On this day in 1948 Mohandas Gandhi was assassinated.

I would be born about six months later. I no longer recall when I first heard of him, his life, his example was simply part of the rhythm of life, like Christmas, and nuclear attack preparedness, such as it was.

But there was something special in the Mahatma and his story. Somehow that story seeped into my consciousness and would inform me in ways that I often was barely aware of.

Perhaps it was that a person could live in our times and still represent a saintly way.

Of course it would have to be warts and all. His sexual issues are known. His various eccentricities are public knowledge.

His political machinations, his mistakes cannot be missed.

And, and something shines forth.

May his story be sung for the world over and over…