The Most Interesting Man in the World -- Prologue

PROLOGUE – Containing an Older Gentleman, a Thin Young Man, a Studious-Looking Fellow, and some Others, besides an Account of what happened at their late Conference.

It was a rather upscale party on the second floor of an upscale apartment building in an upscale area of town. It was very late, and by the looks of it, the bulk of the party was over. The tables once full of food were mostly empty except for a few crumbs of cake in a pan or some leftover meat juice partially flooding a large plate. Red and white colored confetti, empty soda bottles, deflating balloons, and bits of pretzel and potato chip lay scattered around the room, and a few metal chairs still sat where their occupants had left them when they departed.

But not everyone had left the place, for off to one side of the room there was a strange and rare sight to behold – a group of mostly young people, silent and unmoving, staring with rapt attention at an older gentleman in their midst. As I said, it was a rare and strange sight to behold.

“And that,” said the older gentleman as he prepared to swallow a bit more of his drink, “Was exactly the way it happened!” After he took his sip, he stated emphatically, “Every word of it!”

A thin young man, who happened to be holding the slender hand of the blonde on his right, swallowed for what seemed like the first time in hours (his mouth had been open the whole time) and looked around at his young peers.

“Why, I do believe that this is the most interesting man in the world!” he croaked with unpretending awe. More than one of his companions nodded or grunted in agreement. The older gentleman simply waved his hand in dismissal as he put down his drink.

“Bah! That’s nonsense,” he said. “But I will say that there are many other stories I could tell you besides that!”

“I can hardly believe you could even have any more fascinating experiences than those ones!” squeaked a girl behind the man. “I wish I could hear them all, though!”

“Well, you shan’t tonight,” stated the old man matter-of-factly. “It’s well past my proper bedtime! And, I should say, yours too!”

“True enough, sir, but – but,” stammered a studious-looking fellow dressed in what would have been a nice suit (if it had been ironed and if his tie had been put on correctly). The old man turned to look at the young man, who gulped as he struggled to make eye contact with him.

“Well, I was just thinking, sir, that your stories are far too wonderful to just tell to people like us. They should be written down for the whole world to read them!” The entire group of young people nodded and grunted anew in agreement with this astute statement. And astute it was, as you shall soon learn.

The gentleman took the last sip of his drink and held it in his mouth for a second as he paused, then swallowed. “I don’t like to draw attention to myself,” he said simply. “And I’m no writer, at my age.”

“But – but – you don’t have to be,” stammered the fellow in the rumpled suit. “I – well, sir – I could manage to jot down whatever you have to say about your life stories. Here – I’ll give you my card, and you can look me up whenever it’s convenient.”

The gentleman reached to take the offered card from the fellow. He looked down at it and then back up at the group, all without changing his expression.

“I suppose I will consider it,” he said, which elicited an excited murmur from the group. “But,” – here the man raised a cautionary hand – “I make no promises. You shall hear from me only if I decide to do it, but don’t wait for me. Go about your life – you have enough of it left to interest you without having to worry about mine, which is as good as gone now. And so is my energy. Friends,” he said as his very movement cleared a path for him from amidst the small group, “I am going home to bed – I wish you all a very pleasant evening – or shall I say morning.”

The older gentleman walked out the door of the place without a further word. The young people were left just as speechless in his wake, until the studious-looking fellow adjusted his glasses and spoke.

“I believe you’re right, Howard,” he said, addressing the thin young man; “That man has to be the most interesting man in the world!”

Whether such is the case is for you, not for me, to decide. What happens to be very much the case is that the world is very much indebted to that studious-looking fellow in the rumpled suit – who, incidentally, happens to not be so young anymore, but still as studious-looking. For indeed he did write down the old gentleman’s stories, working for a period of about three years, which happened to be the remaining period of the gentleman’s lifespan from the night of that party. Without our friend, the old man’s stories would have died with him. What follows is the studious-looking fellow’s compilation of the old man’s stories, taken just as he wrote them down.