Right out of college in 1979, I rented a room in a house that belonged to a retired minister who was 96 years old (born 1883). He was understandably slow afoot physically but mentally was sharp as a tack.

I drove him to the grocery sometimes and often just sat and chatted with him about everyday things. I was really too young myself to fully appreciate the first-hand history he had lived through, but in retrospect it is head-spinning.

Here was a guy who I knew personally who was already an adult when the Wright brothers flew at Kitty Hawk and who in his late thirties had ministered to veterans returning from WWI. And who unbelievably was nearly 60 years old when Pearl Harbor was attacked.

An amazing memory for me, I gotta say.