He was all of 75, yet appeared as agile as a man of 55. Rather than wear socks, he inked his ankles so expertly no one ever guessed him sock-less. I wouldn’t have known myself if he hadn’t told me.

“I’ll tell you something else,” he said. “From time to time you will hear somebody referred to as a phony. The very word “phony” brings tears to my eyes, from laughing so hard. Of course he and she is a phony, but so is everybody else. Show me a man or woman who isn’t putting on an act, and I’ll show you a body lying in a casket.” Then he laughed some more, and commenced to touching up his ankles with a ballpoint. springhousemagazine.com