Mr. Black

In the 1980s Mr. Black moved to my city. He was 96 years old. No longer able to live alone in his home state, he moved in with his son who was in his mid 70s.

Mr. Black was a bit frail but his mind was sharp. He still had a great interest in his surroundings and in the world in general. Several times I offered to write down some of his experiences. He just laughed and said "I'll be around for a while yet."

Then one day he called me on the phone. " I feel strange. Like I might die today. Will you come over and write down my stories?" I grabbed my tape recorder and drove over.

Although Mr. Black was lying on the couch, he had on a crisp white dress shirt and black trousers. He looked sharp.

For me it was a most amazing afternoon. Mr. Black talked about many things but the one I remember most was his fascination with the Wright brothers, Orville and Wilbur.

He was a grown man when they took their first successful flight in 1903. He was there at Kitty Hawk. He was rooting for them during the three years of frustration prior to that when they couldn't get anything off the ground.

Mr. Black reminded me that Orville and Wilbur were P.K.s (preacher's kids like mine) and that they grew up in a house full of books and imagination.

He didn't die that day. He died a year later when he was 100 years old.

They say that when an old person dies it's like a library has burned down. I wish we did a better job of saving the books.