I Remember When . .
Burning Drip Gas
One more story about drip gas.
We were poor. Dirt poor. I could not afford to buy gas so I burned drip
gas. A patrolman stopped me and I was petrified. I knew I would wind up in
jail. It was at the Demings hill between Horntown and Holdenville. He
patiently explained to me that my tail light was out and the dangers
involved. He wrote out a warning ticket and explained that it would not
cost me anything. He wished me a good evening and started to return to his
patrol car. At the rear of my old 41 ford, he stopped and came back and
said, "And if you will mix some real gas with that drip, it won't smell
so bad". I have had fond memories of that man for the past 50 years.