We moved From L.A. California back to Erie, Colorado when my parents separated in 1943. My dad went back to work in the coal mines.  It was back to the small coal mining town and all of my old friends. My friend used to get his car all the time to go trap musk rats and I'd go with him. That was the only way for me to make any money. But when I got in the 11th grade I decided that I'd make a key some way that would fit our Model-A so I could take a spin now and then.

My dad and one of his best friends who worked with him in the same mine traded off driving to work. Some times it would be a week, and other times it would be every other day. It all depended on how their shifts worked. Well, that gave me a few opportunities to work on making a key. I didn't crave it or anything like that, it was just something I thought about now and then.

When dad went to work one day and I backed the car out of the garage and drove it back in a good dozen times that day. I was having a grand time learning how to shift the car, put on the brakes and steer. It was a lot different than sitting in the car and pretending to drive. But then I got scared that someone would tell on me, or that he might see all the tire tracks that I had made. I got the broom and started sweeping very carefully until I had erased all of the tire tracks. as I stood there looking at my completed job I realized that it didn't look normal. So I then stomped around to fool him. But then there were too many tracks. I swept it again, and stomped again. Finally I was satisfied it would fool him Right. Yep It did.

One week end dad worked and I told one of my good friends that I had a key for out car and would he like to go for a spin with me.

He asked me where would we go, and I of course told him we'd go over to a town 12 miles away. Nobody would know us over there. So away we went. We were having a ball. But balls sometimes get a hole in them and go flat. Well, that's what happened. I pulled out from a stop sign and a guy hit my right front tire and pushed it in. He was not a happy camper. He demanded that we drive down to the police station and report the accident. I was scared stiff and didn't know what to do, so I agreed. He told me to follow him and we took off. When we got two blocks from the police station he turned ahead of me to drive up in front of the police station.

That was it. I just kept on going straight as fast as I dared go in that Model-A. Twelve miles later I pulled the car up in front of the garage and parked it. My friend said he'd see me later and left me standing there looking at the left front wheel bent inward. I didn't know what to do. So I pulled the car into the garage and went into the house. When dad came home I didn't say a word. He'd find out soon enough. When he did get home I was relieved to find out he had to work the next day and Frank would be picking him up.

The next day I backed the car out of the garage and out to the sidewalk in front of the house. I checked it out and saw that one of the rods that ran to the wheel was bent. I got some tools, took off the rod. beat it with a sledge hammer until it was as straight as I could get it, and put it back on. I drove it back in the garage and parked it. It was a long time before I even thought of taking the car without him knowing about it.