This past weekend, the planet lost another soul. This one was not COVID-related, so it won't go into a specific count, but it will affect me and those around me for a good long time. It is possible that you are familiar with Al Kolwicz from his regular appearances on various forums and conservative outlets for his persistent views on voter fraud and other right wing issues. His was a voice that would not be stilled.
Now it is.
But Al's conservative views are not the reason for me to laud him here. I could be praising him for being one of the first voices for a cashless society, working in the mines of data that would eventually produce the Plus System, a way of connecting you to your money with a magnetic strip on a card. Ironic, considering his eventual distrust of networked computing for counting votes, but this is also not the reason I am taking the time to eulogize the man.
Al was nearly my father in law. Once upon forever ago, I thought I was going to marry his daughter. And all the intimidation that came with that distinction was felt keenly by me at that time. What exactly were my prospects, when it came to being part of the family. The truth was, as a college freshman, I had little to offer in this vein beyond those offered by being a studio art major. I was not, in so many words, a good catch. I was also terrified of the prospect of having to impress this man who had grown his own business out of his start at IBM. Al had prospects.
And the reason I didn't just run and hide was that I knew this story: Al's ex-wife was a huge Elvis fan. He took his wife to see The King. She was lucky enough to be handed a stuffed Teddy Bear that Mister Presley used to wipe some of the sweat from his brow. She kept it wrapped in plastic. It was one of her prized possessions. What she never knew was that Al had made arrangements, paid arrangements, for Elvis to bestow this keepsake on his wife. As far as she knew, The King had singled her out for this special honor all on his own. She had been picked out of the crowd by some magic. The magic of a man bringing joy to his wife in the form of a sweat-stained stuffed animal. A romantic gesture to which I still aspire.
I can tell this story because Al has left the building. He goes with the beating heart of a romantic, no matter what else he might have done in his life. He will be missed. He stomped on the Terra. Aloha, Al.
1 comment:
This is beautiful, thank you. Also F-you for making me cry in my kale.
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