Yesterday, while waiting for a bus, I struck up a conversation with a pleasant fellow who let me know in no uncertain terms that he had played a role in the ouster of Panamanian dictator Manuel Noriega back in 1989.
Of course this came up as we were talking about the weather.
I mentioned how it was finally going to hit 50 and he observed that Panama is hotter. Within moments he had the embassy surrounded and was playing heavy metal at peak volume in an attempt to force out el Presidente.
The bus came before the story was complete and I didn’t think it would be smart to follow him to his seat to get the rest. Even a former intelligence officer has to show some discretion. I had already forced him to reveal precious details through my clever climate-directed questioning, and there’s no way to safely discuss covert ops on the 825 into downtown Minneapolis. At least there’s no way to do it where you’ll FEEL safe.
After I spent more time than I wanted to thinking about Manuel Noriega, it occurred to me that we probably stand next to strangers each and every day who have done things that we would find utterly amazing and perhaps unbelievable, if we only knew.
After all, astronauts go to the grocery store to get milk out of the same case we do. Diplomats, crisis negotiators and brain surgeons stand in line behind us when we’re picking up fast food French fries. Billionaires go to movies. Great actors and brilliant inventors stop to hold the door for us and we hardly notice it. But it would be impractical and impolite to try to draw a biography out of every person you encounter.
I was waiting for my wife to pick me up at the airport a few weeks ago when Joe Mauer came out, loaded down with baggage, and stood alongside. He seemed like he wanted to strike up a conversation with me but then thought better of it, realizing that I’m probably tired of making small talk with strange admirers.
It’s true, I am. But for him I would have made an exception.
How close have you stood to greatness?



