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INCLINE VILLAGE, Nev. — Elmo. I don't remember his last name. He was the youngest American to win the highest award for knowing the most about wine back in 1972, and yet he was not a wine snob. Elmo lived on the edge of Kapiolani Park in Waikiki, and I would pass his patio on my run each morning.
One Sunday morning Elmo hailed me and invited me to join him for breakfast on his patio, but I had a few more miles to put in and gracefully declined.
“Please.” he insisted with a note of urgency in his voice.
Well, I had no choice but to join him.
He shook my hand and silently poured us both a glass of red wine.
I could see my running was over for the day, and I waited for him to speak.
“I flew to Paris for this bottle of wine — it's a 1933 Château Mouton Rothschild.”
“Wow! What in the devil are we doing drinking this on a Sunday morning?” I asked incredulously.
“It was an investment. I spent everything I was able to save over the summer on this bottle of wine.”
I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue…
“I placed it in our refrigerator for temporary storage last night, knowing that Gail doesn't drink.”
Gail was his roommate, a beautiful former ice skater who had recently retired from the Ice Follies and was cocktailing in Waikiki. What I didn't know was that she had gained some weight and was somewhat depressed about it.
Just then Gail appeared in her bathrobe, looking not well…
“Gail! Have a glass of red with us if you will!” hailed Elmo in his characteristic good cheer.
“No, thank you, I had a taste of that last night and it gave me a headache.”
Elmo gave me a glance that told me his heart had just been pierced with an arrow.
Then Gail told us her story…
“Rauel and I broke up last night and I came home feeling so distraught that for the first time in my life a glass of wine looked good, and it was good … but it left me with this terrible headache. Still, I'm glad it was there because it made me forget about Rauel, and if you think I miss him this morning, well you can think again! He didn't smoke pakalolo, or chew tobacco or take snuff, or cuss or use slang or rude or coarse or indelicate language, but he made terrible puns all the time, and I hate puns!”
Gail joined us for breakfast, which Elmo prepared with a conviviality that was not contrived.
We talked about Nixon ordering the mining of Haiphong Harbor and Bobby Fischer defeating Boris Spassky in chess. Elmo never mentioned the wine. He never let on that anything out of the ordinary had happened, but consigned himself to enjoy the company, the conversation, and the wine.
He never told her ... he never did tell her.
Looking back all these many years later, I think Elmo must surely be the closest thing to a true gentleman that I have ever encountered, and if I knew his whereabouts today, I would tell him so…
McAvoy Layne is an Incline Village resident who visits area schools as the ghost of Marl Twain.
One Sunday morning Elmo hailed me and invited me to join him for breakfast on his patio, but I had a few more miles to put in and gracefully declined.
“Please.” he insisted with a note of urgency in his voice.
Well, I had no choice but to join him.
He shook my hand and silently poured us both a glass of red wine.
I could see my running was over for the day, and I waited for him to speak.
“I flew to Paris for this bottle of wine — it's a 1933 Château Mouton Rothschild.”
“Wow! What in the devil are we doing drinking this on a Sunday morning?” I asked incredulously.
“It was an investment. I spent everything I was able to save over the summer on this bottle of wine.”
I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue…
“I placed it in our refrigerator for temporary storage last night, knowing that Gail doesn't drink.”
Gail was his roommate, a beautiful former ice skater who had recently retired from the Ice Follies and was cocktailing in Waikiki. What I didn't know was that she had gained some weight and was somewhat depressed about it.
Just then Gail appeared in her bathrobe, looking not well…
“Gail! Have a glass of red with us if you will!” hailed Elmo in his characteristic good cheer.
“No, thank you, I had a taste of that last night and it gave me a headache.”
Elmo gave me a glance that told me his heart had just been pierced with an arrow.
Then Gail told us her story…
“Rauel and I broke up last night and I came home feeling so distraught that for the first time in my life a glass of wine looked good, and it was good … but it left me with this terrible headache. Still, I'm glad it was there because it made me forget about Rauel, and if you think I miss him this morning, well you can think again! He didn't smoke pakalolo, or chew tobacco or take snuff, or cuss or use slang or rude or coarse or indelicate language, but he made terrible puns all the time, and I hate puns!”
Gail joined us for breakfast, which Elmo prepared with a conviviality that was not contrived.
We talked about Nixon ordering the mining of Haiphong Harbor and Bobby Fischer defeating Boris Spassky in chess. Elmo never mentioned the wine. He never let on that anything out of the ordinary had happened, but consigned himself to enjoy the company, the conversation, and the wine.
He never told her ... he never did tell her.
Looking back all these many years later, I think Elmo must surely be the closest thing to a true gentleman that I have ever encountered, and if I knew his whereabouts today, I would tell him so…
McAvoy Layne is an Incline Village resident who visits area schools as the ghost of Marl Twain.
