I was in a building in Gallipolis. I was lying on my back on a bed in a room which gradually began to fill with people until probably more than 100 people were in the room; but I still didn't get up. Although I didn't know any of the people in the room, I had the feeling some knew something about me. I had recently moved to the area, but hadn't really met anyone yet – this was my first involvement in a social gathering.

When everyone had taken their seats, a bearded man about 50 years old walked over toward me. He seemed to have a limp and was walking with a cane. He resembled Pat Russell (an ex-attorney I once knew in Dallas). I had heard about this man before. I knew he was well-known in the community and quite influential; he was obviously the most important person in the room. However, I detected something shady about him and I felt an underlying disdain for him.

He walked up and sat down near my bed. He addressed all the people around me, and then finally said there was only one person here whom he hadn't yet met; obviously he was referring to me. Sensing it was time for us to meet, I held out my hand, and as he took it, I introduced myself. I was surprised by the softness of his grip; I had expected a firm grip, but his hand was quite limp.

He knew I was a lawyer and immediately he began talking about how I could find work in Gallipolis by undertaking court appointments. I quickly informed him that I wasn't interested in court appointments. I gave him to know that I was financially independent, and that I didn't need to practice law unless I so desired. To myself I was thinking that I might indeed practice some law, but if I did so, I would only handle cases in which I was interested.

I did explain to the man that I was planning to live in Gallipolis. I was temporarily staying in the nearby village of Patriot, but I would be moving to Gallipolis in the near future. I said, "I was born in Gallipolis. I'm coming back to my roots."

I didn't particularly care for the man whom I found condescending and officious. Nevertheless, I would have liked to have impressed him, something which I saw I had failed to do. When the man had satisfied his curiosity concerning me, he turned his attention to two other women who were also sitting near my bed. To my surprise, the three of them began talking in French. They all spoke excellent French, so good in fact, I was unable to follow the conversation. I made a mental note of the women, thinking I might contact them later so I could practice my French with them.

Meanwhile the other people in the room had started their meeting. The purpose of the meeting appeared to be political, and it began to appear that everyone in the room belonged to the same political party. At the same time the group seemed to have an artistic bent, and I heard one man say something about a "starving artist."

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