Father of the Man Author Dr. Peter L Colman

Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place
In all generations…
(Psalm 90:1)

The flight from Chicago to Manchester would take just two hours. The price for my ticket, purchased the previous night, was equivalent to a high-school teacher’s weekly salary. But this mid-winter trip was urgent. Critical. My students and colleagues at Carmel Catholic were characteristically sympathetic and understanding, as was Judith, my beautiful, loving wife and companion of thirty-five years. I packed a small suitcase, my Bible, and a couple favorite books (The Poems of C.S. Lewis, and a leather-bound 1893 edition of The Early Poems of John Greenleaf Whittier, plus the latest copies of Traditional Bow-hunter and Field and Stream), and I was off to O’Hare.

The night before I had received a telephone call from Uncle Bill in my hometown of Manchester, New Hampshire, concerning my father’s health. Today my destination was the Veterans’ Administration Hospital – a monumental, unpresuming faded redbrick citadel of refuge on a hill near the northeast edge of a burgeoning city that was once the textile capital of the world. In this quaint, isolated corner of the world, keeping quiet company with an abandoned granite quarry and a mammoth city reservoir, sat the tired structure of the old Veterans Administration Hospital. The building, quite remarkably unadorned, seemed anchored in the granite hills. Much like the aged water tower which straddled its weathered walls, the four-story structure stood like a faithful watchman, a tireless warrior, keeping lonely but faithful vigil over the weary souls and withered bodies of a generation of forgotten heroes.




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