EVERY WATCH TELLS YOUR STORY

It was at least 10 years or more when I noticed Charlie( turns out that was not his real name so I am not being disrespectful here) sitting in a coffee shop furiously writing in his journal, drinking a lot of cups of coffee, each cup adjusted with 2% milk and Billy Bee honey. I tend to not regard individuals carefully but on one occasion I noticed he was wearing an antique watch missing a crown. Mechanical objects especially watches command my full attention, a consequence that might explain a rather large personal collection of timepieces and only two good acquaintances who are both pariahs. One morning a barista was having trouble with the mobile that reads our credit cards for payment when I mumbled, “tempus fugit”! Charlie answered in very credible Latin, I was impressed decided to learn more about the Tavannes watch on his thin wrist and even the owner if I had no choice. Slowly over a lot of average arabica bean coffees I was told Charlie’s stories of his story. He was the son of a tall handsome song and dance performer who paid his daily bills working as a stand up comedian, master of ceremonies in burlesque theatres, low rent strip clubs in Canada and even a few American northern cities, his mom was one of the more attractive performers at a club that his father worked at. After Charlie arrived kicking and screaming into the world his mom decided the bump and grind was preferable to raising a new born kid in a small single rented room on a quiet tree lined city street, packed her one good bag and took off. Charlie was essentially adopted by his father’s landlady, his dad would visit when he was in the city and paid for Charlie’s necessities not provided for by the kind homeowner. One year, my wife was attending some swell year end office party hosted by her big shot employers celebrating another profitable 365 in the markets when I suggested a Christmas dinner at the French restaurant owned by a well reviewed but tempermental chef who was great in the kitchen but lousy at pleasing his picky clientele. Charlie finally accepted when I said that it would be my pleasure to pay for the year end celebration. He was still wearing that damn broken vintage watch, he would need to finally offer details if I was paying for a thick steak and a robust red. Charlie probably had a vocational high school education that might be as short as 2 years but was self educated, well read and intelligent. He said that since he was ordering the cheapest item on Didier’s menu he would offer only a strong clue, I would have to connect the dots myself. I have experience detecting a refinished dial on a watch not sure I can figure out why a bright guy wears a broken timepiece from a vague remark! Charlie was never seen without an old leather sidebag; he said the watch belonged to his dad who also disappeared from his life when he was perhaps 16, Charlie produced a well read paperback copy of Tennesse Williams’ plays including THE GLASS MENAGERIE. Wow this man, product of an inner city vocational high school program studying custodial arts was deep! I studied the play in high school recalled a memorable line: FOR TIME IS THE LONGEST DISTANCE BETWEEN TWO PLACES, I think Charlie wore that broken watch to record how far away his dad chose to be from his only biological son. I lost track of my odd friend shortly after that. One morning he arrived at the coffee klatch with some printed items of interest for me as well as the broken watch which I intend to keep a LONG TIME but will not repair it!