sixty-five, Marty Blanchard was the hardest-working man I knew. Small and whipcord lean, he’d grown up roping cattle on a ranch in Wyoming and then served a ten-year stint in the navy. After he married Mom, he’d worked ceaselessly at the diner, acting as the head cook, janitor, and general handyman. Although I was the first one at the diner in the mornings, he was the last one to turn out the lights at night.
65yr old man and he can't run a small ass diner after all the other crazy life careers?? And how did he become a cook??