There was no one quite like my father —— in our town of Victor. When a
ny other man in town had an extra dollar, he bought a drink; when Father had
an extra dollar, he bought a book. Other people had pictures on their walls
, or at least a calendar; we had books, 3000 of them, lining every vertical
surface of our little four - room house, on every subject from astronomy to
zo-ology.
　　Father was the most persistent scholar I ever knew. Every summer he took
a month or so off to attend classes in Denver or Omaha or Chicago. Twice a
week, a neighbor recently arrived from Germany came over to converse with hi
m in German because he hoped some day to study with the great professors of
medicine in Vienna. Eventually, he earned seven degrees, attended 11 differe
nt colleges and universities, and in 1951, when he was 82 sent us a cheerful
little note from England to say tha