It was the summer of 1960 in Prairie Village, Kansas. Neal Dufur, Tom Finholm, and a much younger cowboy were having a raft race in the creek behind Neal’s house. Raft might be exaggerating a bit. We each had small sticks that were designated with long forgotten names and we followed them for a half mile to see who would win. If memory serves me, the winner was treated to a cherry phosphate at Bickley’s Pharmacy. Tom won by a whisker and suggested we walk another quarter mile to Old Lady Gates’ farm. She had a reputation of having a disdain for young kids…..especially ones who trespassed on her property. Her farm was from another era with a couple of barns that had to be built in the 1880’s. The eighty-five year old woman had posted her land and the barns so we were hoping she might be away or taking a nap. Finholm suggested we investigate a barn and see if there were any ancient artifacts we might claim as our own. We were in the barn for no more than ten minutes when a screaming lady (she looked like Grandma from The Beverly Hillbillies) came running toward the barn. She fired two shotgun rounds in the air and threated to call the police. The three of us hightailed it out of the barn in seconds. We were petrified that the next shot might be at us. It was then that I wished that juvenile ‘depends” had been invented but was out of luck. Soon we were back in Neal’s basement and, after a change of clothes,vowed to steer clear of the old lady who hated kids. We concluded that no ancient artifact was worth soiled jeans and a near heart attack.
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