This scribe can only hope none of his descendants are around. As a Red Line caller pointed out so acrimoniously yesterday I committed an egregious “oops” when, in my story honoring all grandparents, including my own on their special day, I misspelled the name, as the caller put it, “of the notorious Dalton Gang.”
I must admit I have been reading Bill Coate’s terrific tales of history and with this meager mind (at least that day); instead of the infamous Dalton spelling, our own famous Daulton moniker was punched on the keyboard and ended up in the text. I can only offer my sincere apologies to the caller, readers, any Dalton descendants and, of course, to H. Clay and the entire Daulton family.
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No matter the name, there’s been many a time when a pretty woman has made my day. Mostly it is my own sweet gal, but last week Linda Galleano gave me smiles to end it with kind words of my father flying over the Galleano fields, crop dusting and spraying in the 1950s and ’60s.
Linda certainly didn’t look that old to remember that stuff, but as I said … she helped me end that day with a full heart and sweet memories. And here’s wishing her the best in the next few weeks, and always...