If This Should be the Final Year The old man sat comfortably on the park bench and thought, quite peacefully, of what may well be his final year. He had lived his ninety years. As a child he had wild fantasies of flying a car that turned into a plane.  As a young man he has seen, in his imagination, the visions of a future filled with high drama and effecting change in his world. As an old man he dreamed dreams about what was and what might have been. Now he wanted what might be his final year, not knowing when that would be, to be the year of…

Stories That Have Come Down to Us Over the Years In 1925, a man of twenty-seven years was standing on a street corner in Mexico City, Spanish-German dictionary in hand, asking people, in rough Spanish, “Do you speak German?” After two hours, a friendly Jewish man agreed that he could help and it was soon negotiated with Mexican authorities for Lehrer Heinrich Regehr, to register the birth of a son to his wife, Katarina, newly arrived I Mexico. Of course, the Stories That Have Come Down Over the Years, did not come in historical sequence. They were told in connection with circumstances, or as memories were triggered, in odd places…

Autobiography Twenty: Dirty Thirties, a Train, and a Bum At dusk, the long train came to a stop across the field from our Prairie home. On the box cars were a hundred free riders, known to us only as “Bums”, on every car, moving about like busy ants. A lone figure separated itself from the rest, and a young man emerged, making his way to our house. Our family of seven children and mother, in her early forties, watched with caution, unease, and fear as he made his way to our door, asking for something to eat. He was too well dressed to fit our image of a poor bum.…

Grand Larceny The top, left-hand drawer of my Father’s oak roll-top desk had a special little purse. It was leather, well worn, with a simple clasp. The purse contained, always, the ten percent “Missionary Offering” that Father faithfully took from his pitiful Saskatchewan depression salary of the Dirty Thirties. At age eight and nine, I was keenly aware that money was painfully scarce at our house, and we were constantly reminded that we could not spend, not even five cents, on special treats of any kind. Legitimately so. I felt deprived. It was a shock to discover that a blue five-dollar bill was neatly folded into the purse on one…

My Heroes I had three older brothers, and when I was growing up, all three were my heroes, my models. Each one in his own unique way showed me how to live, how to get along in the world. Each one was an authority on things that interested him. In 1938, on our way home from school, they talked about a new product that could not be torn, was transparent, but could easily be cut. Only years later, plastic became part of the fabric of everyday life. It was so very astonishing that my brothers knew about this. They simply had such wide experience. They were my go-to guys, they…

If This Should be the Final Year The old man sat comfortably on the park bench and thought, quite peacefully, of what may well be his final year. He had lived his ninety years. As a child he had wild fantasies of flying a car that turned into a plane.  As a young man he has seen, in his imagination, the visions of a future filled with high drama and effecting change in his world. As an old man he dreamed dreams about what was and what might have been. Now he wanted what might be his final year, not knowing when that would be, to be the year of…

Stories That Have Come Down to Us Over the Years In 1925, a man of twenty-seven years was standing on a street corner in Mexico City, Spanish-German dictionary in hand, asking people, in rough Spanish, “Do you speak German?” After two hours, a friendly Jewish man agreed that he could help and it was soon negotiated with Mexican authorities for Lehrer Heinrich Regehr, to register the birth of a son to his wife, Katarina, newly arrived I Mexico. Of course, the Stories That Have Come Down Over the Years, did not come in historical sequence. They were told in connection with circumstances, or as memories were triggered, in odd places…

Autobiography Twenty: Dirty Thirties, a Train, and a Bum At dusk, the long train came to a stop across the field from our Prairie home. On the box cars were a hundred free riders, known to us only as “Bums”, on every car, moving about like busy ants. A lone figure separated itself from the rest, and a young man emerged, making his way to our house. Our family of seven children and mother, in her early forties, watched with caution, unease, and fear as he made his way to our door, asking for something to eat. He was too well dressed to fit our image of a poor bum.…

Grand Larceny The top, left-hand drawer of my Father’s oak roll-top desk had a special little purse. It was leather, well worn, with a simple clasp. The purse contained, always, the ten percent “Missionary Offering” that Father faithfully took from his pitiful Saskatchewan depression salary of the Dirty Thirties. At age eight and nine, I was keenly aware that money was painfully scarce at our house, and we were constantly reminded that we could not spend, not even five cents, on special treats of any kind. Legitimately so. I felt deprived. It was a shock to discover that a blue five-dollar bill was neatly folded into the purse on one…

My Heroes I had three older brothers, and when I was growing up, all three were my heroes, my models. Each one in his own unique way showed me how to live, how to get along in the world. Each one was an authority on things that interested him. In 1938, on our way home from school, they talked about a new product that could not be torn, was transparent, but could easily be cut. Only years later, plastic became part of the fabric of everyday life. It was so very astonishing that my brothers knew about this. They simply had such wide experience. They were my go-to guys, they…

If This Should be the Final Year The old man sat comfortably on the park bench and thought, quite peacefully, of what may well be his final year. He had lived his ninety years. As a child he had wild fantasies of flying a car that turned into a plane.  As a young man he has seen, in his imagination, the visions of a future filled with high drama and effecting change in his world. As an old man he dreamed dreams about what was and what might have been. Now he wanted what might be his final year, not knowing when that would be, to be the year of…

Stories That Have Come Down to Us Over the Years In 1925, a man of twenty-seven years was standing on a street corner in Mexico City, Spanish-German dictionary in hand, asking people, in rough Spanish, “Do you speak German?” After two hours, a friendly Jewish man agreed that he could help and it was soon negotiated with Mexican authorities for Lehrer Heinrich Regehr, to register the birth of a son to his wife, Katarina, newly arrived I Mexico. Of course, the Stories That Have Come Down Over the Years, did not come in historical sequence. They were told in connection with circumstances, or as memories were triggered, in odd places…

Autobiography Twenty: Dirty Thirties, a Train, and a Bum At dusk, the long train came to a stop across the field from our Prairie home. On the box cars were a hundred free riders, known to us only as “Bums”, on every car, moving about like busy ants. A lone figure separated itself from the rest, and a young man emerged, making his way to our house. Our family of seven children and mother, in her early forties, watched with caution, unease, and fear as he made his way to our door, asking for something to eat. He was too well dressed to fit our image of a poor bum.…

Grand Larceny The top, left-hand drawer of my Father’s oak roll-top desk had a special little purse. It was leather, well worn, with a simple clasp. The purse contained, always, the ten percent “Missionary Offering” that Father faithfully took from his pitiful Saskatchewan depression salary of the Dirty Thirties. At age eight and nine, I was keenly aware that money was painfully scarce at our house, and we were constantly reminded that we could not spend, not even five cents, on special treats of any kind. Legitimately so. I felt deprived. It was a shock to discover that a blue five-dollar bill was neatly folded into the purse on one…

My Heroes I had three older brothers, and when I was growing up, all three were my heroes, my models. Each one in his own unique way showed me how to live, how to get along in the world. Each one was an authority on things that interested him. In 1938, on our way home from school, they talked about a new product that could not be torn, was transparent, but could easily be cut. Only years later, plastic became part of the fabric of everyday life. It was so very astonishing that my brothers knew about this. They simply had such wide experience. They were my go-to guys, they…

If This Should be the Final Year The old man sat comfortably on the park bench and thought, quite peacefully, of what may well be his final year. He had lived his ninety years. As a child he had wild fantasies of flying a car that turned into a plane.  As a young man he has seen, in his imagination, the visions of a future filled with high drama and effecting change in his world. As an old man he dreamed dreams about what was and what might have been. Now he wanted what might be his final year, not knowing when that would be, to be the year of…

Stories That Have Come Down to Us Over the Years In 1925, a man of twenty-seven years was standing on a street corner in Mexico City, Spanish-German dictionary in hand, asking people, in rough Spanish, “Do you speak German?” After two hours, a friendly Jewish man agreed that he could help and it was soon negotiated with Mexican authorities for Lehrer Heinrich Regehr, to register the birth of a son to his wife, Katarina, newly arrived I Mexico. Of course, the Stories That Have Come Down Over the Years, did not come in historical sequence. They were told in connection with circumstances, or as memories were triggered, in odd places…

Autobiography Twenty: Dirty Thirties, a Train, and a Bum At dusk, the long train came to a stop across the field from our Prairie home. On the box cars were a hundred free riders, known to us only as “Bums”, on every car, moving about like busy ants. A lone figure separated itself from the rest, and a young man emerged, making his way to our house. Our family of seven children and mother, in her early forties, watched with caution, unease, and fear as he made his way to our door, asking for something to eat. He was too well dressed to fit our image of a poor bum.…

Grand Larceny The top, left-hand drawer of my Father’s oak roll-top desk had a special little purse. It was leather, well worn, with a simple clasp. The purse contained, always, the ten percent “Missionary Offering” that Father faithfully took from his pitiful Saskatchewan depression salary of the Dirty Thirties. At age eight and nine, I was keenly aware that money was painfully scarce at our house, and we were constantly reminded that we could not spend, not even five cents, on special treats of any kind. Legitimately so. I felt deprived. It was a shock to discover that a blue five-dollar bill was neatly folded into the purse on one…

My Heroes I had three older brothers, and when I was growing up, all three were my heroes, my models. Each one in his own unique way showed me how to live, how to get along in the world. Each one was an authority on things that interested him. In 1938, on our way home from school, they talked about a new product that could not be torn, was transparent, but could easily be cut. Only years later, plastic became part of the fabric of everyday life. It was so very astonishing that my brothers knew about this. They simply had such wide experience. They were my go-to guys, they…

If This Should be the Final Year The old man sat comfortably on the park bench and thought, quite peacefully, of what may well be his final year. He had lived his ninety years. As a child he had wild fantasies of flying a car that turned into a plane.  As a young man he has seen, in his imagination, the visions of a future filled with high drama and effecting change in his world. As an old man he dreamed dreams about what was and what might have been. Now he wanted what might be his final year, not knowing when that would be, to be the year of…

Stories That Have Come Down to Us Over the Years In 1925, a man of twenty-seven years was standing on a street corner in Mexico City, Spanish-German dictionary in hand, asking people, in rough Spanish, “Do you speak German?” After two hours, a friendly Jewish man agreed that he could help and it was soon negotiated with Mexican authorities for Lehrer Heinrich Regehr, to register the birth of a son to his wife, Katarina, newly arrived I Mexico. Of course, the Stories That Have Come Down Over the Years, did not come in historical sequence. They were told in connection with circumstances, or as memories were triggered, in odd places…

Autobiography Twenty: Dirty Thirties, a Train, and a Bum At dusk, the long train came to a stop across the field from our Prairie home. On the box cars were a hundred free riders, known to us only as “Bums”, on every car, moving about like busy ants. A lone figure separated itself from the rest, and a young man emerged, making his way to our house. Our family of seven children and mother, in her early forties, watched with caution, unease, and fear as he made his way to our door, asking for something to eat. He was too well dressed to fit our image of a poor bum.…

Grand Larceny The top, left-hand drawer of my Father’s oak roll-top desk had a special little purse. It was leather, well worn, with a simple clasp. The purse contained, always, the ten percent “Missionary Offering” that Father faithfully took from his pitiful Saskatchewan depression salary of the Dirty Thirties. At age eight and nine, I was keenly aware that money was painfully scarce at our house, and we were constantly reminded that we could not spend, not even five cents, on special treats of any kind. Legitimately so. I felt deprived. It was a shock to discover that a blue five-dollar bill was neatly folded into the purse on one…

My Heroes I had three older brothers, and when I was growing up, all three were my heroes, my models. Each one in his own unique way showed me how to live, how to get along in the world. Each one was an authority on things that interested him. In 1938, on our way home from school, they talked about a new product that could not be torn, was transparent, but could easily be cut. Only years later, plastic became part of the fabric of everyday life. It was so very astonishing that my brothers knew about this. They simply had such wide experience. They were my go-to guys, they…