In 1910, my grandfather was four years old. He once told me that when he was a boy in northern Mississippi, all the kids would chase any car that happened to drive through town, to get a better look. They were that rare.
It was in the early eighties when he told me that story. We lived in Los Angeles at the time, amid millions of modern vehicles, and men had already walked on the moon. He honestly felt that he had lived to see science fiction become reality.
Your grandfather was alive when Geronimo was, and in his mid 20s when Wyatt Earp died, and there you were watching John Travolta movies in LA where Madonna lives, and talking to that man.
That kind of thing makes me feel so alive, in my sense of history, Hernán Cortés was conquering the Aztec empire, only five Bob Hopes ago.