Nov. 12, 1900

Dad was born in Clifton Forge, Va. on November 12, 1900. So, every November 12 I count the years. And the number of years since he died in 1962.

 As a kid, I heard Dad tell stories about Henry County, Va. and Philpott Lake, Va., although I don't think I heard but one story about Clifton Forge.

That was Dad's contribution to WW I. As a teenager he had a part-time job as a railroad telegraph operator or night clerk. A military train came through, and his orders were to send them down a siding and tell them to stay there until they were told to continue. Dad did that, finished his shift and went home.

As the story goes, about three days later a soldier walked up the tracks of the siding and asked when they'd be able to go on their way. Dad had apparently neglected to tell anyone he had sent the train down the tracks before going home!

Dad was Frank Roosevelt Philpott, but he'd never tell anyone his middle name. I'm Frank Richey Philpott, so I'm not a Junior. Dad got tired of telling people that he was not named after FDR.

Where did "Richey" come from? Dad's sister, Thelma, married Clint Richey, and Mom and Dad liked Clint a lot; hence, my middle name.

I still have Dad's old Colt .38-.40 six-shot "cowboy" revolver. At least, I think that's the caliber. It's unsafe to shoot, and I suspect any ammo would have to be hand-loaded. Modern ammo would probably break it apart. Dad always said it was the gun that killed Jesse James - along with about 10,000 just like it. It belongs in a shadow box, hanging on the wall. Maybe .... one of these days ...

Dad made sure that I learned to ride horses and that I learned to swim. He never made me learn to play handball. He was 38 when I was born, and I was 23 when he died. Sure wish I'd known him for many more years.