As a young boy I visited a sharecropper’s cabin, and learned about the haves and have-nots in Arkansas.
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When I began writing my memoirs, I wondered about this. After my farm boy childhood, and acid-head adolescence, I spent the years that I should have been in college as a homeless vagabond. When I started putting my history down chronologically, events of my life began to jump into sharper focus. Things that had bewildered me in my youth now made some sense after the passage of fifty years.
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