Readers Remember

During the summer of 1935, I lived with my parents, brother and two sisters in a small house located in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Nearby was Deadwood--a small town noted for the exploits of Western gunslinger Wild Bill Hickock. In that hot summer, we piled into our car and drove over to see the construction work at Mt. Rushmore National Memorial. Chewing on our simple picnic lunch spread out under the trees, we stared at the uncompleted heads of Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt.

Forty-one years later, in the summer of 1976, my wife Carol and I stopped in Lead in the Black Hills, revisited the site of the small house, and then drove over to Mt. Rushmore.

The huge heads, about 60 feet high, stared out over the valley and the Black Hills. In my mind’s eye, I could see myself as the 10-year-old boy who had stared upward at the uncompleted stone heads.

KENNETH LLOYD LARSON

Los Angeles

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In the 1930s, my mother repaired silk stockings. At age 7, on roller skates, I delivered and picked them up at various stores. I traveled many miles. For my 12th birthday I received a bicycle, thus my mode of travel changed. Getting me a bicycle during the Depression years was a big sacrifice for my mother. She charged 15 cents per “run” and 10 cents per each inch of “snags.” She worked long hours into the night.

HELEN DYESS

Venice

In 200 words or less, send us your memories, comments or eyewitness accounts. Write to Century, Los Angeles Times, Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles, CA 90053, or e-mail [email protected]. We regret we cannot acknowledge individual submissions. Letters may be edited for space.