Devil Dogs

When I started first grade at Job S. Gidley Grammar School in North Dartmouth, Mass. nobody gave much thought to first graders walking a few blocks unescorted or crossing a steet by themselves. Smith Mills was one of those little groups of stores that would be at a country intersection, a hardware store, a drug store, a package store, a grocery store. Mr. Smith's mill, probably where grain was milled, and the water wheel to power it, were long gone but the dammed up creek and the sluiceway below the dam were still there.

One day after school one of my classmates and I walked up to the little market. I was planning on spending my nickle on a Milky Way but he ordered a Devil Dog and the name alone intrigued me. It was in a glassine bag. The open end looked like it had been cut with pinking shears, and yes, the end was open, not sealed. I decided to try one. The first taste had me addicted. I'm still addicted.