At the History Table yesterday, we commemorated the crime writer Robert Parker who died this week. This Cambridge author was found at his desk where he wrote, six days a week, his widely admired detective fiction.

Talking about Parker stirred mention of other writers in this genre. No one of us could remember the name of a Bostonian who had a reputation for similar work. I could recall the title of one book, The Friends of Eddie Coyle, but not the author. However, I promised to come up with his name by later in the afternoon.

In fact, I did better than that. Within the next five or ten minutes the name George Higgins printed itself on my inner brain screen. We all agreed that was he was the writer who, just a short time before, had eluded the memory of us all.

This recovery of memory is what I like to call a true “senior moment.” Why not emphasize the astounding power of memory, even when it may have slowed down, rather than focusing on the negative inability to produce a name, or other answer, immediately?