I was at a race meeting when a hunter/gatherer homed in on me, he had a race program in one hand and a pen in the other. He was scavenging for autographs. Hunter (offering the weapons of his calling): Would you sign this, please? Me (with a becoming modesty my friends would not recognize): You don’t mean my autograph. Hunter (sensing a major coup): I certainly do. Me: But I’m not famous. Hunter: You look famous. Me (drawing on years…
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