Howard Delaney

Howard Delaney died a couple of months ago. It was a quiet passing, off the radar of public notice. My friendship with Howard was such that it took me a couple of weeks to learn about it.

Howard would have liked that immensely; he was old-school agency with Bill Donovan and operated in the Aegean during the greek Civil War. Howard had migrated to CIA with other talent from the army after WWII.

He was, in his vernacular an "Aviation Buff" who collected warbird prints and could cite particular facts about the artist, aircaft and story behind every one of his pieces. He fussed over flight sims on his computer and clipped interesting articles which he could never again find in his condominium.

He left everything to charities in St Paul and nothing to the angry niece who showed up after his death to claim his possessions. I don't know everything but from what I knew of Howard, she'd had many years to earn exactly what she stomped away with.

I've been thinking about closure and the measure of someone who lives in quiet dignity, but social isolation. I never got to say good-bye and his phone number is still in my cellular listing. One of these days the message, like Howard himself will be replaced by an emptiness.