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Mr Helms was a boy's man because he was a boy at heart. He owned several acres of land, a pickup truck, a.22-caliber rifle, a dog, and a fishing pond, and he always had time for me. He was self-made as they say. He didn't have much education, could read, but didn't see the need for reading more than the newspaper or the Almanac. He had china-blue eyes, no teeth, and didn't make a sound when he laughed, even when he laughed hard. He didn't smoke, drink, cuss, or brag, and he was the best shot with a rifle I have ever seen. One day we were fishing in his pond when he broke his line, leaving his cork floating free. He shot, hitting just under the cork, throwing it high in the air and back toward him. After the third shot, it was within easy reach. Another time, he
Hardison JE. Mr Helms. JAMA. 1983;250(4):493. doi:10.1001/jama.1983.03340040033026