Widowed three years earlier and living in a well-worn lodge overrun with cats, Harry Truman lived out his days in St. Helens’ shadow.
The old man and the mountain
Harry Truman swore and swore, and swore that he wouldn’t leave
If a screenwriter had written a character like Harry Truman into the script of a volcano movie, it would have been scorned as a contrived and low-budget idea. But there he was, in the flesh, as chiseled as the bark of an old-growth fir, liquored up by his whiskey-and-Cokes, and defiant right to the day he was entombed by the guts of the mountain whose shadow he refused to leave.
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