Jimmie groomed a horse called Jake the Prince — a beautiful gray thoroughbred, a stakes-race winner, an unbelievable horse. Jimmie slept in tack rooms and took his footlocker track to track, traveling the circuit with Jake the Prince. Any chance Jimmie got he’d take Jake out to graze. He’d lie on the ground while Jake ate grass and talk to him, pet him, give him apples. Jimmie and Jake were meant for each other. The horse would always nicker at Jimmie when he saw him coming.

Jimmie would say, Sonia, you want a candy bar? Sonia, you want some coffee? Oh sure, Jimmie, I’d say, that would be nice. Sometimes we’d get tacos together at Ron Hegel’s restaurant in Omaha, Nebraska. Everyone else thought he was weird — Crazy Jimmie! But he had the same boss for years and he was an excellent worker.

Jake the Prince ended up breaking a leg in a race and had to be put down. After that, nobody seen Jimmie for a while. We were worried about him. He wasn’t a drunk by no means, but after he lost Jake, he went on a bender and disappeared for a month.

Eventually he came back and we went to Ron Hegel’s for lunch one afternoon. After we ordered, Jimmie started talking and didn’t stop. He told me about how he’d been a prisoner of war in Vietnam. He told it like he was reliving it. It was horrible, what he told me.

Back at the track, he showed me a folded piece of paper he kept in his footlocker. It was an article about when he and the other POWs got rescued. It listed the names of the soldiers and how long they’d been held. Jimmie was in there longest.

After his release, the army delivered all the letters he’d missed over the years. He found out his brother committed suicide and his mother died, too. He had nobody left when he came home.

I said, Jimmie, let’s get you some benefits — you should be entitled to something, you deserve it. But he didn’t want no one else to know about it. He was ashamed — or I don’t know what he was — but he refused. He wanted nothing to do with the government — no money, no help, no way.

C’MON, CHARLIE!

Johnny Block kept a pet fox called Roxy, a badger called Red, a pheasant called Ted, some ferrets, a few snakes, a myna bird, and a crow called Charlie. Crows are great talkers and Charlie talked beautifully.

C’mon Charlie! Johnny would say, and Charlie would flap over and land on Johnny’s shoulder. Charlie’s wings were clipped to keep him from flying too far. At lunchtime he’d sit next to me and I’d share my sandwich with him. I’d toss the meat in the air and he’d catch it.