His name was Jim. He was a science nut. He won the county science fair two years in a row and went on to MIT. I think he works for NASA now. Jim was always tinkering in his basement. I was welcome, encouraged even, to join him whenever I liked. I would sit on a high stool for hours and just watch him. I think he enjoyed having a dedicated audience of one. Jim built his own shortwave radio that we both listened to. He practically swooned when he heard scratchy voices from the South Pacific, but I was too young to be amazed. He always had a jawbreaker in his mouth, and when he wasn’t clacking it against his teeth he kept up a constant mutter about everything he did, as if he were a play-by-play announcer describing a game. “And now Jim is soldering the wire to the whatsits….” More than anything I looked forward to Jim saying, “Whoa!” That’s what he said when something surprised or astounded him. It didn’t happen often, maybe only one or two “Whoas!” a week on average.
