MAN KILLER My grampa, Glen Oliver, was sitting around up in Aberdeen, WA one day in the spring of 1916. He and his brother, Paul – who we have always affectionately called “Pudge”, were well into a jug of tangle foot whiskey when the topic of world politics came under discussion. The country had just begun mobilization efforts to join our allies in the Great War then being waged in France. In 1916 it was not yet known as the First World War. As the evening wore on both of them had decided to join up the next day. Off they went, right after breakfast, still reeking of riotous good times. The recruiting sergeant took an honest liking to Pudge, but grampa got sent to the discard heap because he had a
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