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A Day to Remember, February 9, 2002
Strange to think about the things which bring people together.
                Who would imagine someone who had travelled the
                globe covering world events and writing about great
                historical happenings would collect antique transfer
                ware  dishes and comic old valentines?  Walter is a
                many-faceted man to be sure- but more than anything, he shall always be the man who launched the great revival in Titanic interest.  He seems to take that claim to fame with good humor, although I suspect it must wear thin from time to time when thinking  over all his life's  work.  It was what caused our paths to cross one April afternoon- 1985 I believe it was- in Wilmington, Delaware- at a THS convention.  He was buying a Baltimore Sun.  Of course I knew who he was- and was trembling with the excitement of just being behind him in a checkout line! What could I say to a man who had kept me up all night reading
A Night To Remember back in 1976?  "I'm from Baltimore too" was the most original thing I could think of to say.  We then chatted about places we knew there and places to eat where one could find a good crabcake.  He is a natural at putting people at ease.   I wrote a few times and over the years we would meet at conventions and his birthday celebrations. I treasure every scrap of paper he sent- those wonderful short and pithy notes on cream paper with his signature red -printed name and address at the top and familiar scrawl at the bottom.
Once, many years ago, I had sent a 1912 valentine in my letter for a joke- and was surprised to get a note saying how he had collected comic valentines over the years.  Here was another unexpected side.  Time and family and other pursuits have a way of getting in between friends sometimes- and with a pang of regret I realized back in December that I had not sent a valentine in too long.  I heard Walter had not been well for a while and was now confined to his beautiful apartment full of memories. And so this is where I found myself, on one bright sunlit winter's morning- fully a 50 degree lull in the cold season's chill, standing before the chocolate brown brick apartment house, hands nervously clutching a little tapestry chest of old valentines- mine and yours- from Florida and Texas and Ohio, Illinois, and California and Pennsylvania and Connecticut and England and South Carolina, Washington State and  New Jersey- 28 in all.  I had never been to the apartment before.  It is like a time warp- it could be 1930 or 1957.  The foyer smells of lemon polish and floor wax.  A uniformed doorman telephones up to announce the arrival, yes- it is in Walter's daybook.   I enter the wood-panelled elevator which contains a dear little leather-covered settee. The button has already been pushed for Walter's floor.  I sit down and finger the tassel on the little box.  Would Walter see the cluster of violets on my new hat- would he smile at that?  One feels inspired to take great care with one's dress when seeing Walter- he notices little things- and remembers the days of hats and gloves, and the subtle fragrance of perfume in the air .  The door opens inches from his door and there is Beryl in a trim white nurses's uniform, smiling a welcome, hand on hip.  I suspect she may have come from Jamaica-there is that sing-song lilt in her voice.
The 1912 train station at Westerly, R.I.  - catching the 7:46
Riding through the early morning mist, the steady thumping of the rails , making a Sentimental Journey.  Arriving at the front awning.  The valentines secured in the little tapestry box- you can see-precious cargo.... Yes the song you hear is My Funny Valentine
"My funny valentine, sweet comic valentine
You make me smile with my heart.."
One enters expectantly- the little foyer is papered in a lovely soft gold and white damask.  On the walls are two oil portraits- one of Walter and his gentle mother and this one of Walter as a little boy-I never thought of him that way. What a sweet and wistful little face.

His study is facing me, the old familiar brown leather chair, the imprint of his body embedded in it, a clutter of books and papers I fleetingly glimpsed.  Beryl takes my jacket, talking all the while, asking about my journey.  She is thoughtful- and comfortable with this greeting of guests.  She has done it for 14 years.  It is clear how dearly she loves him. 
"Don't change a hair for me,
Not if you care for me,
Stay -little valentine -stay
Every day is Valentine's Day...