You’ve got to put something in if you want to get something out!
Bobby and Fred were driving the Alabama foothills on a sweltering August afternoon. They were hot and they were thirsty. Eying an old water pump outside an abandoned farmhouse, the two decided to pull over and "try their luck." Fred crossed his fingers as Bobby grabbed the rusty handle and started pumping.
My dad gave me a graduate degree in hard work. As I rolled out of bed in the early mornings of my youth, I would find him sitting at the table on our porch enjoying his morning ritual: black coffee, eggs, and toast while reading the newspaper. Then he was out the door and off to work.
The words sizzled like frying bacon. The announcement tantalized the senses like early morning coffee: “Lincoln is not in his coffin.” It was 1887, twenty-two years after Booth’s bullet found its mark, twenty-two years after the state funeral, twenty-two years after multitudes witnessed the casket slowly lowered into the earth.
