The Prison Mirror

Funny the way things stick in the memory. Do you ever read something someone has written or perhaps see an interesting face, and say to yourself—I wish I knew that person better. Perhaps you do get to know 'em and the experience may turn out to be a let-down. But often as not fate doesn't turn the trick and you go on your way still wondering. You take Gramp. All I can remember of him is he had bushy white hair and lived on a hill. Time was he took me with him down to the village well to draw water. Gramp toted a big pail and I a small one—and before we got back I had spilled mine half a dozen times after each of which he patiently refilled it from his own. The upshot was I made it home with a full bucket while he had to return for another. He pushed off not long after but I don't remember that. Only I wish I had known him better.

Speaking of knowing people, I was reading the other day how the late Will Rogers once said he never met a man he didn't like. Or anyways I guess 'twas him said it. What a blanket endorsement of humanity that was. Expect some will say he couldn't have got around much. I dunno—they tell me he traveled plenty and was right sociable. Never was seen wearing rose colored specs either. Right or wrong, I hope he never found out different. Must be something solid to a guy when the world might short change his pocketbook but can never short change his heart.