Ok, I have two Possum Stories. The first is not mine, but since my father isn't an SPSer but rather on Jeans, I'll share it. The second may be a phantom sighting.
I was probably barely out of the womb in New Orleans. My father took a flight to Augusta, GA because the company he worked for was transferring him, or he was interviewing for another job, hell I don't know, that's not what's important. Anyway, he stayed at a hotel here in town, came back from a long day of interviews, meetings, plant tours, etc. and went to the hotel bar. He's sitting there alone when none other than George, all by himself comes in, and takes the seat next to him. He orders a drink and strikes up a conversation. At first my father thought he was an impersonator, but after talking to him a while, realized he was the real deal. Then George's band, et al, came into the bar as well. They didn't even try to remind him of anything. They just took another table in the small bar and did like George did, proceeded to get hammered. Possum and my father exchanged stories, bought each other rounds, and that was the end of it. The next day, my father wakes up to the headline in The Augusta Chronicle: NO SHOW JONES STRIKES AGAIN! My father knew exactly where he was; drinking with him.
In about 04, my second stint at State (don't ask), my father and I both met in Nashville for the Vanderbilt game. We ended up watching the game from the parking garage, or hotel, not sure what it was, but the top floor of that building that may or may not still look over the stadium from the corner of the endzone. We had tickets but decided to stay there at the Alumni event for they served alcohol. Earlier that afternoon, or the day before, we did the Grand Ole Opry tour. As we were leaving a short man, with white hair, and huge, dark aviators walked by and said, "Afternoon Gentleman, hope you enjoyed the tour." I still have no idea if that was him or not. I'll just tell myself it was.