1911, sandiego, California.

he was eager to return to work, forced into a week vacation in sandiego, along with his son, H.W. The nagging thought of those oil rigs providing less over his time away made him itch. By the second day, he’d changed his mind, a single factor producing that unlikely feeling from him, a women he’d met, sharing a mutual laugh and light conversation as a performer entertained in the evening of the hotel resort. They’d talked various times, running into each other when they were out and about, exchanging names.