George,
You’ve done a remarkable job on your family webpage. Generations of Hartmans (and lord knows your family has done its best to populate the planet) will thank you for preserving the history of the lineage. I’ve really enjoyed browsing your site and catching up on one of my all time favorite families. Quite frankly, I think I’d only recognize three people at this point: (i) Barb, she just has not changed, (ii) Belinda, although I only knew her as an infant, she looks exactly like her father did the last time I saw him, and (iii) Glenn Jr, although I never met him, he has the exact same mischievous glint in his eyes that his father had when we were kids.
I apologize for not having written sooner. Although I’ve enjoyed your site, I was also greatly saddened by the items I read about Glenn. I tried writing sooner, but really could not find the appropriate words. For a few years back when, Glenn was one of my closest friends. I remember him as a very hard worker at Goldblats, and a great guy to kick back with after work. We spent many nights together working our butts off until the wee hours of the night, only to start work up again at the crack of dawn.
I’m so glad Glenn is out of Prison. I hope he returns to the Glenn I knew before his addiction. Please give him my best, and let him know I sincerely care about him.
Keep up the great work on this site George. I am truly happy for you as well. I don’t think I can remember ever seeing you smile like you do in those pictures with your kids.
Your friend for life,
Ken
Some friends are more. There were many that became part of us and we became part of them. In many ways Ken is even more than my friend for life, he was our sixth brother. In a world full of racism, prejudice and hate….we grew up on Whitman street and did everything together. We shared like the brothers we were. We played football, baseball, rode our bikes, swam, chased butterflies….everything. Once we took all our toys and put them in a red wagon and walked down the street with them. Rebels we were, when we threw every single toy down the sewer. I remember Mom and Mrs Gitter climbing down to get them all out. Another time we climbed into the empty drawers of a tall chest and when I climbed on the top the whole chest fell over leaving everyone screaming and trapped inside. On the FT site there are the “Twigs” and I just cannot find it in my heart to categorize my brother as a twig. He is so much more than that……..to all of us.
