T​hese hands held so much history within their weathered veins and calloused knuckles. A life-long civil rights advocate, a Civil War guide at Gettysburg, a Korean War veteran, and a old soul who shared in my passion for the written word. I met him when he had been widowed just about a year. He shared his life story through the pages of his old typewriter. Upon knowing of his love for literature, I began to send him letters through the mail and old books from my local used bookshop. One of the books I sent him arrived around his eighty-ninth birthday. He wrote me a letter sharing how it brought tears to his eyes upon receiving it, because it was always his wife’s tradition to give him a book on his birthday. I cried. His letters to me always contained favorite quotes, the story behind old hymns, points from his history teachings as a professor, and so much more. Few people appreciate the depth of our elderly. At nearly ninety years of age, this man gave me a personally guided tour of the Gettysburg battelegrounds. History unfolded that day as I listened to his heart and watched how much these hands loved this country. If their stories are not written down and shared with future generations, those stories will simply be lost among tattered pages that are tossed away. He passed away the end of last year. My heart was broken at the loss of such a man but it left me grateful for the history he imparted during our time as friends.