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He won many awards including the National Headliners Club award for writing the best local interest column in the country in 1962. In 1977 his fellow Tri-State Journalists honored him with with the first Distinguished Service Award. He is the author of five book: A Pig In The Gray Panel Truck, A Dandelion in Winter, Day of a President, Just a 100 Miles From Home, and The Journey in the Red Jalopy. He worked for newspapers in Santa Fe, N.M., Monett, MO, Beckley WV, and Memphis, TN. He began working for the Evansville Courier in 1957. Aaron was born in Cone, Texas and reared on a farm in Portales, NM. He attented the University of New Mexico where he graduated with honors with a degree in journalism.
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by Joe Aaron I am not much of a talker and never have been. I get that from my Dad, who was known to sit unspeaking for an entire day, simply because he could think of nothing that needed to be saying
But it is also unfortunately true that on the rare occasion when I DO open my big, flappy yap, I talk myself into all manner of embarrassing situations.
Here, let me show you what I mean.
Of a recent day I was standing with a casual acquaintance, listening to a uniquely uninspired anecdote that he thought I might be able to put to columnar use, when I spied approaching us a true vision of delight.
She was young and blonde and architecturally above any hint of criticism, and she walked in a way that set men's heart a'flutter.
She certainly set MINE a'flutter, I can tell you that much.
She wore the miniest of the miniskirts and white sweater that she had a distinct knack for and - well, she was just one himdinger of a splendid sight, that's all.
I whistled a low and probably lascivious whistle and explained both low and fervently: "Man, get a load of THAT!"
He turned and looked briefly - just the merest glance, which at the time I considered rather odd - and when he turned back to me and resumed his endless tale, I seemed to detect a certain frostiness in his demeanor.
The vision of delight, it soon became apparent when she hove alongside us and tenderly took his arm, was his wife.
And if anybody knows, or even thinks he knows, or would care to make a wild guess, what then I should have done to have ended the matter with aplomb, then I would certainly would like to hear from him.
What I did, as I recall the miserable moment, was to stand there, as statue of crimson embarrassment, until he delivered the puny punchline of his inane recitation.
And then I laughed as if Jack Benny had just gotten off a good one.
