Drumm Farm Stories

Funny how life has a tendency to throw curve balls at us as youths struggling through that quagmire of adolescence towards adulthood, and I think I’ve caught more than a few.


In January 1967 through happenstance or circumstances out of my control at the tender age of twelve, I left the comfort of my Mamo’s bosom. My new address? Andrew Drumm Institute. Home and work-farm for wayward and homeless boys. Independence, MO. Harry Truman’s town. 


For the next five and a half years through May of 1972, I learned a lot. My discoveries were not so much about the outside world around  me, but an immense amount of cognition about what I had reclining  within me.


Drumm Farm stories have been tucked away inside of me for years, like skeletons in those old barns, just clamoring to get out. Life at Drumm Farm was bizarre at times, to say the least, but also tragic, heartfelt, comical, insightful, and true. These stories are a small piece of Americana that are fighting from being lost in history before they are swept off the porch like so much trash.


Take a compelling journey with me back to Drumm Farm….