I started selling newspapers on the public square in Springfield, Missouri, in 1928, when I was eight years old. Back then, the square was a cement circle edged in brick with a flagpole in the center and was called the pie. My three older brothers worked for the newspaper on the circulation desk. They were in charge of getting subscribers and managing some of the delivery boys.
My dad, Henry, was a letter carrier. He later became public administrator for the county. My mother, Nellie, didn’t work outside the home. She had her hands full