SCENES
FROM
HALF A
CENTURY
Robb Murray
50th Birthday
Dedicated to Dr. Al Reed,
longtime family friend,
for his request over many years
that I “write my memoirs”
© 2003, Robb Murray
SCENES FROM
HALF A
CENTURY
1 A TIME FOR REMINISCING . . .
4 MY AUDIO
WINDOW TO THE WORLD
10 WHAT
HATH THOMAS EDISON WROUGHT!
11 VISTAS
FROM THE CLASSICAL PAST
13 WORKING
FOR THE CITY, or “HOW DO I GET OUT OF HERE?”
15 COMMENTS
AS I APPROACH AGE 50
In my world of today, with
so many job changes and friends coming and going, those whom I know and love in
Chicago who have any ties with my life of even so long as ten years ago are
very few. The hurried brevity of so many of our
interactions prevents our getting a
fuller picture of each other; not only as we are today but who we were growing
up and first starting out in our lives as adults.
When I was a kid, a lot of
friendships were deepened by hobby pursuits; and fishing and camping trips
added further depth. Such mixing is rare
for me with so many of my friends today, and time is passing. Turning 50 years old is a momentous occasion
for any person, and I would like to commemorate it in my life by reaching out
in story. I request, and I hope for,
stories from you, too, as we continue our friendship.
I am not really one who
spends a lot of time in mulling over the golden and not-so-golden moments of my
past. My boyhood friend, Dennis Burns,
was always much more that sort. He was
reminiscing about second grade in fourth grade.
Now and then, I would say to him, “Dennis, don’t you think we should let
some time go by before we reminisce?”
Years later, Dennis told me that when we were kids growing
up, he was always afraid of dying. He
was afraid that either he would die, or his mother would or his sister, Diane,
would. This had all been set off in 1957
when Dennis’s dad, who was one of my dad’s medical partners, died in a tragic
car collision with a train. Dr. Burns
left behind the small band of three and their survival became Dennis’s preoccupation. I think reminiscing was his way of cherishing
life, and reassuring himself that most things would not be taken away from him
the way his dad had been.
And the time does come, it seems to me, when, if we have stories treasured up to tell, they need to start coming forth. Life is such a rich experience and yet its continuation is not guaranteed. I only know that, so far, its savor has been sweet, its happiness great, and its poignancies touching. </