When I was about six years old, I sat on the lap of John Van Hanford, Sr. and delighted in his swiveling around his squeaky wooden business chair to reach up high on a wooden shelf above his well-worn rolltop desk to pull down a box of Hershey bars from where he would select one for us to remove the shiny dark brown paper and its underlying shiny foil exposing the equally dark and reflective chocolate begging to be separated, piece by piece, by the chuckling and grinning Mr. Hanford, then shared with me.
Together, we looked at each other as we rolled those flat, melting chocolate tiles in our mouths but I was still a bit distracted by the presence of his college-age daughter, Elizabeth, who was always so ready make me feel important and accepted in her family’s life.
I am saddened by the loss of Elizabeth’s significant other, Bob Dole, and I wish that I could make the rounds passing out Hershey chocolate bars, piece by piece, to this special family in my life’s history as J. Van Hanford might have done.