As far as I’ve been able to learn, he does not post a written agenda, but when 9:30 in the am arrives he normally makes a cameo appearance at the caffeine oasis of a local establishment.  And, to be frank about it, I doubt that he requires a reminder.

He shows a little wearing around the edges, and his running gear is a tad worn and rim cut from the journey he’s made.  You can tell from a distance that he has been around for a goodly span of time—he wears his gimme cap with the bill squared away to the front, and shades his eyes.  That’s a dead giveaway that he is of semi-ancient vintage.

He draws a cup of Arbuckle, orders a sweet roll and greets one and all around the teed up, five table seating arrangement.  Then, he’s apt to furnish information on whatever weighty topic he has on his mind.

A couple of weeks ago old James moseyed in, and while he awaited his heated roll he expounded upon the annoying error of some people he sees on his daily rounds.

“You know,” he said, “some people I’ve known for years have a habit of spelling my name wrong?”

“How’s that?” Clifford asked.

“Aw, some of them spell my name with the ‘L’ in front of the ‘E’ while others put the ‘E’ in front of the ‘L’.”

“That is strange,” Clifford agreed, “especially since ‘James’ don’t even have an ‘L’ in it.”

“That ain’t the only name I’ve got,” James snorted.  “I’m taking about the way some spell my last name!  My family name is Atchley.  About half the people I know spell it Atchely.”

“Maybe, you should have some calling cards printed up,” I suggested as his steaming roll was placed before him.  He took his own good time buttering up the roll, and considered my solution, but his response was slow in coming.

“I ain’t aiming to do that,” he said between bites.  “I’ll just let them go through life not knowing how to spell my name.”

“Then, why did you bring it up?” I asked.  “There’s nothing we can do to help you travel this road of life, if you won’t even make an effort to correct this grievous faux pas of half the people in town.”

“You write that stuff in the Free Press don’t you?”  He looked me square in the eye as he chewed on his sweet roll.

“Yes,” I admitted, “I do write a little piece most every week, until the editor tells me they’ve about had enough, but what’s that got to do with your problem?”

”You ain’t ever printed my name in one of your articles.”  He glared at me as he sopped the last vestige of butter and roll from his plate.

“Well, by George you may be correct, but what’s that got to do with your problem?”

“You could write something about me,” he said slyly.  “Don’t you think it’s about time?”

Welsir, here we go James, and I hope you’re satisfied.  His last name is Atchely—or is it Atchley?

¿Quién sabe? —but one of the versions is correct.  You can just ask James.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp