When I stopped by the Fertile Hilton to visit Aunt Olla on Friday, another old-timer flagged me down. He had a comment about my column on the flu.

Turns out he knew the neighbor family who died of the flu. My numbers were a little high. He said there could have been others nearby who died, too, so he wasn't sure. But the one survivor was the one who had gone away to fight the war. He came home to find his family gone. He married a cousin of the man in the nursing home and moved away for good.

This man also said he had long heard that there was a family buried on the nursery grounds. Well! I hadn't heard that one. And I haven't seen any ghosts. I asked him where I could go to research this, but he didn't know. I have no intentions of digging.

It was supper time at the Fertile Hilton, so I brought Olla down to her table, met some of her friends, and made the rounds. Had to say hi to Milton. He was seated next to Norman. They were talking baseball. Back when they had the old town team, Milton was a pitcher--a sidearmer with a screwball--and Norman played left field, "and a good left field at that," Milton added.