Beginning at about age 12 or 13, when I evidently first began to take notice of signs on things, I have often had a smile planted on my face by a few words that somebody put up where they were hard to miss.

One wintry day in 1944, Pop Johnson, my stepfather, took me to work to help him clean up the wreck of his service station wall caused by a driver whose steering talent failed just as he was turning in. Later, while walking home after three long, cold winter hours spent outside I passed a small diner, which reminded me that I could do with something warm to drink.

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