I know in my column, I frequently write about accidentally bumping into someone I know in some of the strangest places. However, for the first time in a long time, I was called out by someone who recognized me.
Years ago, when I was a staff writer for a Lake County magazine, I had interviewed a local gentleman who had just been awarded “Citizen of the Year” by his area Chamber of Commerce.
Charles, a charismatic father of four and grandfather of seven, was known by everyone in the area as a “Professional Volunteer.”
I believe my boss assigned me the article because I was the “new girl.” I was new to the area, and I was new to the magazine. All the other staff writers knew Charles. He had been spotlighted in the local news many times for his good deeds. I guess my editor expected me to put a new twist on an old legend. He also wanted me to take a good picture of Charles to go with the article. He insisted I use the company’s brand new, high-tech digital camera to capture the image. A tall order for me, considering I am technologically challenged, but I was going to do my best.
Luck was what had just landed me this job in the first place, and I believed “Lady Luck” would see me through. Two weeks prior, I was waitressing in a nearby restaurant after moving to Lake County a few months earlier. My husband and I had just relocated with our 3-year old daughter.
Then one day, I served this group for lunch. They were all locals, and it appeared they were having some work-related luncheon. When they finished their meal, one of the gentlemen handed me his credit card to pay the bill. While I was running his credit card, I noticed the card had his name imprinted along with a magazine’s name. I was already familiar with the publication because they were in the box in the restaurant’s lobby for all to take for free.
Being the “wishful writer” I was back then, I found no shame in soliciting him before giving him back his credit card. I even kidded about trading my tip for an opportunity to write for him. Which after some persuasion from the other kind guys and gals sitting at his table, he agreed. Plus, he left me a fat tip!
My interview with Charles was at noon that day. We had arranged to meet under a gazebo near the lake at Gilbert Park in Mt. Dora. When I got there, he was already there waiting. Charles was a lighthearted man, but he was “old school” and highly proper in his southern ways. A bit my senior, he was an attractive man. Very dapper in his appearance. The type of man that just seemed important.
Professionally a 32nd degree Mason, he served as a Lay Eucharist Minister and was known around town for having a serious poker face. He never smiled when taking public photographs. Yet thanks to Mother Nature and a little bit of wind, I managed to photograph the man with a full-on, ear-to-ear grin.
It turns out you don’t have to be Marilyn Monroe to get a guy’s attention. You simply have to be wearing the right dress at just the right moment. Which I was. Because after I finished my interview, and just as I was about to say, “Say Cheese,” the wind fluffed the bottom of my hot pink, floral, skater-style dress upward. All this just as I clicked the picture.
As he and I looked at the photo on the camera’s screen, both of us began to blush. I offered to try again. However, he seemed to like the shot and told me to go with it. “We’ll just call it beginner’s luck,” he said.
When I turned in the picture at work, everyone was curious to know how I managed to get Charles to smile? When the article was published, even his wife questioned if we edited the image. Not to mention, most of that month’s “Letters to the Editor” wanted to know how his staff managed to get Charles to smile on camera? The edited response, “Beginners luck!”
Almost 20-years later, I was at one of the Manatee County Libraries when all of a sudden, this older man approached me. He looked super friendly, and he had a big smile on his face. As he got closer, it looked like he was about to hug me. My brain quickly tried to search all my memory banks in the hopes of figuring out who this could be before we actually made contact.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me, Lisa,” he said in a hopeful tone. “I’ll never forget you, Flash.”
Just then, as my mental files sorted through anything and everything related to the word FLASH, it hit me. “No, Charles, I could never forget you either. You’re the man that helped me add “Photographer” to my resume.
With that, we gave each other that well-deserved hug and took a couple of minutes to catch up. Then we wished each other well and continued our day, hoping to meet again for a future visit.
Laugh on. Peace out!
Lisa DeMarco is a columnist for Villages-News.com.
