from bondage positively spectacular, this year Wizard had his driver's license and a dependable car! Add to that the money we had split from last winter's treasure find, and what could possibly hold us back from “spreading our wings,” and doing all the fun things this new freedom allowed?

One could say we already had resources unique to the other kids in school. The Wiz was somehow blessed with an instinct for finding treasure, and my share of our finds had been accumulating for several years. Though I tended to spend a portion, Wizard had invested, or saved, every last cent, including the returns from his outlays.

No doubt I was blessed by Wizard's unusual outlook and his ability to earn, so much so it began to embarrass me when classmates switched from making fun of the Wiz, to admiration for having his own business. Ours was a four-year high school, and in the period from our freshman year to the end of our junior year, the difference between us was increasingly obvious, the gap widened dramatically and was increasingly obvious. Rather than make fun of him, he had earned the nickname “Wizard,” and even the teaching staff seemed to favor him. Whereas, I was often looked upon as the guy following a parade with a bucket, broom, and poop-shovel scooping up the mess. I may be part of the parade, but not of the parade.

It did not start out this way. Rather, the first year in high school I had been the one “on top,” and Wizard was known as the “bottle diver,” among other less than flattering labels as his spending money came from redeeming pop bottles he rescued from the refuse cans. Even more disgraceful was his lack of shame digging for bottles when anyone could observe him!

Money was important to one's status at school, perhaps too central. How one dressed, what one's parents did for a living and therefore could do, or could not do, for their kids was all part of the equation for your standing in the pecking order. Rather then consider these childish standards cruel, I entered my freshman year using this outlook myself. The Wiz was still a recent transfer, and not at all considered “socially acceptable.” He lived with various relatives of meager means, wore clothes most kids wouldn't even wear casually. The blackest mark was, however, a need to work in the cafeteria for one's lunch! Standing behind the counter wearing a hair net where all could see was considered a humiliation reserved for one devoid of self-esteem, as well as any possibility of social redemption.

I resented the adversity heaped on one already down and on his own, so I made him my “charity case” by speaking to him, even befriending him openly. It was worth “the looks” to have someone beholding to me. Another bonus was when walking next to me, Bottle Guy made me look even more tastefully decked out, and, frankly, it felt good.

Now we entered summer vacation at the end of grade 11, and there could be no doubt of his transformation, especially Wizard's monetary standing! While others had to improvise to earn summer cash, the Wiz was noticeably unique. He had been in business for nearly three years. His successful route of candy machines was growing as fast as the Wiz could acquire new vendors, and especially now that he could service his route by car. Of course it was unusual to see a kid in business, but even more so to observe one at such an immature age work so hard, and give levels of service the established competition just could not equal. If you were in business competing with this odd kid, you were in the business of going out of business.

From my perspective, his business success was nothing more than “the competitors” never being as “hungry” for financial leverage as Wizard. There was also something compelling about him servicing his route on a bicycle with a wood box bolted on the back fender, pulling a lawnmower frame with an even bigger box attached to serve as trailer. Then to watch him always clean, sometimes polish, and inspect his machines in such attention to detail, never failed to impress.

There are still many residents in Kelso, Washington, that remember and still talk about Wizard and his vending business. Any of which would dispel any doubt as to whether what I am penning here is absolutely accurate, nor that I have any need to take “creative liberties” to expand or amplify.

Of course at the time people judged him by what they observed, whereas I knew firsthand just how profoundly challenging were his “living arrangements” with relatives. Even at my age it was easy to appreciate the motivation provided him from the fact that if he didn't provide for himself, no one was “home” to lend a helping hand over a backhand. Actually, there was no “home” in a true sense, just a place to sleep, and though less than worthy or equal, allowed to “be there,” though not to be mistaken for “being a part of.” Thus, events had conspired to bless him with a lack of the options the kids at school and I rather took for granted. Silly us! At times it would have seemed reasonable to feel sorry for him, however, we should have seen that he was obviously the lucky one. It was his lack of the very options that sheltered most of us from looking within that grew his depth of insight, which rather amazed one and all. After all, were we not the very ones “coining” his nickname “Wizard,” which he earned when nothing else fit?

I was “young dumb, just wanting fun,” so at first it seemed the Wiz was trying to stack a wall of money around himself for protection, or maybe as a substitute for security. From or for “what” was less than clear to me, but it clearly made him stretch and attempt what would not be considered by the likes of me and other kids. He tried so hard, others his age were simply astounded, and ironically, perhaps at him deducing the same conclusions they would reach if they had to do or die.

Whatever his motivation, in just the first two years of business, it was obvious it was a losing proposition for others to compete with the Wiz. This, at the same locations, selling similar products as his adult competitors, yet earning flat returns, whereas Wizard's sparkling clean machines, freshest products, and frequent serving made his vending business increasingly profitable. I know for a fact that people would go out of their way to avoid purchasing their favorite candy bar at a retail outlet to get one as fresh as Wizard's machines assured.

So this summer vacation we were both flush with ample cash. I, in particularly, from outstanding treasure find last winter. With Wizard's half, combined with his income from vending machines, we could afford to do some traveling. The World's Fair was opening, just up the road in Seattle; then again, the bright lights of Portland were just an hour away.

I wanted to go places, see the bright big-city lights, and even do some shopping at one of those huge stores I had seen advertised. I was wound up and determined to go somewhere, whereas the Wiz was determined to “get somewhere.” To him, summer was a time to consolidate his gains, find new locations for his new candy machines, as well as catch-up on maintenance not possible during the school year. I was absolutely horrified to think there was a possibility this entire school vacation was about to go down the drain!

Wizard's flat-line reasoning dumbfounded me, though I can't say I was too concerned about him; I was too immature to frame it that way. Rather, I continued the recent pattern of finding less to “like” about the Wiz. Wizard said people tended to only “like” people “like” themselves, and I was akin to believing he was right on. As his vending machine route became ever more successful, he became more focused on its future, on his future, even more than his present, or so it seemed to me. He was no fun at all, and that was for sure.

Here was a kid, barely sixteen years old, in the vending business for about three years, with the largest number of public accounts in the business. Even then, I knew this was extraordinary, but I also sensed his life was never going to be “normal,” and his focus on just work was not sustainable. I had overheard a teacher comment that unless one had a good balance between work and life, they were bound to crash and burn.

As Wizard lacked a family, I was closer to him than anyone else, so it seemed I might be in a unique position to bring him back to what was, to me at least, a more “normal world,” whatever that was? Only, nothing had worked, and I had a suspicion the Wiz was actually trying to pull me towards what he considered a more “normal” world, just by my being around him.

I would go to great lengths to suggest trips in the most coercive frame, outline well thought-out adventures, even treasure hunts we had talked about for years, once we had a car. Wizard had continued to shift his focus, however, toward his growing business. Nothing I tried seemed to “click,” that is until I found an almost universal “weak spot” common in most local folks born in an area rich with remarkable sport fishing options, including the prized sport fish Steelhead; there is a reason “steelhead” is the perfect name.

The “weak spot” was chanced upon while telling him about a remarkable fishing “hot-spot” my adopted "Uncle Bean” discovered on the Toutle River. Normally reserved, almost shy, he would wave his hands, and positively rhapsodize over finding “the perfect spot,” a secret location he swore by for everything from Salmon runs to the hard fighting Steelhead. Bean has gone to his reward, so it seems okay to tell you that if you look on a map, the fishing spot is easily found where the Toutle River flows under the bridge on Interstate 5, just north of Kelso, Washington.

Today the freeway is improved and there is a new bridge over the river, directly alongside the old bridge and highway. The old freeway beside the new is still used by rural residents for access to their property. The old bridge is on the right heading north, and the site is exactly as it was in 1962. On the old freeway it was especially easy for north bound traffic to drive off Interstate 5, just before the bridge, and park alongside the river out of sight of those on the freeway. That turnoff is still there. Then as now, not only is the fishing outstanding, it is convenient.

I explained to Wizard that my uncle Bean was sure it was the area's most outstanding fishing spot, as most local fishermen avoided the site, thinking the sound of the cars on the bridge ruined the angling, only it didn't. When I finished relating Uncle Butter Bean's raving, Wizard immediately suggested he take tomorrow off so we could go fishing.

This was not the “bright lights,” or destinations I had been hoping to visit, nor the sort of spot where anything too dramatic could happen. There was no comparison to a trip to the World's Fair, further up the road in Seattle, or to the bright lights of Portland, the other direction. It was not in any way an equal tradeoff, but perhaps a step towards getting the Wiz to break his obsessive focus on business, and later take us to someplace where excitement could actually happen.

I am not, nor have been a willing “morning person,” and I had second thoughts when the alarm sent its unwelcome alert, while it was still dark, no less! I somehow found myself at the end of the driveway, surprised to find the Wiz waiting in an unusually frivolous mood, acting more like a silly kid than his usual all-business, no time for "fun," his increasingly all-business, nonsense persona. This was most unusual behavior for the little up-tight tightwad; perhaps he was turning a corner in his outlook?

I never cared for Wizard's driving, and such early morning travel didn't help his quick stops and overcorrecting his steering. I was sure I could do better, which wasn't saying much. He aimed the car rather than steered it, and used the hood emblem as if a gun sight on a rifle. Soon it was all over and Wizard parked his car where it would be in the shade during the heat of the noonday sun. His “parking” was even less practiced than his “herding the car” down the road. In spite of enough room in the shade to beach a battleship, even this required a couple of “tries” to get just right. Shade was critical as his car was stocked with candy bars, including chocolate susceptible to heat. The prized fishing hole was just a few hundred feet upriver from where the river runs under bridge, so the car would be in view to at least one of us at all times. Candy bars were 5-cents at that time, however, there were hundreds of dollars worth in the car, and, no doubt, sacks of coins yet to be counted.

We both had borrowed gear, so after several futile attempts to at least familiarize ourselves with the equipment, I defaulted to a trial-and-error strategy and left the Wiz in a state of confusion, but where he could watch his car. I had purposely plotted to leave him alone at the prized spot, and headed upriver to drift-fish. Looking back, I could see that in spite of pulling the line off the reel by hand, Wizard wasted no time moving to a place near to, and almost under the bridge, where the bridge itself cast a shadow on the water. I was only then it occurred to me that we had no bait! It would be interesting to see what Wizard would come up with as a substitute, for as sure as sin among my kin, I knew he would come up with something remarkable. This would not help me dress my hook at that moment, but then again I, too, was something of “a wizard,” but only at faking it. I was less concerned about hooking a fish than snookering Wizard a step closer to the next trip. After all, this entire “trip” was just to bait him for the next trip, hopefully to city lights, and something a bit more “naughty” than a day off for fishing.

And that was that, after all I had succeeded in pulling the Wiz from his treadmill and now he was “recharging his batteries” in a manner more like a teenager. Of course it pleased me to have found a way to get him to take a break, which I knew would last as long as I was out of sight, knowing he could not leave until I returned, or so I liked to think. I decided to stay away until almost dark, however, the thought of seeing Wizard just having fun, and seeing what he would devise for bait, was just too compelling. At that age I was no judge of time, but it couldn't have been more than an hour until I worked my way back to within sight of the bridge, not where the Wiz could see me, but I him. From my vantage point I could see the river, but there was no sign of Wizard. I moved further downriver to spot the car, and see if he was merely taking a break. I was careful to remain out of sight as I moved closer, but threw caution to the wind and started walking back as there was another auto parked near ours.

The strange car and no sign of the Wiz rather bothered me. I had a flash of recall about past incidents at this location, which had completely slipped my mind: First, there had been some children hit and killed as they had approached the bridge, not that far from the road, and nearest to the new car. I also recalled overhearing some adults warning Bean to be careful of "bad guys" using the area under the bridge to conduct "business," and something about a guy drift fishing, and him walking up as cash was being exchanged. He was savagely beat, and "left for dead" after being dumped into the river. Though he had survived long enough to tell his story, he eventually died from complications. The Wiz and myself had also searched for treasure caches under numerous bridges, as the blind spots beneath were known to be favored sites for criminal element caches. Wizard had said crooks on the run found the dry area under bridges perfect for caching money after a crime, then returning when they were no longer concerned about being caught with the money, or valuables.

We had found a small cache of gold coins and thirty-three silver dollars near the remaining footings of the original bridge crossing over a pioneer bridge near Kalama. The bridge had been removed years before, and the Wiz said it was likely a bootlegger's cache. He said "outlaws" liked to do their "banking" under bridges for "safety" and the ability to hide signs of digging in the always-dry soil. What had once intrigued me about the hidden area under bridges suddenly caused me panic! My interest quickly moved to rather franticly looking for Wizard, even more than watching where I was stepping, as I made my way over the slick rocks alongside the river. Every other step I would slip, catch myself, yet kept my focus on trying to spot Wizard, rather than on avoiding tripping on the wet boulders.

Later, my memory of one of the details of what happed next did not mesh with Wizard's. There was some confusion between my recollection, and Wizard's, about the color, but that “strange car” was red, as I remember it. It was a new Ford station wagon, and looking as if it had never been driven, or had just been washed and highly polished. Even the tires were spotless, with scant dirt on the tread. It's odd what one notices in extreme situations, to me it was just how utterly out of place the auto seemed to me parked in the grass, obviously not what I expected local folks would use for off-road driving to go fishing.

Wizard later said he could tell it was a rental car, why, I don't know, or if he was correct; however, there was a reason he was known as “a whiz.” It was always wise to give him the benefit of the doubt, though as you will soon find, it seems to me improbable its occupants would travel in anything other than their own vehicle, and he was wrong about the color.

As I approached, slipping and sliding at river's edge, I caught my first sign of life, several men, well dressed, though casual, and obviously not outfitted for fishing, intently watching my progress. Each time I slipped on the rocks, they all but froze as I recovered my balance. `Tourists, on their way to Seattle's world fair,' I thought; at least now I could relax a bit. These were obviously not "bad guys."

I even considered stopping and giving a few fake casts to show them how we “natives” drifted for Steelhead, then realized that with an audience I was too self-conscious to pull it off, especially with an empty hook, so I continued heading toward them, but still looking intently for any sign of Wizard.

The men walked towards me as near as they could. They stopped where the beach area ended with the river flowing towards them through a narrow gorge, and, as I, would need to use the side of the rocky riverbed as the only option for further progress.

They greeted me warmly, and were especially courteous and sincerely caring, so much so, I took theirs as the southern manner of hospitality. One of them asked me “What kinds of fish are in that `creek.'” As we would call it a “river,” I was amused, and even more so when he then asked, “Can you-all catch Catfish in that there creek?”

In the company of the visitors, I continued to walk towards Wizard's car, and was relieved to finally spot Wizard sitting on the grass facing me. Another stranger with his back to me was sitting in front of the Wiz. Even from a distance, I could see he was wearing what I perceived as a military hat, and dark attire. Most odd, the men stopped abruptly as I neared the Wiz. Most curious to me, the men were rather obvious about holding their distance, apparently in deference to the person addressing Wizard.

Of course, I thought! With that hat, he must be an Officer from Fort Lewis traveling with some enlisted men, perhaps on their way back to the base. I vividly remember wondering why I was so impressed with an unknown individual, without any justification for a curious sense, or instinct, welling up and flooding my senses. Was it his manner of dress, or something else? This "feeling" was not in any way pleasant, and best explained, as to the "feeling,” I did not have it, rather, it had me.

For the second time that day, I was spooked. I knew, however, whatever was "spooking me" this time was real, undeniable and unique, an almost overpowering sense of something noble, or perhaps of great importance about this man's presence. This without having a clue to comfort me as to why! Should I turn and run? But, run from what? Yet my instincts were giving me such strong signals, I simply could not approach further, so I did as the others, and froze a short distance from them.

Wizard was facing me. I was struck with his undivided attention listening -- it was as if the outside world and I didn't exist. Perhaps the sense of awkwardness cause me to involuntarily clear my throat, and prompt Wizard to look my way.

I cannot count how many times I have replayed what happened during the next few minutes, but soon, you, too, can imagine: The stranger stood up; turned slightly as he moved forward to greet me. He then put his hand on my left shoulder, and spoke to me. To this day, I still am unsure of the very first thing he said to me directly, as he shook my hand, held it, then placed his other hand on top as he spoke. Yet, curiously, I do remember his voice, can replay in my mind, and recall thinking to myself, or perhaps even muttering something to the effect of how silly it seemed for him to introduce himself.

I must say that though, at that time, I was not an ™ “Elvis fan,” I appreciated his talent and had no doubt he was a great entertainer. I loved most of his recordings, just ignored the artist, though I doubt he would have known that from my reaction as he spoke to me. As embarrassing as it is to admit, even now, I was speechless. In fact, I didn't breath. I was so stunned for a moment I could not think of his full name, just ™ Elvis, and just after hearing him give his name. Not quite in control of myself I eventually interuppted him as I mumbled, out loud, `Why, you're ™ Elvis Presley!'™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

It must have been quite a scene, as Wizard simply “lost it,” laughing out loud. While I was too much in shock to be embarrassed, ™ Elvis must have thought I might be, and he released my hand to squeeze my shoulder, reassuringly telling me it was okay as “most folks talk too much anyways, when they should be taking care of business,” or something very close to that. ™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

I remember distinctly how he was dressed and why I mistook ™ Mr. Presley for an Officer. The hat was in the manner of a Captain's hat with two shinning anchors at the front. He was wearing a matching dark jacket and, curiously, he wore his wristwatch on the outside sleeve of his coat, something I had never seen, and whatever the reason, it caught my attention as something to look at rather than keep returning his attention by looking up toward his face.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

I stood there for the longest time, literally unable to speak, but finally able to breath, and totally amazed to see the casual everyday manner of ™ Elvis talking to us. His ordinary demeanor was almost as much a shock as his presence. He soon returned to sitting on the grass and eating a candy bar, as was the Wiz.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Putting a candy bar wrapper in his jacket pocket, he stood up, spoke to me again by wishing me luck at fishing. Then he and Wizard started walking towards the station wagon, with ™ Elvis and him talking as if old friends. As the car was turning around, ™ Mr. Presley and the men with him, gave me a wave and I responded, after which I began to feel faint and about to "lose" my lunch. Perhaps this is too much information, but I noticed I had slightly wet my pants. Fortunately it was minimal, and by slapping on some river water made it appear just part of fishing. I only add this sordid detail to convey the extraordinary impact of the incident. Since then I have personally met dozens of celebrities, some true “legends,” however, none had the same impact as ™ Mr. Presley. Think what you may, but he was as big a star as he was then, and still is, because he was “the real deal.” ™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

I would put it this way: Meeting ™ Elvis was sort of like what happens when a bug hits your car's windshield moving down the freeway at full speed. Sadly, I never saw him perform, just met him. Over the years since, I have attended shows to be entertained by most of the true entertainment "legends." Only once in all the years since have I fond myself "smacked," and utterly caught offgard by another celeberity. It was also a surprise to me that time, as I went to the show only because my wife insisted! I had other interests and little interest in the man about to take the stage, I had just heard the name.

After the opening act, I prepared myself to mark time and just be there for my wife durning the headliner's performance. Then, from the side of the stage to my right, playing his gutiar and singing "Sweet Dreams Baby," strode Mr. Glen Campbell. As they say today, he simply blew me away! The "electricity" in the audience was palpable, then, much later, telling how Mr. Presley had influenced him, did a few bars as ™ Elvis, and... the well-dressed, sophisticated audience simply went wild, a diamond laced lady near me fainted, fortunately, into the arms of a waiter walking past. ™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

So, now I can also imagine what it must have been like to see ™ Mr. Presley perform. I have since attended later performances by Mr. Campbell and be overpowered by his live performances, something even the most perfect recordings never quite match, for me at least. I would also note that Glen did not again envoke ™ Elvis in the performaces I attended. He, too, is authentic with his own personal star quality, so much so I expect he prefers to honor ™ Elvis as so unique it may be best to respect and honor, let others borrow from ™ Elvis what they lack, he does not need to, as he has his own share of the same gift. I will forever thank Glen, however, to allowing me some sense of the power of ™ Elvis, the preformer. ™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Wizard explained to me, later, that ™ Mr. Presley had told him he and his “buddies” were on their way to Seattle so he could "shoot scenes” for the motion picture (™ Elvis called it “a movie”) “It Happened At The World's Fair.” I quizzed Wizard about everything ™ Elvis has told him. This, as well as asking him to repeat what ™ Mr. Presley had said to me, while I was in shock.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Even in such an extraordinary moment, however, it seems Wizard's inability to move beyond his “business ethics” was most distressing to me, but it did have a silver lining: It seems that once ™ Elvis learned the Wiz was in the vending business, and his car was filled with fresh candy bars, he wanted (2)™ Hershey bars for his friends and himself. Wiz said ™ Elvis tried to give him a $20 bill for ten 5-cent candy bars, which Wizard refused. Rather, Wizard would accept only one dollar, which he insisted was still double price. I've often wondered what ™ Elvis thought of Wizard's sense of business opportunity, his “generosity,” not knowing the Wiz as I did as a “tightwad extraordinaire.”™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Hershey bars. It reminds me something astonishing can happen to any of us, you, too, my friend, and, more than likely, when you least expect it.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Wizard's recount of the meeting was surprising as, thanks to the Wiz, the conversation even strayed into treasure hunting, and an insight, or tip. It seems (during ™ Elvis' early days) when performers traveled to a town; they would use a bus or large car. Rather than leave valuables in the car or bus, some musicians would dig a hole, put their valuables in it and pull the front wheel over the cache during their performance. "Pretty girls and after-hours maneuvers” he said resulted in some of these “bad boys” being thrown unconscious into the bus, leaving their “security caches” behind.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Now this is odd, but I want to include it, though it seems more of an aside than the element of surprise or something that further frames this article. Anyway, the Wiz said ™ Elvis explained success as an entertainer was said to be one's ability to make people “resonate.” This was something he said had been explained to him during what he referred to as “acting coaching.” The single point I best remember still seems a bit esoteric to me, however, the point was that even when people look at a picture of you, that person resonates to what is “going on inside you when the picture is taken, be it the next day or, even, a century later.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

This was discussed and, as Wizard remembers it, he understood ™ Elvis to say that if you look at a photo of someone looking “pleasant,” but having “dirty thoughts” (whatever that means) the photo would always cause the viewer to “resonate” to the picture subject's “emotive thoughts” over just what they see in the picture itself. It was what was inside the person, what they emoted, that “resonated” with the observer, not just the image of what is seen on the outside. I emphasized the use of "emote" as it was years before I "got it."™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Guess what? Even my oldest friends and my relatives did not believe me. Wizard did no better. The Wiz had people ask him why ™ Elvis Presley would show up under a bridge over the Toutle River, and the Wiz would tell them what Elvis' traveling companions had told him: He could not use a public restroom (to void his bladder) without causing an “incident.”™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

As for the Wiz, as well as myself, we were devastated by outright ridicule, and at the intensity of scorn. After that, we never spoke of the meeting for decades, though we did have the last word as, lucky for us, later, The Longview Daily News carried a report of ™ Mr. Presley's trip through the area. His trip by car to Seattle was to avoid the guaranteed confusion caused by ™ Elvis landing at the Seattle/Tacoma airport. The newspaper even explained that by prearrangement, his trip through Longview, and his overnight stay in the area would be a delayed announcement.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

And though the newspaper article confirmed our “story,” I only remember being asked a few questions such as “What is he really like?” What I most recall was that not one apology was offered for the ridicule, the same for the Wiz. Even if regret had been expressed, the harm had already been done, and in odd ways still influence me. I found a writer's rule that codified my outlook for that experience, which says one should not give the audience more information than they have the ability to understand, or the writer the capacity to frame with enough precision to allow the reader to believe.

Neither Wizard nor myself were known to “tell stories,” but we had seen our credibility evaporate. The Wiz compared it to a lifetime of making your payments faithfully on time, then incompetence, even though it is on the other side, knocks your record down, and all the King's men and all the King's horses cannot restore what is lost.

So we learned not to talk about our meeting, eventually, not even among ourselves. Most defiantly telling others just wasn't worth the ridicule. Eventually, this basis of reasoning changed to an entirely different, more mature reason: I never again considered speaking to others of that chance meeting, not so much as a result of the earlier rebukes immediately after the encounter, but out of a sense of respect for someone whose presence touched me deeply. It seemed to me too many people took advantage. I can use any restroom as required, yet, this gentle soul was denied even the most basic aspects, those we universally grant our fellow man, too much was taken from him, just as our taken-for-granted access to a public restroom. ™ Elvis had even less privileges than a fugitive and restricted to voiding his bladder under the cover of a bridge, rather than a nearby rest stop.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Later I read a heart-rending interview by Minnie Pearl of her being on a tour, I assume one that featured ™ Elvis. She said she would sun by the hotel pool at a location where she could see ™ Elvis stand and look out from his room, and do so for hours, obviously longing to enjoy the beach, the sun, or just be free. Yet, he could not, ever, be in any situation where his person was openly exposed to the public, even with a large security detail. The mob would quickly smoother him, create a riot, and in addition to possibly harming ™ Elvis, no doubt other people would be harmed in the crush.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

At concerts, he had to be most promptly removed for his safety; also, the majority of the audience would not leave if ™ Mr. Presley were present. He had to leave the building.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Needless to say, Mrs. Pearl's account rang true from our experience and codified my resolve to not use our moments with him in a self-serving manner. I give this account as I now feel it tells more about the public, and a side of ™ Elvis that needs to be made known. I do so more than to center on myself, or the Wiz on our encounter that fateful day. I am not even certain it properly fits this book's format herein. Nor am I certain of the reaction, especially, from those who know me, of which some will feel slighted for having to read about the encounter, rather than me sharing it with them.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Where you hear people criticizing ™ Mr. Presley's personal life, credit it to not knowing the person behind the public penitentiary. He gave us his all, yet his all was never enough, or so it seemed. Think kindly of him; let his memory rest gentle on your heart. Let us seek to give others, in his honor, what we withheld from him in life: To enjoy, yet respect the need for each being -- human as well as God's creatures -- to bloom in its own garden; no need to pull the flower to enjoy what it alone can offer.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Rather than pomp and circumstance, we experienced the disturbing side of people regarding “celebrity,” but it was the good that won out. We agreed that there were “things” about ™ Elvis Presley that people would never understand without meeting him, especially in such a casual setting. It was the most rarefied of opportunities to having met “the real thing” and found it really was “real.” No smoke and mirrors, just a gift to us from another place, we know not how or why! Yet, for what he gave us, for what he continues to give us and those not yet born, I only wish we could have let him live in peace, at least occasionally.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Is it not odd what kids consider "important." As an adult, I wish the public had given ™ Elvis more room "to be." Back then, however, I knew another sort of "whole lot of shaking going on" just happened under that bridge, and I recall telling the Wiz I wished ™ Elvis could have washed that hand before shaking mine. Wizard said it all by saying nothing, just by shaking his head as he aimed his car towards home, and I aimed my thoughts to a future now transformed: If the events of that day could happen, most anything was possible and, at least. I had that right. Most anything is possible, even probable, for me, just as it is for you.™ Elvis and Elvis Presley are registered trademarks of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.

Depending on easy access to the river for all transportation needs, pioneers had cleared routes through the dense overgrowth at points where it covered the shallow channels of the slough. This allowed them to route their boats to safe harbors away from the mighty Columbia River.

Though shallow, at high tide the sloughs were deep enough for the paddle-wheel steamboats. With no roads or rail lines, after the steamboats stopped running, the rugged Washington shoreline along the Columbia downriver from Kelso (Longview had yet to be founded) was isolated.

After abandonment, the hand-cleared boat routes through the sloughs were soon overgrown and nearly impenetrable, as the overgrowth from one side met the other in mid-channel. This formed a natural barrier to anything with more bulk than a canoe, and even then, the river had to be at summer's low with the tide at its lowest ebb.

So we were spoiled by the isolation of the untouched ghost sites we had been exploring. There was little interest in exploring an old store we had passed many times as it was in a spot that could be seen from a boat on the Columbia. We already knew it had been searched and, most probably, vandalized. Had Wizard not had trouble with his new boat motor, we most surely would have not considered stopping.

In the two years since finding our first stash at the old warehouse used by bootleggers, we had had a lot of experience and I, at least for myself, thought I knew all there was to finding treasure. One glimpse inside the old store convinced me I was right. Vandals had done their nonsense, and people had stripped the place bare, all except for the office safe and the old-fashioned wood stove sitting squarely in the center of the building.

Needless to say, I was absolutely fascinated with the antique safe, Wizard the ornate wood heater. The roof had been leaking for decades and the floor under the safe was ready to give way and drop into the water beneath the store. Also the building was on pilings over the water. During high water, waves kept the flooring wet, accelerating the decay. Obviously there was no way to save the heavy safe from its fate, so I settled for Wizard taking its picture for me.

I thought we might have been safer camping on shore, but Wizard wouldn't hear of it. Losing the battle to keep me calm, Wizard started reminiscing about the strange twist of fate that led us to our discovering the bootlegging operation. Even more remarkable, to us, was for The Wiz to then find records (in the oven of the old wood cook stove) revealing the name of the person running this old-time operation, and doing so from the safety of an office, well removed from the actions he directed.

When his “employees” bodies washed-up near Astoria, after a winter storm, he must have thought they took his secret, as well as his `books,' to the bottom of the river. We also surmised this kingpin may have considered it too dangerous to go to the site himself. In any event, he must have thought his crew had more sense than leave his ledgers unprotected.

In a real stroke of luck, Wizard got some help from the Kelso librarian while he was doing research on early-day fishing in the Columbia for a report at school. She had personal memories of earlier times and was relating the losses of life on the river and the usual drownings during bad weather. As an aside, she remembered the “mystery of three men” that washed ashore; adding, “No sign of their boat was ever found, nor was the boat ever reported missing.” Because of this, these three men were the only names on her “Lost Fishermen List” without a reference to the boat carrying them to their fate.

Among the things I learned as we talked through the darkness, was Wizard's revelation that he already knew it was Mr. Webee's operation when he sold Fred the items. This at a time when he kept it secret from me! He said I was too young then to keep it to myself. If fact, Wizard had waited almost two years, until Fred's recent passing, before showing me the documents.

Why Wiz decided to sell these items to Mr. Webee is still a mystery to me. After all Fred Webee was profoundly eccentric, wealthy and mysterious. He gave me the impression he was use to getting his way, or, if needed, getting you out of his way. It was odd, but people we knew were afraid of Fred when they couldn't actually give a reason. As kids, at first, we didn't know any better than feel okay around him. Though we were still “dumb kids,” as far a Fred was concerned, we eventually sensed he had been someone worthy of, if not fear, at least unease.

In that longest hour before dawn, we both waxed a bit philosophical about Fred and our memories of him. I noted that never once had we heard rumors about him being involved in bootlegging. Rather the rumor was that Fred Webee had connections in other countries and somehow smuggled items that could not be shipped through “regular routes.” As I recall, it was not drugs or such, but stolen art, jewels, and gold, or so the rumors went. At the same time, he had never been in trouble with the law, had his name in the paper, or his property searched. It was all just small-town “talk.”

We had no evidence on his later, rumored, “underground import business,” but from what we now knew, there was a ring of truth to it that made me uncomfortable. Wizard wouldn't comment, but by sunup we had reviewed all we remembered about our time around Fred, and we decided to find a way to acquire search rights to his place, as soon as his heirs finished probate. As usual, Wizard had a plan.

The Wiz was sure the land would be sold as the house was “too far gone” to live in or save. He was confident that only Fred would have lived at his place as, in his later years, he isolated himself from the community and made no repairs to his place other than hiring Wizard and myself to do what he didn't trust adults to do: The barn had collapsed during a snowstorm in the early 1950's, so, later, had the equipment shed and other outbuildings. In fact all that was left standing was the house and a shop for repairing farm equipment, which still sheltered his “brand new Packard” (less than 200 miles) he said he “never got around to driving.”

In fact, the Webee `place' looked like something out of a ghastly dream: Western Washington state is green, alive and vital, even during winter with the evergreens. Yet, even trees died around his house. The effect was so astounding only a picture conveys the effect of this `dead zone' in a forest of green and lush growth. I have included the picture The Wiz took of Fred's home, shortly after his passing, to share the reality with you.

The news of Mr. Webee's death was so new it dominated our conversation. There was also a sense of newfound liberty in what Wizard felt free to tell me. The only negative was when I realized he knew such things and still took me into the old man's presence! In a strange twist, for me, as morning approached, the more I learned about Fred, the less I wanted to know.

After a breakfast of apples, orange juice and a Hershey's with almonds, it was on to solving the problem with the boat motor. Wizard was the most mechanically inept person you could imagine! It was as if the areas in which he had developed “gifted aspects,” had been at the expense of what average people take for granted. So, I was awed and amazed when he found just a half-turn of a screw smoothed-out the motor. We were ready to leave, but in the light of day, the old store looked less threatening, so we decided to take a short nap, which was wise as after a sleepless night, and then eating, I was only fit for sleep, Wizard too.

I was actually gloomy over leaving that “magnificent” old safe behind. Whereas, The Wiz was miserable over leaving the old stove, as he said it was a soon-to-be-lost “historically-elegant example” of our heritage (I thought just calling it “neat” would have better describe it). It was obvious that, soon, it to would drop through the rotten floor to the slough, if vandals didn't destroy it first.

Since the stove's door lifted up and off it's hinges, Wiz took that first. Next he removed the small lower door, which gave access to the water tank used to add humidity to dry wood heat. As our boat could still handle more weight, he looked for another piece not bolted on. He chose the humidifying tank, which simply lifted out. An immediate look of disappointment was evident when Wizard lifted it out. “Goodness,” he exclaimed, “this weighs a ton and is just too heavy to take, this time! Don't want to swamp our boat.”

There was a collection of fine dust, soot and ash that immediately mushroomed, obscuring sight until it blew away. If I live to be 110, I'll never forget my shock, my disbelief, as the sun reflected back the unmistakable flash of polished gold! Not ordinary gold in any sense, but a pile of gold dental crowns and scrap dental gold!

Wizard hauled the find to a Dentist he knew he could trust. Some time later, after the teeth were extracted from the crowns, the net result was just over eighteen pounds of gold dental scrap. At that time the price of gold was “fixed” and Wizard was advised it was “unreasonable.” Rather, he was advised to allow his dentist to take it to Canada where gold was priced according to market realities, which he did.

While the money was fabulous, what preoccupied our thoughts was why the gold scrap was there in the first place. In “a million years” we could not have imagined such a strange treasure find! As The Wiz said, “It wasn't just odd, it was creepy!” I couldn't have said it better.