Did I Meet Pynchon?

[Eric D. Dixon]

Back in 1992-1993, I was a full-time Mormon missionary proselyting in
northern Florida, and from early December through early April I worked out
of Starke, a small town about 35 miles SW of Jacksonville.  We did a lot of
walking around, knocking on doors, as many of you have probably seen
firsthand.  Since we covered not only Starke, but the large rural area
surrounding it, we'd frequently drive to a remote location and spend hours
knocking on one door after another, walking up and down dirt roads and long
driveways.

It usually took dozens of houses of rejection before reaching one where
people were actually interested in talking to us, particularly in a
community that was so heavily Southern Baptist.  ("Y'all are a cult!" was a
standard greeting...)  So one day, in mid-March, I believe, we knocked on
one of the doors of a small neighborhood skirting Kingsley Lake.  The guy
who answered the door wasn't particularly interested, but another guy
walked up behind him and asked us to come in for a minute.  Of course, we did.

Guy No. 2, who invited us in, asked us questions about how long we'd been
in the area, what we did as missionaries, how prevalent we were in northern
Florida, particularly in rural areas like this, etc.  He didn't want to
hear much about our religion per se, just primarily about the details of
our public activities and community presence.

At one point during our conversation, I asked him why he was so interested
those types of details, and he said he was a writer.  I asked his name.  He
declined to tell me -- he was living & doing research in the area under an
assumed name and preferred not to draw attention to himself.  I pressed
again, suggesting that it was probably unlikely that I had ever heard of
him anyway (disingenuous on my part, since I'd been studying modern lit
both in school and on my own time for quite awhile).  He declined again,
saying he really shouldn't.  Giving it one last shot, I promised that if he
told me his name I wouldn't tell anyone I'd met him there, even if I
recognized it.  He paused for a little longer than a moment, then chuckled
"I don't think so."

Oh well.  Pynchon has always come to my mind whenever I've thought about
this encounter, although I had no real reason to think it was him other
than their similar tastes for anonymity.  He also looked to me like he was
in his mid- to late-forties, younger than I'd expect Pynchon to look.
Maybe it was Neal Stephenson doing research for the first book in his
newly-acquired role as Pynchon... 8^)

At any rate, when people on the list mentioned a few weeks ago that Pynchon
had lived and done some research in Florida for an upcoming novel, I
started to wonder again.  Did I meet Pynchon?  It'll be interesting to see
whether his next novel includes details about Mormon missionaries or
Kingsley Lake.

Eric D. Dixon

"The attitude that life owes us something, if not everything,
encourages life to thwart our endeavours. This life may not
provide justice, but it is fairer than we might like it to be.
When we act as we like, we get what we want; but not what we
need." -- Robert Fripp