When I first came to Oneonta thirty years or so ago I first met George Hamway sitting in his old rust bucket of a truck on Southside.

Every town has their eccentrics.  Folks that come in and out of our lives leaving a mark, usually small and almost unnoticeable marks, but still they register with those of us who are fellow travelers in life.

George was dirty and smelly but quirky in a charming way.  He was always blowing kisses to the ladies and I don't think he ever missed a passing car that he did not wave to.  It seems that those "of a certain age" in Oneonta all have a George Hamway story.

Do you?