CLASS OF 1945 | 2018 | ISSUE 2

Somewhere between my writing this column and your reading it, my 96th birthday came along to remind me that I am actually mortal, subject to all the whims and vagaries of what my doctors wryly call “the aging process.” Thus, teased into thoughts on aging and the great adventure that lies beyond it (and having nothing from you old classmates), I offer the following reflections on being around for, perhaps, too long.

Why is it that although night falls, it’s day that breaks?

It’s a scientific fact that if your parents were childless, you will be, too.

If you lay a group of lawyers end-to-end, they’ll reach.

My grandfather was an Irish magician. He could walk down the street and

suddenly turn into a pub.

I learned a certainty in combat: friendly fire isn’t.

Slán go fóill.


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