There are some people in life you just never forget. Many people have impacts on your life. Some in big ways, like teachers, pastors, Nitro from American Gladiators. Then there are those who have those subtle little impacts on you. You may not realize it at the time, but they shape you in a way you wouldn’t expect.

For me, one of those people was an old man from my hometown in Beckley. I don’t even really know his name. I’m not sure if today I could pick him out of a lineup, but I remember him.

I was probably only about 14 or 15 years old at time, working at a soup kitchen our church put on in the coffee shop where our church met. (Confused?) He was sitting in the corner playing checkers. Playing checkers with my mom of all people.

He was big and thick, gray hair peaking through his Cincinnati Reds hat. In fact, that’s what everyone called him. Cincinnati.
Every Tuesday afternoon, Cincinnati would stroll into the old department store that was now a coffee shop (that was then a church – which later became a gay bar – and is now a hole in the ground, but that’s a different story for a different day, any who as a I was saying…)

Cincinnati would stroll into the old department store, get some food from the counter and sit down in the corner for his weekly checkers game with my mom. It was through mom I learned an awful lot about Cincinnati.

I learned he was a Cincinnati Reds fan (not that the hat and jacket were any indication). I learned that, unlike the majority of people who came into our soup kitchen, Cincinnati wasn’t homeless. He lived directly above the Water Company in an old apartment. He was single, never been married, never had any kids. Just kind of a loner. He worked for the courthouse, cleaning in the evenings, and spent a lot of his time, walking around downtown with his headphones on, listening to… what else… Cincinnati Reds baseball.

I often wondered what his apartment must be like. Would it be a shrine to the Big Red Machine of the 70’s? Would it be a giant checkerboard with different furniture sitting in different squares? Possibly bunkbeds in the backrow, where the piece had been “Kinged”? Perhaps would it tell a different story?

Would it possibly tell the story of an older, white haired man who had been in the War, fighting for freedom, fighting for something he believed in? Or perhaps, it may be full of books, shelves upon shelves of books, like William Forrester’s apartment in the movie?
And just what did he do in the courthouse after hours when he was in there cleaning? Could the courthouse possible get dirty enough that it would need cleaning for 8 hours a night, every night except for Sundays?
Maybe he spent his time searching through Public Access information, looking for dirt on the latest politician to try to gain his start. Maybe he was looking over the voting records of every person in the county. Who knows… Maybe he was hosting a giant checkers party and gambling ring on the county government’s dime.

Cincinnati made an impact on me though. It was subtle, something so slight as looking at people differently. In a different light. Like maybe, just maybe, everyone had a story to tell – and they were just waiting for someone to tell it for them.

It leads me on an introspect of sorts, thinking of my story. What will the chapters of my life truly be like? Will it be a comedy? Or a tragedy? Who will be the minor characters? The major? Will my setting change? Or will I adapt more and more to this midwestern mentality? Will it be short? Or long?

I’m not really sure. I’m not sure I care to know. Just as it is no fun to read a story when you already know the ending, it’s even worse when you play the lead role.

It’s been years since I’ve seen Cincinnati. I’m not sure where he is today. Things changed. The city came in and tore down the Water Company, which also tore down his apartment. They came in and tore down the soup kitchen too. One thing I know for sure is – he still listens to Red’s games… and he probably doesn’t like Dusty Baker, either.