My dad and I are sitting outside Gene Warrick's (in the Providence Community, near Fries, VA) one Saturday in say 1975. He points to the neon-lighted clock hanging over the door. It says 2:10. It has said 2:10 for as long as I can remember. He tells me that it said 2:10 when he left to get on the train in 1942 to serve in WWII. Thirty-three years - I think to myself in 1975 - that's a long time ago - impossibly long.
Thirty-three plus years have passed like a flash. The clock has since been taken down. I wish I had a picture of the clock. I wish I had more pictures of my dad.
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