Honest. Not the dead one, but probably a great grandson. I was repairing the master antenna system at a senior citizen apartment complex and was given a list of four apartments to check before I left the property. I saw the name "Tolstoy" on the door of the first unit I visited, but I wasn't too startled because there are a lot of retired Russians living in Senior Citizen communities in Washington, DC, and Tolstoy could be as common a Russian name as Kennedy is an Irish/American one. No one answered my knocks, so I opened the door a few inches and yelled, "maintenance" but when no one replied, I just closed the door and headed to the elevator. When the elevator door opened, out came a guy who looked just like Tolstoy. I did a double-take and then made a U-turn and as I did, he, too had made a U-turn, because he was expecting the TV system repairman to eventually get to his apartment, and I said, "Are you the resident from apartment XXX", and he lit up and said, "Yes. I'm Tolstoy". I started laughing and said, "You have a pretty famous name", and he said. "No, really, I'm that Tolstoy!" Well, anyone looking at him would have known immediately that he was either a descendent of "that" Tolstoy, or he was one of the Smith Brothers. When we got into his apartment, he showed me his picture in a current edition of a newspaper. Apparently, the diary of his grandmother was just published, so his family is back "in the news" at the moment. We had a great time talking about our ancestors and how they emigrated here and there, and he offered to give me some "Russian" vodka that he had distilled himself. I declined the offer, so he gave me an apple instead, which I took even though I don't eat apples, but when I see him again tomorrow or the next day when I complete the repair, I'll probably take him up on that Vodka offer, because then I'll be able to add, "drank home made Russian Vodka with Tolstoy" to the other colorful chapters of my life, which include my business partnership with one of Fidel Castro's 1950s gun runners, who actually said to me, "When Che Guevara gives you his word, it's like gold"; breaking into the Watergate Hotel not just once, but twice; having a business partnership with an international flim-flam man so notorious that I once Googled his name and found a mid 1970s Singapore Straits headline: "International manhunt for missing tycoon continues"; and I'm one of the few people who can say that Michael Jordan, who I watched puff on a big cigar one evening when I was called out to restore his DirecTV service at midnight, was not my most famous customer. Because he seemed like such a good natured guy, I might buy a copy of, "War, What is it Good For?" and see if I can put him up to writing some kind of a gag autograph on it.