I grew up listening to the tales of a very tall man named Robert. My maternal Grandfather, Charles William Wadlow , as the story went, was a third cousin to the famed small-town gentle giant, Robert Pershing Wadlow . Grandpa, never one to avoid an opportunity for a captivating story, told of the visits Robert Wadlow, the world’s tallest man, made to his family’s farm outside of Willard, Missouri. The thing that stood out to my grandfather was that Robert was easily tall enough to peer through the transom windows over the doors prevalent in historic homes. He would peer into the adjoining room to see who, or what, was happening from one room to another. Grandpa told of the times he was a little boy and Robert, his third cousin, would playfully hoist my little boy grandfather up in the air, set him atop his broad shoulders, and allow my grandpa to peer into the transom windows just like Robert could do with no effort. It was these boyhood visits, while few and far between,
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