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I might be the only one in the room who once sat down to supper with Gene Autry. His producer (or manager, whatever the title) was my uncle's next-door neighbor (as in, the next ranch over). Think it was 1951 or 52. I couldn't sleep the night before. We got to the house first. Here I am waiting to hear the clippity clop of Champion. Imagine the feeling when I barreled out the opening front door, as he pulled up in his car and got out dressed in a business suit. Possibly the most confused moment of my life.
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