The women danced still wearing pinafores, their hair in curlers, and fishermen stamping their feet on the floorboards, thumping fists on tables and singing. Dad told me that even husky voices need to sing. I mean, how is it possible to make one understand it was a joy like you never heard. Music flying up into the rafters, escaping out the windows, bringing people shoulder-to-shoulder, cheek-to-cheek, heart-to-heart. Dad was a powerful man, mentally and physically, as good a man as I ever knew; a hundred-point-man.