Mrs. Chatterbox and I flew from
Portland to Sacramento to visit our oldest friends a few months after my dad
unexpectedly died in 2008. Our friends didn’t have room to put us up so we
checked into a nearby hotel.
The next morning our friends were picking
us up and treating us at their favorite breakfast spot. While waiting for them
to arrive I heard a conversation on the far side of the lobby. Three seniors
were seated in leather chairs in front of a blazing fireplace, discussing their
former careers. The men were about my dad’s age. I overheard one of them say
he’d worked Operations for the City of Sunnyvale for thirty years. Sunnyvale is
a small town near the southern tip of San Francisco Bay, about a hundred and
twenty miles southwest of Sacramento.
I rushed over to them. When there was a
break in their conversation I addressed the gentleman who’d worked for the City
of Sunnyvale. “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help hearing that you worked
for the City of Sunnyvale, in the Operations Department?”
The man pushed his bifocals up on his nose
and looked at me curiously. “That’s right. Do I know you?”
“No. but I was wondering if you knew Lee
Hayes. He also worked for the City of Sunnyvale for thirty years. He repaired
fire trucks and ambulances.”
The man ran a hand through his sparse
hair, stood up and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I have some bad news for you.
Lee passed away a few months ago. I saw his obituary in the paper.”
“I know,” I said. “I buried him. I’m his
son.”
His eyes widened. “You don’t say! I’m
George Brewer; knew your dad real well, worked beside him for years. He was one
heck of a guy. We were all sad when he retired and moved up to Oregon to be
near his son. So—you’re the son?”
I nodded and we shook hands.
“Do you live here in Sacramento?” George
asked.
“No, just visiting friends.”
“I retired and moved to Sacramento to be
near my son.”
I introduced Mrs. Chatterbox. The other gentlemen had to leave but George invited us to sit down. He regaled us with
great stories about Dad until our friends arrived to take us to breakfast.
“It was great meeting you, George,” I said,
wondering what the odds were of running into someone this far from home who’d
known my dad. “Small world, isn’t it?”
George smiled. “Yep, but I wouldn’t want
to carpet it.”
An old joke, but one Dad would have
laughed at.
Note: Coming soon--the new and improved Chubby Chatterbox. Launching 10/15/12
