There are snobs and too-busy-to-live types who won't give anybody beneath the rank of "Earl" the time of day; but I am not talking about them. I am talking about most people. For the simple reason that 1) I have not cleared the presentation of these accounts with the principals, and 2) in some cases I don't even know the real names of the participants, I am using random names from, well, a "What to Name the Baby" book, if you will.
In a campground in Texas which we have frequented on several occasions.
We met Candy and her husband Jim at Sunday morning church service. A conversation on our way out led to the discovery that while she is twenty years my junior, Candy and I were born in the same county in Southeastern Colorado. The two little towns of our nativity are less than eight miles apart. While my parents moved us away from there when I was yet an infant, Candy grew up in her home town and graduated high school there.
I have been in Candy's little town many times, and in fact when I was a child I had an uncle who lived there. We visited Uncle Wayne and his family on a number of occasions.
The lady asked me where Uncle lived, and I told her he was the section foreman for the Santa Fe and he lived in the company house beside the tracks at the west edge of town.
It is I with Uncle Wayne and Aunt Stella in Southeastern Colorado.
"That," said Candy, "is very interesting. My grandfather probably worked for your Uncle, for he was one of the Mexican citizens who came to the States to work on the railroad. He came to America with the promise of a job, and ultimately citizenship if he so desired. My grandfather chose to become an American, and that is how I happened to be born in Colorado!"