Harlan was a hermit. He lived in a shack, ate sparingly of strange things, survived on no money, and died in old age of terminal poverty. He was also a self educated man who recorded the simple events of his everyday life in Latin, and keeping with his eccentric nature, he had educated himself as a 19th century man. He could
never accommodate himself to the 20th century and detested the 21st. He was an Episcopalian largely because he attended our church more than any other, and very rarely missed a Wednesday night adult bible class. He was also a veteran so severely wounded in North Africa during WWII that he was never able to work again at a steady job. For all intents and purposes he had no family but the church. He died in 2004. This afternoon I took a single rose (he was a lover of flowers) to place on his grave just to let him know that he is not yet forgotten by those he has left behind.