Last February I watched a special on Johnny Cash that was all home movies from back in the sixties. It shows him & June visiting the old abandoned house that he grew up in the 1930s. They had the cameras rolling when he was travelling with his band in their then new 1960's Traveco motor home, playing state fairs, recording with Bob Dylan, talking with neigbors in his home town, talking with native Indians in Wounded Knee. It sure gave me better insight into the mind of the man; I enjoyed watching it, whatever it was called.
It's sad about the house. I dare say that as time goes on many of our own childhood homes disappear.
I recently stopped by the house where I spent my first 9 years of life. Nobody was there, but I did manage to take a few pictures. I had sent a picture to a friend in Oregon of me as a baby in my mom's arms back in '63. He thought it would be neat to get a picture of the same spot today, so I did.
It's funny, but in my mind I can still go back to that old neighborhood and remember the cars that people owned almost 40 years ago. I guess the car bug bit me a long time ago.
