Dad's old ragtop Willys Jeep rolled backwards down the steep mountain road and turned over. Bang! It landed on the driver's side and lunch stuff, thermos bottles, and Dad's gun flew everywhere. It was pitch black at 5:30 a.m., and my body trembled with fear. "Dad!?" I yelled. There was only silence. Oh, God! The stories in A Wet Ass and a Hungry Gut begin in 1956. Danny, age eight, and his family had just moved from Yuma, Colorado, to Meeker, population...