About five o’clock on Saturday, December 19, 2009 I received a very sad phone call from Fran Peek. He called to tell me that Kim had died suddenly of a heart attack that afternoon. Kim had not been ill and he and his Dad, Fran, were looking forward to the Holiday season. They had been opening Christmas cards earlier in the day and Kim liked them all, including the one Dorothy and I had sent, his Dad told me. Kim had his 58th birthday in November and had been looking forward to many more.

There has never been, and there will ever be, another Kim Peek. His talents were unique, exceptional and spectacular. He was the Mt. Everest of memory and more recently had become a living Google. His humor, wit and gentleness was infectious.

And the visible bond between him and his Dad was inspirational. Kim always said “Dad and I share the same shadow.” And they certainly did. Their willingness to share both the skills, and the story, with so many appreciative audiences world-wide so unselfishly was their gift to us. Their travels to tell the story, and share the inspiration, left them 5500 miles short of 3 million air miles. Fran kept track and says that he and Kim had spoken, on that remarkably odyssey, to over 60 million people—half of them students--over these past 20 years.

Kim told me “Rain Man changed my life.” Well, Kim, you in turn, along with your Dad, touched and changed our lives as well.

Kim went home for Christmas. The night I received that sad message I looked up and saw a new star in the heavens. It shone brightly but it had a uniquely different shape than all the others. It was truly one of a kind. And Kim Peek was certainly one of a kind.

I posted notice of Kim’s death on the savant syndrome web site. Since Fran Peek was not into e mail, I invited persons who wished to send condolences via the internet to send them to me and I would forward them to Fran. There was an instant outpouring of hundreds of messages from around the world—Poland, India, China, England, United States, New Zealand, Venezuela and all points in between. Some were from parents of handicapped children now determined to be the best parents they could be inspired by Fran’s loyalty to Kim and grateful that Kim and Fran made the world a better place for families such as theirs. Others were from students who now looked at disabilities differently, or whose motivation to pursue a successful career in neuroscience was kindled by Kim and Fran’s visit to their school. Still others were from individuals on the autistic spectrum grateful that acceptance of being ‘different’ was now more commonplace and Kim’s message about universal acceptance of differences had helped make the planet a better and more comfortable place for them. A mother of a girl with disabilities similar to Kim’s summed up Kim’s philosophy this way: we are all different regardless of disability, but also are all the same in our humanity.

If I had to condense the thousands of words in those messages to one word it would be: inspiration. I didn’t count the number of times that actual word—inspiration-- appeared in the messages, but it seemed to be present in almost all of them. Some messages were in Chinese which I couldn’t read but one “stranger” from China was kind enough to send along the rather awkward ‘on-line translator’ version for me: “Kim Peek will live in our heart forever. Thank Fran”

I passed that heartfelt message from half-way around the world to Fran. When I responded and thanked the “stranger” for sharing that thoughtful message I received this note back: “The Internet lets us know that humanity should care for one another.”

Kim Peek would like that e mail. It summarizes his lofty message for all of us from an unforgettable gentle giant of a person. He will be missed and the planet not quite the same without him.