Old men and passing cars...

So there I sit in my pick up at the corner of Locust and Main Street, turning right, waiting for the light to turn green. An old man, slightly disheveled, is in the cross walk making his way across the street. I look at him, partly because he looked familiar in an unfamiliar way, and as I do, he catches my eye, waves like he knows me and approaches my truck. I chuckle slightly, thinking he is going to ask me for money or directions, or both, and roll down my electric windows.

"Hi," says the old guy, " You going to Caldwell?"

Uh-oh, how did he know I was going to Caldwell. My "pay attention flag" goes up and I blurt out, "yep, I sure am."

"Give me a ride?" He inquires.

Before I know it, this short, quite old man, looking a little like my own grandad (who is now long gone) is trying to climb, and I do mean CLIMB into my pick up while all of Visalia is backed up behind me! As he climbs in I have a typically 2007 thought when you have a stranger in your car. What if he pulls a gun on me? I laugh, at least on the inside, because this guy is obviously harmless.

"How do you close this door?" He says as the door stays maddeningly open.

"Try the big handle there," I reply, hoping for this to be shut soon. I am not a big one for public lolly-gaggin'.

Finally, with immense effort, the door is shut. And here we are. He, me, us, and I am wondering if this is a mistake. Then the thought comes to mind,"be careful, for we sometimes entertain angels unaware." OK, keep paying attention.

"What's your name?" I hear myself ask.

He tells me. Can't remember the name now, but ...

"My cousin was the great Hank Greenburg, you know him?"

"No, tell me."'

He tells me. I still have no idea who Hank Greenburg is, played baseball for somebody, but it is all very interesting.

"Where are you going?"

Kimball Court, the apartments there. Just go down Court to Caldwell, it'll be there."

So I drive and this guy tells me his life story in 7 minutes flat. We find Kimball Court. Just as I am about to let him out, my friend Dee calls and I ask him to hang on so I can get Mr. Greenburg out without incident. Dee hears the whole thing and, after my passenger has safely exited the car, say, "is that the old guy that lives down off of Cladwell and Court. Mouth agape, I say, "yeeees?" I reply.

Dee continues, "He got me for a ride two weeks ago. Did he tell you that his cousin was Hank Greenburg? And that he lived all his life in Tulare?"

I am in a full-fledged laugh now. Too weird, fun and, well, I am kind of glad the old bird flagged me down.

I was entertained. Angels anyone?