be salvaged. After the war, most men returned home.

We both started the first grade in the Gheen School that fall. We sat together on the school bus, we played in the pines on the north of the school. We dug fox holes in the sand and played cops and robbers, and cowboys, “Bang, bang, you’re dead.” “I shot you first.” So we died and fell in the grass or snow, and jumped up and rode off into the sunset to die another day. We drew pictures of tanks, jeeps, and airplanes of WWII. And we got nails and hammers from the janitor to pound in the big pine trees.

In the seventh grade we went up to the Orr School. That summer I peddled my bike over to visit Al. His folks were gone so we found a big hornets’ nest that we rammed with a pole and ran back to the house. Al took down his .410 shotgun and we 13-year-old poachers shot a partridge, took it in and cooked it in butter. That year we had saved up $12 each trapping weasels for Princess Elizabeth’s Coronation and sent them off to the Sears and Roebuck fur buyer. We got $1.50 each if we didn’t break off the tail. Al sent his $12 to Sears for his J.C. Higgins single shot .22. I sent in my $12 and got my single shot .22 from Sears too. And so we target practiced on old glass bottles and tin cans. When the folks trusted us, we could take our guns out in the woods by ourselves. We were on our way to becoming men.

Allen’s folks moved out to Seattle where Ray painted in the hospital. Al graduated from school and joined the Coast Guard just like his father had done a generation earlier. He got married and moved back to the home place in Willow Valley Township about the same time I moved back from Duluth with my family. We have lived through happy times and sad times. We have both lost a son and cried together. But we have always trusted each other.

A few years ago I told Allen I was going to plant potatoes and cut firewood as long as I could. He said he was going to do things he liked as long as he could! So we buddies will be around here as long as we’re alive.

I took my old .22 to the potluck lunch at the Willow Valley Farmers Club Hall in May and Allen took his .22 and his old .410. We told our stories to anyone who would listen. It was important to us.

To My Pal Al: One of us will go first, but we’ll meet again. And we can sing “Ghost Riders in the Sky” like we did in the Club Hall and at school when we were little kids, 75 years ago.