My deepest condolences. I hope this message finds its way to you. I just published a book of my memories. In it is a recollection of my time at Washington Elementary. David is mentioned in the story. I was compelled to look him up in hopes of getting this to him and found this sad news. I hope you read this story and know that he touched people who remember him fondly 50 years later. Here it is... Kindergarten I remember my first day of Kindergarten. Sitting on tiny chairs at tiny tables, the moms and kids filled out the registration cards. Albuquerque was such a strange and funny word to me. Mom printed it on the line for Fathers Place of Birth. It took me a minute to sound it out, but I eventually got it right. I could read by that time so Kindergarten was going to be a breeze. Officially logged in, we moved on to what became the first of my 15 years worth of assignments. We made construction paper stoplights with pre-cut red, yellow, and green circles that were affixed with a daub of library paste that glop that was plopped onto a paper towel with a tongue depressor and made for pretty good eating, I must admit. Not one to dilly-dally, I finished mine quickly then made an extra one just to be a jerk. When the class was excused for recess, I hesitated to go outside. There was something I felt compelled to do. I lingered behind the group to kiss my teacher Mrs. Hill on the cheek. I would rather have stayed inside and visited with her than play on the tricky bars. She looked like my Grandmasomeone Id much rather hang out with. We had a teachers aide named Mr. Oreno. He would play his guitar and sing Puff the Magic Dragon and The Bloody Red Baron as we sat on the concrete steps outside on the playground. I sat on his lap one morning and read a Peanuts book to the class before we all left for a field trip to the zoo. I remember Moms proud, smug grin and the other mothers harrumphs. There are so many memories from that tiny space in time. The scuff of green vinyl sleeping mats on the linoleum floor; graham crackers and milk when we awoke from our naps; plastic jars of colored, powdered tempera that lined the shelf above the sink. I remember the bulletin board calendar made with paper autumn leaves. I also remember running home as fast as I could past the house with the snarling, barking dog. Funny how I went from such a precocious little kid, to an old man who cant tell his phone from his remote. Memories of crayons and jungle gyms have been overtaken by junk mail and Xanax. People like Mrs. Hill and Mr. Oreno gave Little Me the strength and support to soar, whereas my later papers on the Periodic Table and the Peloponnesian War only made me a whiz at Jeopardy.