The summer of 1981 contained my first glimpse of adulthood, sort of. My parents, sister and I lived within the city limits of Washington, Indiana, “Home of Mr. Basketball Steve Alford 1983”, although we didn’t know it at the time. A few miles south of us was a small rural community called Cumback. No shit, how could I possibly make up a name like that? Cumback consisted of a church and few small homes along a long stretch of gravel road. Washington was considered “the city” to my two cousins, Tim and Bryon, who lived in Cumback, and my family considered Cumback “the country”, for obvious reasons.

Growing up I had an uncle named Benjamin Hill. He passed away years ago. Our family called him Uncle Benny. He was a truck driver for a bottling plant in Evansville, Indiana. He always dressed rather simply, so I doubt the job paid much of a wage. Black shoes, plain cotton or polyester pants, and a short sleeved buttoned shirt in a modest print. Uncle Benny wasn’t a member of the jeans generation, and I doubt he ever owned a pair. He was pale, rail thin and always wore his favorite truckers cap, embellished with such logos as John Deer, Jack Daniel’s or 7 Eleven. As a young child I just assumed he just traveled a lot and those were names of various high-end luxury items or exotic destinations. For some, perhaps they are.