So the story continues.
Kell is a doctor in Pennsylvania who had been out and partnered a quarter century now. At sometime in the recent past he picked up a copy of Jeb and Dash and read it, comming across a story he already knew.
Jeb's friend Max Bolling, a painter employed by the WPA, a U.S. agency (Works Progress Administration) during the depression of the 1930s, had been publically witch hunted for a mural he had painted that featured the likeness of the recently assassinated Huey Long. Bollins had taken it upon himself to add a halo around Long's head.
Soon, people were calling for his head, calling him a Bolshevik, a Communist, a Subversive, all the while oblivious to what he did behind closed doors.
Kell knew the story already. It had come down to him in his family. His cousin, the artist Philip Fletcher Bell, had painted the mural, he had been Jeb Alexander's Max Bolling. He turned to the internet and he found me. I have not the words to describe it, other than I am the heir.
So in the morning I will climb into my car and make the 5 hour drive to the nations capitol and meet this cousin, hear his stories and scan his inherited photos, one of which I have already featured as a picture of the day.
Carter Bealer, a little introverted man living in an insanely cluttered apartment, scribbling almost illegibly into his books because he couldn't connect with anyone in his time and place, will bring us together, some 43 years after he died.
Bless you Carter Bealer, standing just behind my right shoulder I hope you never leave. I could feel you there when I was had to make a decision that defined logic, reminding me that you, too, defied logic that August day in 1939 when you boarded that ship to Europe, Hitler be damned.
You were right.
The written word is sacred.