When our grandmother, Ada Stubblefield celebrated her 80th birthday in Yuma, Don, Raymond and Richard gathered in Anaheim in Don’s car with his pop-up trailer in tow. Once In Yuma, we carefully selected the most undesirable location to pitch the trailer; a barren desert dirt plot of about10 square miles on the edge of Yuma along with hundreds of other mobile and motor homes. All was well until dusk when we settled in for a night’s sleep before the party day. As the wind picked up and began to howl, the canvas on the trailer began to flutter then exploded out to its limit. Within seconds, the canvas imploded with a bone-crushing sound. Every few seconds, as if on a schedule, the explosions and implosions continued all night. By about 4:45 a.m. the sun was just beginning to rise in its glory and it was time to head to the one-and-only concrete outhouse about 100 yards away. By 5:00 a.m. when we were leaving the privy, as it is called, the temperature was already about 98 degrees and increasing by the minute. Some men had already gathered to play shuffleboard next to the outhouse.