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A Dollar in the Jar: Tribute to Leonard Bishop

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Beginnings When I rang the door bell in the summer of 2000, a plump man in his late seventies answered. He looked similar to Rodney Dangerfield, especially in the nose. We had never met before, and I wasn’t certain if my friend, who had initially invited me, informed him about my arrival. The writer’s meeting was supposed to start at 7:30 p.m. every Thursday. It had been a ritual for nearly a decade. He tilted a half smile anyway, eyes beaming at a pretty girl, and invited me in. His white T-shirt and dark, crinkly slacks was not the style I had envisioned. Also, it was evident he needed a hair cut because the length reached over his ears. I had envisioned a distinguished beard or pipe or even a brown sweater with leather patches at the elbows. After all, wasn’t that a standard for aging writers? I followed him into his dining room, a short distance from the front door. He had a slight limp, which later I learned about his club foot, one of the many difficulties he overcame