| Author: | H. Wesley Brown, H. Wesley Brown MD | ISBN: | 9781465380692 |
| Publisher: | Xlibris US | Publication: | November 22, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Xlibris US | Language: | English |
| Author: | H. Wesley Brown, H. Wesley Brown MD |
| ISBN: | 9781465380692 |
| Publisher: | Xlibris US |
| Publication: | November 22, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Xlibris US |
| Language: | English |
this book, any book, should be read with an open mind. And yet, no biography can be entirely objective, especially so if the biographer is the son. Jesus said, Judge not, that ye be not judged. In retrospect, looking back to an era we would hope never to experience, its the least we should do. My father was an unusual man, destined it seems, to lead an unusual life in unusual times; a life filled with conviction, courage, insight, compassion, invention, creativity and tragedy. My father, a passable storyteller, often did not tell all he knew. But as time passes, there is a fine sifting of evidence and plausibility, and what remains in the end is our imperfect memory of the man we knew. This is really his story, not mine, and I only hope my retelling is at least close to the way he might have written it. If the story seems to have some elements of a mystery, it is probably no accident. Dad was often a mystery to us, to his friends. He spoke epigrammatically. And he was a man who talked the talk, and walked the walk. I have had the good fortune to know several famous and not so famous persons in my life, persons of high creative intelligence, compassion and integrity; Dad belongs with them.
this book, any book, should be read with an open mind. And yet, no biography can be entirely objective, especially so if the biographer is the son. Jesus said, Judge not, that ye be not judged. In retrospect, looking back to an era we would hope never to experience, its the least we should do. My father was an unusual man, destined it seems, to lead an unusual life in unusual times; a life filled with conviction, courage, insight, compassion, invention, creativity and tragedy. My father, a passable storyteller, often did not tell all he knew. But as time passes, there is a fine sifting of evidence and plausibility, and what remains in the end is our imperfect memory of the man we knew. This is really his story, not mine, and I only hope my retelling is at least close to the way he might have written it. If the story seems to have some elements of a mystery, it is probably no accident. Dad was often a mystery to us, to his friends. He spoke epigrammatically. And he was a man who talked the talk, and walked the walk. I have had the good fortune to know several famous and not so famous persons in my life, persons of high creative intelligence, compassion and integrity; Dad belongs with them.
