I was raised on a farm in Tennessee. We had mules and horses in the 40s and 50s – no tractor. In early spring we had to break all our farm land with a team of mules and a two-horse breaking plow to get the land ready for planting cotton and corn.

I joined the Air Force in the early 50s. When we first got to the Air Force Base and got off the bus, the drill instructor sergeant was waiting for us to line up in four-line ranks, according to height. There were 98 Airmen in our flight.

I was 6’3” tall, so I wound up first in one of the front four ranks. After “Forward, march!” for about 10 minutes, the sergeant yelled “Halt! Singleton, change places with the Airman behind you! It looks like you are walking behind a two-horse plow!”

I have always wondered how he knew that I was a farm boy who walked behind a two-horse breaking plow.