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 strongholds
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 those flings.
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