A very good friend to me died the other day. His name was Jimmy Faulkner and he had been, in his time, a state Senator, mayor, twice serious candidate for Govenor of Alabama, a remarkable business man whose interests included television stations and a string of newspapers, a good father and an elder in his church. He was a powerful protector of the county and state where he lived the largest portion of his life and he held them and the nation that he wrote about so often (Faulkner's Mumblings was a staple of the Baldwin Times until health issues forced his retirement from commentary) near to his heart.
Because he died so long after his heyday, the note of it fell "below the fold." Above it could be read a number of articles of arguably less importance, detailing the momentary worries and celebrations of lives continuing in his absence. I think he would have chuckled at that. I can almost see him nodding his approval. Life is for living and the living, he'd said to me more than once while commenting on the dimunition of advancing age.
Well, the world is diminished today. And this is a season of mourning.
He was 92.
Because he died so long after his heyday, the note of it fell "below the fold." Above it could be read a number of articles of arguably less importance, detailing the momentary worries and celebrations of lives continuing in his absence. I think he would have chuckled at that. I can almost see him nodding his approval. Life is for living and the living, he'd said to me more than once while commenting on the dimunition of advancing age.
Well, the world is diminished today. And this is a season of mourning.
He was 92.
