“… His father, Clarence, was a bit of a ‘rambler’, not that he had to be told because he had the same affliction. Turner remembered him as two big brown hands and a raspy chuckle. … Turner last saw his father when he was 3 years old. … His mother, Dorothy, hung around longer, long enough for her to choke on her own vomit. … He knew where she was now – 6 feet under in St. Sebastian Cemetery – which was one thing he had on his upstanding friend Elwood. Elwood’s mother and father had lit out West and didn’t even send a postcard. What kind of mother leaves her kid in the middle of the night? … He made a note to save that as a low blow if he and Elwood ever got into a real fight. Turner knew his mother loved him. She just loved liquor more.” (p. 125)