Much has been written about Lewis Grizzard by those who knew him better in his productive years.
This is about Lewis when the world was young and some thoughts about the last mile. I first met him in 1964 when we were both wannabe writers, the sons of highly decorated World War II veterans who grew up in towns just 30 miles apart. We were politically incorrect before the term was invented, wool-dyed Cracker fans almost in the league with Chuck Dowdle, and unapologetically Southern. He was a fine athlete then, and at UGA he lit up the boards in crumbling Woodruff Hall more than once with his excellent jump shot. He shaved clean then and wore his hair combed over and tight, and he was physically bigger and more muscular than in later years. He showed us early the quick smile and legendary wit that would win him legions of loyal fans the world over.