My father is the type of person who never met a stranger.   Truly, he's someone who could find six degrees of separation to a pygmy in Central Africa.  No matter where he goes, he seems to always find someone who knows someone he knows from his life experience. 

He told me a story of when he was in his early 30's (he's now 70) and was a young firefighter.   He happened to make acquaintance with a local man who was very successful and wealthy from a trucking business and a contracting business that he owned.  He would see the man at breakfast with other well-to-do people at the usual local restaurant and had an amicable superficial relationship with the man--always making a point to greet the much older man and make pleasant small talk and warm salutations when ending a conversation.  Nothing more, nothing less.

The relationship deepened when the man was looking to sell off one of his businesses and move into town where he could be closer to his wife's family, and he was looking for a very specific type of house to buy.  He had been having difficulty finding the house with the features he wanted, but as he described them, my father knew of a house for sale with the features and ended up introducing the man to the owner of such a house, who as it turned, was looking to move to Arizona. 

Naturally, the man bought the house and was very pleased with the quality of the home and its features.

Some time later, my father was assisting his landlady (an old Italian woman) in cleaning out her house as she was aging and needed to move into a simpler abode.   In the process of cleaning, he came upon an old pocket knife which was engraved with the surname of a man exactly the same as my father's wealthy acquaintance.   My father didn't know the name of the person on the pocket knife, but decided to hold onto it if he saw the wealthy man again at breakfast. 

Months later, when the two crossed paths my father told him about the knife and later brought the knife to him.  As it turned out, the name of the person on the knife was the wealthy man's uncle, with whom he was close.   The man was deeply appreciative.   He then asked my father if he enjoyed fishing.  

Absolutely, he did. (Still does...what fireman doesn't like outdoors?)

The man invited my father to go fishing with him and two other men on Lake Erie on a private charter the following weekend.  

What my father didn't know was who would be on that boat with them.   It didn't really matter to him, being the simpleton that he was, because he was going walleye fishing with the wealthiest many in town. 

Continue, next page....

<< Previous    1  [2]  3    Next >>