This is the earliest photo I have of Frank. His eyes seem to be filled with rage and pain. Stories from his childhood spoke like a narrative for a Johny Cash song. When he was in his teens (late 1940's) he was a poor farm boy from western North Carolina. He told about how his daily lunch from home was a hard biscut soaked in gravy. It was so greasy it soaked thu the paper bag. Being tired of daily teasing by his classmates he took to hiding it under a bridge on the walk to school. Frank would scoff it down on his return walk in the afternoon.
Evidently one of the school staff noticed he wasn't eating at lunch time. He confided his situation to her, and soon she started bringing him in a small lunch daily. From her own pantry. Frank spoke often of her kind act, perhaps it was one of very few kind acts he ever experianced as a youth. I don't know her name, she's long past I am sure. I want to thank her in this post.