To my Beloved Daughters; [names redacted], my Name is [R. B.]. I was born in a small trailer House made from Recycled Paper money, in Alice, Texas in 1940. My father and mother [names redacted] you called them Grand Dad or Pa [B.] and B.B. My father was working for Bridwell Oil Company when I was born. My father, known as Tubby [B.] got a bug in his ear, when he went to the doctor for help, the doctor poured cholafoam in his ear and made him deaf for life. Bridwell Oil Company was located in Whitchita Falls, Texas.
My dad had to do a pumpers work for a couple of days, so he left my mother and me at the same trailer. Some men came to the trailer and beat my mother up, my dad returned to the trailer in a couple of hours and found me under the bed crying. When you born they take your foot prints and palm prints and sometimes finger [?] prints. Somehow, mainly by a person at the hospital in Alice committing treason, my palm print ended up on the side of the German Kettenkrad 1/2 track motorcycle in Germany. Seven months after I was born we were bombed at Pearl Harbor. Its very difficult for a baby only a few months old to committ treason against his own Country. My Father knew [indecipherable] of finger prints and palm prints. Neither did my mother.
On the back was this:
It says:
Why didn't the Germans use a souped up motorcycle and just pull a wagon as long as this, [indecipherable] the attached wagon with it. A long wagon with 4 wheels on each side.
I have learned that when Mr. B starts talking about his palm prints he's beginning to flounder a bit with reality...
Something tells me when he was little, Mr' B was taught the importance of being important in the world.... I don't know how many of those stories got muddled or changed around in his older age, but it definitely looks like he's held on to the importance of his youth. I kinda like that ^^
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