Article: Spirit of Jimmy Stewart lives on for millions in countless movie moments.

It is late summer, 1958. I am sitting in the back seat of a Plymouth Belvedere my father has pointed at the huge screen of the Neponset Drive-In theater.

Jimmy Stewart has just guided his tiny, silver plane over Newfoundland, bound for Paris as Charles A. Lindbergh. At my mother's request, I slip into a running commentary of scenes that lift me far, far away from a gravel pit in Dorchester.

Not quite 9, I figure my mother is making sure I stay awake to see "Lucky Lindy" cross the Atlantic. In the dark, I do not see the tears welling in my father's eyes. I do not know what he fears is happening. In a month, my mother will lose what little sight she had ...

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