On a night in Fargo, N.Dak., I watched him walk a high wire at the top of a circus tent. In a car hurtling along the back roads of New Hampshire, I finally had the theory of relativity explained in terms that I could understand. I saw Bo juggle a chain saw, a bowling ball and a carrot. I saw him park a tractor trailer in a space seemingly large enough to hold only an average compact, and I saw him hold a roomful of scientists spellbound with his theories on acid rain.
There was a time, during the negotiations to have Manuel Noriega leave the Vatican embassy in Panama—no, I am not supposed to mention that. The State Department swore me to secrecy. I can report that I saw Bo stop a charging herd of elephants on an African plain. He only had to point a finger at the beasts and say some strange word in an authoritative voice. I saw him shoot a hole in one on a par-4, dogleg right, by cutting over the trees and putting a lot of backspin on the ball. I saw him slap a sagging big-money musical into shape two nights before its opening on Broadway. I saw him paint an entire window frame without allowing one drip to fall onto the glass.
Every day has brought a different experience, a different lesson. No, every day has brought a dozen different lessons, two dozen, even more. I have tried to keep track of them all, down to the smallest detail ("This is the way Bo ties a necktie," I reported one day. "Read carefully, because Bo knows knots"), but I am beginning to falter. There are only so many words, so many notebooks.
"After the dinner in Beverly Hills, we are going surfing," I report now to the home office. "Then we go to San Francisco for the dedication of a building that Bo designed. It is very much in the style of Frank Lloyd Wright. Then there's the reggae concert. Bo is supposed to sing with Bob Marley's widow. Then he's supposed to have some laboratory time. Bo thinks he has discovered a salve that halts acne, but he wants to run a final test. Then—oh, I don't know—then there is something else, I'm sure."
"You sound tired," I am told.
"I am tired," I reply. "I'm as tired as I've ever been. Even the time I spent in the Caribbean was exhausting, watching Bo take the pictures for the swimsuit issue. He was a little worried about the backlighting."
What am I to do? The 60 days of Bo's vacation continue. Right now, he is working toward his degree in family and child development at Auburn. He is also whittling a bust of Napoleon from a piece of wood he found in the street. We just watched Jeopardy! on television. Bo didn't miss a single answer. Bo knows everything.
Except how to sleep.