After Rosemary and I married in Mexico City in February 1968, by 1970 we were fans of Star Trek. When we moved to Arboledas, Estado de México in 1971, it seems that Star Trek aired in the afternoon. We would watch it at our siesta time between our bed shenanigans.

There was one episode I have never forgotten. It was called the Mark of Gideon. The Enterprise visited an over-populated planet and the scene that is embedded in my memory is one where Captain Kirk is in a room and behind him a window that shows people in the move.

That scene is one that I equate with the fact that most of my friends, family or writers I worked with in the last century for Vancouver Magazine, are almost all dead.

In my mind, especially when I turn off the light at night, there is that window in my head, where all the people I knew are now gone. They shuffle in my memory until I fall asleep.

I equate this with another memory I have of taking the train from my Buenos Aires neighbourhood of Coghlan to the cavernous end-of-the-line Retiro. At stations before, people get off, and by the time I arrive at Retiro, I am the only passenger.

My 1961 High School Year Book