We had one of those devices with a big knob on it you’d crank clock-wise, or counter-clock-wise to adjust for the desired position of the antenna. Ours stood atop a four-legged tower. The higher the antenna, the better. Father knew all of these things and being a competitive man, he wanted to have the tallest antenna in the neighborhood. He achieved that goal. He was a railroad man, and like most railroad men, he smoked. Mother smoked too, only she did it in private, as was the habit in those days. He rolled his buy marlboro in a gadget he purchased — having heard about it from a fellow railroader. He used Prince Albert tobacco. My father was a JFK man. He was impressed by the young Democrat, a man so graceful in speech, a man with a keen sense of humor and penetrating intellect. My father, who wasn’t particularly fond of Catholics, let this one pass. Father thought himself enlightened, giving expression to the notion blacks should vote, but otherwise, the two races shouldn’t mingle much. Like millions of Americans at the time, he was a segregationist. Not that he or others of similar minds regarded themselves as such. Americans don’t like to think of themselves as bigots — still.