Late in the day on a beautiful October afternoon, my brother Mike Walker called and ask if I would accompany him to inspect a real estate investment. The property was very close to Nashville, Tennessee in a small, quaint little city called Old Hickory, the home of Andrew Jackson.
Only two miles from the Hermitage was this cool three bedroom house that would not last long. I agreed to meet Mike at 5:00 PM.
Arriving 15 minutes early, and noticing an elderly gentleman standing in his front yard across the street, I decided to do a little investigative work on the neighborhood.
What an accommodating gentleman he was. He proceeded to invite me in to inspect his house, because he also was contemplating selling.
I quickly viewed the first and second floor
Before we went down into the dimly lit basement. I was only there for a few seconds before I noticed a straw hat covered with homemade fishing lures, hanging on a nail between two ceiling joists.
I remember my dad telling me about a hat he had made as a teenager
That he wore to the lake while fly fishing. I had previously seen a photograph of him at age 15 or 16 wearing a hat that was similar to this one. Once Mike arrived, we decided to offer the gentleman twenty dollars for the old hat.
He quickly said that the old hat was not worth five dollars much less twenty
However, he didn't hesitate for one second when I offered the twenty dollar bill. After thanking him for the tour we left, hat in hand.
We walked across the street to see the intended property and Mike quickly realized he was not a potential buyer for this house, nice, but not what he was looking for.I suggested that since we were this close to dad's
We should run by and show him the hat. Mike and I decided to play a practical joke on him and say that we found his hat in the old Walker home place attic. After rehearsing our story we took the ten minute drive to mom and dads. We chatted for a few minutes, told our story and presented the hat.
Dad was elated
He began reminiscing about making each lure, telling exactly how long it took to craft each one, why he made it and the reason for the various types. We let him talk for a few minutes, but it was becoming very embarrassing for everyone that knew the truth.
We could no longer let him make such a fool of himself. We let him in on our little secret to try to protect his dignity in the midst of his explanation of each and every lure. He became very defensive and insisted this was in fact his original hat.
After thirty minutes of debate
Dad made me call the owner and ask how he acquired the hat. Dad said when he went off to the Army, he left the hat with his step father, Red Boone.
Well, you don't know my dad and how stubborn he can be. There was no reasoning with him. I called the elderly gentlemen just to appease my dad. I repetitively apologized for bothering him at such a late hour and tried to explain how our humorous joke had quickly turned sour.
He understood and assured me not to worry
He went on to explain that the hat had been hanging on that nail for more than forty five years. Wow, I was only forty at that time myself.
As he continued the story, I continued to offer apologies for calling and bothering him just before bed. I was just trying to silence my dad.
Finally
He told me that a co-worker at DuPont named Red Boone had given him the hat. Right then and there, I thought I would pass out.
What are the odds that I would find that hat, in a place I was not suppose to be, hung on that nail prior to my birth?
The Tennessean, our local paper did a front page story a few days later trying to calculate the odds of such a bazaar story.
