There are some people whose worn and wrinkled skin only tell stories of horizons at the end of suburban streets and modern collages of white paper. There are others whose creases seemed to have transferred from dry soil that was cracked preceding water falling from the hose in that hand. American spirit was lost in those who spent their days nodding to a television behind them. Disconnected from hands that once felt the soil where nourishment sprouted now used only to unload cellophane wrapped vegetables from plastic bags. That spirit was carried on by a man born in Kentucky not fooled by artificial colors for he knew the full spectrum of letting the sunlight arch from ear to ear.