I started high school in Cedar City, Utah. About half-way through my sophomore year the Rogerson family moved to Provo, where we lived on 4th South just off University Avenue. I enrolled at Provo High and went there for a year and a half.

I wanted to play sports, but only those who were recommended by the two local junior high coaches were chosen to play Provo High varsity sports. Since I hadn't attended either school, I was frozen out.

I really wanted to play football, so I decided to transfer to B. Y. High. I loved my senior year there, and wish that I had gone to BYH all three years.

When I was 16, my oldest sister gave me a 1935 Dodge 4-door car. I traded it in on a Ford Model A 2-door, and by my senior year, I had traded that for a Model A coupe with a rumble seat.

I enjoyed driving the car up Provo Canyon when I went skiing at Timp Haven. Sometimes I was lucky enough to be one of the few who made it up to the ski area, with the help of chains on the back wheels.

I didn’t drive my car to school every day, but on the days I did, everybody wanted a ride in it, or a chance to drive it. When the roads were bad, I left my car parked at home.

Many of us had a typing class sixth period taught by Mr. LeRoy Sparks, but the classroom was located on the Upper Campus in the Business Department. On the days I had my car at school, I saved myself a long walk by driving to the Upper Campus.

Often when I started to leave the Lower Campus, at least eight or nine other students jumped on my running boards or fenders, climbed into the rumble seat, or stood on the rear bumper, and away we’d go to typing class.

Some of the frequent riders included Norm Arbon, Gayle Curtis, Frankie Paskett, Karl Snow, Jae Ballif, and Kent Broadhead. There were others, but I can’t remember all of the names.

When I drove alone, the Model A always made it up the hill in high gear. However, when I had a load of students aboard, I usually had to down shift to second gear.

Sometimes we made it all the way to class without being stopped, but on quite a few occasions a Provo City cop pulled me over and made everybody get off. One Provo cop in particular, named Deloy Bench, dogged me during my teen years, and even after I returned home from my mission. I never received a ticket, but got many warnings.

As soon as the cop gave his warning and left, everybody would pile back on and away we’d go to class, hanging on for dear life.

Those were great days!