The Blind Observer

The Blind Observer A series of accounts taken from the memoirs of William Hopkins A Game of Hangman I have never personally taken the time to put pen to paper, although in this case I suppose it’s fingertip to typewriter, as, despite my rather illustrious education, I do not possess very coherent handwriting. Anyhow, I wish to write a record of a series of curious incidents that occurred in early October of 1919, culminating in a rather strange game I played with a rather strange man; but despite the strangeness surrounding these events, I must say that they were not negative by any means. I suppose I must provide some background before introducing my narrative. My name is William Hopkins. My father is from Britain, having fought in the Afghan war as a medic, before losing a hand and returning to his hometown. He spent an austere existence as a fisherman, then moved to Boston in search of prosperity. Thankfully, he had made a successful career investing in the purification of pig irons and steel making, with Mr. Henry Ford being responsible for much of his financial triumph. He married a rather ravishing woman, supposedly a descendant of a wampanoag chief, and also my mother. He raised me as a gentleman, and stated several times that he wanted me to be the person he wished he was for the first half of his life: Highly educated, literate, and a socialite. “Look, mate,” he would say, lifting me up in his arms. “I blundered a good deal when I was younger and …