July 27, 1998 - I was walking 

up the escalator at the Judicuary 

Square Metro stop. I'd gotten the 

routine down after four months 

commuting to my first 9-5 job: 

begin to get my stuff together 

at the Union Station stop, right 

after the doors close, zip up my 

backpack and put it on. As the 

train starts to slow, stand up. 

Doors open, get out and have

Metro card ready to exit (if I 

have a shirt pocket, place card 

in pocket - if not, remember to 

place back in wallet). About 25 

feet from the escalator turn 

Walkman on, make sure it's on the 

right National Public Radio station 

(88.5 in the morning, 90.9 in the 

afternoon). If I time it right, 

reception kicks in just as I 

reach the escalator.


   I was right on schedule. But the 

first words I heard that day 

stopped me cold: "Jeff Gates is 

not communist or even a radical 

economist." This was good to 

hear. Any hint of impropriety 

could get a new federal employee 

like me in deep trouble!


   This Jeff Gates, it seems, was a 

lawyer (note: this makes two, see 

Chapter 2). He's also an investment 

banker who worked in the Reagan 

Administration and has written 

a book on employee ownership.

This is what this NPR interview

was about. 


   Of course I had to investigate.

When I called National Public Radio 

to find out more, I told my story 

to the woman in programming. 

"I've talked with him," she said. 

"He lives in Atlanta." Hmmm, I 

thought, could this be the same 

Jeff Gates from Atlanta I 

had seen on Crate and Barrel's 

computerized Wedding Registry, 

when I did a Search to see what

gifts had been bought for my

wife-to-be and I back in '93?


   I know, I know. You must think I'm

consumed with these other Jeff's, 

these golems who walk the earth,

shaping and reshaping my global 

identity. I wouldn't say I'm 

obsessed. Maybe "atuned" would be 

a better word. After all, it's been

almost two years since I last added

a chapter to this online guide!

But I digress. 


   Two nights later, I was watching

TV when the phone rang. It was late

but I answered it anyway. Are 

you Jeff Gates the writer, the one 

who worked for Reagan?" the voice 

said without further introduction.

Another case of mistaken identity.  

"No, that Jeff Gates lives in Atlanta. 

I don't know what he looks like, 

but he sounds much more

conservative than me!"