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            aged.
                   My parents sought the best medical help available to correct the
            damage to my hand. Dr. Baldwin had the reputation of being the best
            orthopedic surgeon in Salt Lake, so they took me to him. I was either
            three or four years old at the time. Dr. Baldwin operated on me several
            times – I don’t know how many. I do remember several aspects of my
            hospitalization at the LDS Hospital. My Mother slept on a cot beside my
            bed each night to reassure me. Each morning, about 6 a.m., I awakened
            to the “clop-clop” of the horses pulling the milk wagon that was deliv-
            ering milk to the hospital. I remember the clank of glass milk bottles
            against the metal carrying cases.
                   I grew to detest the smell of rubbing alcohol and ether that per-
            meated the hospital. Dr. Baldwin grafted skin from a big patch on my
            back onto my hand. Apparently, he removed some scar tissue from the
            palm of my hand. That skin from my back covers part of the palm and
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            tough skin that is typical of the palm of a person’s hand. The hot ashes
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            hand were drawn down toward the palm by cords of scar tissue. As
            a result, I couldn’t open my hand to catch a ball, for example. On the
            school playground, I found it hard to grasp a softball bat because the
            hand wouldn’t open enough. I tried to get other boys to hit the softball
            for me, whereupon I would run to the various bases. The biggest prob-
            lem for me was the custom the school had to periodically perform old-
            fashioned, formal dances. To take a girl’s hand with my left hand was
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            could hardly wait for school to end.
                   When I was seven years old, and Grant Ellis was dating Laurine,
            he took a potential doctor’s interest in my hand. Grant manufactured


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