A CASE OF TIRING DISCIPLINE
Back in the 1930s in the little village of Cactus Garden near the main shaft of the Inspiration Consolidated Copper Company north of Miami, we kids often rolled tires for recreation, usually with a friend curled up inside hanging on by fingers and toes. Because we lived on steep hill, the ride was wild and sometimes dangerous. If the tire was headed down the grade, it was best to bailout before hitting a cactus or a cliff. My little brother contends I once deliberately rolled him down the hill, over the cut bank, across the road, and into the creek. He zipped across the road just ahead of Dad’s approaching car. Dad slammed on his brakes and emerged from the car and headed up the hill for me. My brother, eager to see me get a licking, was at his heels. “Charles, that was a stupid thing to do,” my dad yelled. “That was my best tire. Use one…
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