The summer of 1941 came at the end of my freshman year at Southwestern College in Winfield. Well ahead of vacation time, I had lined up a job on the Eldon Beck farm, which was about six miles south of Keats, on the northern edge of Fort Riley. The U.S. Government, anticipating World War II, had bought many square miles of farmland, planning to expand its training grounds. The government paid the Becks, and many other farmers, $100 per acre for their complete farms -- land, buildings and all. So my job for the summer was to help Eldon and his dad move fences, animals, some smaller buildings, water tanks, windmills, etc. to their new location, just one mile north of the home place.

Eldon was about 40 years old, and he and his "old man" (that’s what he called him to me) were often in disagreement about how things should be done. But ultimately we worked pretty well together, the three of us with horses and tractors, and we got the job done. When I left in late August, they had moved into their house at its new location (the house movers had done that job!), and they would be totally moved when the snows came next winter.

I had worked for the Becks for three months at $20 per month, plus room and board. By the end of the summer, I had $50 saved in my pocket to help pay college expenses. That wasn’t a lot of money, even then, so with tuition and fees being $74 per semester, I had to borrow money from the Methodist Student Loan Fund. That loan didn't get paid off until 1946, when I came back from the war and had more money.

In Winfield, I returned to my two other jobs. The first was selling men’s clothing at Brown MacDonald Department Store downtown, for which they paid me 25 cents an hour - plus 10 percent off any clothing I bought there. This job was only on Saturdays. The other job was as custodian on the 4^th floor of Old North Hall (now demolished), where I kept the floors clean and polished windows, desks, chairs and bathrooms. It was a National Youth Act (NYA) job that paid $10 a month.

In addition, I’d get an occasional $5 bill from Daddy - perhaps monthly. All this was not much money, but don’t forget I paid $3 a month for a shared room at Lutz House, and $9 a month for two meals a day at the Cora Sellars House for Boys. How about that! Only $12 a month from room AND board. You won’t find a deal like that anywhere in the world of college towns today!

Back in Winfield for the fall semester, among other surprises, I met a new music student named Miss Katherine Isely. She became known very quickly as a talented musician, singing and playing the piano and cello. We had Music Theory III together, and she was a real whiz. Sight-reading was absolutely no problem for her. And with perfect pitch, she soon became the pitch-giver for our A Cappella Choir. She could hum the pitch correctly for us when all was quiet in the auditorium, then we could begin our next number without someone having to blow a pitch pipe or go to the piano and bang out the note. The whole choir was in awe of her unerring ear.

Further, she was an expert accompanist and was in much demand for solo recitals, including mine. We were also in Grace Methodist Church Choir together; and she became an honorary member of our "ROPK" Club (Royal Order of Preachers’ Kids), which met regularly in the church parsonage. You see, as sister of the current preacher’s wife she was living in the parsonage with the Johnson family - Lyman and Elise and their three children: Billy Bob, Peggi, and baby Barbara.

I must admit I did not fall immediately in love with Miss Isely, even though she had my respect as a musician. I would describe my hesitation to pursue her as being caused by her "very forward" personality. She was very vocal and direct, even "catty" at times. She talked lots about people, with no hesitation to call a space a space. I was not used to that in the women I knew and admired. Later, of course, I would discover that these were Isely family characteristics, very unlike the McGuire family traits. McGuires never talked critically about anyone, with the exception of my Mother, who would occasionally fire a blast when riled. It took some time for me to adjust to the way Katherine’s mind worked, but eventually I discovered that she was nearly always accurate in her critical remarks, and I grew to accept and trust her judgment.

That fall semester, I took another job as secretary for the minister, Lyman Johnson. I was flattered that he chose me for that task. My primary responsibility was to prepare the bulletin for the next Sunday morning’s service. It involved collecting and organizing information, then going to the print shop in downtown Winfield and using their printing press to run off the copies. It was a standard Friday afternoon chore. Incidentally, this little job demanded that I spend time in the pastor’s study, and that soon became a trysting place for Katherine and me. The boys in Lutz House, which was just across College Street from Grace Church, kidded me often with: "Well, Dave, I guess you’re going back to the office to work on the bulletin, eh?" (Suggesting that K was the bulletin didn’t bother me one iota!) They knew I had a bit of extra-curricular activity going on over there.

Then December 7, 1941 blasted all of us in the U.S. All us boys were examining where we might fit in to help the American cause. Getting into and winning the war became our supreme thought after the "day that will live in infamy."

In the late spring of 1942, my friend Gordon Dieterick agreed we should make lots of money that summer. The best idea we had was to buy a car together and "hit the harvest," as they called it, from Oklahoma through North Dakota. Wheat harvest. Follow it. We would travel north, following the ripening grain, working as farmers’ helpers, and make lots of money for a change.

The car we bought was a 1929 Model A four-door Ford. It was the first car either of us had owner, and we were excited! It cost of $25! Of course, it had been up on blocks and had not been driven in some time, but fortunately, all the parts still worked and no immediate repair was required.

When school was out, we drove the Ford to Keats to live with my folks until the rain stopped. We had had a very wet spring, which delayed the harvest. And as we waited in Keats, another opportunity knocked. Fort Riley was mobilizing in response to our entry into World War II, and they needed construction workers. All it took was a trip to the Monte J. Green Construction Company office, and we were in business.

We began by digging ditches for concrete foundations for buildings. It was really tough work. I think it paid something like 50 cents an hour - considerably better than either of us had made in previous summer jobs.

We commuted the 15 miles from Keats to the fort each day, with Momma preparing our lunches. There were still four McGuire children at home, too. My folks were very supportive. Even when I was putting in 12-hour days, seven days a week, Daddy didn’t object . . . much. He had never worked on Sundays, and it bothered him some that I was doing just that. However, he grudgingly allowed it since we were working for the war effort.

After two weeks on the job, the rains stopped, and it was time for Gordon and me to revert to our original plans and work the harvest. But by that time, I had been shifted to a truck-driving job and was making much better money. I decided to stay on at the fort, and I bid Gordon bon voyage as he took our Ford and headed for the Oklahoma wheat field.

Three months later, Gordon and I met on the SC campus for the fall semester of 1942. He had had a great summer of experiences but had made very little money. He had sold our car to a rural school teacher, a maiden lady, in Montana for $25 and gave me half the take.

On the other hand, my decision to stay in Kansas was a winner. My brother James, soon to be a high school senior in Keats, joined me on the job in Fort Riley and became my helper at delivering building materials to the carpenters on the job. We became known as the team that could get the needed materials to builders with no delay (including lumber, kegs of nails, siding, etc.) Both of us were making much more than common laborers.

The truck, incidentally, belonged to Buss Ayers, a farmer who lived near my parents. He was also well paid for the use of his truck.

The end of summer arrived, and we both had to get back to school. We had been stashing our money in safe places, and it had been piling up amazingly well. I don’t recall what James saved, but when all the figures were in, my total take for the summer was an astonishing $700. SEVEN HUNDRED BIG ONES. I was able to buy new clothes, pay my semester tuition and fees, and even bought a knee-length winter overcoat to replace the old plaid mackinaw finger-tip jacket I’d had since a junior in high school.

That was the End of the Depression!

On the SC campus again in September, the love affair between Miss Isely and me took on a serious nature. Signals were coming through strongly to me, and the question of who would be my lifelong mate was being resolved. And so another "depression" of sorts ended as well. There was no question about who I would take on a date anywhere. I even had money to take her to the movies!

Life on campus could not have been better. Before I left for the Army in March 1943, we had pledged our hearts to each other; I would send her an engagement ring as soon as possible, and we would be committed to each other for life.

In the service at Camp Wheeler, near Macon, Georgia, my financial world got somewhat back to Depression years, but it was all for a good cause. My take-home pay, as a buck private in basic training, was $57 a month. Oh, my! Well, it would get better again.