Dad.

A little less than 68 years ago my father, just nineteen years old and having completed basic training in the US Army, found himself on a ship to an unknown somewhere, looking forward to an unknown fate. Being a sharp, streetwise city kid, he found his way to a craps game on board. Within two days, the $23 he originally had in his pocket had ballooned to about $1500, enabling him to buy the best berth for sleeping, buy food from the sailors (being a British ship, the rations for the enlisted men were particularly bad) and, in general made the journey as pleasant as possible. As he told me, he would pay $5 for a roast beef sandwich, a not inconsiderable sum in 1942; it was not exactly an environment, though, that fostered long range financial planning.

Why mention this particular story? Well, it just always seemed fitting that he had gained that particular windfall shooting dice, After all, he was born on the seventh day of the seventh month (for the record, his brother was born on the eleventh day of the eleventh month). So today he would have been 87 years old (though sixty was as far as he got).

Happy Birthday, Dad..,