Grandma, mom, and grandpa – back in the day.

Since he’s passed, I’ve gone through stacks and more stacks and yet even more stacks of stuff from his younger days as a writer. Digging through this, a lot of his life is still a mystery to me. As I look at him as a wide-eyed young man — with his whole future ahead of him (and wearing uber-skinny ties) — I can’t help but wonder what he was like when he was chasing his dreams. Writing about tomorrow, imagining humanity coming together to build a new world.

He was never a huge success. In the time of Clarke, Asimov, and Bradbury, he was an unknown. Just an optimist with a typewriter. He sold one short story in the fifties, “Orbit’s Story” to Disney, and then gave up the chance for fame to follow his own path. It’s the kind of bravery I wish I had.

Grandpa was always so creative!

We would walk through the woods and he would share with me impossible tales of cities of tomorrow. Of machines discovering the core of what humanity means. Of bringing the world together as they explored the furthest reaches of the universe. Of exploring time and space by crossing dimensions. At their heart, they were about looking at bright futures that could be. He saw the best in everyone. In everything. Always.

These are the stories he told at bedtime when I slipped into sleep. These are the stories he would tell me on Saturday mornings while I ate my cereal. And stories he told me watching a sunrise hand-in-hand. You know that smile your Grandpa gets when he’s telling a story, and right when things look their darkest he gets to the good part? I do.

He created whole worlds for me, and I just want to tell his story as one last ‘thank you’ to him.