I was in far west Texas sitting in the club house at a golf course. A number of men were in this little town to go deer hunting. Some had just come in off the golf course. I was sitting, sipping a drink, when I noticed a man walk over to a window. He was staring out at the landscape south of the golf course at the far away hills. A taller man walked up to him and said something I couldn't hear. The first man said what's down there among those hills and the tall man answered, nothing, a ranch or two and the Big Bend Park, and Mexico. The tall man left. I looked again at the man by the window and decided I knew him. I got up with my drink and walked over. I said,"Eisenhower?" He turned and stared at me. He said, "Do I know you?" I said, "No, but I stood with you in a chow line one time." He said, "Where was that?" I told him, “Korea, Camp Casey." He asked what outfit I was with and I told him 25th Infantry, and he remarked, "That's a long time back." And then he asked what town is this and I told him Alpine then he asked if I lived here. No, I told him, I live in Oklahoma and I asked him what he was doing in this small town in west Texas. He said I'm waiting on my train,what are you doing here? I replied, having a drink and thinking of driving over to Marfa. The man at the window faded from view. I supposed I should have addressed him as Mr President or General but I didn't think of it until he was gone. Anyway I didn't plan on stopping in Alpine, I was going to Marfa. I awoke thinking, 'how strange,' Dwight D. himself. I thought he was looking old.
Yeah, but making a good story takes talent. My story-telling become a joke around here long before you arrived.
You must have misinterpreted something. You have a talent for describing a scene that makes the reader feel he is right there at the time.