By DANNY MINTON Years ago, while in high school, I was given a book by Foy L. Smith entitled “The Days of Thy Youth.” In one chapter of the book, he tells the story of an old gospel preacher named Theophilus Brown Larimore. T.B. Larimore was riding out west in a railway passenger car when outlaws came alongside and halted

By DANNY MINTON I was traveling down one of the commercial streets in Abilene one day and saw the sign, “Clean Dirt.” That struck me odd since I learned years ago that dirt was “dirty.” I was told to wash the dirt off my hands before I ate. I washed the dirt out of my hair, and my mom cleaned

By DANNY MINTON The date was sometime in January 1966 when I lay in bed, alone in a hospital room at Baylor medical center, encased in a body cast that engulfed the upper half of my body. I had been in the hospital over a month after breaking a vertebra in my neck. It didn’t hurt when it happened, and

By DANNY MINTON In what seems to be the middle of nowhere stamped on a weathered concrete structure are the words “Abandoned in Place.” It means leave it like it is. It is all that remains of a vast multi-million-dollar tower. Standing in front of the sign printed in simple letters on the side of the structure, one can’t help

By DANNY MINTON It was a hot summer night in 1964 when a group of my high school friends and I were cruising around our hometown of Plano, Texas. Back then it was small, and there wasn’t much to do. That’s usually when a group of guys does something that they shouldn’t, and this night was no exception for our