Dick Francis, another one of my Old Man’s favorite writers, is dead. The name felt special to me as a kid. Dick Francis. I can’t explain why, exactly. Maybe it was the two first names. It sounded sure, terse, precisely what amystery writer’s name was supposed to sound like. I didn’t know that he was British until years later. What I recall were the book covers–the Dick Francis paperbacks in the Old Man’s library all had horses on them, or something to do with horse racing and robberies. I didn’t understand how horses figured with stealing only that they’d make a good getaway vehicle.  

Here’s the obit in the Times.