I once knew a very personable, intelligent, respectful and imaginative drunk named John with whom I lived in a home for men in Salt Lake City. His propensity for strong drink often led him to bouts of stupor and confusion and to stays in the VA Hospital, but he told funny and memorable stories about his past after he sobered up. I interviewed him because I had a talent for writing, and I thought his stories would be very interesting to many people. This white-haired, grizzled, loquacious, old gentleman was visually interesting as he smiled and chuckled on his way. He and I sat at the dinner table in the apartment house. I asked him if he would allow me to write stories about him, for I had heard him tell interesting things about his life to the other guys in the house. His gray hair and seemingly incisive intellectual analysis about many topics of the day led me to believe that I would hear many interesting things.
