Not content with the strange array of voices vying for dominance in his head, Mr. Cornelius hid a suped-up Sony World-Band receiver within that magnificent patch of filaments. He tuned into stuff from all over the world. And, since he was nearly seven feet tall, the reception was especially excellent.

Mr. Cornelius became serious when he listened to the CIA. One of my happiest memories. He visited the estate often.  Read Pynchon all day. Mr. Cornelius said that I was his true brother, and that someday, in another life, we would meet again. He gave me T'ai Chi instruction every morning in the rose garden then lectured on secret Tantric rites for immortality.

Last I heard, he was living in India with an under age bride.