From: Chapter II  Growing up Medically    You can’t take the boy off the farm.  When the field of medicine made its inevitable changes, Dad’s practice of it adjusted with newer equipment, more powerful drugs and better surgical techniques. But he remained a person of strength in his convictions and humbleness in his abilities as a doctor of medicine. One weekend afternoon, a stranger to Cadott in need of medical care was directed to our house. Dad was in back gardening barefoot, dressed in green work trousers, held up by the ever present suspenders and wearing one of my old shirts. I sent the man to the back of the house to find him. He returned saying that the only person he saw was the gardener! I called to Dad from the back bedroom window, then went outside. Dad ambled toward us, stopping to wash his feet with the garden hose that was always stretched along the back sidewalk for that reason. When he came face to face with the stranger, I couldn’t tell if the man was going to ask for medical care or gardening tips. He stood motionless, animated only by a puzzled look.

From: Chapter IV  Family Life    Tilden Gothic.  When you exited the front door of Uncle Earl’s tavern and looked left, you saw the home farm. Surrounded by woods, with its glossy white exterior and green trim, it looked like a Rockwell painting, but it was the original Zenner farm house. Inside, the different room elevations let you know that additions to the original structure were frequent. Missing was indoor plumbing when I visited as a youngster. A “two-holer with a Sears catalog” was not a joke in that house - it was a reality.    It was a small farm by today’s standards, with less than 200 acres and a small herd of Holstein dairy cows. Everyone worked. Chores started before daylight every day no matter when the sun came up. For urbanites, there are two certainties: death and taxes. Dairy farmers have a third: cows have to be milked at least twice a day. Uncle Sylvan had milking machines - himself and his family. From a short three legged stool, you started with a thumb-forefinger grasp and sequentially moved to the little finger while squeezing, alternating hands. Aiming correctly, the pail you held tightly between your knees filled with milk, and the cows became, once more, contented. I learned that being a dairy farmer is a lot of work. I have no idea whose farm “country boy” John Denver could have been thinking of when he penned the immortal words that life on the farm is kind of laid back. I know it wasn’t Uncle Sylvan’s.

From: Chapter XIII  I Drive    Rescued by a pink Hudson.  Other cars must have stopped and then notified the Cadott police because we soon heard the faint sound of a siren. We could see the red light getting closer but the siren wasn’t getting much louder. It became understandable as we watched Archie pull up in his pink Hudson squad car. Pink.                 The car was actually Archie’s personal vehicle with a government surplus emergency light and siren mounted on the front of its hood. The siren sounded more like a timid reminder that the pink 2-door Hudson was actually a police car than what should have been the blaring announcement of a full blown emergency in progress.      Archie wanted to call an ambulance, but we all seemed OK and said so. I could feel glass in my head but did not seem to be bleeding profusely so asked Archie for a ride home. My parents were already waiting for me at the back door. Word traveled fast in Cadott, even before scanners and cell phones. Dad examined me and found pieces of the Chevy’s windows in my head. I picked the rest out over a six week period, a method Mother Nature has of discarding foreign objects. I didn’t have any broken bones or cuts and was deemed fit for bed and eight o’clock Mass the next morning.