Fortunate but Fated

Never before had he flown, but when about thirteen, up he went at an airshow to stunt in a two-winged plane for two, the pilot in one cockpit, he in the other. When he came down, he said, "I want to fly again." A few years later, in England where we grew up, Adolf decided he wanted to be a surgeon. But my father, a business man, wanted him go into the family tradition of business. Upon returning to our hometown of Medellín, Columbia at the age of twenty-two, Adolf, was accepted into a life of social privilege but found no interest in business—to my father's great displeasure. Bored by his lack of prospects, Adolf jumped at the opportunity, provided by the U.S. Government in wartime 1942, to learn in the U.S how to fly commercial airliners so as to replace U.S. commercial pilots in Colombia needed for the U.S. Air Force. After flight school he became a copilot in the Colombian airline. Some five months into Adolf's new career, my separated parents and I, living in the U.S., were stunned to learn by cable that he had died from excessive doses of Atabrine, a common medicine for malaria that had mentally disturbed him nearly to the point of him killing himself. This story is about the true cause of his death and the intrigue surrounding its cover-up.

The image of the lone man on the cover was created by Antoine Art Studio (www.AntoineArt.com)

Maurice Posada was born in Columbia, grew up in England and France, attended undergraduate college in the United States, returned to Columbia for a few years, then returned to the U.S. where he has lived ever since. He earned a master's degree in psychology from Boston University, but decided he didn't want to advise people how to live their lives. He then earned a master's degree in French language and literature from Columbia University. His thesis was published in a scholarly journal and was his first venture in publication of his writings. With a degree in hand, he joined Columbia University's faculty as an instructor in French, where he continued his interest in French literature and served as an advisor to PH.D. candidates. Maurice eventually decided to not remain in academics and instead followed a career path in finance and law. Upon retirement, he joined a writing group focused on memoir, where he developed his writing skills further. As a result, two of his works were published in the journal, Vocabula Review. In a note to Maurice, the "Comma Queen of the New Yorker," Mary Norris, said that his article on commas used with serial adjectives, published in Vocabula Review deserved to be considered "definitive." Longtime residents of New York City, Maurice and his wife of over forty years, Eve, moved to Portland, Oregon, to be near their son, David, and his family. Their daughter Clair remained in New York and still lives in the same apartment in which she was born. Although Eve has passed on, Maurice is still here, writing, editing, and working on a blog devoted to the importance of rhythm in writing. Although long-inclined to seek a level of perfection that Voltaire warned against, who said, "The perfect is the enemy of the good," Maurice, at the age of 97, was still able to finish this memoir about the life and surprising death of his only brother, Adolf. Among Adolf's misfortunes was to be beset by parents who pressed him to be like them but failed to notice and encourage his different bent. The psychologist Thomas J. Herman, Ph.D., called Maurice's memoir of his brother, "Powerful. Well written."