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so Walter went around front and entered the Chapel through one of the huge polished walnut double-doors. The sounds of organ music and a choral hymn filled the foyer and he stopped, realizing that he was about to interrupt a morning worship service. He turned around and slipped back out into the cool morning air.

Walter stood on the walk in front of the chapel for a moment, unsure what to do next. He walked around to the far side of the brown stone chapel, turned at a walk, and walked down to where a single level red brick annex connected to the main building. Both the doors were also locked so he circled around back to check for an entrance that he might have missed. Finding none, he headed back up to the corner where the homeless man sat watching his plight. Walter decided to forget the adventure turned to head for his minivan.

"Sir, see 'dat little covered drive in the back. It's a door tucked back in under dere. Dat's where you go in for Sunday school classes."

Walter looked back and saw it. Now it made sense, a covered entry to pull under and off-load passengers when the weather was bad.

Walter thanked the man, and headed for the awning, but stopped and looked back. The old man smiled and nodded to entry.

Eight sexagenarians were already seated when Walter entered. They turned to study him with the same unselfconscious interest a microbiologist focuses on a new virus. Several nudged their eighty and ninety year old elders, alerting them to the invasion.

Two of the younger old men struggled out of their chairs, hobbled over and introduced themselves. Walter soon realized that this pair saw in him a new audience for their old stories.

Seventy-five year old Bob, the younger of the two, had a polished knack for spinning tales. It soon became clear that specific details about characters, places and events sometimes got fuzzy in his mind, but Bob never faltered, he just trimmed the sails, tacked around, and kept going. When a name didn't spring to mind, he attached any handy label that stuck in his head.

"So old Herman Myer's second boy ... what was his name? ... he was one prize knucklehead, that one. Anyway, ol' Knucklehead takes the family tractor, hitches up the big hay wagon, and piles two wagon loads of hay bails onto that one wagon. Then he takes off up that road, what was it? that one between Tifton and Lebbit crookeder than a southern senator. Anyway, he takes off up crooked road with all that hay "

Bob used another story-telling technique to good advantage.

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