Hunt & Alpine Club, Portland, Maine

“Johnny K was born in a little Kentucky town severely edited. He had no arms from the elbows and no legs from the knees. The ancient prosthetics, by our whizzbang standards, looked like they’d be more at home on a bicycle, than on a man. His hands were a doubled set of curled hooks connected to some cables, and his legs, which we never saw, were simpler still. From that little Kentucky town to Georgetown Law– his background and demeanor made him seem singularly and uniquely American. John strode the halls of DC power; or rather he rode those halls, preferring the gentle whirr of his rascal scooter to the difficult chore of walking. Tall, dapper, and dignified, even Gable-esque, he was adored by many Washington DC bartenders.
Which is why I felt unease and trepidation the night I saw him dismount his scooter and head for the barstool next to Susan, one of the pushiest liquor salespersons in the trade. Poor John would have to endure her endless small talk and sales pitches. He was literally a captive audience...."