Bus Stop Buddy

I met a very lovely old man at the bus stop today. I had just missed the noon bus, but decided to wait outside for the next one anyway.

The old man was holding a Priority Mail package, open end up, and shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. He had pearly fake teeth and a nice smile.

"You have a car, but you take the bus!"

I don't normally converse with people in bus stops. Not because I'm snobby, but because it's awkward, even with the people you see every day. There is a guy in my program, actually, who rode the bus with me all of last year and we never spoke. We'd see each other in our small library, and we might smile, but no words were exchanged. He's in one of my classes this semester, and we haven't really spoken, even though it's clear we both realize we rode Bus 7 last year. Two weeks ago we spoke for the first time. It was because our class is horrific and every student (save three very dedicated souls) has bonded with the rest of us who hate the class. All that's to say, today was our last class and Mystery Man #1 says to me, "We should have been friends last year on Bus 7." It's true. He's pretty cool.

Coming back to the story at hand.

I smile and explain the parking situation on campus. He then offers,

"I wrote a book!" (and yes, everything he says is with enough enthusiasm for an exclamation point.)

I asked what it was about. I mean, it was just the two of us there in the tiny bus shelter, and I was interested in his story. It was about the war. Then he taps my arm and says,

"You ever hear of Glenn Miller?"

"As in the musician?"

"Yes. I killed him."

I stood there shocked, though smiling. What do you say to a murderer who confesses to your face? He began explaining that his book was about this well-kept secret on the death of Glenn Miller and how for 62 years this gentleman in front of me kept his word of not divulging the situation surrounding the musician's death.

But he wouldn't tell me details. "Read the book," he'd say, with a twinkle in his eye. And by the time my bus came ten minutes later, I wanted to read it. To find out what happened to Glenn Miller, someone I had no connection to, other than my brother and maybe my dad have enjoyed his music at some point.

When we boarded the bus, I'd pegged him between the ages of 76 and 89, since both of my grandpas served in the War and one is late 70s and the other late 80s.

The man, Wolfe--the only part of his name he gave me, he knows one of my professors, so we had a connection there. And that caused more talking, but I was thoroughly enjoying myself. He followed me on the bus to continue talking. He contacted a big-wig in Hollywood, a producer even, who might want to make it a movie. An exciting prospect.

I've always enjoyed the elderly generation's stories. So this was a random gift, it seemed. God's act of kindness to me today, on my way to such a loathsome class.
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This evening I looked up the book on Amazon. It's called I kept my word, and actually includes many other things about Clarence's time in service. I was excited about reading this book, and considered ordering, but thought I'd check out the excerpt on Amazon first.

I found out that he was 82! And he was 20 when he served in Europe and was entangled in this controversy.

Can I just say that this particular book was published by Author House, a publishing company that I despise because of a certain book or two that I was intimately involved with over the past year. And, while I am still interested in the part about Glenn Miller's death and the cover-up, I don't really want to read the rest of the book. The first five pages available to me were enough.

When I read the words from an old man's mouth and they include "horny," "rubbers," and my favorite sentence: "That Great Depression was a son of a bitch..." -- it's enough. Had I known he was a dirty old man, I may have avoided the conversation altogether. I'll try to let it pass, since I'll never have to interact with him again.

But, WOW!