Mine taught me to honor language and to use it for honorable purpose. He never said anything to that effect, but it was what he did best. He taught me a thing or two about the simple courtesy of listening to another human being, asking questions and listening to the answers with respect, and pushing for understanding rather than 'being right'. He was especially good at asking "Why?". I have not learned everything he left, but it sure was (in my opinion) a decent start.

Aside from being a gent and something of a scholar and a learner without cess, he also played ragtime piano and drums for a Dixieland band, and he taught me some wonderful lessons -- again without saying them -- about the joy to be found in the pursuit of 'real' music. I think my fondest memories are of standing by the piano in our home, an amateur guitar player, watching his big hands jumping the keys all over the place, and us just beating the tar out of "Billy Bolden" and "Ain't She Sweet".

And the other thing he taught me was to hold the line, suck up the stress, and keep doing the right thing; this is a lesson I have been wrassling with for years, and he wasn't perfect at it himself, but he was good enough. :>)

I hope you'll pardon me for waxing on; I haven't thought about him for quite a while and I appreciate the reminder.

A