Autumn 1991 – An Ode to Sammy Weiser

“Some days,” said Martin, “I scuttle. Some days I gallop. Some days I trot.” He lifted a hand to show me a heavily calloused palm and fingers. He laughed at my expression. “I used to have soft hands. Now I could probably sand wood with them.”

“Is the transformation continuing?” I asked.

“It seems that way,” he said. “I turn my head 360 degrees. I can do the same at my hips and shoulders. I can’t quite manage to do it with my spine but I’m getting close.”