Dad and Me

My father was a real writer. And he was obsessed with politics. He earned his daily bread working as an editor and writer in the broadcast media, but his true love was "literature." He fell in love with baseball and the Brooklyn Dodgers when he was a child growing up in Flatbush. His own father was a successful business man who sent him to NYU and Columbia where he received a Master's in Literature on the subject of James Joyce's "Ulysses" in 1932. I ended up living on the same street where Joyce resided in Paris in 1975, 14 years after my father passed away in 1961, at the age of 53. My dad was quite the comedian and wise guy. He also loved jazz and amassed an enormous collection of 78rpm disks from his time hanging out in the used record shops of New York during the 1930s, 40s, and 50s. He had his head on straight, even though his temper got the best of him sometimes. He was a terrific guy.