Ima cried off and on all the way out there this trip. It had been hard to find a place to live the first time. She just knew we couldn't find a place this time. And it proved to be just that way--that is, for average people. But I wasn't going to settle for being just average. I knew there was a place for us to live somewhere in California. I simply had to get busy and find it. When we finally got to California, we heard the same story everywhere we tried, "No vacancy." Real estate firms gave us the same answer. But I reasoned that, if you go fishing and don't catch a fish the first hour, you don't just lie down and cry; you fish some more. There's got to be a fish somewhere in the lake. You just go find him. After a few hours of the same kind of disappointment a realtor had a listing, "Garage apartment for rent." The lady asked, "Do you have children?" I replied, "Yes, three." "Sorry, no children allowed." "Would you give me the address?" "There's no need, no children allowed." "Would you just give me the address and let the owner tell us, 'No children allowed'?" By this time I knew she was anxious to get rid of me, so she gave me the address. It proved to be quite near, so we drove out to the place and talked with the woman about twenty minutes. Then we parked our trailer beside the apartment and moved in. Then Ima really cried, but for a different reason. She was so happy. This proved to be the best place we had ever lived while in California. And our landlady was a queen. I went back on the same job, building boxes. Vega had sold out to Lockheed but the change was not noticeable. Lockheed was looking forward to the time when the war would be ended and the company would have to operate with more efficiency. They encouraged employees to submit ideas that might save the company money and speed up work. If an idea was good enough to be adopted and put into use, they would pay for it. I submitted a few ideas, some good, some bad. In all they paid $72 for my ideas. Much of the time I was at Lockheed I worked in a department where we coated aircraft parts with oil and other coatings for their protection against rust and salt water. The oil was heated before it was applied to the parts. Then when it cooled it became a tough, durable coating. Electric heating units heated the oil, and it got to where the units were not working right. So I asked the electricians to remedy the problem. They mostly ignored my request. After all, who was I, certainly not a bigshot. They didn't have to obey my request. They treated me as though I were a rug for them to wipe their feet on. And after having trodden me under foot they walked away in a manner altogether unmannerly in the eyes of a Texas farmer. I don't think they were really a bad sort, maybe just native Californians acting natural. And maybe they were not quite at home when dealing with a Texas farmer who was also acting natural.