My earliest remembrances of my sister Thelma was sitting on the living room floor and watching her play the piano. I couldn't understand why she played these monotonous exercises over and over and over. She was so serious. She had straight black hair and silver rimmed glasses, and she didn't pay much attention to me. But, it seemed to me that the things she did were important, and that she was good at whatever she tried. My father did important things with her, like taking her to New York City to the Metropolitan Opera. I was too little to be jealous, but I did wish that she'd pay me more attention and not be so cranky with me.
Eventually, she became the most attentive and caring sister anyone could ever have.
But, it took me a long time to figure out, and eventually like, opera. My father took me to sports such as football, basketball and track meets. I think he started doing that when I was about four years old. Mostly, we went to the high school football and basketball games. I remember how big and heroic all the football and basketball players seemed. I would spend hour after hour, playing alone with my football or my basketball, making believe I was a high school player.
So early on, my sister Thelma and I had different interests, and little in common.
Going back to that time, I remember a lot of things but I've probably forgotten a lot more. This was all a long time ago. I'll tell you some of the things I recall. They might not be exactly correct, and I may be a little hazy on the chronological order, but that's not what is important.
What's important is, we were a family. And we always stayed that way.
I'm sure that I annoyed her plenty in those days. I know I did. But mostly, it was because I wanted her to pay more attention to me.
One time, she had a bunch of friends over to the house, and she told me that, while they visited, I should go upstairs and stay there. I did what she said, but I took a roll of toilet paper and went to the top of the stairs and held the end of the paper and let the roll go down the stairs and into the living room.
She was really mad at me!
Another time, my parents were out and she was taking care of me. But a couple of her girlfriends came over and they decided to go to a movie, and, since I was too little to stay home alone, I had to go with them. They took me to some really awful, love story gooey thing. I hated that movie so much I'll never forget it. It seemed like it went on for hours and hours. It was called "The Constant Nymph". It was about this older man (Charles Boyer) who eventually falls in love with this young girl. Boyer looks at her tenderly and says, "Leetle Tessa. Leetle Tessa".
I was very unhappy that my sister would put me through this crap, and I felt that she didn't care at all how I felt.
But as I got a little older, she got a little nicer.
One time, she was in the kitchen making a cheese and tomato sandwich. She always loved tomatoes. I looked over at the pantry, and there was a little mouse there. I pointed to it.
She screamed. She apparently feared mice as much as she loved tomatoes. She threw open the kitchen window and hurled her sandwich into the back yard.
I asked her why she had done that.
In hopes, she said, that the mouse, wanting the cheese, would run out into the back yard after it.
Then, after a moment, she started to laugh. It was one of the first times we had fun together, and I liked it.
But, a more important thing happened some time later. She was in high school, maybe in her junior or senior year, and I, about eight years old or so, was home sick in bed. I was just falling asleep when suddenly the lights in my room went on. There was my sister. And she said, "There are some people here to see you." Into my room walked the entire starting five from the high school basketball team. They all said hello to me and told me that they hoped I'd feel better soon.
I was awestruck and pretty much speechless.
After they left, I was still thrilled and amazed that they had come there, right into my room, to see me!
But, that was not the most important thing. I realized that my sister, with all of her high school activities and theater stuff and operas, had done this for me. And I knew that she really cared about me. And that's been the case ever since.
When she went off to college at Michigan she became Temmie. And. from then on, if anybody called her Thelma, she didn't like it at all.
During the summer, when she'd be home from college, she'd get a summer job. One year, she worked at the Asbury Park boardwalk as the cashier at the bumper car ride. These cars were electric and they had a connection that went up to the ceiling and slid along it as the car moved. I guess the ceiling is where the cars got their electricity.
But, I guess, to complete the circuit, the car needed electrical contact with the floor. For this to work, the floor was covered with carbon powder that went up into the air and all over the place.
By the end of the day, when Temmie came home from work, she was completely covered in black powder, her clothes, her arms and legs, her face, her hair. Clothes washing, showering, and hair washing was the first thing to do when she got home. I knew how much she hated getting so dirty, and I realized how responsible and brave she was. We never had a lot of money and every little bit helped out. By this time she was becoming a heroine to me.
During college she had a boy friend named Arnie. But, World War II was going on, and Arnie had to go into military service. He was training to be an Air Force meteorologist.
Finally, I think just before he got sent overseas to England, he got some leave and came to visit us. I remember when he first showed up at our house. Just about the first thing he did was to come over to me and get to know me. I had a new hero. I was so proud of my sister to have someone as great as Arnie for a boyfriend. Then he went off to England, and I didn't see him again until he came back.
When Temmie was at Michigan, she did a really great thing. She invited me to come visit her in Ann Arbor. I must have been about twelve years old. So my parents put me on the overnight train and I rode all by myself to Ann Arbor.
While I was there, Temmie spent all of her time with me. We rented bicycles and toured the town. Classes were not in session and I was allowed to stay with her in the women's dorm where she lived. It was on this trip that I was finally old enough to become, not just her little brother, but her friend. And, I think, she saw it that way too. Of course, I fell in love with Ann Arbor, and knew I had to go to college there.
After a few days in Ann Arbor, we went to visit one of Temmie's college friends in Detroit. I didn't enjoy that visit. The family we visited was extremely religious, and the visit was full of rigorous Jewish ceremonies and songs. During the evening, I just had to get away from all this, so I walked outside onto the sidewalk. Temmie came out and asked me what was wrong. I told her I just couldn't stand all this stuff. "Neither can I", she said, and we both laughed.
Another thing that made me very proud of her was that, when she was back at home in Asbury Park, she got a job at the local radio station, WCAP. She had a daily fifteen-minute children's show, and I always listened to it.
Finally, Arnie got out of the Air Force and came home to Chicago, and Temmie went to be with him.
Then, one day, a very strange thing happened. I was at home with my mother when she got a phone call. When she hung up she looked pale and frightened. I thought that something terrible must have happened.
I asked her what was wrong. Now, I'm not versed in Yiddish or Jewish expressions, so I can't say or spell this correctly, but my mother, overcome with anxiety said, "The Machess-tenista are coming!"
I was terrified. I didn't know what was coming and I dreaded its arrival. "What should I do Mom?" I asked. "Go clean up your room," she said, "and I want everything put away, and the room spotless and clean!" And then, in what I perceived as frenzy, she started cleaning the house, ordering groceries and doing other things like that.
I spent the afternoon in dread. And then, finally, my father arrived home from work. At the sound of his car, my mother rushed out onto the front porch. "Dave! Dave!' she yelled to my father as he stepped out the car.
He looked up.
"Dave," she screamed, "the Machess-tenista are coming!"
I looked apprehensively at my father to see his reaction.
He smiled. "Okay," he said.
It was only then that I found out that the Machess-tenista were Arnie's parents.
And of course, when they showed up to visit, they were the nicest people imaginable, and I was absolutely puzzled as to why my mother had been so upset. Later when we moved to Chicago, I became very fond of Arnie's Dad, Max Goldberg. Mr. Goldberg even took me fishing.
At one point, I visited Temmie and Arnie in Chicago all by myself. It was my first plane ride. I think it was a DC-4, a four-engine plane. My father drove me to the airport in New York and gave me five dollars, which was a lot in those days. I needed this money to pay for a limo ride from Midway Airport into town. But when I arrived in Chicago and got in the limo, I reached into my pocket for the five-dollar bill and it was gone. A nice man, seeing my distress, handed me five dollars. I told him I'd pay it back (by getting it from Arnie) as soon as we got into town. But the man got off at a limo stop previous to mine. So I still owe him the five dollars. I still feel guilty about this.
I loved my visit to Chicago and got to meet some of Arnie's family, including Al and Ann and a little baby named Susie.
Meanwhile, I was drifting through high school, passing but not excelling. It seemed like, whatever I did, I ran up against comparison to my sister, and her outstanding high school years. The worst case was Latin class. Two years of Latin was a required subject for students aspiring to attend college, and, after an uneventful first year of Latin I had the misfortune, in my sophomore year, to be assigned to the class taught by Miss Irene Taylor. Miss Taylor never missed an opportunity to remind me of what an outstanding Latin student Thelma had been, but that she (Thelma) had, in the end, disappointed Miss Taylor. It seems Miss Taylor had decided that, as an outstanding student and young lady, Thelma should attend Miss Taylor's alma mater, DePauw. Of course, when Michigan was chosen, Miss Taylor was both disappointed and resentful, and I received the residue of her wrath. Needless to say, I flunked second year Latin and had to take it over. Luckily, my favorite teacher, Miss Sessa, who taught my Spanish class, also did private tutoring, and with her help and encouragement, I passed Miss Taylor's class. I was out of her clutches for good. Sometimes, I wished my sister hadn't been so smart.
I didn't really get serious about high school studies until my junior and senior years, when I realized I'd have to do better to get into a good college, and, in particular, I wanted to go to Michigan. And I did do better and I did get accepted to Michigan. I felt good that I could follow in the footsteps of both my father and my sister.
By the time I was a senior in high school, my father was incurably ill with Hodgkin's Disease. In those days, they didn't know much about treating it. Knowing his time was short, my father retired from his law practice and decided that we would move to Chicago, where Temmie and Arnie were already living. He didn't want my mother to be living far away from her family after he died. This was a caring decision, but he couldn't have foreseen the challenges that it would bring Temmie.
So, in 1948, I graduated from high school and, at the end of summer, got on the train and went off to college. Shortly thereafter my parents moved to Chicago, and I came to our Chicago apartment for the first time at Thanksgiving break.
But, my father's health was failing, and I was distressed and distracted. When I came home for Christmas vacation, he was in poor shape. We took a walk together over by the Museum of Science and Industry, and I told him all about college. It was the last time we really had a chance to talk.
At the end of my first semester at Michigan, I had flunked Anthropology, had less than a C average, and was put on academic probation. To make matters worse, I was summoned home in March. My father was in desperate shape and he and my mother were staying with Temmie and Arnie at their South Side apartment. Arnie cared for him to the end, and carried him about, and comforted all of us.
My father died there, at age fifty-three. I was seventeen. I was beaten down and directionless.
It was then that Arnie took over as my big brother and surrogate father. He never blamed me for my academic failings but, instead, reassured and supported me, and encouraged me to buckle down and succeed at school.
And I did. And I got off probation and eventually graduated. And I began to grow up. And none of this could have happened without Arnie. He was way more than just a brother-in-law to me.
After my father's death, my mother was never quite the same. She had depended on my father the same way I did. She gamely opened a business of her own, a children's clothing store, called "Young Folk" in Hyde Park. I admired her for doing this, but I hated having to work at Young Folk during summer vacation. I was a terrible salesperson.
One summer, though, Arnie got me a much more entertaining job. I spent a couple of weeks prior to the fourth of July selling fireworks for Arnie's friend, Larry Callen. Each morning, at about five AM, Larry would pick me up and drive me to his fireworks stand in Blue Island. Late each evening, I'd be driven home. It was exhausting, but it was fun.
One day, I went to eat lunch at a diner in Blue Island. When the lady behind the counter asked me what I wanted to drink, I said, "Iced coffee, please".
The lady, infuriated, yelled back to the kitchen, saying that some wise guy was giving her a hard time, and she needed help handling him. Well, that's the gist of what she said, but her language was much more colorful than mine. A big, unshaven guy in an apron came out of the kitchen, strode up to me and asked why I was harassing the counter lady. I told him I just wanted some iced coffee.
He said something like, "Don't give me that wise guy crap! What the hell is iced-coffee?"
I explained that they could just fill a glass with ice, and then pour some coffee into it, and that would be fine.
The guy erupted. "If you won't gimme a sensible order I'll throw you outta here on yer ass! Don't give me one more word about this iced coffee crap!"
I meekly ordered a coke and they let me stay.
So much for Blue Island.
During my junior year at Michigan, I was told to come home for the weekend. Temmie and Arnie had adopted a baby, I was told, and I should come see him. Well, I really was happy about the baby and was anxious to see him, but I was annoyed to have to miss the Michigan-Illinois football game in Ann Arbor.
Actually, as it turned out, I wasn't really too unhappy to have missed it. Illinois won. And they named the baby "Jeff".
During this period, Temmie became more and more attentive to the needs of my mother. And, after I graduated college and went into the army, she carried this burden by herself. She was a devoted and patient daughter.
Finally, the months of hating army life passed, and, now married, I moved back to Chicago to try to figure out what to do for a living. Along with my new wife, Jane, I returned to Chicago. The plane flight back was stressful, as we had to smuggle our parakeet, Ruthface, onto the plane. Luckily, this was before the advent of airport x-ray machines. We put Ruthface in a tiny travelling cage and put the cage in our carry-on luggage. During the flight, every time Ruthface started chirping, I would become convulsed with sneezing and coughing fits. No doubt the flight attendants thought I was quite ill, or demented, or both.
When I showed up in Chicago and introduced Jane to Arnie, he opined, "It's about time we got some new young stuff around here!"
The next few years were difficult for me jobwise. Otherwise they were great. It was wonderful to be out of the army, be married, have our own apartment, and, during this period, Curt was born.
But, I needed to earn a living. I'll digress a bit here to go over some of my work experiences during those few years. My confidence in ever earning a good living and accomplishing anything productive was low during this period. I needed reassurance and I needed financial aid.
Arnie gave me both. Without having him to lean on during that period, I doubt things could have turned out nearly as well for me as they did.
My BA degree in Speech and English wasn't of much help in my job hunting. I finally got my first job at a ridiculous place called "The Do-Ray Lamp Company." It was located on Michigan Avenue, about fourteen hundred south. The company manufactured and sold auto lights, reflectors and so forth as a wholesaler. I was hired to work for Dave Dover, the son of the owner, Sam Dover.
In all the time I worked there, Sam Dover never spoke to me. Mostly, he sat in his office and made phone calls. Once each day, his secretary, an authoritarian and officious woman, would go into Sam Dover's office to massage his legs. One time, however, Sam Dover did walk over to my desk and handed me a package. He walked away without saying a word. I opened the package. It contained my Christmas Bonus, consisting of a shoeshine kit and a five-dollar bill.
The advertising manager there was an elderly Jewish gentleman named Mr. Scheimann. One day, when I went to eat lunch in a little restaurant across the street from the office, I met Mr. Scheimann there and he invited me to sit with him at lunch. We had never spoken to each other before. We chatted for awhile. Suddenly, Scheimann pushed his chair back and looked at me with amazement on his face.
"What, Mr. Scheimann? What is it?" I asked.
Scheimann shook his head sadly, In his thick Jewish accent he said, "What's a smart boy like you doing in a place like this?" It made me wonder.
Dave Dover told me to learn all the procedures and paperwork used in the company and then to streamline them and make everything efficient and foolproof. This was before the advent of computers. It took me about six months to do this job. When I finished, I told Dave Dover what I had done and walked him through the entire process. I was actually proud of what I had done. Dover assessed my work and told me I had done a good job. I asked him what he had on tap for me to do next. "Nothing" he said, and told me to find something to do.
A few days later, as I was leaving the office at the end of the day, he confronted me angrily, saying that I was sneaking out early and that I was required to work until five PM each day."But Dave," I said, "it's about five fifteen".
He answered, "That's not what my watch says, and my watch is what counts around here".
Annoyed, I picked up the phone, dialed the automatic time service, and held the phone to his ear.
"The time is now five sixteen and forty seconds," said the recorded voice.
Dover grabbed the phone from my hand and slammed it down. "How dare you question my authority," he yelled, "You're fired!"
"Thank you" I said, "I appreciate it", and left.
This was in the middle of winter. Bundled up from the cold, I was sloshing along slushy Michigan Avenue toward the Roosevelt Road IC Station when I heard someone yelling behind me.
I turned and saw Dave Dover, wearing no jacket, no coat, no hat, rushing toward me through the frigid afternoon.
I became concerned that something awful had happened in the office, and I waited for him to catch up to me. I said, "Dave, what's wrong?"
He screamed at me. "You have no right to leave without my permission!"
"But Dave, you just fired me."
" Yes," he said, "but you can't just walk out and not even care!"
Thus ended my days at the Do-Ray Lamp Company. When I got home, I told Jane, "I don't know whether to laugh or cry". We decided to laugh and went out to dinner.
Interviewing for a job in Chicago in those days was often both frustrating and humorous. Much of today's fair employment laws had not been enacted at that time. So, interviewers were pretty much free to use any standards that they desired.
In one interview, the guy suddenly asked me if I had "found Christ". I was tempted to say that I didn't know he was lost, but, instead, I just told him that I wasn't a Christian.
He threw me out on the spot.
Another guy had an office overlooking the Chicago River. "See that barge out there?" he asked. "I'm responsible for that. Could you handle that kind of responsibility?" Then he walked over to the blackboard on the wall of his office, picked up a piece of chalk, and, wrote, in one-foot high numbers, "$1,000,000."
"Do you know what that says?" he asked.
I said, "Yes."
"What does it say?"
"One million dollars."
"Yes!" he said, "One-million dollars! I am responsible for one million dollars. Do you think you could ever be responsible for one million dollars? I think not!"
He threw me out too. He had never asked me anything about myself.
Another time, I was interviewed and told that I was a likely candidate for the job, but, before they could give me an offer, I would have to go to lunch with the company psychologist, who, they told me, was an ex-military officer.
So I went to lunch. The psychologist told me that I should address him as "Colonel." So I did.
He asked me if I considered myself intelligent.
I said that I did.
The Colonel stood up and spoke to me in authoritative, stentorian tones.
"Aha! It is obvious that you consider yourself superior to other people and would have trouble working with them. It is clear that you are not a team player!"
He threw me out too.
I finally got a job with Allied Radio, a company that sold electronic equipment, mainly from catalogue sales. The job was kind of fun. I handled letters from customers who had not received their shipments, or who got the wrong merchandise and so on. But it soon became obvious that there was absolutely no career path there.
I told Arnie that I was discouraged.
Once again, he helped. Along with Bernie Wolf, he started a company called "The W. G. Water Treatment Company". The product was a water-conditioning device invented and owned by a Mr. Karlsson. W.G Water Treatment bought the license to sell this product exclusively throughout the state of Illinois. I was made Vice-President and salesman, two roles for which I had no qualifications or experience. I tried as best as I could to round up customers, with little success. It was clear that salesmanship was not a talent I possessed, but even so, I felt I should have been doing better than I was. Eventually, I found out that most of the places I regarded as potential sales targets had already been approached by Mr. Karlsson, and several had already bought the device directly from him. Although Mr. Karlsson was acting illegally, Arnie decided that litigation was not a practical path, and we folded the company. Even so, I was more than ever grateful to Arnie for trying to help me.
Another place I worked was The Toni Company in the Merchandise Mart. I was in the Market Research department, and my job was to look at results from customer trials of potential products and then write an analysis of how the product might do on the market.
My second line manager was a guy named Joe Shapiro. In all the time I was there, he, like Sam Dover, never spoke to me. I asked a co-worker, a guy named Wally, who was an ex University of Illinois offensive lineman, why Shapiro never spoke to me.
"It's not you," said Wally, "don't feel bad. It's just that Shapiro only talks to girls."
Observation over the following weeks proved Wally correct.
The first report I wrote was on a test version of a new hairspray, Adorn. The feedback from the test subjects was awful. They all found Adorn sticky and gooey.
I wrote my report accurately.
I was called in to see my manager.
"You can't write a report like that," he complained, "Adorn is Marty Sandler's baby!"
Marty Sandler was one of the vice presidents.
"But," I said, naively, "changing it would be lying."
The manager threw me out of his office. By now I was getting used to this. And, after that, I was never given any more assignments. After a few weeks of doing nothing I was fired. The reason, I was told, was that I was not productive enough.
However, during the time I worked at Toni, I decided that I'd just have to get an advanced degree in order to succeed at something. I took an aptitude test for graduate business school and aced it. I was then allowed to enroll at the University of Chicago's downtown program leading to an MBA. I did well there and got high grades for a semester or so, but soon realized that I really didn't like the stuff I was learning. I found it uninteresting. There was one exception though, an elementary course in Statistics. I loved it.
So, when I got fired from Toni, I knew what I wanted to do. I went to the main campus of the University of Chicago, and met with the advisor in the Statistics department, Kenneth Brownlee. He was the guy hired by the tobacco companies in the 1960s to prove that cigarette smoking was harmless. He became quite famous for this.
But, cigarettes aside, I found Mr. Brownlee to be an honest and communicative man.
He asked me how much math I had taken as an undergraduate. I told him none.
He told me I was crazy.
I asked him just to give me a chance.
Reluctantly, he agreed, but told me that, to get a Masters degree would take me three years rather than the usual two. I'd have to spend a year taking all the undergraduate math courses that I'd missed.
Brownlee told me that I would flunk out, and that the level of competition at grad school at the University of Chicago was intense.
For the first time in my life I felt challenged. I was excited, and couldn't wait to begin.
But first, there was the matter of having enough money to get by. Luckily, I was an army veteran, and could use the G.I. bill for some funding. Jane, however, had stopped working when Curt was born, and she had been our primary means of support. Once again, Arnie helped. And, his enthusiasm about my decision encouraged me even more.
The next three years were great. I loved Mathematical Statistics and enjoyed attending the University of Chicago, even though it had some very strange students.
For example, one guy in particular wore a heavy overcoat all year round, regardless of the weather. He'd sit by himself giggling, and when I'd look over his shoulder, I'd see him writing down complex, and apparently hilarious, mathematical equations.
Finally, after three years, I wrote my Master's thesis and took the qualifying exam. The test was written and sixteen hours long, eight hours on Monday and eight on Wednesday. One part was theoretical and the other was applied statistics. There were three possible outcomes: flunk, qualify for a Master's degree, or, best of all, qualify for both the Master's degree and for admittance into the Doctoral program. After a few days of anxious waiting, I was summoned to the office of the department head, Dr. Meier.
Said Dr. Meier, "I'm very surprised. I was hopeful that you'd do well enough to get your Master's degree, and you did. But I never thought you could handle the theoretical part, and you did exceedingly well on it."
He went on to offer me a slot in the Doctoral program, with a stipend as well.
But I was interested in a career and in using what I had learned to solve problems, so I turned down Dr. Meier's offer. Although I was happy with the faculty at the University of Chicago, I was also happy that I had proven them wrong, and I was proud of it.
More importantly, I felt that I had finally done something to make Arnie and Temmie proud of me.
During the previous few months I had again gone job hunting, on the assumption that I'd get my Master's degree. This time job hunting was different. Lots of people wanted to hire me. Yet, I still had several strange interviewing experiences.
One interview was at the Chicago office of a Boston based firm. The interview went great. The guy told me I'd be invited to their main office in Boston, and would be offered a job. He walked me out through the anteroom as I left. It was winter. I took my overcoat out of the closet.
"Where is your hat?' the interviewer asked. I told him I didn't wear a hat.
"What!" he screamed, and threw me out. I never heard from them again.
I took a trip to Livermore, California to interview at the Lawrence Radiation Laboratory. After talking to the personnel guy, I was sent to interview with one of the technical managers. He was a Japanese-American guy. He asked me what kind of work I was interested in doing. I told him my background and degree was in Statistics.
The guy flew into a rage. "You think you're too good to do programming? You people always think you're better than we are. You people put us away in internment camps during the war!"
He threw me out.
But, it wasn't all bad. I went back to see the personnel guy, who was embarrassed and apologetic. He suggested that I go spend the upcoming weekend in San Francisco at their expense.
I did so, and had a great time.
I had an on campus interview with a guy from the University of Hawaii. He told me that Hawaii was a very diverse culture, made up of all kinds of people.
I said, "OK."
He said, "You wouldn't be comfortable being around people who are not just like you, would you?
He threw me out.
Well, at least I was getting thrown out of classier places than before.
I went to Oak Ridge, Tennessee to interview at the Atomic Energy Lab there. This, I think, was where they developed nuclear weapons. I met with an interviewer in the reception area. For a change, the interviewer was a really nice guy.
He said, "I'd like to show you around but I can't. Everything is secret."
I said, "OK, just tell what it is you'd be hiring me to do."
He said, "I can't. It's all secret"
"Well, then," I asked, "what can we do?"
He said, "I'll show you around town and then we'll go over to my place and have a party."
And that's what we did. The party was great. It was at the interviewer's apartment and all the folks with whom I would be working showed up. Everybody drank moonshine, otherwise known as "White Lightning" from an unmarked bottle.
I don't remember too much more of that day. Somehow, that evening, they put me on a plane and sent me home. And, a few days later, I got a job offer from them in the mail.
But, I ended up taking the offer from IBM in Poughkeepsie, N.Y. They showed me around and told me what is was they wanted me to do. After Oak Ridge, I thought that was great, and I took the job.
From then on, I was finally on my own.
During the following years, visiting Chicago was great fun. My greatest regret was that, other than the times my mother visited us in New York, Temmie was totally responsible for meeting her needs. I knew how burdensome that was, and I marveled at how patient and caring my sister had become. I thought back to the serious girl at the piano, and I thought how lucky I was to have her around for my whole life.
And that's how it's been ever since. Things have gone well. And I don't even want to think about what it would have been like without Temmie, and without Arnie.