I conduct a lot of interviews – some in person, some via phone. Every one touches me in its own way. Maybe it’s a quick chat about the weather, or a short joke. Maybe it’s a tale of the land in which they live, insight into life in another part of the country.

There are noted personalities that leave their mark. Simon Estes was a joy who will be long remembered. I flat out fell in love with Merle Eberly of the Clarinda A’s. And I still chuckle at the noted beef expert who was downright giddy when he answered the phone because he had just pumped his grandchildren full of ice cream and handed them back to their parents.

There have been artists and musicians. I still have Ozzie Smith on speed dial. And way too many farmers and ranchers to even begin to mention. Most of their names wouldn’t ring a bell with the public, but they were, and some still are, special to me.

But a couple months ago I ran across an extraordinary gentleman and wiled away a Tuesday afternoon I will never forget.

At age 97, Bob Fridley remains witty, charming, and sharp as can be. His memory of times gone by is matched only by his curiosity about the world today. His generosity as a host and skill at steering a conversation is matched only by his warm smile and the twinkle in his eye.

We met in the conference room of his downtown Des Moines office where he still spends every afternoon, overseeing the family’s business, including the Fridley Movie Theatre chain. I was interviewing him for a feature in The Iowan Magazine (Jan/Feb 2015).

The office building is simple and functional. The conference room lined with movie posters much like the ones he helped print and distribute at his teenage job.

We talked for nearly three hours.

He told of Zsa Zsa Gabor greeting him with a kiss on the cheek every morning when they made a movie together. We talked about theaters and historic theater restoration. He told of the early days on the Jackrabbit circuit. We talked, of course, about the movie distribution business.

He told of the heartbreaking loss of his private movie and book collections in a New Year’s Eve fire. He also lost his grand piano. He still loves to play.

We compared notes on favorite old movies. He is partial to the Preston Sturges comedies. “Midnight” is his favorite. He knew Sturges from his Hollywood days. He enjoys the sophisticated comedy writing. So do I.

Near the end of the interview he trotted off to his office muttering about having something for me. He returned with a DVD of “Easy Living.” Not all of his collection was destroyed, and part of his office time is spent working on a computerized inventory of what remains. He was looking for “Midnight” but couldn’t find it. He said this was his second favorite. It now lives on the shelf with my most cherished mementos and autographed books.

As we talked, and talked, and talked, I had the profound sense this was one of those days I shall never forget, one of those personal and professional experiences that would change my perspective, make me see the world through new eyes.

At one point, he commented I probably didn’t want to “hear all this.”

I assured him I did. I might not use it all, but I was loving hearing it.

He laughed, and kept talking…

He said he felt as if we had been friends forever. I agreed.

We made a non-specific date for lunch.

As I prepared to leave, he asked about my work. I shared a few highlights, including interviewing Estes, working for the Sideys – my best attempts at name-dropping.

He looked at me with touching sincerity as he said, “You’ve had such an interesting life, too.”

It certainly got a lot more interesting that Tuesday afternoon.