WE HAVE A WINNER!

Michael Robertson was my best friend in Bellingham, Washington. He and his wife Robin lived next to us in the Agate Bay Mobil Estates trailer park, and we were all such good friends that for a time we would freely walk into each other's trailer as if we lived together. We attended a weekly Bible study in town together, and Michael and I would regularly meet at lunchtime to play chess. He was a nice fellow, reminding me of a sort of dignified Dustin Hoffman.

I worked as a finance clerk in the Bellingham City Hall, and would share a break room with the police. Michael and I would play our lunch hour games either there or at a coffee house across the street. But when we'd be playing in the City Hall break room and the police would come in, I noticed Michael stiffen up. Eventually he intimated to me that his past wasn't squeaky clean, that he had spent time in prison, and that police made him nervous. Unfortunately this didn't curb his chess skills though. He usually won.

When a carnival came to town, Michael and I went to it and were passing through the section of booths where you pay for a chance to try your luck and win a prize. Carnies called to us as we went by, offering three balls for a dollar to knock down stacked bottles, or darts to pop balloons, etc. etc. with prizes such as giant stuffed animals or other great things that you can't do without. To my surprise, the always-sensible-Michael turned and walked up to one of the booths and paid his dollar for some rings to ring bottles with. I thought Michael was too smart to be a sucker, and stood there quietly upset. But to my astonishment, my friend had no trouble ringing the bottles, and he won a nice price! Of course the carny, although not happy about it, raved loudly about Michael's success in hopes of attracting more customers.

At the next booth, Michael let me hold his prize as he paid another dollar for balls to knock down three stacked bottles. And he did it! I had never seen it done before! His prizes were getting piled in my arms as Michael went from booth to booth, constantly winning! I was amazed and asked him how he did it. "I used to be a carny," he said.

We continued and I was impressed beyond words as he did nothing but win. Finally a big man stepped out in front of us at the end of a row of booths -- a man with a slight grin that didn't look sincere in his friendliness -- and quietly said to Michael, "We know who you are. You better get outa here."

And so we left, with my arms full of prizes, and my mind full of amazement and curiosity about my friend's not-so-squeaky-clean past. Michael died young, of cancer, leaving me with a great emptiness and a lot of unanswered questions, but with a profound appreciation for having been called his friend.

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