It has been reported that Non-Covid patients are also dying because they can’t be admitted, there are no beds available, because they are occupied by Covid patients.
Prescott was a very small town in the hilly county of southwestern Iowa. The whole township covers less than half a mile. Currently has a population of slightly over 200 and at it’s heyday probably never topped 300. In the days when passenger trains still ran the rails, they would on rare occasions stop to disembark or load passengers at the small wooden depot, just down the hill from Grandpa’s house. Prescott was what was called a whistle-stop, just a small unimportant town along the railroad.
An unassuming two lane highway twists around and over tree covered hills before crossing those railroad tracks and enters town from the South Southeast. The highway becomes Main Street as it passes over those rails and stops being a paved road only a few blocks into town. From there on main street remained unpaved.
As I remember this town of my boyhood, coming into town the tiny white-painted brick gas station sat at an angle to the north. Not a service station. No repair work done here. I don’t think you could even get a soft drink, candy bar, or cigarettes. Mom didn’t have a car so I didn’t have reason to visit there. I do remember the sight of the single gas pump. As gas was pumped, it swirled around through a glass top with red balls that twirled like a propeller. I remember the ding ding of the bell as vehicles drove over a hose in the drive. Somehow the scent of sunbaked asphalt and hot oil accompanies my memories here.
TO BE CONTINUED
Come back tomorrow
©2021 Thomas E Williams