One of the gustiest windfalls to land in my account is to have made a friend of writer, editor, and blue-collar raconteur Martin Morse Wooster. More exactly, Martin made friends. The initial meeting was memorable. Attending a conference, Wooster had prepared by reading the program and what the various attendees had written (which I, most likely, did not). Martin saw my name and decided we should be pals. When our encounter came, he lumbered to his knees, flipped his 6-foot-4-inch frame into position, and initiated devout waving—bellowing the "We're not worthy" Wayne's World refrain.
I'd still be laughing, but for a hit-and-run driver who ended Martin's excellent adventure on November 12, just days short of his 65th birthday.
