One summer’s day, in the mid 1960s, we drove to Kentucky to
visit relatives. As we passed through
Lebanon, on the way to Liberty, my father decided to stop at a bar/liquor store
to pick up a case of beer. Liberty was
is a dry county and you cannot buy alcohol there. He went inside, and my mother and I waited in
the car, at the curb.
A few minutes later, a gentleman came stumbling out of the
bar. He started walking toward the road
and walked right into a parking meter.
He bounced off the meter and hit the ground. The man then picked himself up, shook his
head, and walked into the meter again.
As he picked himself up the second time, an old blind man
left the bar and headed for the street corner, tapping his cane. The drunk saw the blind man at the corner,
ran over, got the older man by the sleeve and led him across the road.
At this point my father left the bar, laughing. As he opened the car door, he said to my
mother, “If that isn’t the blind leading the blind, I don’t know what is!”
