And of course notice was given of the handsome great-grandson (thanks, John Gray).
But I was taken aback by Jager's comment about my Stanley (North Dakota) genes.
How, you might ask, could an upstanding young man (never mind that nickname: Cougar) turn . . . in a few short years into this dissipated wreck of a human.
Part of the transformation may be attributed to that cursed affinity he developed for the fumes of rubber cement.
But wait!
The story takes a turn and, in spite of the drinks on the table, he produces a pretty darned good looking son.
Here's a slightly better (and earlier in time) picture of the Terrible Twosome.
Allow me to introduce my son, Scott, handsome like his proud papa.
So those genes weren't so bad after all, were they Jager!
One more picture, for Montana Mike (aka Should Fish More) who made a snarky comment referencing my dandy legs.
(And, of course, for Val, who also likes the pictures of me in my short shorts.)
In TV days, not dressed for the camera, but slaving away over a hot typewriter.
Gentle Readers, enjoy!
