If you lived in Santa Barbara for the last 30 years there is a good chance that Jonathan Winters was your friend. He knew no strangers, and as he ambled around the upscale pueblo of Montecito it was very likely that he would grant you a JW encounter to cherish forever.
At the lunch buffet line, another aspiring writer motioned to a basket of tortilla chips: "I guess they knew you were coming." There were so many ways I wanted to respond, but I just couldn't find the right voice. I looked around. The majority of the attendees were white.