DINER DASH HOMETOWN HERO CRASH WINDOWS 8 KEYGEN
Recently, when he addressed a crowd of roughly two hundred at a church near Dallas, more than twenty men lined up to shake his hand and pose for photos. In May, he appeared before thousands at an NRA convention. Other strangers invoke his name daily while arguing on Twitter. A Fox News pundit had thanked God that he “came in and stepped up to the plate and was courageous.” Strangers had sent gifts worth thousands of dollars and invited him on exotic, all-expense-paid trips. The president of the United States had praised him during a press conference and later shaken his hand.
It had been nearly a year since that awful November morning, and Willeford’s name and photo had appeared in news stories around the world. “May I ask what it is you do for a living?” By now the man’s wife had emerged from the restroom and stood beside him, puzzled. The stranger pondered this for a moment, but nothing clicked.
“My name is Stephen,” he said, his voice gentle and slow. His life barely resembles the one he had before. But these days-ever since last November, when media crews from around the world descended on his tiny hometown, the latest ground zero in a mind-numbing string of mass shootings across the country-he knows all the quietest corners of his favorite restaurants. His kids used to tease him because he seems to know someone everywhere he goes, and even when he doesn’t, he makes fast friends with strangers. He is gregarious by nature, almost jolly, which is apt, because he sports a scruffy white Santa Claus beard. At 56, he’s balding, a little stocky, and moderate in height, about five feet, seven inches. Willeford is the sort of guy who blends into most crowds.
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