I would think most people would have a “small world” story, where, say, for example, they tell you they live in New York City, but one day was at a tourist shop in small town Montana, and they ran into their next door neighbor, and think, “What are the odds of that happening? Wow! What a small world, huh?”

Well, this is mine about a woman I once knew that I indirectly encountered her path two more times in life, after first meeting her 2,000 miles away from where we both lived, in the Chicago area.

This is the story about Toni Moffett.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

I.       College Of Santa Fe

—–A. Finding Dojo On Campus

—–B. Hiding Dojo On Campus

—–C. Transporting Dojo Home From Santa Fe To Chicago—Via Toni

II.     Hitching A Ride Home From Darien, Illinois

—–A. Getting A Ride TO the Bar

—–B. Getting A Ride FROM the Bar

———-1. My First Angel :Officer Friendly

———-2. My Second Angel : A Friend of Toni’s ( Small World )

III.     Taking Over Toni’s Job At Brunner & Lay

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I.       College Of Santa Fe

Back in the autumn of 1984, I was in my first—and last—year at the College of Santa Fe (CSF), in Santa Fe, New Mexico (which, I learned recently, is now Santa Fe University—and probably has been for quite some time).

It was probably just before or after mid-terms ( approaching 40 years into my past, some of the lesser-important details got a little fuzzy along the way ), and I was still in my “Chuck Norris” mode and was in the middle of taking Shotokan Karate lessons on campus through a sensei  by the name of Kerry Lee, who was an awesome dude.

So, wherever you’re at, and whatever you’re doing, my bow and respect to you, Sensei Lee.

At that time, I was a White Belt.

Today, I’m still a White Belt—LOL—having dropped out of the classes to take a part-time job for other financial reasons.

But, man, what a fun class that was : breaking balsa boards in half, LOL.

OK, they might have been pine or some other form of common wood, but I’m pretty confident they weren’t cut from rosewood, since there would have been a high frequency of broken bones, being that rosewood is a very hard wood ( and, thus, very hard to break), which could have only served to be more of a form of discouragement than encouragement.

But I digress.

In any case, in order to stroke our egos into thinking that we were all up-and-coming “bad asses” in the world of the martial arts, we were all encouraged to participate in the upcoming karate tournament at the University of New Mexico at Albuquerque; and I, for one, was among the first to sign up for that competition.

Since none of us had our own vehicles, we all got transported there in one of those extended-length passenger vans. There were probably eight or nine of us. I forget the exact count.

A. Finding Dojo On Campus

Although the tournament went on for several hours, I had the misfortune of winning only my first bout, but losing my second one.

We were probably just over a quarter of the way through the entire tournament, so I had plenty of time to wait around before getting a ride back to CSF.

So, I went back to the locker room, got dressed in my street clothes and decided to just wander around campus until the time and place of our regathering for the trip back to Santa Fe.

While walking around campus, I saw a woman with a puppy in tow.

The puppy appeared to be no more than a few ( three to four, maybe? ) weeks old, and it’s short legs made it seem like the puppy was running to keep up with the woman it was following.

As she walked by, I commented, “Cute puppy!”, to which she replied, “It’s not mine. It’s been following me ever since I left the library.”

“Really?!” I said both excited and concerned at the same time, since, in the latter sense, that implied the puppy was a homeless stray, and had no place to go to call “home”; and in the former sense, it was available for keeping if I so chose to go that route.

“Kss. Kss.” I called to the puppy with a phonetic sound that I’ve noticed both dogs and cats seem to respond to.

Immediately, the puppy stopped in its tracks, and turned to look at me.

“Aw! You’re such a cutie.” I smiled as it slowly walked over to me and I picked it up, and it sniffed my ear, giving me the goose bumps, and then licked my face.

“Sold!” I said with a gleeful chuckle as I hugged it, and noticed that it even had that puppy smell.

“Congrats! You’re now the proud owner of …whatever breed that is.” the woman laughed as she turned to walk away.

“Well, have a great day, Mam.” I said as she walked off, and I continued to pet my new-found canine friend.

I checked it’s gender, and it turned out to be a male.

In my family, at that moment in time, we had two previous dogs ( we still had the second one), and they were both females.

Our first dog, Rusty, a German Shepherd/Australian Sheep Dog mix, was approximately seven years old when she began to develop hip problems in the form of hip dysplasia, which, I’m told, is commonplace in German Shepherds (both pure breds and mixed breeds), and she was put to sleep shortly after the onset of her multiple problems.  .

Our current dog ( at that time ), Frieda, a pure bred German Shepherd, was also around seven years old at the time I was in Santa Fe. She had some female problems, which were addressed surgically at the vet hospital, but otherwise she was, for the most part, a healthy dog.

Unfortunately, soon after bringing home my New Mexico find, Frieda’s health began to decline ( I sometimes wonder if the introduction of the new puppy into the household had anything to do with the sudden change in Frieda’s health—maybe dogs think they’re being replaced, or something along those lines, and somehow, “give up” inside) , and she, too, started to develop hip dysplasia problems, among other female-related complications, and ultimately had to be put down.

I miss all our dogs.

It’s impossible to not think of them as members of the family.

Meanwhile, back at UNM…

Here I was, in the middle of campus, with a new puppy dog, that I had no way of caring for—in the immediate sense—until we got back to CSF.

I had no vehicle to go driving around town to go find him some dog needs (e.g., dog food; bowls for food and water; collar; etc).

Moreover, the school cafeteria wasn’t open for another hour , or so, and even if it had been open, it would not have been likely that I’d would have been allowed to enter the cafeteria with a dog, and I had no one I could trust to watch the dog while I went inside to fetch him something to eat. For all I know, when I came back outside, the people I trusted to watch him, could have easily took off with him, and I just couldn’t take that chance.

So, it was just a matter of spending time with him—petting, caressing, and hugging while he continuously licked my face.

Neither one of us, it seemed, could get enough attention from the other; and I couldn’t wait until the tournament was over so we could all go home.

At last, what seemed like an eternity had finally passed , and all of us who participated in the tournament had reached our “finish lines” and were now ready to get back into the van and get back to campus.

When we gathered at our meeting spot, everyone saw that I had this puppy in my arms.

“Wow! Cool!” said one person, as he reached to pet the puppy.

“Where did ya’ get it?” he asked.

“Right here on campus.” I replied. “It was following some woman around, as she left the library, and when she told me it wasn’t hers, I realized it was mine!”

“What kind of dog is it?” asked another person.

“Heck if I know. But, it looks a bit Shepherd-ish if you ask me; and I absolutely love German Shepherds! My absolute favorite dog in the whole wide world!” I exclaimed. “I grew up with two already, and it looks like I’m now bringing home my third one.”

We were all starving, and needed to stop and get something to eat for the hour-long ride back to school.

Despite the well-known wisdom that it’s not the healthiest thing to do to feed human food to our pets, this particular situation called for bending the rules to a certain degree until I could get back to my dorm room, and start that ball rolling of getting him all the appropriate nutrition he’d otherwise benefit from.

So, en route, we stopped at McDonald’s and got the usual fare of hamburgers, fries and a soda, and, in my case, I grabbed a cup of ice water for the pooch.

So, as we rolled northbound up Interstate 25, we all scarfed our lunches, as I shared tiny bites of my hamburger with you-know-who.

“Is it a boy or girl?” the driver asked looking at me in the rear view mirror.

“Boy!” I replied.

“Got a name for him yet?” he added.

“Nah, not yet. And believe me, I’ve been tryin’ to think of one.” I said, watching him stick his nose toward the van’s open window sniffing whatever scents he was detecting in the wind.

I now had to think of a name for my four-legged friend with really soft fur.

Everyone offered up their own ideas of the usual names like Fido, Rover, Max, and what-have-you, and even the names “Chuck” (for Chuck Norris) and “Lee” (for Bruce Lee) both came up, and although I felt those names were, indeed, on the right track, I wasn’t convinced they were hitting the bulls eye just yet.

Then, it dawned on me : our paths would have never crossed had it not been for me attending one dojo ( i.e., martial arts school ) and traveling to a another school (UNM) to go spar with students of other karate schools.

The word “school” was written all over the situation, but “school” just didn’t seem to have any pizzaz whatsoever.

In contrast, though, but the Japanese word, “Dojo” did seem to fit.

“What about ‘ Dojo ‘ “? I asked to see what everyone’s reaction would be.

Although their reactions were lukewarm, at best, the puppy seemed to respond to it, since every time I said the word, he looked at me.

I’m sure it was my voice, and not the phonetics, per se, that triggered the sudden attention every time I said it. But, as long as he was responding to it, I was thinking of making that his name.

And Dojo was his name-o.

B. Hiding Dojo On Campus

Officially, dogs—as pets—were not allowed on campus.

The person who would otherwise be responsible for enforcing that rule, was a man by the name of Bo (assuming I’m spelling his name correctly) since he was the Housing Director.

Then, around 3:00 Am, one morning, I was out walking Dojo to let him do his duty, and guess who’s also out at 3:00AM and sees me with my dog?

Right. Bo.

“Shit!” I’m thinking to myself, “He’s gonna tell me that I have to give up my dog, or move off campus if I was to keep him.”

But he never came over to me, at that moment, and he never said a word afterward.

“Hmm. I wonder why?” I understandably pondered, feeling like I was getting a pass for something that was clearly not allowed.

Then, I found out about a week later, that Bo’s girlfriend, had to go out of town for a period of time ( a few days? a whole week? I never did find that part out ) and guess what? She had a dog that she needed watched while she was gone, and Bo agreed to babysit the dog—i.e., he had a dog in his apartment for the duration of his girlfriend’s absence.

“Whew!” I thought to myself, “That worked out in my favor.”

But I knew I couldn’t keep Dojo in my dorm room for the rest of the semester ( although that’s exactly what ended up happening), much less, the rest of the school year.

So, I had to somehow get him home to Chicago as soon as possible; and to do that, I first needed to get permission from my parents to bring him home in the first place, otherwise , all other questions would have been moot.

C. Transporting Dojo Home From Santa Fe To Chicago—Via Toni

Having received the “go-ahead” from both parents ( they both loved dogs—and my dad ended up really liking Dojo ) it was now a question of how to get him home.

The “how” became problematic when I discovered that Amtrak (my mode of transportation ) didn’t take pets (that was in 1984; they might allow it nowadays, but they didn’t then).

Airlines, however, did take pets, but I needed to know who, among CSF  students, lived in the Chicago area, and was flying home.

Not finding someone to fly Dojo home was also problematic—and quite possible.

But I was fortunate.

There were two people on campus who were also from the Chicago area, and one of them, a woman by the name of  Toni Moffett, agreed to do me that favor.

“THANK YOU, Toni!” was my reaction to her benevolence.

The only catch there (and it was a small one; nothing that I couldn’t handle) was that Dojo needed to be inoculated prior to flight.

So, I scraped up the $50 needed for the vet to do his thing, and all I needed to do was wait for Christmas break, when everyone went home.

It’s amazing that when I first found Dojo, he was only three or four weeks old, but, by the time he was flown home he would have been around 12 weeks old, and he had grown noticeably larger since the first day I laid hands on him.

What was actually frightening , was that the first day of Christmas Break, was that a real bad snowstorm was headed toward us, and it threatened to cancel flights out of Albuquerque.

But again, I was fortunate.

There was more than one kind-hearted person who went above and beyond the call of duty and offered to drive students expeditiously “now” (before the storm could hit and cause all kinds of problems), instead of having to wait for the scheduled shuttle that would normally transport CSF students down to Albuquerque .

So, off they went in the vehicles driven by “Super” students with Big “S’s” on their chests, as they got all those kids (and Dojo, too) to the airport, on time, and on their way home for holidays.

It was kind of funny, at one point on my train ride home, I had suddenly realized that while I was riding on a train—“second class”—Dojo was flying first class (with Doggy Champagne, I’m sure).

A few hours later, my brother, Jim, drove over to Toni’s apartment in Oak Park ( where she was from at that time ) to go pick Dojo up.

In contrast, my train trip (Amtrack’s Southwest Chief) was a 22-hour trip. So, I wasn’t expected to arrive in Chicago until the next day.

Dojo beat me home.

Another funny part of my trip was that I went past my house within a few hundred feet—literally, I could see my house as we passed through McCook (the town where I lived at that time) but because there was no station to load or unload passengers, we had to keep going all the way downtown—20 miles away!

I could see my house!

But we couldn’t stop the train. It was not an official stop.

If only they could have slowed down to about five miles per hour, I could have just jumped off at some point, while hoping to not sprain an ankle in the process, and I could’ve been home two hours sooner.

But no. Onward we trekked to Union Station.

I have to say, though, as a side note, having been eating institutional food for the past four months, I had a New York Strip steak in the dining car on the train, and I tell you, that was one of the greatest-tasting steaks I ever had!

Or, was it just that it was superior to cafeteria food? LOL.

Either way, I thoroughly enjoyed that steak.

But I finally got home! And there was Dojo, and I picked him up and hugged him again…and again…and again.

A couple hours later, he was lying on the kitchen floor, and I took my mom’s Kodak camera and took this picture, among many others.

Merry Christmas, Dojo! Welcome home!…

…And THANK YOU, Toni!

II. Hitching A Ride Home From Darien, Illinois

That was in December 1984 when Toni made it possible for Dojo to arrive home in McCook, Illinois.

Four and a half years later, in the summer of 1989, I was working at a now-defunct company called Recco Tool and Supply.

One Friday evening, I decided to hang out with one of my co-workers, a dude by the name of Todd.

There was this bar in Darien, Illinois, called Ripples, a popular hangout for singles.

A. Getting A Ride TO the Bar

I drove over to Todd’s house, picked him up, and then we drove over to a friend of his, Vinnie’s, who, in turn, drove us all, in his car, to the bar.

We pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car, and walked over to, and in through, the bar’s front-door entrance.

Heading directly toward the bar, we noticed the place was not yet that packed.

There was still plenty of open bar stools and tables available.

It was still relatively early around 7:00 PM, or so, and still light out, so the regular crowd was still on hour or so away from strolling in.

Todd and I went straight for the bar, and ordered up a couple of beers, but Vinnie went toward the back of the bar and disappeared for about five minutes, and came back out and headed straight for the bar stool just inside the front door, with no beer in hand.

“What’s up with Vinnie?” I asked Todd, wondering why he was sitting by the door, instead of joining us.

“That’s where the bouncer sits.” Todd replied.

“The bouncer?” I asked all confused, “You mean, he works here? ”

“Yeah. You didn’t know that?” he added.

“No! I thought we were all comin’ here to slam a couple drinks or whatever.” I said.

“We are!” Todd laughed. “Me and you! And Vinnie cards the younger-looking people tryin’ to get in, ya’ know, to make sure they’re legal, and all. Not like the bars in Brookfield that let anyone in.”

“Well, how do we get home?” I asked understandably concerned.

“When he gets off of work.” Todd responded as he smiled and took his first sip of his beer.

“And what time is that?” I asked all flustered.

“One…I think.” Todd responded having had to think about it for a second.

“Seriously? Fuck! If I had known that, I would’ve drove my car here, too.” I said, shaking my head, realizing the predicament I was in. “Plus, I only got about fifteen bucks on me, so I’m not gonna be able to buy any ladies any drinks, if I decide to hit on any of them.”

“Relax, I’ll front you a couple bucks if you need it.” Todd countered.

It was then that I realized any hope of going home was a minimum of five or six hours away, depending on how much time Vinnie spent on hanging around after last call and closing.

I was not a happy camper about the situation.

Needless to say, a worst-case scenario actually began to develop about an hour, or so, later, after the bar started to fill up with people, and Todd ended up meeting some lady, and out the front door they walked.

I was hoping that they were just going outside to go smoke a joint or whatever, and that they’d be right back. So, I sipped on my beer, all by my lonesome self, having spent four or five bucks of my less-than-$20 in my wallet, and started to think, “Maybe I should’ve taken Todd up on that loan before he split, because if he’s gone, I’m gonna be broke soon.”

I really couldn’t hit Vinnie up for a loan, since I really didn’t know him, except through Todd.

A good, solid half hour went by, and there was no sign of Todd anywhere in the bar, so, I walked up to Vinnie to ask him if he saw Todd walk back in, and he said he hadn’t.

“I’m gonna walk outside and get a breath of fresh air” I told Vinnie, as I exited the door, and went to see if he was out in one of the cars in the parking lot or whatever.

Lighting up a smoke, I walked slowly around the parking lot in my “patrol” to see if I could find Todd anywhere . But I didn’t want to be seen “peering” into any cars like some peeping Tom, or whatever, so, I had to make my random surveillance look as inconspicuous as possible.

Mission accomplished with no complications, because there was not a single person in any of the cars.

Todd was gone. he was nowhere to be found.

“Now what?” I thought to myself, realizing my two choices were either :

[1] go back into the bar, where I knew no one, and had virtually no money, and no car—and that always looks “debonair” to available ladies; or

[2] start walking home since the cash in my wallet was not enough to take a taxi from Darien to McCook.

“This blows!” I silently thought to myself, as I chose option number two.

So, I headed for the road and stuck my thumb out to hitch a ride home.

B. Getting A Ride FROM the Bar

Cass Avenue ( the street Ripples is on) is a street with plenty of lighting and everything is fairly visible while walking or driving along the road.

So, my face would be easily seen by any motorists, trying to determine if they want to pull over and pick me up, with my thumb sticking out.

1. My First Angel : Officer Friendly

“Sure as shit” as my dad used to say, the first person to pull over and pick me up was…a cop.

But, it wasn’t a Darien cop, but rather one from the neighboring town of Westmont—he probably stopped and got lunch at a joint in Darien or whatever. Cops go out of their jurisdictions all the time for a variety of reasons.

Anyway, he pulls over to the side of the road, and rolls down the front passenger window and asks me , “Where you headed?”

“McCook, and I know you ain’t gonna give me a ride that far.” I joked .

“Especially since I don’t even know where that’s at.” he laughed.

“Right off of I-Fifty Five and First Avenue.” I replied with my head slightly inside the interior of the squad car.

“Oh, yeah, I know where you’re talkin’ about.” he said, suddenly realizing where it was at. “It’s like almost all industrial.”

“Right. It’s like a population of only three hundred people, but a population of three thousand factories.” I added.

“I know people from that area.” he said, and then switched topics by saying, “You know, hitch-hiking’s illegal.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I know.” I replied, and I explained the whole story of how I didn’t realize the guy who drove us to the bar was, himself, trapped there until his shift was over, and that I was almost out of money, and blah, blah, blah.

He laughed, shook his head, and said, “Well, I can’t give you a ride too far in your direction, but I can drop you off at Sixty-Third Street, if that’ll help.”

“Every bit’ll help.” I replied, “That’d be really appreciated.”

I went to get in the back seat, and he said, “No, hop in front. The rear doors don’t open from inside. You’re a passenger, not a prisoner.” he added with a chuckle.

“That’s a plus.” I reciprocated with a laugh.

I opened the front passenger door, sat down, closed the door, and off we rolled northbound on Cass Avenue.

As much as I appreciated any assistance, this particular leg of the trip was so short, that it almost felt like I would’ve traveled that distance anyway in less than five minutes. But I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth as we reached 63rd Street in what seemed like thirty seconds, and back out on the pavement I was .

“Thank you, officer.” I said as I opened the door, and exited the car, and he pulled away having done another good deed as a public servant.

1. My Second Angel : A Friend of Toni’s

Unlike Cass Avenue, which was comparatively well-lit, 63rd Street was the exact opposite. I’m not sure about nowadays, but in 1989, there weren’t any street lights that I remember.

There were portions of 63rd Street where it was so dark, you almost felt like you were out in the deep countryside where you can’t see your hand in front of your face.

It wasn’t just a matter of not seeing as a pedestrian, it was also a matter of being seen by drivers, who could easily run me over because they didn’t even see me until they were right on top of me.

So, I made it a point to keep looking over my shoulder, to steer clear of cars that had no intention of picking me up.  And, I couldn’t very well walk against the traffic on the west-bound side of traffic, if I was hoping for east-bound travelers to pick me up.

Every time I thought I heard a car approaching from behind, I’d turn around and stick my thumb out, hoping someone would pull over and say, “Hop in.”

Instead, they’d swerve slightly out of the way to go around me. Another one passed me up.

Unfortunately, for me, the farther away from Cass Avenue I got and the farther east I traveled down 63rd Steer, the darker the street became , and the more I looked like an ominous silhouette lurking in the shadows.

What sane person is going to pull over for “Mister Death?” LOL.

No one!

Except this one guy. LOL.

I couldn’t believe it. He pulled up to me, rolled down his window, and asked, “How far ya’ goin’?”

“Wow! Uh, McCook!” I replied all shocked that he even pulled over, because I’m not sure that I would have, given the situation that the hitch-hiker’s face is completely obscured, and I’d have no idea if I was picking up a serial killer or not.

“Where the fuck’s McCook?” he asked being completely unaware of the town’s existence, despite it being a suburb of Chicago—albeit a hidden suburb.

“Joliet Road and Lawndale Avenue.” I answered with a ray of hope that he’d give me a lift as far as he could. And he did.

“Well, I know where Joliet Road is, but, Lawndale? Ain’t got a clue where that’s at. But I’m going over to south Lagrange Road, and taking that over to Archer Road, if that’ll take you in the direction you’re wanting to go.”

“It most certainly would, brother.” I laughed in relief.

“Jump in, man.” he said.

“Ah, man, I really appreciate this.” I added so relieved that not only was I getting a ride, but , in the larger scheme of things, practically to my front door.

I started up a conversation to make the time go by faster, and I tried to give him just the highlights of my evening gone awry, including the part where the first person to give me a ride was a cop, to which he laughed out loud.

“Seriously? That’s pretty wild.” he shook his head. “So, he didn’t arrest ya’ huh?”

“Nah. In fact, he was pretty cool and he dropped me off at Sixty Third and Cass, and told me to have a great night, and be careful, and all that other stuff.

“That’s cool he didn’t harass ya’.” he said.

“Yeah, that would’ve been just another nail in the coffin of a fucked up day, or, in this case, evening.” I shook my head in disappointment at how the evening’s events unfolded.

As we drove along, I wanted to light up a smoke, and asked, “Is it OK if I smoke?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” he replied, “There’s a box of matches on the floor, being the seat, if you need a light.”

“You can never have too many lighters or matches when you’re a smoker.” I said as I reached behind me and felt the box, and picked it up and when I put it on my lap and saw the name on the matches, I was surprised.

“Wow! Revere Electric Supply? Really?” I said all surprised.

“Yeah. Why? You familiar with us?” he asked.

“Us? What? You work there?” I said, grabbing two packs out of what was likely a box of  100 packs of matches, and returning the remainder of the box back to the floor behind my seat.

“Yeah, I’m one of their drivers.” he replied.

“Wow! You’re one of my customers!” I exclaimed with a chuckle as I grabbed a smoke out of my pack and lit it with one of the matches.

“Why? Where do you work?” he inquired.

“A place called Recco Tool and Supply.” I answered.

“No shit? That’s where I fuckin’ know you from! I knew I’ve seen you before somewhere!” he laughed out loud. “Wow! What a fuckin’ small world, man! You’re the dude that’s up in the front office when I first walk in to pick up orders.”

“Yeah, that’d be me.” I laughed back. “You’re right this is a small world, dude!”

“No shit!” he continued on, all amazed by the coincidence. “So, you’re from Recco Tool. Wow! I can’t get over that. Next time I stop in, I’ll make it a point to say hello.”

“Yeah. Do that. That’d be cool.” I can’t wait to tell my boss, Wes, about that on Monday morning. In fact, the guy I was at the bar with tonight is also a Recco employee. His name’s Todd; he’s our warehouse guy. Ya’ know, drives the forklift and what-not. Looks a little like me with the receding hairline and all.”

“What’s your name, man?” he asked , as he held out his hand to shake mine.

“Floyd. And yours?” I said, as I shook his hand, and then reached into my wallet to whip out one of my business cards with my name on  it, and then handed it to him.

“Ricky.” he replied. “I just started with Revere a few months ago. But, yeah, I’ve been into Recco a few times. ”

“Yeah, that’s basically where I’m from. I live about a mile from Recco. Maybe not even that far!”

“Well, hell, I know where Recco’s at.” he said, “If it’ll help I can drop you off at Joliet Road, and First Avenue, ’cause that’ll get me over to Archer Road from there.”

“Ah, Ricky, that’s so awesome of you, brother.” I said as I reached into my wallet to give him a fin for gas, “Here take this.”

“Nah! keep your money, dude. I got a full tank; my girlfriend’s waiting for me; life is good; and I’m in a good mood.” he smiled.

“Are you sure?” I asked as I held the five dollar bill out for him to take it.

He just silently shook his head in rejection of my money.

“I really appreciate this, Ricky. That’s awesome.” I said as I put the money back in my wallet.

“So, uh, tell me, where you from?” I asked him, continuing on in our conversation.

“Oak Park.” he replied.

“Oak Park, huh?” I said, and the only person I knew from there was Toni.

So, I asked him, “You know Toni Moffet?”

“Now you’re creeping me out, Floyd.” he said with a laugh. “Yeah, I do know Toni. I went to school with her. But I haven’t seen her since high school. So, we’re going on a few years since we last sat in a classroom together. Why? How do you know her?”

“I went to College of Santa Fe with her,” I replied, “and she brought my dog home. I took a train from , I think, Taos, I forget what town the train station was in. But Amtrak wouldn’t transport pets. But the airlines did, and Toni  flew home, and she brought my dog home for me. I took a train, and my puppy flew first class. Ain’t that a kick in the head huh?.  Ha!”

“Wow! I just can’t get over this encounter with you.” he said. “This is just so bizarre. I can’t wait to tell Mindy, my girlfriend, about this! She’s into all that otherworldly stuff and will probably say some off the wall Twilight Zone-like shit, ya’ know, and I don’t put any stock in any of that crap, but I gotta admit, this is really bizarre. It really is.”

All I said was Toni Moffett. The name Toni is far more likely to be heard as “Tony”, with a “y”, and it could have been Tony, a guy.

But he immediately knew I was talking about a woman. So, I knew he was being straight up with me.

Wow! I couldn’t get over this encounter with Ricky , either.

Finally, we reached Joliet Road and First Avenue, and he pulled over onto the shoulder of the ramp that led up to First Avenue which automatically turns into Archer Avenue/Archer Road—depending on which fork in the road he chooses once he encounters that fork.

“So, you good, brother?” he asked me as I opened the door to exit the car. “Is this close enough for ya’?”

“Ricky, you practically dropped me off at my front door. I couldn’t ask for a closer drop-off point.”

“Glad I could help!” he said.

“So, am I Ricky. Trust me. So am I!” I said with a grateful smile on my face. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be on Sixty Third Street somewhere, and I wouldn’t be getting home until three in the morning, or so. I mean, that’s a long haul.”

“Yeah it is.” he agreed.

“Anyway, if you ever see Toni again, please tell her I said Hi!”I added.

“You got it, Floyd. Be good, brother” he reassured me, as I closed the car door, and he pulled away.

There are a number of reasons why I never saw Ricky again.

One was he might’ve gotten reassigned to a different route, or possibly found a job elsewhere, or, because left I Recco a few months later. So, he might have still been with Revere, after I left Recco.

III. Taking Over Toni’s Job At Brunner & Lay

Approximately four years, or so, after leaving Recco ( circa 1993 or 1994) , I took a job at a company called Brunner & Lay, in Franklin Park, on a temp-to-hire basis.

Approximately a week into the job, once I kind of had a basic idea of how to do my job with no one holding my hand, I decided to clean out my desk, and “make it mine” in the sense of organizing my desktop and drawers, and what-not.

While cleaning out one particular drawer, I pulled out one of those name plates that you’d normally find on a door, or on a “desk stand” (for lack of the appropriate term) and it read :

“Toni Moffett”.

My jaw dropped. This couldn’t be happening!

“Seriously?” I wondered silently to myself.

I must’ve stared at that name plate for about five minutes, just in awe at the staggering odds of me encountering another one of her paths in life.

There was a guy in the cubicle next to me, who, for whatever reason, just didn’t like me at all.

But he was the only guy I knew that had been there for some time—whereas everyone else was a bit like me, relatively new to the company. So, I knew I couldn’t ask them about employees who worked there before they did.

I forget that guy’s name, but I peeked over the wall of his cubicle, and asked him as I showed him Toni’s name plate, “When did she work here?”

“Why? Do you know her?” he asked me.

“Yeah. I spent my first year in college with her out in Santa Fe, New Mexico. ” I replied. “It’s just such a small world!”

“Yeah, um, you’re replacing her!” he replied.

“Really? You’re kidding me! You wouldn’t happen to have her phone number, would you?” I asked.

He just shook his head, “No”, and then went back to his work.

Even if he had her number, he wouldn’t have given it to me.

But Wow! Just Frickin’ Wow! What are the odds?

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