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Note: is his ship sent depth charges down and he believes that they hit an enemy sub or 2. * **************************************************************** **** I n August 2012 he told me that as a child at age 8, he drove an old model A truck around the farm in Murraysville to feed the chickens in mobile pens. His father put the feedbag on the truck and Pap used a knife to cut the bag open at his destination before he spread the feed. Also at t his time period he would decapitate chickens and remove their feathers and great-grandma would gut and clean the chickens for market. ********* ******************************************************** **** Grandma listed Pap as being born on June 15, 1923 on her marriage license applic ation because she didn't want to be older than her husband. He was actually born on June 15, 1927. Asthmatic, Factor 5 Leiden, Heart Arythmia * **************************************************************** **** Meet James Smith Times Staff 11/25/2006 What's in a name? If it's Jame s Smith, arguably the most common name in the United States, there are s ome common hassles. James Smith gets stopped at air security checkpoin ts, he gets knowing looks at motels, he gets angry calls for other Jame s Smiths. "Part of the problem with Jim Smiths is they always seem to n ame their sons Jim Smith. You'd think we'd come up with something more o riginal," said Dr. James W. Smith Jr., Beaver Co.'s forensic pathologis t and third in a line of four Jim Smiths. James Smith triggers more t han 8.5 million hits on the Internet search engine Google. A search for J ames Smith on the RootsWeb.com Social Security Death Index produces nea rly 78 million hits. Local telephone searches yield dozens of James Smi ths, most of them not related. Around these parts, James Smith is a ret ired steelworker; he works for Ellwood City borough; he coaches Our Lad y of Fatima's girls basketball team; he's a computer programmer; he is a M oon Township plastic surgeon; he owns Subway sandwich shops in Ohio; he l ays carpeting; he is a retired turnpike chief geologist with bladder ca ncer. So Shakespeare was right. A common name does not denote common m en. J.W. Smith, old coot ROCHESTER - James William Smith - J .W., they call him - sits in his wooden glider and rocks his body back a nd forth, back and forth while he looks sideways at you. The glider squ eals as if it's in pain. He notices this and stops. "That bother you?" h e asks. No. "Good." He rocks again. You ask whether you can tell hi s story in the newspaper. Would that be OK? He considers this. It's a g ood story, he says. He wishes everyone had to know what it's like to be 8 6 years old and remember when nobody had anything, back in the '30s, ba ck in the Hoover era. "You know who Hoover is?" he asks. You do. He h arrumphs. He's either surprised or he doesn't believe it, you think. B ut then he gives an approving nod. He thinks it would be OK to tell his s tory in the newspaper after all. "But just the highlights," he says. " That's all. Just the highlights." The highlights J.W. was raised in N ew Brighton, back when New Brighton was just a "one-horse town." He had s ix sisters, like steps. He went to school until he was in eighth grade. B ut then Dad lost his job, and he had no choice but to leave school and w ork on local farms. When he was old enough, he left the farms to figh t in the Pacific during World War II and left World War II to come home a nd work as a conductor on the railroad, riding the tracks between Beave r Co. and Toledo for 30 years. "I had many a good day on the rail," he s ays. He got married, bought a yellow brick house in Rochester and had f our children. Three of them were girls. Two of them have died. All of h is sisters are in the cemetery, too. And his wife's been gone since 199 5. He won't talk about that, but he hasn't touched a decoration she hun g since she died. Today he lives alone in that yellow brick house. He l ikes to watch television and talk to neighbors and complain about taxes . He regrets he didn't get more schooling, but besides that, he doesn't r egret much of anything. His daughter cooks for him. His grandsons take h im to the grocery store. A neighbor used to visit every Thursday, but h e died a little while back, too. "Found him dead in his bed," J.W. sa ys, shaking his head. "They're looking for me to go any day." Really? Y ou look good, you tell him. "I feel pretty good," he says. "Except I'v e got a little macular degeneration in my left eye." He shrugs then. " When He says come home, you come home," he says. "That's it. The Lord h as the final say." The end "Where'd you park?" J.W. asks when you stan d to go. Just out front, you tell him. He shakes his head, and you kn ow you shouldn't have done that. It's like the Beaver Co. Speedway out t here, he says. Some people stop at the stop signs; some don't. Everyone d rives too fast. He follows you onto the porch. He spends most summer d ays sitting out here, watching the cars drive by. He likes to wave at t hem, likes to see whether they'll wave back. There's my car, you say, p ointing. He harrumphs again. "Surprised it's still there," he says. Y ou climb in, turn around carefully in his driveway and pull away. He w aves. You wave back. - By April Johnston Dr. James W. Smith Jr., fo rensic pathologist PATTERSON TWP. - James Smith, 73, of Patterson Town ship is semiretired, but he still cuts bodies apart on a regular basis. O ver the years: He's performed more than 2,000 autopsies as the forensi c pathologist for the Beaver Co. coroner's office and as a pathologist f or several area hospitals, including The Medical Center, Beaver. He wa s in charge of collecting the remains of 132 victims who died in the 19 94 crash of US Air Flight 427 in Hopewell Township. He and his team col lected more than 2,000 body parts. It took at least two months to ident ify the bodies and more than two years before Smith's role ended with t he last court case. He has been involved with most of the Beaver Co. m urder cases over the last 20 years. He was instrumental in the prosec ution of Kimberly Pander, a Franklin Township woman suspected of murder ing her three young daughters over an 18-month period in 1991 and 1992. T he first two deaths were attributed to sudden infant death syndrome, bu t the third one led to Pander's guilty plea and life sentence in 1993. S mith was able to prove that the third child's death was definitely a ho micide, and prosecutors said his evidence led directly to Pander's down fall. He's glad that nobody's ever confused him with any of the corps es he's autopsied, two of whom were named James Smith. - By Bob Baude r James Scott Smith, traveling man CENTER TWP. - James Scott Smith of C enter Township is a tech support person whose work and play have taken h im to all but three of the 50 states: North Dakota, Oregon and Montana. A nd so we present the first Jim Smith Travel Awards: Most Auspicious St art When Jim was about 8 years old, his mother took the family to NJ v ia back roads to visit her uncle. As she drove, Jim pored over maps. S omewhere in Pennsylvania, he told her, "Mom, you took a wrong turn." Sh e ignored him. He was only 8. A little while later, she realized she w as lost. Best Navigator Jim Smith. "He never gets lost," wife Kathy s aid. Let's stop right there. If the wife is saying the husband never g ets lost ... then he never gets lost. Best Travel Planner Jim Smith, a gain. "He knows how many miles from the airport to the first hotel, to t he next hotel, to the next hotel," Kathy said. Best Couples Vacation W alt Disney World, Orlando, Fla. He and Kathy have been there five or si x times in their 26-year marriage. "We're kids at heart," Kathy said. B est Unplanned Trip One Sunday, Kathy felt like going for a drive. "He t ook me to Indiana!" she said. "Indiana, Pa.," Jim responded. "We were g one for seven hours!" Kathy said. Most Annoying Thing About Traveling W ith Jim "He expects me to do 100 percent of the picture-taking," Kathy s aid. Making those duties more onerous is that "he would take a picture o f every tree, every plant, every building if he could." "Just the inte resting ones," Jim responded. Second-Most Annoying Thing About Travel ing With Jim In celebration of their trip from Chicago to Oklahoma on R oute 66, Jim made a tape of Route 66 songs. In Oklahoma, Kathy was wiel ding the video camera (natch), and "you can very distinctly hear me say , 'If I have to listen to this tape one more time, it's going in your m outh.' Or out the window, or something to that effect." Best Souvenirs F or a while, Jim was bringing Kathy stuffed animals as souvenirs. She po sed them atop the living-room sofa. Jim explained: "That's a gator fro m Louisiana, and a dolphin from California, and a moose from Toronto, a nd a husky dog from Calgary. And that sad little rat's from NJ." Most P roblematic Dream Destination Europe. They'd love to go and have looked i nto Mediterranean cruises. But Kathy has spina bifida and uses a wheelc hair, and Europe's steps and cobbled streets would be difficult. Most G allant Traveling Husband Jim, 53, won't go anywhere Kathy can't go. On t heir most recent vacation, to California, they faced a very steep ramp l eading to a waterfall at Yosemite National Park. Wait here, Jim said. I 'll go see whether it's worth seeing. "You're going," he said on his re turn. He started pushing her up the ramp and got help from passers-by. W hen they returned from the waterfall (it was great), he helped others w ho needed a boost getting up. As any good traveler would. - By Stepha nie Waite Jim Smith, RentWay manager EAST LIVERPOOL, OHIO - Jim Smi th of East Liverpool has gotten other Jim Smiths' mail. He's been mixed u p with Jim Smiths who have wrecked automobiles. And family gatherings c an be a real adventure when somebody yells, "Hey, Jim," and he and the o ther two Jims in the family come running. But the worst thing that eve r happened to the 38-year-old manager of RentWay in Steubenville, Ohio, w as when he took the company's manager test. As it turned out, a bunch o f other Jim Smiths in the company took the test, too. His former boss f orgot to include his employee identification number on the paperwork, a nd the human resources folks, who have "several hundred" Jim Smiths at t he company's 790 stores in 34 states, couldn't tell which test was his. H e had to take it over again, and the pressure was on. Had he failed, he w ould have had to wait six months before he could take it again. It mean t the difference between making $8.50 an hour as an associate or $35,00 0 a year as a manager. Fortunately, he passed. He wasn't about to pa ss on the Jim Smith stigma to his son, born four months ago. "I named h im Preston James," Smith said. - By Bob Bauder Jamie the Jet Smith , dad ECONOMY - Amanda Smith's daddy fixes cars. When she and mom visi t him at Smitty's Service on Big Sewickley Creek Road in Economy, Mommy p ulls their Ford Focus into the service bay. Then Daddy presses a butt on and the car goes up, up, up. Amanda's so happy, she claps. In ye ars to come, James T. "Jamie" Smith will tell Amanda that some cars go r ound and round real fast on a dirt race track. He'll tell her that for 2 0 years, every Friday and Saturday night, he went to Lernerville Speedw ay at Sarver or Mercer Raceway Park or to Pittsburgh's Pennsylvania Mot or Speedway in North Fayette Township. He'd put on a suit that couldn't b urn, stick on a helmet and hunker down into a car that her mommy, Duke, s ays looked like "a go-cart on steroids." And then for the splendid mi nutes it took his sprint car to loop around the quarter-mile track 20 t imes really, really fast with two dozen other racers, Daddy was really, r eally happy and really, really good. He won lots. Thirty-one races at M ercer, and four championships there and at other places, too. Jamie the J et, the announcer sometimes called him, had the most points 10 times an d only one ride in an ambulance. Daddy raced in 2004 when Amanda was a w ee baby. It was a good year. He was the points champ and made money. T hen he got to thinking. He worked six days at the shop he co-owns with h is mother and had opened a storage business. He had a family. He needed t ime. So he sold his two cars and two motors. Jamie Smith, 42, doesn' t race cars anymore, and his decision, he insists, had more to do with t ime. But it also had "hugely" to do, his wife says, with the happy blue -eyed little girl who's buckled in her car seat on top of her world. - B y Patti Conley Jim Smith, one-night stand BRIGHTON TWP. - Jim Smith c an laugh now, but in 1962, it wasn't so funny when he and his bride wer e mistaken by a motel clerk for a pair of kids on a late-night tryst al ong Route 19. James and Margie Smith were married that day in Patterso n Township and had just left their wedding reception at the Chippewa To wnship fire hall en route to their Niagara Falls honeymoon. In the da ys before Route 79, Route 19 was the northern route to Erie, and it was l ined with motels. It was late, and the newlyweds were tired, so Jim p ulled over to catch some sleep. "With a name like Jim Smith, you go i nto a hotel and put your name down as Jim Smith, and they look at you l ike, 'Wow, couldn't you come up with a different name?' " said Smith, n ow 66, who lives with Margie in Brighton Township. But being Jim Smith , he was used to the mix-ups. At that time, there had to be at least fo ur Jim Smiths living on "the hill" in Patterson Heights, where Jim was r aised. There were two in Smith's Beaver Falls High School graduating cl ass in 1958. Jim was called Little Jim Smith, and his former classmat e, who now lives in Florida, was Big Jim Smith. On his wedding night, L ittle Jim walked into the motel and signed the guestbook. His bride rem ained in the car. And the clerk gave him the look that said, "Yeah, rig ht." "They thought I was shacking up with some broad, I guess," Smith s aid. But this broad happened to be his bride, and their fling has gon e on for 44 years and counting. - By Bob Bauder Jim Smith, bee guy M IDLAND - Two honeybees stung Jim Smith this summer and cured his arthri tis. OK, "cured" is a strong word; he's not completely pain-free. But w atch! Seated in a recliner in his Midland living room, Smith raises his p laid-flannel-shirted left arm high into the air. He couldn't do that be fore the bees; instead, he could only do this (he raises his bent arm g ingerly to shoulder height.) That created a serious problem for Smith, a g uy who immediately replies "work" when asked what he does for fun. Se venty years old and retired from J&L since 1986, he does electrical wor k mostly. Shirley, his wife, can't stay quiet as Jim talks about his wo rk. Clarify she must. "He says electrical work like it's nothing. He w ould rewire this whole town if he could." Jim smiles, his pale eyes g listening behind spectacles. I haven't worked in a while, he says. "Ho w can you say that?" Shirley asks. "You worked every day last week!" "S he calls me a workaholic," Jim says. "He is one!" Shirley retorts. Ji m and Shirley smile all the time. Life is good: his work, their church, t heir seven kids between them, all out on their own. But five or six y ears ago, Mr. Arthur Ritis paid his first visit to Jim Smith, setting u p housekeeping in his left shoulder. Smith adapted; he'd twist and tur n his arm different ways, until it didn't hurt so much. The pain persis ted. He went to the VA Hospital in Pittsburgh this summer, where a doct or diagnosed arthritis and recommended pain medication. But Smith star ted thinking about bees. Years ago, he saw an older man put his hand r ight into a cage full of bees. What's that guy doing? he asked. He's go t arthritis, someone replied. Now here was Smith, years later, vividl y envisioning that man thrusting his hand into the swarm. He called h is brother Roy Smith, who lives in New Brighton but raises bees on a fa rm near New Castle. Sting me, he said, or something to that effect. Ro y picked up two bees with his bare hands and put them in a Tupperware c ontainer with some water so they couldn't fly. Jim sat at Roy's kitchen t able, shirtless. Roy placed an ice cube on his shoulder, then the bees. T he stings pinched a little. That was a Saturday. Sunday morning, Jim w ent to church and lifted his arm freely into the air. Amen, indeed, to t hat. When he tells people about the bees, they step back. "Really?" the y say. Really. What the Smith brothers did is called apitherapy, and a ccording to the American Apitherapy Society, it is mentioned in Chinese t exts 2,000 years old. People also have used bee stings to treat multipl e sclerosis, tendonitis and shingles. One thing to remember: A bee sti ng can kill you. Repeat: A bee sting can kill you. You can go into ana phylactic shock, which can cause sudden death. The few existing scien tific studies of apitherapy tend to show it is ineffective in relieving p ain. But then there's Jim Smith, real-live anecdotal evidence. The sti ng freed him to do his life's work, to be a happy worker bee once more. - B y Stephanie Waite James B. Smith, crab NEW CASTLE - The phone rang lat e one evening. James B. Smith was then living in Ohio and working two f ull-time jobs to make ends meet. He was getting two, maybe three hours s leep, and he usually slept from 7 to 10 p.m. He didn't like it when the p hone rang in the evening. "What are you going to do about that wreck l ast night?" said a voice on the other end of the line. Smith, mixed u p with other Jim Smiths for years, didn't know what the guy was talking a bout, and he wasn't in the mood for nonsense. "What wreck are you tal king about?" he said, irritation building. "Weren't you over on Route 3 7 last night?" the guy asked. "Don't you own a green panel truck?" No o n both counts, Smith said. Then the guy threatened to sue. That rea lly irked James B. Smith. You've got the wrong guy, he said. You want t he one who owns Smitty's restaurant and the boat rental over on Buckeye L ake. Not this Jim Smith. Not James B. Smith of Hebron, Ohio. Finally, t he guy was convinced. Then he had the gall to ask for the other Jim S mith's phone number. James B. Smith knew the number. People were always c alling for that Smith by mistake. "I hung up on the son of a bitch," sa id Smith , 71, of New Castle. - By Bob Bauder Jimmy, Jim, Jim and J im Smith, four generations MARSHALL TWP. - Father-in-law Jimmy Smith r ode the rails. Husband Jim could take Volkswagens apart in his sleep. S on Jim favors motorcycles, and grandson Jim details cars. Verna Hilliar d set the wheels in motion for a life with Jim Smiths in 1947 when she m et a quiet, red-haired Army vet named Jim Smith at a garage in West Vie w. "I was dating another guy at that garage," Verna Smith smiles with a 1 4-year-old's mischievousness. "We (she and Jim) went out, and the rest i s history." Sixty years later, the petite blonde gladly sorts through m emories of a life jammed with Jims. Her Jim sits in a cushioned chair n ot far from hers, gently petting their 17-year-old cat, Gizmo. Her Jim' s hair is white, and Alzheimer's disease is slowly sifting the memories o f his 79 years. Verna kindly fills in the gaps. "He was always a hard w orker, and I just thought that he was the one." Verna says. Verna smi les. Her instinct about the work ethic was on target. Throughout their m arriage, Jim spent long hours repairing cars. In later years, he worked i n the UPMC Passavant maintenance department. Together they had three so ns: Robert James in 1953; James Herbert in 1957; and Richard Allen in 1 959. Her husband grew up knowing what it took to feed a family, Verna s ays. It was lesson he learned from his father, Jimmy Allen Smith, who d id what he had to do to earn a buck, according to a family history. Fam ily stories have it that Jimmy left home young and became a hobo, ridin g the rails from the East Coast to the West. He would get a job where h e could, washing dishes, working in a lumber yard, wheat fields and vin eyards. Lore has it that Jimmy tap-danced in a bit part in a movie. He d ied in 1959. "He was a hard-working fool," Jim teases. "He talked and I l istened." Jim and Verna's sons were brought up the same, Verna says. "T hey all admired him and looked up to him," she says. Son Jim, 49, tea ches at a trade school and lives in his parents' home. Having two Jims a t home isn't confusing, Verna says. She refers to them as "husband Jim" a nd "son Jim." Grandson Jim, 21, son of their oldest son, Robert, live s in Connoquenessing and keeps busy building house frames and detailing c ars. When he's told people his name's Jim Smith, they've said that can 't be a real name. "It's my name," he tells them, and his uncle's, his g randfather's and great-grandfather's. And if things work out someday, J ames Smith will be Verna's great-grandson's name, too. - By Patti Con ley Jamie Smith, a chip off the old James EASTVALE - Jamie Smith is v ery matter-of-fact, speaking and smoking at a steady pace, her dark eye s wandering while a sentence forms from her mouth. As each one ends, he r eyes settle directly on your face, where she pauses unblinking till t he next sentence starts. She's not apt to smile much, but that's not b ecause she's angry or anything. It's just the way she is. And her life i sn't easy, working for $6.60 an hour as a nurses' aide on the overnight s hift at a nursing home where she changes morning diapers and helps resi dents bathe. But she likes what she does. People tell her all the tim e that that's just the way her grandfather James Smith was, which is co ol to Jamie, 28, because she's named after him. Her parents expected a b oy after having two girls, and her mom did seem to be carrying her diff erently. So when another little girl came out, they decided to go with t heir original plan and still name her after her father's father. James C alvin became Jamie Sue. Jamie knew James only until she was 6, when he d ied six days after her grandmother. It was a broken heart, Jamie says. B ut she remembers him from when she lived next door to his South Beaver T ownship farm with the sawmill, cows and a donkey. He was short, about 5 f eet 6. Like her. He was a strong, hard worker. Like her. He had a qu ick and bad temper. Like her. He would give a friend the last dime he d idn't have to give. Like her. "He had a very direct look to him, like p eople always thought he was pissed off," she says. Like her. "People s ay I have the Smith look," she says, and her dark eyes pause again. On ce, when James was young, a horse kicked him in the head and his eye po pped out. Once, when Jamie was young, her sister tripped and the pencil s he was carrying stuck in Jamie's eye. Both grandfather and granddaughte r were lucky to keep their eyes. And when Jamie's at work, becoming lik e family to some residents who never see any real family, they beckon t o her, "Hey, Jim." Just like him. - By Lori DeLauter James Frederic k Smith, branded LIVERPOOL TWP., OHIO - James Smith grasped his airpl ane boarding pass and stared at the bright red "S" stamped on it. The V ietnam veteran with two Bronze Stars and a Purple Heart awarded for his s acrifice and bravery had been branded by his government with a scarlet l etter. "S" wasn't for his last name, but for the word "Search." Pulle d aside from other travelers. Belt off. Shoes off. James Frederick Sm ith, 55, of Liverpool Township is in an unfortunately select group of 5 6 James Frederick Smiths who, because of their common name, are on a "n o-fly" list drawn up by the federal Transportation Security Agency. Tho se on the list are subject to extra screening and suspicion when they f ly anywhere in the world. In 2004, Smith flew 25 times, a mix of busi ness and pleasure. Last year, when his name appeared on the list, he fl ew just 10 times. Now, Smith has to arrive extra early for a flight in c ase he has to go through extra searches. He can't print tickets from a k iosk or the Internet. So far this year, Smith's flown only twice. He's a lso quit the regular winter weekend golf jaunts to Florida. "I cut (fl ying) down because it was such a hassle," Smith said. "I have to arrive a c ouple hours early for a one-hour flight. I re-evaluate my travel time n ow because of those issues." Smith, a logistics and procurement manage r for WTI's hazardous-waste incinerator in East Liverpool, is himself a l icensed pilot. He first noticed a problem when he couldn't print a boa rding pass off the Internet before he was supposed to go to the airport . There was no explanation, only instructions to see a customer service a gent when he got to Pittsburgh International Airport for a flight he an d his wife, Dawne, were taking. Once there, an agent took his identifi cation and disappeared for 20 minutes. No explanations. No apologies. N o excuses. Smith leaned against the ticket counter, waiting. Wondering . "I was just kind of bewildered," Smith said. "I didn't know what was g oing on." When the agent returned, she had a boarding pass and instruct ions that he and his wife had to go to a security screening area. Smit h found it amusing that as he and his wife were split up, she was allow ed to go through with a backpack full of electronics and other items, b ut he was searched. The next time he flew, a US Airways supervisor was a ble to clear him more easily and explained to him what was going on. S mith said he's learned there are 38,000 names on the "no-fly" list, and i t's ensnared some bigwigs, including U.S. Sen. Ted Kennedy as he flew o ut of Reagan Washington National Airport. Smith said he's been told he c an submit documentation and try to get his name off the list, but there 's no guarantee it'll work. "That's why I say the terrorists have won, " Smith said. "I had to change my lifestyle because of something they d id. They won. But I don't live in fear, never have, never will. It's ju st not my style. I refuse to live in fear for my safety." - By Bill Vi donic James Theodore Smith, risk taker CHIPPEWA TWP. - Most people g o through their lives avoiding risks, but 79-year-old James Theodore Smith of Chippewa Township never missed an opportunity. "I've never live d my life with blinders," Smith said. Warrior At 16, Smith quit high school and joined the Navy by signing his father's name on the enlistment form. Conveniently enough, his father was James Theodore Smith Sr. so Smith's trickery wasn't that difficult. He later convinced his mother to approve his joining up. "I don't know how I got her to go along with it, " he recalled with a chuckle. Smith served in the South Pacific in World War II on a patrol boat that escorted troop and transport ships. Farmer Back from the war, Smith worked on the family farm, sold coffee and tea, and then became a bill collector in 1952 in Wilkinsburg. Smith did well, got promoted and transferred to Beaver Falls. Bill collector In 1960, he and a colleague started their own collections business , Mancing and Associates Inc. "We flipped a coin," said Smith, who lost and ended up being the "Associates." He was so good at it that he and his wife, Marlene, stayed in the business for 40 years. Garden tiller Then it was on to landscaping, which Smith stumbled upon because he loved gardening. Each spring, he'd spend hours tilling his soil by hand until he saw a guy with a tractor-pulled tiller. Smith bought one, and pretty soon, his neighbors were asking him to till their gardens. He put a n ad in the paper and business boomed. Landscaper Someone called one day and asked whether Smith could do landscaping, too. Of course, he said. Snow response specialist That work eventually evolved into a snow- plowing business (Snow Response Specialists and Associates Inc., SRSA for short.) that he and his son, Michael James Smith, run out of a white house on Darlington Road. (Older son, James D., hasn't named any of his boys James.) SRSA's business stretches north to Cleveland and Erie and d own into West Virginia, with about 60 drivers and 15 laborers who shove l snow. The next thing As the years get on, Smith's trying to relax a little. He worked full time until four years ago. Still, the businessman in him keeps an eye open for the next opportunity, such as the baby b oom generation. Smith said he'd love to tap into that lucrative market. " All I have to do is find that one thing that's a niche," he said. Don' t bet against the near octogenarian starting another career. While the y ears might've sapped his physical strength, Smith's confidence seems as high as a 20-year-old's. "I really love to grow a business," Smith said . "I could pretty much take anything and grow it." - By J.D. Prose
Note: Pap had a faked birth certificate to get into World War II at a young a ge. Pap was trained as signalman in Chicago for WWII. He went to Univ. of Chicago Signal School. He told me in August 2012 th
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