Page "Frederick Buechner" Paragraph 20

::" I was reading a magazine as I waited my turn at a barber shop one day when, triggered by a particular article and the photographs that went with it, there floated up out of some hitherto unexplored subcellar of me a character who was to dominate my life as a writer for the next six years and more.

He was a plump, bald, ebullient southerner who had once served five years in a prison on a charge of exposing himself before a group of children and was now the head of a religious diploma mill in Florida and of a seedy, flat-roofed stucco church called the Church of Holy Love, Incorporated.

He wore a hat that looked too small for him.

He had a trick eyelid that every once in a while fluttered shut on him.

His name was Leo Bebb.