My dad, Johnny Sr., worked for the Pennsylvania Railroad in Chicago as a pipe fitter. And that’s where he met Mom. Dad, a Southern guy, wasn’t only handsome—he was a rolling stone. Tall and clean-shaven, he had a small trimmed mustache, and his hair was a mass of silky black curls. He used Murray’s grease to keep the curls intact. It had one of those strong holds
and gave a great shine—that pomade did the job. He was always dressed as sharp as a tack; stayed in his three-piece suit even when he was hanging around the house. Now, you’ve heard the phrase, “Papa was a rolling stone.”
Yes, indeed, Dad made his rounds with the women. Don’t think Mom didn’t know about his flings. But despite all that messing around, my dad took care of his responsibilities; maybe that’s what mattered.
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