Well, no so much a story about him, as it was about his obituary. It appears that he was a man who might have been worth knowing.
From a police officer in Tennessee:
I had the pleasure of arresting Mr. McCollough in Tennessee when he and his girlfriend were in Knoxville. They both had too much to drink and were arguing over Marlboro points when they were in town looking for the hotel where Hank Williams Sr. died. He asked me if I would keep his goat for him while he was in jail. I did. Willy and Freda both left town on bond and never came back. He would call a couple of times a year to check on his goat. The goat died five years later, but Willy still called to say hello at Christmas. I still have his Zippo lighter he left in the back seat of my patrol car.
(The rest of the story is here.)
I hope that when I shake off this mortal coil, kick the bucket, punch out, croak, die, that I can be remembered as well. I'd like to think someone out there would be happy to take care of my goat...
Its the legacy we leave behind that tells the story of how we lived.
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