Not long after these events, I left the old Cleworth Company. Eventually I went to work in distant New York City and became one of that zombie horde called Fairfield County Commuters. I toiled there many years in the Mad Avenue advertising agencies. The 'Men in the Grey Flannel Suits'. I saw less and less of the Rhines, father and son.      

     Chuck left the firm, too. He followed a dream of his to have his own magazine - and he succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. It was in the drafting field - Modern Drafting I believe was its name. For awhile, he made a lot of money - and a lot of bad business associates, too..

     Eventually, his fortunes (as mine!) turned again downward. It would unnecessarily prolong this saga if I were to relate how we came back together once again, years down the road, for a brief and hilarious time - during which we "saved" his business and bested the bad guys, then started yet another successful magazine - Color Engineering - only in the end to ultimately snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. But we did! All this and more, too!

     But not long after this, the phone rang one night. I answered. Silence. My mind clicked over... Chuck? Could it be Chuck after all these years?

     (Tentatively) "Chuck?, I said.

     (Silence for a moment). Then, "Pop died".

     It was Chuck! And what was that he had just said? Pop died? What could that mean?

     He filled me in. The old man had gone to the Veterans Hospital up in Orange on advice of doctors. An early-version heart surgery was performed. And he didn't make it.

     Nothing more to tell.

     "Mom and I wondered if you could be a pallbearer?"

     "Honored, Chuck. Honored, " I choked. "When's the funeral?"