An investor in small start-up companies, I had given a guy named Dickie Ray Hoskins some front money for his new venture and arranged for him to meet with the Peoples bank of Paris, Texas, to get an operating loan. I had a good relationship with Tiffany, the loan manager, who had acquired her skills with a much larger bank in Chicago. She was in her early thirties, smart and attractive.

Vera shuffled into a strip mall bank branch which was flanked by a nail salon and a vitamin shop. The mall had drifted into premature uselessness, with half the stores selling vacancy signs. Vera wore a quilted robe with ample splashes of fur in floral patterns front and back plus on the cuffs, collar and hemline. On her feet were white cotton slippers with velcro straps undone. As she flowed up to a teller window, clumps of streaked grey hair tried to escape from underneath a fraying ball cap.

When I was in High School I was active in a Baptist church which today stands in near ruins, its stained glass windows having been extracted and used in an office complex.

The pastor took a special interest in me and when I turned sixteen and could drive my mother's Chevy, he suggested me as a Sunday substitute preacher at some smaller country churches.I had several prepared sermons and stuck to basic themes. On the debate team in High School, I was not bad on my feet.