I’ve been thinking lately about my fathers best friend, Arthur Covert, who died in a car accident years ago, before I met Angie. Arturo was a statistician who worked with my father in the production of the worlds first atomic bomb.
At the time of his death, my father and I went to Arturo’s house to turn off the water, electricity, and lock the windows and doors. We discovered a horde of archival media from Arturo’s life; a book shelf measuring 8 feet by 12 feet filled with note books, photo albums, video tapes, computer disks, and audio recordings. What he managed to accomplish was an archive of his life experience, every day until the day he died. From that moment on I wanted to document and archive my life experiences as well. Sadly, as much as my father tried to save the collection in Arturo’s honor and memory, his son was determined to do away with his father and any record or memory of him. Arturo’s son, Patrick, went so far as to pay a substantial fee to dispose of the collection. I’ve vowed to create a digital archive that hopefully will not end up getting destroyed.