I remember my mother reading from her own book of stories written for my brother and me. They were very short tales about Roly Poly, the little boy who lived in a red Christmas tree ornament in the Forest Primeval. They were pretty good stories until Roly Poly did some mis­chief and would be hauled before a mil­itary judge who was very good at getting Roly Poly to promise never again to cross a street without looking in both direc­tions.  (circa 1945 — Camp River Rouge, Detroit)


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