> You think I'm joking, but I'm not.

Sharpshooter: I see no joke. 

My wife went out to visit with, and look after, her father in Palo Alto last week. She was there alone with him while her sister, whom he had been living with, went off to visit her newest grand daughter. On Saturday my wife called to tell me that when he went to get into his wheel chair he fell to the floor. She hurt her back easing him down. Then had to get the neighbors to assist in getting him off the floor and back into bed. There was not much assistance that I could provide from home. On Sunday she called again and I asked her how he was doing. She paused, then told me that he had died a half hour previously. They had been listening to a mass on the radio and she was giving him sips of orange juice and he died.

Ed Ronan was a gentle quiet guy in a way reminding me of Mr. Rogers. For twenty-plus years he worked for Texaco in Manhattan and was in charge of keeping track of the whereabouts of 55-gallon drums, so I have been told. He always enjoyed hearing about an interesting construction project, this I know for a fact, though I was often warned to be cautious in my conversation not to inadvertently let loose a blasphemy. He would be too polite to say that he was hurt. In my life he always lived somewhere else, so I never really got to know him. I have been told in some ways I am like him, though I doubt very many people ever see it that good. He was at peace with kids and spent a lot of his spare time supporting Kiwanis baseball. Ed lived a long life at 90 and died quietly. I am thankful that he did not ever indicate a desire to chase me away from his daughter, though the circumstances were a bit suspicious. My last time spent with Ed, on the weekend of his wife's memorial service, was at an assisted care facility where the single women his age seemed to be in a tizzy to look after him. The sharing of a bowl of stiff cafeteria jello can be a special kindness.

I was talking with one of my unusual friends today and he shared with me his regret at the loss of his hero, Mr. Rogers. My friend keeps trying to retire, but finds that churches keep asking him to do more. At 63 my friend feels a bit pressed that his hero would die at 74. It is a natural occurence and I think Mr. Rogers would have talked with us about it if he were able. If there is a joke then it is because we are made nervous over reminders of our own mortality.

As to Sesame Street or Mr. Rogers, they both came after my time, for me it was Shari Lewis and Howdy Doody. We have never pressed our son to SAT achievement. It would be against our ornery principles and counterproductive on his part. We have fed him with anything and everything that we have been able to gather to reflect his interest... if he reached towards a dinosaur then we cultivated dinosaurs, when he wanted to go fishing we took him fishing. Our primary goal has been for him to learn to survive. Sometimes it has simply been leaving things, like books, around the house for him to discover in his own time. I do not believe that he ever took a great deal of interest in Mr. Rogers... and having just asked him he tells me that though he watched Mr. Rogers a lot that in his opinion Sesame Street was much better.

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