My desire to see Captain was stronger than my fear of getting Ebola. So this past weekend I got on a plane at Logan and headed for the North Carolina State Fair. It’s just like the Big E, with a little more redneck and a lot more religion.
Reading-wise I’m two-thirds of the way through David McCullough’s 1,000 page Truman. I’m really enjoying it. On the 8am plane ride down to NC, I was surrounded by a middle-aged men’s golf weekend. It felt like I was crashing a really old bachelor party.
To the man sitting next to me: I don’t know what you’ve got going on down there, but I know it’s not so big that your legs need to be spread into my leg space.
I bury myself in Truman and don’t come up until the flight lands. A golf guy across the aisle remarks,
“I really like his books.”
“John Adams was my favorite.”
“Yeah, that was a good one.”
His buddy turns around,
“Who’s John Adams?”
There’s silence. His friends and I stare at him to see if this is a joke. It’s not a joke. He’s waiting for an answer. His buddy, who reads, tells him,
“John Adams was one of our presidents.”
“Was he a good guy?”