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Hendrik “Hank” Twilt died, at age seventy-eight, ten years ago today. I am not aware that Hank and I ever encountered one another face-to-face, even though we resided concurrently for six years in the same small Wisconsin village. Members of Hank’s family, however, have told me a great deal about him, so I do think fondly of the man and, perhaps I should add, I think gratefully of him as well.
This afternoon Mr. Twilt’s widow and I plan to pay our respects in the cemetery where Hank was laid to rest.
♦
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