by Paul Jones
There was a book written once by the Anglo-Argentine writer, W.H. Hudson, titled “Far Away and Long Ago,” about his memories of life growing up on the “Pampas” of Argentina. I think this title could be appropriate for my memories of visits to Ocala, Florida in the mid to late Fifties when I was a boy growing up in Southern California.
The family on my father’s side in Ocala came from what rightly could be termed the Southern aristocracy in its roots and traditions, while my mother’s side was lower-middle class Scotch-Irish background from South Carolina, the “salt of the earth.” I visited Ocala, then only a small town in central Florida of about 10,000 people, where my uncle lived when I was ten years old. It was a lot different than where I was growing up in Santa Barbara, California since in Florida in 1957, as…
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