July 4, 2007, afternoon in UTC-6 (aka US Central Time), I left the Kansas City airport and boarded a minibus heading for hotels downtown. The bus held the normal array of American travelers: a young man with a backpack, a couple of pairs of seniors, myself, a tall fiftyish man traveling alone, and others.
One couple, perhaps in their early sixties chattered back and forth. The husband, wearing thick glasses and looking unkempt, held out a GPS unit, complaining about the difficulty of getting a signal. He and his wife seemed strangely fixated on his concerns and, when I heard them talk about the convention hotel, I knew they were going to the same place as I. They reminded me of so many nerdish fans I’ve seen at science fiction conventions, aged perhaps thirty years. I rolled my eyes and hoped they’d quiet down as we traveled.
Then, as we left the airport, a cell phone rang in the back of the bus. A hearty voice answered and talked about getting people together, about meeting at the hotel, and about visiting Butler, Missouri.
Robert A. Heinlein, acclaimed by readers and writers as a grand masters of science fiction (the first receive that title from the Science Fiction Writers of America), was born in Butler, Missouri on July 7, 1907. I planned to attend to a convention in Kansas City that would celebrate the centennial of his birth.
When I heard about Butler, my ears pricked up. Some month’s earlier the convention organizers had posted about the possibly of arranging tours the Robert’s birthplace. I had bought my ticket to arrive a day early, hoping a tour would happen. Alas, the organizers never made it happen. When that fell through, I decided to make my own expedition to Butler, but had difficulty finding much information about relevant locations to see in that town. The convention organizers had not provided much information either.
Now, I sat in the minibus, listening to the tall, fiftyish guy in the back talking about visiting the library, the house, the museum, and the cemetery. I made mental notes. When he finished his call, arranging to meet the other party for dinner, I told myself I should introduce myself and ask about Butler. I speculated that he was another fan, making arrangements to see RAH’s birthplace. We might share a car rental or share plans.
But my introverted reluctance to risk contact with a stranger held me back and I let the opportunity go.
Later, after I checked in and had some time to rest, I regretted that decision.
Later still, I had a second chance.
Later than that, I got a bit of a surprise.