Jim Fabiano is a retired teacher and writer living in York.

I now live in a development filled with remarkable people. They have many things in common, with the most obvious being they are living out their final years. These are also some of the bravest people I could have ever hoped to know. Even though they’ve lived most of the time in their lives, they still march on to enjoy their golden years.

The other day, one of my elder neighbors shuffled past me on my way to the office. She smiled and hoped I would have an exceptional morning. As she passed, a sound brought back a memory of another man I once knew.

Ch-chink, ch-chink, ch-chink. It was the sound made by an antique clock at Harry’s old house in Framingham, Massachusetts. In fact, I’m told that the sound was around for as long as anybody could remember; even Harry. He swears to this day that the old clock was the first thing he could ever remember hearing.

He woke up the other day looking a bit more tired than he did the morning before. Every morning, his eyes seem to fall deeper and deeper into the sockets of his head. His skin also seems to be growing more translucent.

The years of working three jobs to support his six kids are catching up with the man who just wanted to live a quiet life. His days always began with the ch-chink of the time clock to measure his importance. The ch-chink of those time clocks also let his family survive a little bit longer even though it never became a bit easier or better.

Although I’ve only known this man for the 21 years I’ve been married to his daughter, I’ve heard from others who have known him forever that he has changed very little over the span of his 86 years of life.

“He looked like Clark Gable” was the description most used to describe this large strength of a man. If you were ever in trouble, you could not find a better friend. He never had much money, but that didn’t matter; he was always there to either loan or offer to loan any amount necessary without interest or pressure to pay it back.

The payback, of course, usually never came. This is probably the best reason to explain why, in his older years, he doesn’t have a lot of money.

The one idea of Harry’s I will always remember is that the man never talked against or down on another person. No matter what that other person did to Harry, or even Harry’s family, no one ever heard Harry try to hurt that person with words.

Even when I knew I had treated his daughter poorly, he would just listen and play with the change in his pockets. Ch-chink, ch-chink, ch-chink. The change would roll to make that sound to be combined with his silence; he knew that any problem would disappear like all the other problems, with time.

Because he was such a good man, it was only natural that this goodness had to rub off on everyone he was in contact with. His offspring became good and generous people who lived their lives in the way in which their father lived.

I don’t mean to give you the idea that Harry spent a lot of time with his kids. In reality, he spent very little time with his family because of the need to support and feed them. But the times they did spend together left such good and loving memories that stories are retold without the teller ever missing a detail.

I always observe tears in the eyes that belong to the storyteller. Never tears of sadness or regret. Just tears of love.

But the years grew tough on Harry even though his children, as they grew older and more prosperous, helped him as much as they could. His bones creaked like that old clock. Ch-chink, ch-chink, ch-chink. He grew older in years and older in health, but his views on life never changed.

He still believed a house was just a piece of wood and a car was just a hunk of metal. Real objects were not important to Harry, only real people. Money was never synonymous with happiness. In fact, most of the time he believed that too much money led to a life of misery and emptiness.

Even after losing his battle to keep his leg, he still would not change his views of life. Views imparted to now aging grandchildren and great grandchildren. The only thing that did change was his name. Harry became Grampie. And Grampie always stayed the same.

Ch-chink, ch-chink, ch-chink. These are the sounds that will stay with him for the rest of his already long life. With the loss of his leg came his now ever-present companion: his walker. The man, with all his paralysis, his philosophy of goodness and grace, and most of all his progeny who will continue his views into their own future.

Harry will always be preceded in memory, and reality, by ch-chink, ch-chink, ch-chink.