I was a typical child of the depression. We didn’t have any money. My father had come out of WWI working part-time as a taxi cab driver. He didn’t own the cab, but the guy who owned the medallion would let him use his cab when he wasn’t using it. It was a 50-50 split for what was on the meter and you got to keep your own tips.

This was the only money we had coming in. It was very, very tough.

My dad worked taxis for fifteen years. At one point he got a job with the Works Project Administration (WPA). Of his first steady job after that was in 1939 when he got a job as an elevator operator in the American Express building. He worked his way up through the ranks to be a head elevator operator. It was tough, very tough.

He drank more than he needed, out of frustration, no doubt.

My father had only gone through tenth grade. In his younger years he talked about driving a horse and wagon for the laundry.

My mother on the other hand graduated from Averill High School. She was smart and she read voraciously. As a kid I remember sitting on her lap reading to her, and she are reading to me. She was demanding, too. She demanded that I get an education, and was very supportive when I took these competitive exams.