I just returned from a family vacation that brought me full circle to a lesson I learned in college about a man whom I have always greatly admired.

We were in San Francisco and wanted to eat an authentic Italian dinner in North Beach. I always prefer a personal recommendation to one found in a guidebook so I asked my friend Matt Ferrari whose family runs the Bay Area's A.G. Ferrari Italian Foods stores for some ideas. Matt's brother Paul suggested a few that included the one we ended up at--`E Tutto Qua! which translated means "everything's here." Boy, was it.

How did it work out? The Bank of Italy became...the Bank of America. Maybe you've heard of it?

Giannini's vision became the bank that now serves "the little guy" coast to coast--a vision the "big guys" of his day ridiculed. Giannini didn't accept the conventional wisdom, he followed his heart and his mind and he created a system of banking that all of us take for granted today.

So when we sat down for dinner on Tuesday night, I tried to impart some of that history to my two sons. It had been such a compelling story to me as a university student. I hoped it would mean something to them as we sat in one of the first branches of Giannini's bank. Angelo Miller was strolling by our table as I told this story and he stopped by to add some color.

Angelo is a larger than life character who runs the front of house at `E Tutto Qua. My wife, whose mother is from Milan, enjoyed speaking with him in Italian. My son Sebastian later enjoyed sitting with him outside as he drew people in to the restaurant. As I told the story to my wife and sons, Angelo informed me that vestiges of the bank were still visible in the restaurant--from the "BA" etched in to the stonework outside to the bank vault inside. I told him that I was such a big fan of Giannini and that it was meaningful for me to be dining at such a historic location.

Later, as we enjoyed an authentic Italian dinner from owner Enzo Pellico and his team of chefs and waiters, Angelo stopped by with a gift. He handed me two keys to a safe deposit box--one of the safe deposit boxes left over from the Bank of America days. I suppose those keys wouldn't mean much to the average restaurant patron. But to this history major and longtime admirer of A.P. Giannini, they were worth their weight in gold. I now have a cherished piece of history from one of the great American success stories--one that I know my sons will remember now.

It also reinforced my view that while travel books are great, there's nothing like having a friend in a city who will direct you to the right places to visit. So here's my recommendation for your next visit to San Francisco: Check out this restaurant in North Beach called `E Tutto Qua! The food's great and you can't beat the service. Tell Enzo and Angelo that Frank Buckley of Los Angeles, the friend of Matt Ferrari, the brother of Paul Ferrari sent you...

I'm back on the job this morning after a few days of vacation. (To those of you who started to wonder in your posts, no, I'm not going anywhere!) I was in North Carolina for an annual golf trip with some buddies. My flight from LAX took me through Newark International Airport where I was scheduled to connect to a flight to Norfolk, Virginia. From there, I would drive to the Outer Banks to meet up with my pals. Newark was bogged down in fog and rain and aircraft were stacked up as we approached. We circled for about an hour and finally landed late. I rushed through the terminal to make my connection, only to learn the flight was delayed for two hours. I'm as human as anyone and was fully prepared to be aggravated by it all, but I know I'm blessed in these trying times to even be able to take a vacation. So as I settled in with a beer at an airport bar, March Madness basketball on the TV, I decided not to sweat it and to just take it all in as part of my vacation experience. I'm not usually a sit-at-the-bar kind of guy, but on this particular night, I'm glad I was. I had great company--a cheerful British bartender, a bunch of fellow stranded passengers, and a U.S. Army soldier on leave from Ft. Irwin-- a young man who had recently returned from Iraq. The soldier was enroute to Florida for some well-deserved R and R. It was great to see how folks treated him--with respect and gratitude. This fellow wasn't permitted to buy a drink for himself, and it certainly wasn't the kind of ugly scene sometimes encountered by our troops returning from another unpopular war in a place called Vietnam. As we nursed our beers, we talked about the basketball game, about Barstow, about the life awaiting the soldier when he leaves the Army this summer. But as we sat there laughing and talking, I couldn't help but wonder about his experiences in Iraq. I wondered if it was O.K. to ask him about it. I decided not to ask. He's on leave. He deserves a break from talking about the war. I have no right to go there, I said to myself. But as if he was reading my mind, he suddenly brought it up. "Check this out," he said. The soldier turned to show me the back of his head where a square of hair was missing, a scar in its place. "I got hit by an IED," he said quite cheerfully. The young man went on to tell me he was in a vehicle that hit a roadside bomb. They were then ambushed by insurgents who hit them with small arms fire. The American soldiers fought them off and it was only then that this soldier fell over and passed out. Shrapnel had torn through his helmet and lodged in his skull. Fortunately, it stopped there and surgeons were able to remove it. "Everyone else pull through O.K.?" I asked. I knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left my mouth. "One of the guys died," he said matter-of-factly. He said it as if he didn't want to burden me with the news. I felt horrible knowing I'd ask him to relive it. I apologized for his loss. We carried on talking about his plans for the future, about the good times he was looking forward to in the days ahead in Florida. When I learned my flight delay was now a flight cancellation, I decided to check in to an aiport hotel until morning. I shook the soldier's hand and thanked him for his service. As I sat in my hotel room later, I thought about that soldier. I wondered if his war experiences would affect him in a negative way in the years ahead. I hope he'll have the support of his friends and family and the Army to get through it if they do. Meeting the soldier also reminded me of the great life I enjoy and sometimes take for granted. It made me feel, believe it or not, grateful that my flight was cancelled. I was grateful I had a chance to share some beers with some fellow passengers, a cheerful British bartender and a soldier with a full life ahead of him.