Frequently Dad had to go to Washington to deal with regulatory matters for Mohawk. These trips became more frequent during a period in the 1960s, while we lived on Main Street; Dad would be gone for several nights in a row, which was an odd thing in itself, but we hordes of children would bear up reasonably well. Mom did okay too, as I recall it.
Dad liked his pre-dinner drinks, and even more, he liked a good deal on buying the liquor, and when you're in Washington, nothing got you a better deal than the duty-free shop. There was apparently a large entry area in a warehouse somewhere, with a series of teller-like windows opposite, and a queue would form in a sort of informal, jostling sort of way, for each window that had a staff member.
Well, Dad picked a line and stood patiently while another gentleman stood approximately abreast of him. Shoulder to shoulder they inched their way forward, unsure of who was ahead of whom. They apparently made enough eye contact to start up a conversation. Of all the adjectives that described Dad, you wouldn't find "shy" on the list.
After a few introductory pleasantries, the gentleman vying for queue priority with Dad introduced himself as Bob Sherwood. I'm sure Dad didn't miss a beat. He said something like, "You can't be, because I'm Bob Sherwood." Well, then the conversation started in earnest, and the competition for getting to the hootch dispensary window faded into the background.
Listening to and watching Dad tell the story was almost as much fun as seeing it unfold in person. He mimicked himself with a raise of his eyebrows, and the tone of surprise. A total treat.
Dad liked his pre-dinner drinks, and even more, he liked a good deal on buying the liquor, and when you're in Washington, nothing got you a better deal than the duty-free shop. There was apparently a large entry area in a warehouse somewhere, with a series of teller-like windows opposite, and a queue would form in a sort of informal, jostling sort of way, for each window that had a staff member.
Well, Dad picked a line and stood patiently while another gentleman stood approximately abreast of him. Shoulder to shoulder they inched their way forward, unsure of who was ahead of whom. They apparently made enough eye contact to start up a conversation. Of all the adjectives that described Dad, you wouldn't find "shy" on the list.
After a few introductory pleasantries, the gentleman vying for queue priority with Dad introduced himself as Bob Sherwood. I'm sure Dad didn't miss a beat. He said something like, "You can't be, because I'm Bob Sherwood." Well, then the conversation started in earnest, and the competition for getting to the hootch dispensary window faded into the background.
Listening to and watching Dad tell the story was almost as much fun as seeing it unfold in person. He mimicked himself with a raise of his eyebrows, and the tone of surprise. A total treat.
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