Even before the two women in my previous story of Serendipity found that they had me in common, I had serendipitously run into people that I had not expected to find where I happened to be at the time.

I was camping with a friend at Big Bend park, way out in southwest Texas one time, and we were sitting in camp deciding our agenda for the next couple days. Deb suggested that it would be interesting to drive north the next evening, and attend a Star Party at McDonald Observatory. That sounded fun to me. There is so much less light pollution out in west Texas. It is probably because nobody wants to live out there on the edge of the desert, but as we neared the observatory, and it was getting dark, we could see so many more stars and planets than were visible from Austin.

We walked into the gift shop, where the Star Party folks were supposed to meet. There were only a few low lights on in the gift shop, and I could barely see the other people who had come for viewing. As we waited for somebody to tell us what the procedure was, I heard from across the room a voice I was very familiar with. It cut through the susurrus of people talking quietly like a bolt of lightning, and the unique clarity of his voice made me think of home. I heard this voice almost every day on my way home after work on my truck radio, always tuned to the local NPR station, the afternoon radio host. His voice is the only voice I have ever heard where you can hear him smile as he talked. It was my friend Bob Branson. I loved his afternoon show.

Me: (projecting my voice across the dark room) Is that the famous well known radio host Bob Branson?

Bob: (who also recognized my voice) Is that Sam Birchall over there shouting?

And I walked through the crowd to find Bob and his wife Fran, who I had also known for years. I had not seen them for some time, and it was great to see them again. The star party was terrific.

___

Another time, I was on my way to a job in Seattle, and had stopped for a couple days to camp at the Grand Tetons park, and enjoy it and nearby Yellowstone Park. I had awakened the first morning right at sunrise, and crawled out of my tent. Straight ahead of me, across Jenny Lake, were the Tetons, and the rising sun had colored the tops of the peaks with bright orange. It was absolutely gorgeous, and I scurried back into my tent and grabbed my camera. I shot several photos as the orange of the sunrise marched down the Tetons, turning the whole range orange. Award winning pictures.

It was early in the days of cell phones, but before leaving Austin, I had bought an internet card which they had just brought out, from Verizon so that I could access the internet as I traveled. Feeling like the very pinnacle of high tech, sitting in a campground, in my tent, I connected my card, and I logged on to Facebook and posted the pictures I had just taken. That was in the days before Facebook kicked me off for reasons they never deigned to tell me. I also posted a picture of my truck and my tent, and my dog Chula and myself sitting there in the woods. My white truck had a bright pink cap over the bed that I had built to protect my tools as I traveled. People told me that my truck looked like a Barbie truck.

Later that morning, I had driven south to a cove on Lake Jenny, parked on the side of the road, and hiked around the cove watching birds and enjoying the verdant lakeshore. As Chula and I came walking back to the road about 100 yards from my truck, I saw two people by my truck, acting furtive. There was a woman who looked familiar, and I was trying to remember where I had seen her before. She was a beautiful blonde woman, and there was a guy with her, who ducked behind my truck when he saw me. Their furtiveness made me quicken my walk, and as I got to my truck, out popped Bruce Seitzer, a guy I went to college with, who I had not seen in the intervening 20 years. And his wife Janet, who I had met one time when she came to the college to visit him.

They had been driving along, vacationing in the area before heading back to Chicago where they lived, and had seen my truck with the bright pink camper top, the very one in the picture on Facebook, and had been waiting for me to come back to it. How many trucks with a pink cap could there be?

It was great to see Bruce and Janet.

___

Many years earlier, when I was living in Mount Adams, a neighborhood overlooking downtown Cincinnati, I was walking down the sidewalk, heading to Krohn Conservatory, one of my favorite places to visit. I passed an upscale condo, and there was a man, cussing to beat the band and he stepped back, and powerfully kicked his front door. He was very upset. Being Sam, and even in those early days as a Jack of All Trades, I was a master of making doors work better, I walked up the steps, and asked him if what was wrong with his door, and could I help make it work better?

Man: This *#&@{! door won’t close and let me lock it.

Me: Let me look at it. Maybe I can fix it.

He looked surprised, but stepped back from the door. He somehow looked familiar, but I couldn’t put a name to his face. I looked at the door, figured out what the problem was, and took out my pocket knife, and in 5 minutes, had his door working properly. He was thankful, and offered me $20.

Me: I don’t want money, sir. I was just being neighborly. I live right up the hill.

He looked surprised again, thanked me, and held out his hand, and I shook it, and bid him adieu, and continued on towards the conservatory.

Two days later I was reading a story in the newspaper about the Cincinnati Reds, a team I had watched frequently since childhood, and how their star catcher Johnny Bench had won some award or another. The story had a picture of Johnny, and he turned out to be the cussing door kicker. Close brushes with greatness. # Famous neighbor.

___

I had just finished my Peace Corps training, 10 weeks of hell, been posted to my school for two weeks, and had come back into town from my school to pick up any mail I might have received at the Peace Corps office. I was feeling pretty homesick, and was hoping for a letter from home. Or anywhere else, to make me feel less far away.

There was a letter from my sister, Yay! I was opening it as the Country Director, John Stabler passed the volunteer lounge, and he looked in and saw me.

Director Stabler: Sam, won’t you come into my office for a minute?

I had met him during training, just to shake his hand, and he had seemed like a nice guy. I followed him down the hall.

Director Stabler: I have been wanting to know how you are doing at your new school, Sam. There was some discussion when we were deciding where to send the new trainees, especially about you. It was your letter that caused the hubbub.

Back when I had applied to Peace Corps, it was almost a year of paperwork and forms mailed back and forth to Washington DC, to assure them that I would be up to their standards. After they had sent my acceptance letter, my last contact with the recruiter was a form, double sided, asking basic information about me, that I had already sent them ad nauseam in the million forms. I got kind of pissed off, and called the recruiter. Why this form, asking info that they already had? The recruiter told me that all the forms I had filled out so far, stayed in my file in DC, and the last form is what they would send to the training director in Swaziland.

I glanced at the form, and though it asked basic info about me, it said nothing about who I really was, and what I had to offer Peace Corps. It seemed pointless, so I asked the recruiter if I could just write a letter, instead of the dumb form. She hemmed and hawed, and finally said, ok, as long as the letter also contained the basic info.

So, I wrote this impassioned letter, telling about what I was bringing to the table, and that I was not looking for a cushy post, but really wanted a posting where I could bring my skills to bear. I did not care about the amenities. I wanted to be where I could do some good for the community in which I was to live for two years. I was 39 years old, and had a lot more life experience than the majority of volunteers that were right out of college. And I had wanted to join Peace Corps since I was 11, and heard John Kennedy speak about his new program.

I sent the letter, and on the night towards the end of training, the big cheeses were sitting around deciding where to send each of the trainees from my group, and my letter came to light. I later found out from the Training Director and the Director of Technical Subjects, that they had had a laugh over my enthusiastic letter, and on the basis of it, had decided to send me to a hardship posting, a school that was remote, and had no electricity or water. The headmaster had been asking Peace Corps for a woodworking teacher for several years. They had decided that my letter showed that I would be able to handle the challenge of a posting like that.

Me: I am doing fine at my school. It is kinda basic, and I have to walk 7km to the muddy river for water, with my jug on my head like the locals, and use candles for light, but I feel needed and the teachers there are very friendly. I kinda miss Austin, tho.

Director Stabler: Austin? Yes, I remember seeing that you were from Austin. So am I. I love the town.

Me: Me too. It is a great town to build a life in.

And Austin became the nexus of my friendship with John for the next year until he went back home, and we got an idiot to replace him.

Serendipity strikes when you least expect it.

Be of good heart, and the world will beat a path to your door. (so to speak)