My grandfather, Edward Earl Bell, was definitely a hard worker. He was born in Tennessee and the southern way of life stuck with him throughout his life. He never was the smartest man as far as book smarts, but he got by. His hands were worn and used, his fingers and knuckles were large and solid and were covered in scars as a result of sixty years of physical labor. He wasn’t that tall, maybe five foot seven inches, and he had a very thick stout build. Any time I ever saw him he was wearing plain work pants and a button up shirt, or sometimes no shirt at all. He had coal black hair until the day he died, it was always combed in what I call the sixties greaser style, and not a strand was out of place. When you looked into his
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