Nidelko Delchev. Mr. Nick as I knew him from as far back as my memory serves me, was what every boy dreamed of and read about in books. I was unbelieveably fortunate. I didn't need to dream. I had Mr. Nick. Nick was a genius, self-taught engineer, succesful inventor, story teller extrodinar of his own true exploits. He had his own machine shop where he created wonders that inflated and tied balloons, folded and secured individual newspapers, an dfler by means of rotor and wooden pusher propeller. He invented, built, solved and taught for Boeing, Northrop and Warner Brothers. Over half a century ago he secreted himself out of communism through barbed wire, past automatic weapons and the gnashing teeth of dogs. Leter he would be hooded and secreted into Edwards Air Force base to instruct engineers and technicians on his discoveries regarding carbon fiber machining. he left his prints on the F117 stealth fighter and in Lockheed's Skunk Works, Area 51.
Nick had it hard when he was young at home and under communism. he was scarred with what I believed was PTSD when PTSD did not exist.Yet he did not let on except to say, he needed to be where it was peaceful, less stressful-which is why he moved to Ridgecrest. Money did not matter except when needed it for his projects. When he had money he was generous, and he was generous and patient with me putting up with my incessant questions and always listening to and pondered my ideas.
Tradition would have us saythat he has left behind his brother and a neice whom he adored-they live in Bulgaria-that he left myself and my brother, his many friends, and all those he has helped with no expectation of a return, but tradition did not know home, nor did he know tradition very well. Tradition is the home of the cautious and patient, not of imaginative geniuses. Tradition did not hear his ever present, hearty laugh, did not experiece his unquestioning loyalty, nor see his cherubic face with it's curved waxed mustache as his mind worked. No. We are all still with him and he with us a s we hear his laugh and feel his spirit exchoing in our souls, up to the day somone writes about us.
Mr. Nick was my father's cousin. he was born in 1940 in the town of Lubametz, Bulgaria.