Ryan was as slick as snot on a door knob.We frequented the Shangri-La, because the widow who owned the joint was lobbying for the position as the next...Missus Ryan Ragan. The owner was a robust German woman named Greta, whose Special Forces husband had died when his parachute cigarette rolled on him during a routine jump. The fellows and I would shoot pool, drink twenty-five cent beer, and bullshit while Greta dragged Ryan back to her office. The weird thing about all this was we actually did do. Then Sam talked about Susie and how much she meant to her, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the church. She spoke about how inspiring she was, being a teacher and helping shape young minds, and about education and religion could both help make the world a “much better place, with God’s help and Man’s alike.”“And in conclusion, I am also grateful for my neighbors, many of whom have inspired me to do better by challenging me to do the right thing when the easier path was very tempting, who reminded. More

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