Final word for now

As a child, my mother assured me our family name was unusual, and the only others in the U.S. so named lived in Grand Blanc, Michigan, a small village near Flint. In the age of the internet, I discovered there are thousands, possibly millions, of them to whom I don't believe we are related.

One is or was a sportswriter in Chicago, but there don't seem to be any whom it would be advantageous for me to pretend to be.

I will still remember Sgt. Elliott as one of the most pleasant liars I have ever known, but that reduces the number of celebrity encounters I can claim by one, and, after all, every dropped name and $1.25 can get you a cup of coffee.

PARENTHETICALLY: The mother of my children went to heaven before she could claim her beverage for having gone to high school with the Smothers Brothers. Additionally, my grandson's father's bachelor party was held at Dr. Dre's. How about my son's laying carpet or tile at some country star's home (I don't remember which one[s]) in Nashville?