Some people like a good story

By RICK MILLS

Sun Executive Editor

I have a friend who has an ex-wife who has a sister who has a son who has a wife who has a father who can spin a good yarn.

I spent an afternoon listening to his tales of trespassers and warning shots, of electronic gadgets and CB radios, of fishing escapades and, eventually, of his invention that will one day make him rich.

Oh. And his boat.

We talked about his boat.

Gonna get it running one of these days. Bought it used 10 years ago.

Hasn't seen the water since.

But one of these days...

How much did I believe?

What's it matter?

I suspect most of it was true. I suspect he thought all of it was true.

Some of it probably wasn't.

But I wasn't writing a book, and I wasn't being asked to invest my hard-earned cash.

I was being entertained.

Sometimes folks look at me like I'm crazy. Sometimes they try to rescue me from good spinners of yarn.

Usually I have no desire to be rescued.

Some folks, it seems, don't enjoy an interesting tale as much as I do.

I was telling my wife about this guy I'd met, and about his tall tales. This guy can talk and talk and talk, and I can listen and listen and listen.

I was telling her about my shock when I described him to someone else, and they described him as annoying.

"Oh, you mean that annoying guy with all the stories?" they asked.

Annoying?

I'd pegged him as interesting. Entertaining.

Believable? Again, who cares?

That's when the wife summed up my entire social life in one sentence – a sentence I'd never considered.

"You like anybody who will tell you a good story," she said.

I said it wasn't true.

But I knew I was lying.

Tell me a good story, and I'm willing to listen.

I've got a friend who's done so many things and lived in so many places that he can tell stories for hours, and does.

Some folks think he's boring.

Give me an elderly guy who's fought in wars and traveled the world and jumped from job to job and I'll lend him my ear.

Sometimes my phone rings.

A coworker thinks I'm trapped.

Or my boss wants me to work.

They call to give me an out, an excuse, a reason to send my visitor packing. On a busy day with looming deadlines, it's a nice gesture.

But on a slow Friday afternoon, leave me alone. It's OK. We're chatting. Junior Jones could tell a good story.

As a college student, I worked at a Min-A-Mart where Junior was a regular. He'd stand around drinking coffee. I didn't charge him because I didn't want him to leave.

Co-workers would get annoyed and go fill the beer cooler.

I'd listen to Junior tell tales.

Later, I learned that Junior was the one who created a minor media frenzy a few years earlier when he reported seeing Bigfoot in the woods near Dansville.

He got the cops involved and the newspapers wrote about him and TV crews interviewed him.

Soon, others piped up to say that, indeed, they'd seen it too.

What a character.

Who'd rather fill a beer cooler than listen to Junior lie?

Another time, at a Lansing store, I listened to a fellow with stories of lawlessness and hard luck. This guy had a gift for gab like no one I'd ever met.

Eventually, though, I had to give him the cold shoulder. He asked if I wanted to buy a car stereo.

That raised my suspicion.

Then he asked what kind I wanted, and said he could get any style or any brand.

Later he was arrested for shooting a guy at another convenience store during an armed robbery.

He was charged and convicted of attempted murder, went to state prison, broke out, and is now doing life in a federal penitentiary.

Those old enough to remember the old-time radio character Fibber McGee will recall the classic yarn-spinners developed by the show's creators, Marian and Jim Jordan.

Fibber could spin a pretty good tale himself, but the show featured such other classic gadflys as Throckmorton P. Gildersleeve, The Old Timer and Mrs. Uppington.

As a kid, I was enthralled with recordings of those old shows; I listened over and over again. Maybe that's where my love of a good story started.

Or maybe it's just that I have very little to say myself.

Put me in a social situation, and I'll be looking to make my escape as soon as possible. Small-talk bores me. I have no desire, nor any talent, for talking to folks I'd rather not talk to about things I'd rather not talk about.

The weather. The NFL. Business. Stocks. Politics. Who cares?

But give me a character with some real tales to tell, and I'll sit around that campfire for hours.

Perhaps I'm a social misfit.

Perhaps I'm conversationally challenged. I'd prefer to think I'm just a good listener.

Wanna talk?