A Wonderful Guy

At some point in his late sixties, his life became a cliche.

Most afternoons were spent on the park bench, feeding the pigeons. He stopped buying clothes more than a decade ago. He was mortified at wearing anything that might be considered fashionable, for fear of being laughed at.

He voted Republican. He drove a Cadillac, erratically. He visited the cemetery every Sunday.

Even his children knew their roles, urging him to move into a nursing home.

So close to the end, these routines were all he had left. That, and his memories of playing the lead in South Pacific.