Glenda Stormes Bice
Richy, you old coot. What would I have done with out you that one summer.
Last weekend when I was home I drove by that mailbox I knocked off on my first day. ROTFL! Next time I am going over to Illinois to see if I remember where you drove the truck in the ditch when we both feel asleep sniffing that long gas line from Thompson south. Or that time those geese scared me to death when I was out painting poles with you?
I could go on and on. You were my best time of any summer job I had.
Say hi to Dad.

