My father’s father is one of the most interesting people I have ever met. An avid traveler, he’s been pretty much anywhere you can name, and every one of his adventures has produced at least one incredible story, each funnier and longer than the one before it. One of his best stories, however, took place right here on American soil, and the punchline was revealed through an innocent Freedom of Information request made soon after the FOI Act came into being.

The story begins with my grandfather, as a young man, trying to outsmart the system. He and a classmate of his, both eligible for military service, sought to avoid being drafted into the army in the Korean War (where they would face jungle conditions and all manner of unsavory things) by enlisting as officers in the Navy. The way they figured it, being on a boat beat trudging across the country any day. When they showed up for officer training, the FBI did what it does best: it looked into them. Because they were prospective officers, the FBI wanted to make sure there were no skeletons hiding in their closets. As such, they sent two agents to my great-grandfather’s pharmacy to ask around about the proprietor’s son, my grandfather. When the agents arrived at the pharmacy, the two employees on duty were friends of my grandfathers and notorious pranksters. They took one look at the obviously-uncomfortable suited men and decided to give them a hard time. They didn’t say a single bad thing about my grandfather the whole interview, but as it wrapped up, one of the employees saw, out the window of the drug store, the Freemason’s building across the street. On the front of the building, among other symbols, was a picture of a goat—one of the icons of the Masons, apparently. Struck by the idea, the pharmacy worker informed the agents in a perfect deadpan that, while there was nothing reaaaaally wrong with the man they were asking around about. . . there WAS something a little strange about him. The FBI men leaned closer. What the man said next could classify my grandfather as a threat to national security. The pharmacy man leaned in towards them and confessed: “Well, I’ve always found it strange. . . see, he keeps a goat.” The FBI agents must have been puzzled, but into their notebooks it went.

Years passed, my grandfather was discharged for his poor vision, and he forgot all about the story. When the FOI Act was put into law, he filed for his FBI file on a whim. A few months passed, and then his file came in the mail. Inside the packaging, there were 11 pages, almost entirely redacted. He flipped through them, looking for anything of interest, but everything was blacked out. . . except for one sentence on one of the last pages. There, unhidden, was a single line, a comment, really: “Keeps a goat.”

Do you or anyone you know have a FOIA story you’d like to share? E-mail me at FOIAStories@gmail.com!