It had been a long and busy month setting up my paint enameling business.  As  I sat down behind my large executive desk,  just to rest a bit,  I was thinking that it will be a long time before I actually get to use my fancy office,  because  the production line will be taking most of my time.  As I was gazing out the doorway to the work area,  a  neatly dressed man entered  the shop. My secretary pointed to me as he headed for my office. I recognized him as my neighbor across the street who was always referred to as  Tuxedo Tony,  the  dapper dresser  who always wore a carnation in his lapel.

"Hi there, my name is Tony and I own the warehouse across the street," he said.  "I just  wanted to say hello and to welcome you to the neighborhood." I gave him a tour of my fledgling enameling shop and as he was leaving, I asked him  how did he get his nickname  Tuxedo Tony? 

"Darned if I know"  he said.  " Everyone in the neighborhood seems to have acquired  a funny  nickname. There's Crazy Jake, Money Marvin, Cadillac Jack, Sad Sam, Babble Bob  just to name a few. After you've been here awhile you'll  probably acquire a funny nickname as well."

About  three months later, as my business was  still struggling along,  I began hearing  about an eccentric millionaire operating a most successful business in my area of Los Angeles. It was said that he had a legion of employees and a huge fleet of trucks.    Those who had seen him, called him by a nick-name he earned because of his shabby and dirty work clothes. Raggedy Andy's  brown jacket was reportedly so badly ripped, torn and frayed, that it could no longer be classified as a jacket. No one really understood why the wealthy, successful Raggedy Andy insisted on wearing such shabby attire.

My curiosity about this elusive character was about equal to everyone else's except  one day I heard that he was in the same type of business that I was -- paint enameling. Curiosity snowballed into obsession as I was eager to discover what products his company was painting that proved so lucrative for him.    Many inquiries were made for several months that were to prove fruitless. Nothing but nebulous information was the reward for my sleuthing. And yet, tales of Raggedy Andy and his vast business accomplishments echoed throughout the area.

At the local coffee shop,  a popular hangout for the  area businessmen and workers, an old  friend spotted me entering and motioned me over to his table. He introduced a gentleman sitting across from him who he said could shed  some light on Raggedy Andy.  I fired a flurry of questions  at him, "Do you know the name of Raggedy Andy's company?" 

A puzzled look crept across his face. He said, as he  pointed to me,  "Why you are Raggedy Andy!"  I laughed. He called a co-worker over to him  to identify Raggedy Andy. The co-worker also brandished the same puzzled facial expression, and waving his hand towards me  asked, "Why, isn't he?"

Sitting around cups of coffee, the four of us talked about this. They insisted that for a long time I had been singled out as Raggedy Andy and they referred to my shabby jacket (an old, badly worn jacket used only for cold weather painting). After 10 minutes of discussion, they were finally convinced that it was simply a case of mistaken identity. Since my work clothes and jacket fit his general description, it was obvious that I had been inadvertently pointed out as Raggedy Andy. My score on this project had sunk to an all time low.  I was now officially  giving up out of sheer frustration.

A few weeks later, I stopped by a near-by hot dog stand for lunch and grabbed the only empty stool. To my dismay, it was the stool next to a very familiar and neatly dressed lady. In the past, if this  sexy  redhead found herself seated next to me, she would shift herself and her stool away from me. Clothes and shoes splattered with a multiplicity of colors must have disagreed with her. This time however, she moved closer, smiled warmly and proceeded to qualify herself for a world record in charm and chatter. 

After she departed and left me totally mystified,  I solicited the cook's opinion as to what had come over her. He  told  me that the day before, she had asked what I did for a living that could explain my unkempt appearance.  "So I told her you were Raggedy Andy," said the cook. "Where did you get that false information?," I said.  "Why, you have been called that for a long time now,"  he said. " You sat down here when you first went into business and one of my customers inquired about that Raggedy Andy guy over there. I didn't want him to think that you  were just a nobody because of the way you dressed,  so I told him you were  very  wealthy with many employees and trucks and that you dressed that way  to be inconspicuous."

I should have known. For this kindly old cook always built all of his steady customers to greater heights than they actually were, probably to lend a little prestige to his little hot dog stand. At first, I was relieved and delighted to find out that my very wealthy competitor didn't exist. But would have loved to have seen the expression  on my face at the realization that for months,  I had been slowly and methodically tracking myself. 

Late that afternoon as my bookkeeper was leaving for home, I helped carry out some heavy business journals to her car, and mentioned that I would be going out to dinner and would return for a few hours of  spray painting.  "You aren't going out looking like that, are you?" she asked. "Why... yes... yes of course," I replied. "You must remember, I now have an image and reputation to uphold."