The Kansas summer of 1953 was hot and humid — too hot to play war or basketball. By midmorning the temperature had climbed to one hundred degrees. Most houses had nearly worthless “swamp coolers,” but my dad’s appliance store was air-conditioned, so I jumped on my bike and rode there for relief. I soon spotted the empty cardboard boxes that had held large appliances, and I nagged Dad until he let me take one home.
The box was five feet long, and I was at a loss for how to transport it sixteen blocks on my bike. I tried “wearing” it on my head with the back corner hanging over my rear fender, but it was blown off by the Kansas wind before I passed two buildings. Next I tore down the box and turned it into a wing, which I tied to my back fender. Looking like a Cessna buffeted by the gusts, I slowly pedaled home. I had to make three stops to retie the string, but I finally got there.
