Chas J. Yackley

Fictional Characterization Piece
Written for Advanced Composition August 2007

Hey, Sylvia! I need a new ketchup bottle – this one here’s gone empty! Chas J. Yackley yells out across the diner from inside his customary booth. It’s 12:15 p.m. on Tuesday. It’s lunchtime, just like every day before and every day to come. A grilled cheese sandwich with French fries. A cup of coffee.
Not ancient but by no means young, Chas isn’t about to let life slip through his fingers. He may live alone—with no one except his tabby cat, Seymour—but that doesn’t mean he can’t be the life of the party. Because he is. What else does a retired man have to do but go out and have fun? Chas loves to go out dancing every chance he gets. Anniversary, wedding reception, birthday party, he’ll be there—wearing his dancing shoes. He fancies himself a ladies’ man, but still the gentleman that his mamma raised him to be.
When Chas is on the dance floor, he looks about 23 years old. In reality, he’s an old man, head like an eight ball and freckles like Morgan Freeman. His skin is worn like paper that’s been erased too many times. Chas isn’t the skinny withered type, but rather he’s pleasantly plump. His gait is strong and powerful, with a slight swagger, not because he thinks he’s so fine, but because he has a bad knee. But he works that bad knee like nobody’s business. Chas Yackley is one of the most friendly people you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting. Even, through all the hardship he’s survived, he still unwraps each day like the gift it is. He’s always happy to share a story. And he always starts out—in his rich, rumbling, jazz singer voice—I’ll tell you something…