Special note: Today is Dad’s 98th birthday!
As related in my last two posts, “THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS,” and “FIRST TEST,” my full-time entry into the family business was marked by both gloom and doom on one hand, and affirmation on the other.
You could say it was a study of extremes. Like my Dad.
The location of the office was, well, anything but standard. It was close to my home in Manhattan — five miles as the crow flies. Just across the river, the first stop.
Yet, it was hideous from the point of view of public transportation. Two subway lines to Times Square; a bus from the New Jersey Embassy (otherwise known as the Port Authority Bus Terminal); and then a quarter mile uphill slog. This was a tough commute of one hour’s duration, each way. It was the Goddamn bus that took the longest, inching its way through hellacious traffic to and from the Lincoln Tunnel. If I could have walked on water, I could have hoofed the whole thing in just about the same amount of time.