Eighty million to one

She comes with the hotel below if you buy it

We stayed at an unusual little hotel in the backstreets of Otavalo called Ali Shangu. I didn’t see it until morning because we got in at 10:30 and went to bed cranky. In the morning I was told that there was political unrest in Quito, our destination. The hotel had no newspaper so I went up to the guy running the place. It surprised me that he was American. He had a grey ponytail down to his waist, and a mustache. I asked where he was from in the states.
‘I’m from Maryland’, he said.
‘I am too’ I replied.
‘I grew up in Wheaton’, he said.
‘Me too’
‘I went to Wheaton High School’, he said.
‘I graduated from there in 1968’, I told him.
‘I graduated from there in 1968’, he said.
‘My name is Jim Jones’, I told him.
‘Mine is Frank Kiefer’, he said.
‘No it’s not, it’s Rusty Kiefer’, I exclaimed.
'I haven’t been called Rusty for thirty years, call me Frank'!
There were three Kiefer brothers, Rusty, Dusty, and Husky. Rusty (now Frank) has lived in Ecuador for 23 years. He owns this hotel and makes videos he told me.
His brother Dusty was the amazing Kiefer brother. Their Dad killed himself when Dusty was 11. That allegedly put him over the edge. He was a juvenile delinquent of some notoriety when I was growing up. In and out of reform school, but never reformed. I ran into him at the University of Miami in 1972. He was mooching off the rich undergrads with his smooth style and robbing their dorm rooms the whole time. He got addicted to heroin before it was fashionable and started pulling armed robberies by the mid -seventies. He made the FBI most wanted list in 1980 and died of Aids, in prison, in 1982.
Frank (He is a ginger, that’s why we called him Rusty) doesn’t seem to have finished his drug days yet, but he and his wife seem happy here. Good for him. This encounter blows a large hole in my theory that it is not a small world (see Alaska ramblings). What are the chances of this occurrence? Eighty million to one doesn’t seem too high.