Tell Me, I'll Listen

It was my first reading for one.

I went to Chop Suey Books to hear Jack Trammell read from his new book, "The Richmond Slave Trade," only to end up being the only person who came.

Besides his wife, that is, and she joined me in the audience, but I'm not sure if she really counted.

The book grew out of a Washington Times article he'd written on slavery which had gotten so much response that his publisher suggested a book.

It's the story of the economic factors that fed into the Civil War, namely the selling and renting of human chattel.

As he put it, a slave cost as much as an Escalade, or roughly $40,000 in today's money.

What was most interesting was how the money from slave trading was then funneled to northern banks where it was used to finance the Industrial Revolution.

So while the notherners and abolitionists were saying they abhorred slavery, they apparently didn't mind profiting from it.

And that doesn't even count the speculation and futures buying that went on with the slave trade.

"This was a myth-busting project," Trammel said and I could see why.

He spoke of Wall Street, the area of Richmond servicing the slave trade with clothiers, doctors and life insurance agents and located between 14th and 18th Streets.

Doug Wilder had been scheduled to write the introduction but after that whole slavery museum fiasco, that idea was scrapped.

Since I'd never had a reading done exclusively for me, I wasted no time in asking whatever questions I had of Trammel after his talk and reading.

Leaving there, I saw a familiar face down the block at Secco and stopped in to say hello.

Next thing I know, I was having a glass of 2007 San Rustico Rpipasso "Gaso," recommended as medium to full bodied and promising dried cherries.

A few delicious sips in and a couple asked if they could occupy the stools next to me.

Glad for the company, I found myself having stellar conversation with an ad director and former chef about aging, our first concerts, restaurants and memory.

Some of their memories included amazing Mama Zu stories, like when a customer stood up and began singing an aria during dinner.

Another customer soon rose from the table, went over and pulled the plug on the juke box, the better to hear, resulting in applause.

Opera must be heard.

Or the time when a table of obnoxious used car salesmen trash-talked so loudly that Ed eventually went over, cleared their table with his arm and told them to get out of his restaurant.

I'd have paid to see that.

With stories like those, they were exactly the kind of people I want to randomly run into when I stop by a wine bar to say hi to a friend.

Let's face it, I am more than happy to be an audience of one, whether it's to a history writer or a charming couple.

One isn't always the loneliest number.

Sometimes it's the one that gets you the best time.