I could write in this chapter much more about my dad for he was my hero in every way. Above all he loved and cared for his wife and children. I would like to be half the man that he was, and thinking as I do about him I have tried to be as much like him as possible. I am sure that I have not come close to accomplishing that. Dad was a fun person to be around, and a great story teller. His tales about his youth growing up on the water front at New Jersey in the early 1900's could fill this book. Hearing him speak with his brother Harry on Sundays at our dinner table was better than any Broadway show or movie that I ever attended. I didn't care if there really was a friend by the name of Shitter Hall, or that when they went swimming in the East River that they tied a rope around their shortstop's waist because he didn't know how to swim, and the rope became undone causing them to have to find another shortstop before the game. Dad loved to take me to the New York sporting events. It always would amaze me and please me while at Yankee Stadium or the Pola Grounds to hear a voice shout out of the stands; hi Murray. There right before my eyes was one of the many characters from his youth.