My wife and I were having dinner a few months ago in the garden patio of a restaurant on Wooster Street in New Haven, not far from my old Connecticut stomping grounds. We had just placed our order when a fellow diner who looked to be about my age approached the table and, after a few pleasantries, asked whether by any chance I might be Michael Dobie.

Wary but curious, I confirmed my identity and asked who he was. When he replied, I was astonished.

Jack was one of my childhood friends, part of a tight-knit group of five who palled around the neighborhood. We did everything together all the time but grew apart when we went to different high schools. It had been well more than 50 years since we had seen one another. Jack said he first recognized my aunt, our dining companion who is 94 years old, then ID'd me when I joined the table after parking the car.

We wrapped each other in bear hugs, and started to........

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