this for five cents. Do you think I should pay the same price for your paper?

I was devastated. But I learned something about the marketplace.

My mother, Margaret, like me was raised as an only child. She was the daughter of a Presbyterian missionary, who with his wife had gone west to establish a church in Shoshone, Idaho, where my mother was born. When she was four years old, both of her parents died. She then moved to New York, where her aunt and uncle brought her up. Her uncle, George Pratt, was an Episcopalian minister. Uncle George and Aunt Margaret were like grandparents to me. We would often go to Uncle George’s church on Sundays, and afterward we would have lunch in their New York apartment. As asmall boy, I didn’t particularly enjoy this, but I liked them.

My father, Birl, was one of seven children. He was raised as a Quaker on a farm in Indiana and managed somehow to get a scholarship and by working, waiting on tables and such, put himself through DePauw University. My father loved sports and passed his enthusiasm and competitive instincts on to me. At DePauw he played on the football team. The high point of his football career was the game with Notre Dame. Whenever we listened on the radio to a Notre Dame football game, my father would always remind me that he played against Notre Dame. He never told me the score. After DePauw, my father got another scholarship, to study for a Ph.D. in history