Dad, Paul Saginaw, was smart as a whip and had made a little money during the Depression when he patented a clever locking mechanism for livestock gates. But he made only a little money; the patent boosted his ego in a dangerous way, and Paul would spend the rest of his life handing out pricey business cards with his name over the single word INVENTOR. The sum total he made off his latch probably didn’t pay for the supply of cards. By the time Hubert and his two sisters were old enough to understand, Paul was a wet-eyed dreamer who spent all day messing around in his basement “lab” and explaining to the kids that no matter how hard they tried, The Man would always screw them out of what was rightfully theirs. Mom—Marion Saginaw nee Hartline from over in Hillrose—was the workhorse and the paycheck. She worked in the local hospital, one of those nurses who was liked by doctors but not patients. Marion didn’t give a rat’s behind who liked her: She had three kids and a useless husband to support.
