In the fall of 1941, I was 9 years old. We were out in west Texas working on a cotton farm. We weren’t pulling boles on that day because it was Sunday. Mother had made cotton sacks for my brother, Jerry, and me out of some kind of thick denim-like cloth. Even though I was still young, I pulled around 200 pounds each day. In those days, I think adults would strip the stalks, but I gingerly pulled the boles from the stalk.