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Ben English was my maternal grandmothers paramour.

He never amounted to much since he was a drunk. He was, however, a happy drunk who dearly loved my grandmother and made her feel that being on this earth was worthwhile. This is in stark contrast to her husband, my grandfather, who was an outrageously abusive raging alcoholic. My mother, for example, carried for her entire life the vivid memory of the time her father beat her up with a crowbar. She had to jump out a second-story window to escape and spent months in the hospital recovering from numerous broken bones and internal injuries. Back in those days, if you wanted to beat your kids nearly to death the law didn't pay much attention; she was 16 years old at the time.

Ben English, otoh, was simply a nice, loving human being even if he never accomplished much. Thank God that my grandmother could seek solace from him when things got especially bad at home.

When he died, we naturally buried him in the family plot.

I chose to use his name because when I first needed a name on usenet and a nom de plume for my magazine writing I was involved in some rather risque writing assignments that don't bear detailing in this family-oriented venue. The real Ben English, however, would have considered his name being used in such environments as a hearty joke. I also try to keep in mind that I've borrowed the name of a good man and that helps keep me from being too much of a jerk when I'm online simply out of respect for his memory.