The Pogo book "Deck Us All With Boston Charlie" came out in 1963. Pogo was an especial favorite of my mother, and of my uncle "Red" (whose hair was black.) Red was married to my mothers little sister, who was also her best friend.

That Christmas, four of us drove to Florida, Dad, Mama, one brother and myself, and we stopped at Red's house along the way. That, in itself, made Christmas special.

During WWII, Red went to the European theatre, and the rest of his family moved onto the farm with us. Our two families were "divorced" after the war when Red got a job in a distant community, but the divorce wasn't very successful; we tried to get together as often as possible.

Red gave Mama a copy of the book for Christmas, and we read it to each other, aloud, several times on the way south to Bradenton, and again several times on the way back, and when we weren't reading to each other, we were singing the various versions of the Old Original Charlie found in the book.

We passed through Chattanooga and Chicamauga on the way back. There had been a terrible ice storm, and it was really nasty driving, but the forecast was that the weather was going to get even worse. Despite the terrible driving, and worrying about falling off the side of the mountains - and locals who would come flying around blind curves at high speed in the center of the road - we were all staring at the scenery, all bright and sparkley with ice crystals hanging off all the plants, in a place where they just didn't do winter.

We arrived back on the farm about 10 AM, and at 10:15, as we were unloading the station wagon, the wrecker from the Chevy dealer drove past, with a familiar vehicle in tow. The mother of a friend had died that morning. One car slid into the intersection through a stopsign, and the other car, with the right of way, hit it hard. I don't even remember who was at fault, but my gut still tightens up to think about it.