Coincidences Over the Years by Jack Evans

II

As an airline passenger I never sat beside an old school chum of forty bygone years but a similar event, as improbable did occur. It was a beautiful early summer afternoon as I drove toward Boston through Cambridge on Commonwealth Avenue. As a city street, six lanes wide, it had its full complement of traffic signals. The signal ahead changed to red. I rolled to a stop in the left lane of the three on-going lanes. The windows of my vehicle were open to let in the summer breeze. A sporty convertible, top down, pulled along side; it attracted my attention. Surprisingly the driver appeared familiar and before I could place him, he shouted a greeting, “Hi, there, Prof. Evans!” He was Bill Britton, a former student at the University of Rochester.

He yelled, “I’m on my way to work at B.U.!” (Boston University).

It puzzled me that he was on his way to work at 2:30 in the afternoon but that happen stance added to the mystery of the chance meeting. When one considers that my visits to Boston were infrequent and that the total number of University of Rochester graduates in optics in the entire Boston area at that time was ten at the most, the chance meeting of any one of them on the highway in mid-afternoon was extremely small, perhaps a figure like one in several million.

III

The Wednesday night basketball season for Velmex employees had just begun in the old Hemlock School. The previous season an incident occurred there, which was uncanny. To begin with, we rarely had spectators at our games. However, one night a player from Honeoye brought his girlfriend. She sat upon the stage of the combined auditorium gym.

During one of the rest periods, out of hospitality and curiosity, I approached her and asked if she, too, was from Honeoye. Yes, she was, and I then inquired if she had attended the Honeoye School.

“No,” she said without further comment.

My curiosity impelled me to ask, “Well, where did you go to school?”

She replied, “Oh, you wouldn’t know of the school I went to. It was in a small village in northern New York.”

“Oh, really?” I pressed on, “What village?”

“Hammond”, she replied as if it were located in Siberia.

“Hammond!” I blurted. “I know it well, it’s inland from Oak Point on the St. Lawrence. I attended a wedding at the Presbyterian Church in Hammond. The street where the church is located leads to Oak Point and at its juncture with the main village street stands the Citizen’s National Bank. At one time a close friend of mine had her family’s sterling silverware stored in the bank’s vault for three weeks. I remember on the main street a little restaurant and two small grocery stores, one had a five and dime department. I explored the old railroad depot and the abandoned Utica-Ogdensburg branch of the New York Central Railroad in Hammond. In fact, I know two graduates of the University of Rochester by the name of Hammond that live in the Hammond Township!”

The girl was amazed that I was knowledgeable about Hammond. What astounded me was that a once-in-a-blue-moon spectator at our ballgame attended school in that far away, off the beaten path village with which I was familiar. I’ll give this chance occurrence a figure of one in fifty thousand.

IV

About six months ago, Evie, in the adjoining office directed a phone call to me from Northbrook, Illinois. The caller was Dick Lepman, a long time friend and a member of our Board of Directors.

“Jack”, he said, “I noticed a classified ad in a farm journal that some farmer in Holcomb, N.Y. is raising and offering for sale a breed of beef cattle called Scottish Highland. I’m considering purchasing a couple of them to start a herd on our property up in Michigan.”

Dick described the beasts and their merits as beef cattle and asked me if I knew of this cattleman who gave an address on Taft Road. He expressed surprise that someone in Holcomb, N.Y. would be raising this uncommon breed of cattle. Dick wanted to know if I knew or had heard of this farmer by the name of Oliver Scott.

“No, Dick, I don’t know of a Mr. Scott on Taft Road or anything about Scottish Highland cattle. Wait a minute, Dick, there is some commotion in the adjoining office!”

Indeed, there was twittering laughter. Evie and Alayne were beside themselves. Through the doorway I could see Evie was on the verge of hysteria.

In a loud voice I asked, “Evie, do you know of someone in West Bloomfield that raises Scottish Highland beef cattle?”

Back on the phone, “Dick, this chap in West Bloomfield is Evie’s ex-husband. She should know him well! Let me switch you over to her!”

What a combination of coincidences: that a beef cattle advertisement caught the eye of Dick, that Dick was quite well acquainted with Holcomb although he lives 700 miles distant, that the local cattle raiser was the ex-husband of Evie. Without any meaningful calculations, I give this probability of one in a hundred thousand.

V

My 1956 model “run-about” motorboat hadn’t been in the water in about fifteen years. I decided to refurbish it inside and out. That Spring, after I had the boat looking practically new and before it was launched, I transported the 1956 model, 40 horsepower Mercury outboard motor to a marina for a check-up. I mentioned to the marina operator that during the long period of non-use the motor ignition key had disappeared. He said not to worry; he had on hand over a hundred Mercury ignition keys, and that once I had installed the motor on the boat, to trailer it to his marina so that all of his keys could be tried.

A few days later I brought the boat, motor and trailer to the marina. The marina operator tried his whole assortment of keys totaling one hundred and twenty-two in the ignition lock. Not one of them fit!

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He replied. His mind seemed blank and I was left to fend for myself.

Back at home I examined the metal case attached to the inner hull beside the driver’s seat which housed the gear shift mechanism, the throttle, and the ignition lock. The case measured about 10 x 5 x 1-1/2 inches. By detaching it from the hull it appeared that the case was made in two longitudinal symmetrical die cast shells held together by machine screws.

My plan was to take apart the case and remove the ignition lock so that it could be taken to a locksmith. Upon opening the case the interior mechanism including the lock were all cast into one large solid rubber harness. The lock, a cylinder about an inch and a half in diameter and an inch thick was firmly held in its rubber surround. I tried to push it out by hand but to no avail. I hesitated to exert too large a force for fear of damaging the lock.

At that juncture it seemed prudent to place a telephone call to Outboard Marine in Wisconsin. A male voice answered in the service department. I told him my problem. He responded, “We have a mechanic in our shop who was here when that motor was manufactured back in 1956. Let me connect you with him.”

This seasoned employee gave me great encouragement. He said that the lock could be pushed out of the rubber harness by sufficient force. I thanked him and returned to the task. Sure enough, with a small disc of wood to spread the force and a few hammer taps the lock emerged!

Now, I was ready to seek the services of a locksmith, the closest one was halfway into Rochester. My plan was to stop there before picking up a repaired sail at the sail makers. The locksmith examined the lock briefly and reported in a demeaning manner, “This lock is not a ball and tumbler lock and the mechanism, whatever it is, is sealed in the case. The lock case would be practically destroyed to get at the lock. If I could repair it, the cost would be $40, at least. It wouldn’t be worth it. You should get a new lock.”

I didn’t bother to tell him that there was no such thing as a replacement lock and went on my way quite dejected.

The sail maker’s loft was on the second floor of a large old industrial building with a stairway leading up from a parking lot. At the ground level, two men were working on the entrance door of the building. As I approached they stepped aside and I inquired, “Are you, by chance, locksmiths?”

To my amazement they both answered in the affirmative. I explained my quandary to them briefy and asked them if they would take a look at my keyless lock. They agreed and the older of the two men scrutinized the lock closely.

He offered, “I can take an impression of the inside of this lock and have a key for you tomorrow morning by ten o’clock.”

I reacted with, “Wow, terrific!” It all seemed too good to be true!

I gave him my telephone number. He said he would call me before ten the next day.

About nine the next morning the locksmith was on the wire, “I have a key for you,” he said.

“That’s terrific! Make me another, I’d like to have two,” I responded.

An hour later, I picked up the lock and the new keys at the 1ockmaster’s place of business close to the city center.

“It’ll be fourteen dollars,” he said.

I never parted with fourteen dollars any more joyously before or since exclaiming, “If I ever know anyone that needs a locksmith I’m sending him to you.”

With regard to the probability of crossing paths with the locksmith at the door of the sail maker it can be arrived at using reasonable assumptions. Supposing the frequency of the visits of the locksmith is one service call every five years. Let’s say that there are 250 working days in the year or 1250 in five years.

Now, further consider that his service call requires one hour. Actually, it is likely that less time than an hour is necessary, but assume that between 9:00 AM and 4:00 PM there are three, one hour periods in the morning and three in the afternoon, hence six periods, or time slots, per day that he might be on hand. There are, therefore, 1250 x 6 or 7500 time slots in five years and the probability of any one of them being occupied is 1/7500.

For my visits to the sail maker during the 7500 time slots over 5 years, there will be 2 days per year or 10 days in 5 years x 6 time slots or 60 that may connect with one of those of the locksmith, or a probability of 60/7500, or 1/125. The combined probability of crossing paths is then the product of 1/125 and 1/7500 or 1/937,500, very close to one in a million!

The probable time span over which a coincidence would occur is the number of time slots that can be sampled per year, i.e. 7500/5 or 1500/year divided into 937,500 or 625 years, considerably less than the million for that brainy baboon. But obviously, both the baboon and I need a drastic increase in longevity if we are to achieve our goals.

As a subject for speculation, will the biological researchers in reconstructing our genes, and other feats of molecular manipulations within our bodies, extend our longevity to as much as a thousand years? On a more modest scale, what are the probabilities that our life spans will be doubled, or tripled, or quadrupled, in say, 500 years? These probabilities are intriguing but who would hazard a guess?