An early lesson

I started school in Adrian, Oregon, at the end of the summer in 1955. I was six years old.

Adrian was a little farming town of maybe a hundred to two hundred people. The edge of the town was within a stone's throw of the Snake River. Besides its few dozen homes, Adrian had a post office, a couple of general stores, a feed store, at one time a movie theater, and a railroad track. Its prominent feature, however, was the school. One build­ing housed grades one through eight, and a second building housed the high school.

I remember an early lesson I learned right the first day or maybe first week of school. We were talking about day and night and the turning of the world and such cosmic things. Our teacher, Mrs. Comer, asked if anyone knew how long it took the earth to rotate once. I answered that it turned around so fast we couldn't even tell it, millions of times a day, because that's what my older brother Ray had told me. I found out it only revolves once a day and that I couldn't believe everything Ray told me.