Ken Hamm of Natchitoches, Louisiana was a Harley-riding, ultra-right-wing conservative, but he was a friend of mine. We never argued over our opposing viewpoints. He'd state his point of view and I'd state mine, and that was the end of it. He died last year of a heart attack, and I miss him.

Because of Ken's heart condition, he knew his time on earth was limited, but that knowledge didn't seem to bother him. He made his own casket, and when he died they placed his body in it and carried him to his grave in the rear of his souped-up pickup truck—escorted by the thundering roar from most of the Harley-Davidson motorcycles in north Louisiana. He wore to his grave a black leather Harley-Davidson motorcycle jacket and a black motorcycle helmet with little horns epoxied on it. I hope they concealed a pistol in his boot because he was familiar with both ends of a gun and would have wanted to carry one on his last, eternal journey. He always kept a pistol hidden somewhere on his person, and he kept at least one more hidden somewhere in his vehicle. He was extremely proud of the fact that he had been shot in the ass in Vietnam.

Got a mental picture of Ken Hamm? Here's a tale he told me at the bar in the Sport A Pack Lounge in Grand Ecore, Louisiana:

The Hitchhiker     

One day around noon my friend Ken Hamm was driving up an Interstate highway and driving his wife's new Lincoln Continental if I remember the story correctly. He needed to answer Nature's call, so he pulled the car into a rest area. He did his business, then returned to the car. As he prepared to open the door, a young man standing on the nearby sidewalk asked for a ride to a city a few miles up the Interstate. Ken said, "Sure." Off they soon drove.

About ten miles up the Interstate, the hitchhiker suddenly pulled a knife. Then he said, "Give me your wallet."

Ken reached his left hand back for his wallet and came out not with his wallet but with a Colt .45 automatic pistol. Then he said, "Roll down your window and throw out that f__kin' knife."

The hitchhiker did as ordered. Ken then said, "Do exactly as I say or I'll shoot you. I don't want to shoot you because it'd get blood all over the inside of my wife's car, and at this range the bullet would go through you and punch a hole in the door. Understand?"

"Y-y-yes sir."

"Take off all your clothes and throw ‘em in the back seat."

Again, the hitchhiker did as ordered. "Socks, too," Ken said.

The hitchhiker soon sat there completely naked. Ken pulled the car to the side of the Interstate and stopped. Then he said, "Get out."

When the naked hitchhiker got out of the car, Ken drove away and left him standing there.