In Honor of Milton Adams

I hope you have never had the experience of pulling up to a familiar place, your home, your work, or a friends house, and seeing the immediate signs that something wrong has happened.  There is nothing worse then that sinking feeling.  In October, 1937, Babu writes:

oct 18.jpeg

Monday, October 18th, 1937
This morning Jaime gave me a ride and we remarked about the motorcycle standing in front of my office.  I found, when I got upstairs, that Milton Adams, our colored janitor, while cleaning the windows, had lost his balance and fell down 4 stories to the pavement.  He died at 10 am.  Cooking school and after Johnny Lech, Frankie, and two other boys and us girls went riding.  Played football on a golf green.

That is terrible.  How sudden…how easy…

There was no reversal.

I hate that Babu sounds so calloused in this passage but I know that is how she records.  And she doesn’t emote, but rarely.  I feel that just in the way I am honoring his memory and life, so was Babu when she recorded his name and demise.

It just doesn’t seem fair.

 

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