Personal memoir excerpt with no actionable investigative leads

been the easiest guy to be married to. He pinched pennies, went on trips while she held up the home front, came home late. My mother had about the same story. But | saw different sides of him at different times and places. Twice I saw him cry. Once we were listening to a Caruso record. He might well have heard Caruso, although | don’t recall that he said so. He would already have been 28 when Caruso last sang at the Met. One of the two books he wrote by himself shows him as an opera buff when on his own in Germany in the 1930s. He wrote what operas he had heard, who sang, and what he liked. My mother said the same. Once they arrived late at a performance of La Boheme somewhere on the Riviera, couldn’t find a program, liked the tenor, decided to help him, and learned that they had failed to recognize Beniamino Gigli. The other time was about his and Teddy’s son Timmy. Timmy’s brain tumor was inoperable and growing. He was 13. The doctors had told them to prepare for the worst. We were in London. The papers said something about young toughs called Teddy boys. My father started crying. Timmy wouldn't make it, and the Teddy boys would. I’ve now lost a son myself. You thank the graces for what's left to do. What’s left to do includes composing, verse and economics. The first has panned out okay. A fair bit of the verse was set in the music. At least that makes it read and heard. Aside from the kind words of Modigliani and a few others, I can’t say as much for my economics. So here goes again. Chapter 1: Recollections 1/06/16 24 HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_010940