I almost don't remember when I didn't know Darrell.  We were first cousins, companions when our lives shared geography, and intimate life-long friends.  We spanned eight decades, beginning so long ago in Meade when he came through a straggly hedge that separated our adjoining lots.  He was wearing a silly aviator's helmet--America was at war--and identified himself as my cousin.  Very soon I began to think of him as a brother, a relationship that never weakened.     I knew him in many contexts, and the one that burst out like lightening on a summers' night was his human solidity.  He was a stellar Christian citizen, a wonderful father, and a steadfast and joyfull friend to many.  I don't remember when he didn't work.  I don't remember him ever failing in a duty.  He lived his quiet life in his corner of Kansas and if he ever complained, I never heard it, nor, I suspect, did God.   Many years ago, when I was in college in Austin I visited him at Fort Hood, TX.  He is the only man I ever knew who took basic training as a sergeant.  He deserved it.   Time is an arrow and death comes to old men.  That noted and even so, the world has been diminished.