Jack Kirby and my father never met, or I don't think they ever did. I imagine that, if they had bumped into each other at some point, they could have had much to talk about. People of their generation have always seemed to be able to just meet someone new and have a conversation. Jack Kirby was from the city, New York, and wasn't very mechanically inclined and could barely drive a car; and my father was from a rural area, New Castle, PA., and a master mechanic - he couldn't "draw a stick with a crooked pencil;" but they both had extremely strong work ethics and an uncompromising sense of responsibility and loyalty to family.
Happy Birthday to Jack Kirby, Aug, 28, 1917 and to my father Chester (Buck to his friends), Aug, 28, 1916 - one put the monsters at the window and the other kept them from getting in. Thanks to both of you.