Reeves Gilmore
Adventures of a (Mostly) First Class Guy: A Chronicle follows a wistful East Texas boy's coming of age and the journeys and adventures that Life brought to him. From Europe to the Far East, from Canada to Mexico and places in between, the writer shares his experiences and travels as his childhood dreams come to life. From mountain to sea, by train and plane, from haunted castles to floods and earthquakes, the reader shares in the adventures of a First Class Guy ... mostly!
Reeves Gilmore is a proud Native Texan who knew from an early age that not even the 268,000 plus square miles that the great Lone Star State had to offer would be enough for him. Little by little, trip by trip over a half century his world has expanded. He holds a Bachelor's Degree in Architecture and has earned his Master's in Dreaming and Wandering. A first time author, he lives in Houston with his partner of twenty-five years and their menage of felines, Clay, Tallulah, Brando, and Fess.
We set out for the Galleria dell’ Accademia to see the famed statue of David, Michelangelo’s wonder of the world. A replica stood in the Piazza d. Signoria near the hotel, but I had to see the real thing. Crossing the piazza at the Duomo, I was attacked by a band of gypsy children. My Inspector Clouseau trench coat cinched at the waist must have screamed, “Tourist!” Grasping, grubby, little hands swarmed all over as the urchins searched me like flies on a corpse. All I could think to yell was “Andiamo!” But of course, that was wrong. I had just issued an invitation for the marauders to join me by saying, “Let’s go!” I certainly had no intention of bringing them along, but it was not an opportune time to locate my handy phrase book and research the Italian phrase “ottengami le vostre mani grubby fuori” (get your grubby hands off of me). As if my utterances in any language would have meant a thing to the little buggers anyway. As quickly as they had descended, the roving locusts withdrew getting nothing from me except a little of my dignity.
There was no waiting at the Accademia. We entered, turned into a long sculpture gallery, and at the end, bathed in glorious sunlight, stood David, the magnificent David. It is a sight, without exaggeration, that will take your breath. Just to behold him made me tear up. Stealing a quote from one of my favorite tear-jerkers, “An Affair to Remember,” a crying Deborah Kerr said it all when she spoke, “Beauty does that to me.” And so it did with me, such magnificence is beyond the power of words; there absolutely was nothing to say.
