Remembering Casanova Wilson  The first time I met Casanova, I
was with my father at a bowling alley. An old man satWilson at
the snack bar stool eating soup. He wore a stocking cap covering
his long wild gray hair. His face was covered with an equally
lengthy straggly gray beard, stained yellow below his lower lip
from the grease in the soup.  “Hello Cassy!” Dad’s voice caused
him to look up and chuckle. His voice came from some deep dark
cavern and slightly rumbled as it wound its way to his mouth.
“Hello power man!” Dad was a foreman for the power company and
often had a bowl of soup for lunch in the same snack bar. They
obviously knew each other.  “Have you met any new ladies this
week?” My head snapped to look at dad. Was he nuts? What ladies
could this scruffy man attract to his tattered coat covered
unkempt self? “No, not this week, but next week will be better.”
We sat down in a booth to eat our burgers and I kept an eye on
‘Cassy’. “Who is that man?” “Is his name really Cassy?” Dad told
me that his r