I happened to be in the neighborhood recently, so I dropped by the retirement home where Dirty Harry Callahan presently resides.
I found him out on the grounds a hundred yards from the main building. He sat dozing in his wheelchair in the shade of an ash tree. A peaceful scene. But it was sad, seeing him sitting there with his head bowed and a blanket covering his legs.
In the hope of making my visit more welcome, I had brought a couple of bottles of cold beer in a container, so I didn’t hesitate to give him a gentle tap on the shoulder.
Wow! That man can still move. A .357 Magnum shot out from beneath that blanket so fast that I almost dropped my beer container. As he realized it was me, he relaxed a bit and tucked the weapon back under the blanket.
“Be careful,” he said in a low voice.
I breathed a sigh of relief, remembering that I should have made more noise on my approach.
“Hi Dirty,” I said. I’ve known him since the first time he got suspended for insubordination, so we’ve long been on a first name basis. “How about a cold beer?
I wouldn’t say no.” He glanced around to make sure none of the attendants were hovering nearby.
I popped a bottle and handed it to him.
By the time he had finished his second bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of a purpleish hand, he managed a contented smile.
“Dirty,” I said. “You know, over the years you’ve come up with some pretty good ones like, “Make my day.” But the world has changed a lot since you were active on the force. What do you think about life today and man’s place in this modern world? Anything for today?”
Dirty looked at me for a long moment and then smiled faintly. “Yeah, I’d like to say one thing: A man has to know his computer’s limitations.”