Jim Sheeler: When the intelligent man in the thrift-store clothes parked his rickety bicycle outside a restaurant or bar, the customers heard him before they saw him, and everyone knew to prepare for another round of Harry.
With his commanding voice, the tall, athletically chiseled man would immediately edge his way into conversations, stirring debate, often just for the sake of debate. If anyone listened, he would eventually steer the conversation toward his favorite subject: himself. He would ramble about his days as an engineering student and star athlete at Cornell University, and his days working at the Climax mine in Leadville. He would talk about how he helped develop the Apollo moon suit, the time he pedaled that rattletrap bicycle from Denver to Delaware. He might go on for hours about his encyclopedic knowledge of jet engines, his slew of divorces, and his travels through Greece and Sweden. He would rail against politicians and the state of the world and . . .
Yes, yes, the people of Aspen would say. They had heard all the stories. Some of them even knew that those stories were actually true. But enough already, they told him. One of the bars he frequented even posted a hand-written sign behind the bar.
"SHUT UP HARRY!" it read.
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