ANY LIFE IS A COLLECTION of memories, merged into personal legend.
Usually those legends are closely held, and only variously revealed -- sometimes the stuff of family conversation at Thanksgiving dinners, and sometimes in solitary and intimate reminiscences, unshared.
But for some the personal legends become public, the stuff of celebrity. It may be in accomplishing a great deed, or conversely stem from shameful notoriety.
Rarest of all is the public legend unsought, the happenstance of circumstance, the unremarkable person wandering unsuspecting into a moment unbidden and unwanted, subject to the vagaries of fate.
And it was in this fashion that Lonnie Zamora -- who died this week at the age of seventy six -- found himself enveloped in a legend all his own.
THIS DIARY has moved to its new permanent home at Saturday Night Uforia.