The beautiful old hotel in Marietta, Ohio, stands like a graceful and beautiful lady next to the Ohio River. Midnight found me, the bartender, and an old sea captain in this beautiful riverside hotel where a life-changing event was waiting for me.

In his low, gravelly voice, he more or less demanded I join him at the bar. Life had punched me in the gut and I was trying to drown my troubles. So what the heck, I joined him. Deep in our conversation he had me sitting bolt upright, which was not that easy in the wee hours of the morning.

“I want to tell you the story of latitude and longitude.” He had a captive audience so all I could do was listen. He began. “Once in the great Atlantic I was washed overboard by a rogue wave. Later I was told everyone thought I was in my quarters but I was on the fantail having a smoke, a terrible habit that everyone thought I had quit. So eight long hours went by since everyone thought I was asleep. Not too long in the water, I heard voices and a band playing. I figured I was at the end. It wasn’t very long until a voice yelled out “take care and God bless.” Two days later an empty life boat bumped into me and I was rescued.

“I kept this story to myself for years. Then one night, just like tonight, I was pouring down drinks when I decided to share my story with an old sea captain. I figured with both of us stone drunk, I at least had an excuse for being crazy. Well, he did not laugh. He took a puff on an old beat up pipe. I told quite a story and he believed every word. If you go back and check your latitude and longitude, you will find a great tragedy took place right at that very spot. When there is the right humidity or an anniversary, things like this happen.”

The next day found me at the library. There, right before my eyes, was an in-depth story about the Titanic – sunk at the same latitude and longitude described by the captain. I still felt that punch in the stomach that life had given me. As I traveled a million miles away from Marietta to the quaint town of Egypt, Georgia – I remembered the happiest time of my life when I was eight to ten years old. It was a wonderful time spent on the farm with Grandpa, my hero. I can’t forget Grandpa’s best friend Josh. Josh was like a prophet right off the pages of the Bible, with his flawless black skin, soft and deep brown eyes, and white stubble on his cheeks. Side by side, they tended 180 acres. After a long day in the fields, the three of us ate dinner on the back porch. At Grandpa’s request, Josh would sing an old gospel hymn.

I found the spot where the old farmhouse once sat but the house was long gone. Thinking about what the captain had told me, I parked the car, turned off the engine, and listened to the army of birds, each one trying to sing louder than the other. I soon fell asleep but awoke from my dream with a startle – a dream about that back porch, Grandpa, Josh, and chicken and rice. Blasting on the radio was the song that Grandpa most often requested of Josh. “Amazing Grace!” The car was off. The radio was off. Nevertheless, I got my answer. Sometimes life slows just a bit to let you catch up.

Back at the hotel, I went to see the bartender. I wanted to see where I could find the captain so I could thank him for sharing his wisdom. “Walt, I’m sorry to tell you but you were drinking by yourself and you really kept me working late. A captain you say. I never saw an old captain. It could have been the drinks or if you go out in the lobby, you might recognize the picture on the wall. He’s helped me out a couple of times.”

Suddenly, that heavy cross I was carrying turned out to be a tiny splinter. As for that punch in the gut – it wasn’t a punch after all.

***

Walter A. Pavlo is a columnist for the Parkersburg News and Sentinel.