My parents were very religious and during a gospel meeting at Stonington Church of Christ in the fall after I was born, a visiting preacher, by name, Cook, talked them into moving to Clinton, Indiana. Clinton was a booming coal mining town at the time. This gave my dad a perfect opportunity to ply his trade as an interior and exterior decorator.
They bought a small place in Fairview on the edge of Clinton where we lived until November of 1925. I remember little of those seven years. I do remember seeing my first airplane there. A WWI plane flew down the street. If you could call it that. It was composed of cinders, no curb, no side, no walks. But it did keep the horse drawn vehicles and once in awhile a model "T" from sinking axle deep in the mud. This plane flew approximately 50 feet above the street and as it passed all the towns people came out of their houses and ran down the street after it. It landed in a pasture about two blocks from our house. The towns people encircled it leaving a respectable distance between them and the plane. After the pilot climbed out and leaned against a wing, two or three of the braver men went forward and talked to him.