Bill Atwood and his trumpet

This is my little brother.  He started playing the trumpet even earlier than I started playing the flute. (He was five, I was eleven.)  The first time he was supposed to play in public was in a skit at school where he was Little Boy Blue.

Well the night before Daddy taught him how to take his horn apart and clean it.  And somehow when he put it back together something was in the wrong place.  So when his cue came up, and he started to blow his horn, nothing came out.

Thurston "Bill" Atwood, my father

Thurston played trumpet all through school and at the Methodist Church as well.  When he was 19 he started a band with 3 other young musicians.  They called themselves the "Merry Makers." He told me they played for dances, mostly in Brownwood, 24 miles away.

Above is a postcard sent to Mama during boy scout camp in Glen Rose.  It reads: "Dearest Mother, We are having a wonderful time and this sulphur water is plenty hard to drink.  Take care of yourself.  Love, Thurston."

Below is a telegram he sent her from Lufkin, Texas in 1936 when he was a traveling salesman. The message reads: "for every mile that separates us on this day I send a hundred wishes for your happiness."