The Piano Bar Player From greenwich Village

I was eight months old when my mother, due to extreme poverty after World War 11 was forced to place my older brother and I into a Catholic institution. Three years later we were moved to the first of two foster homes. Those were not the best years of our lives. Discipline was harsh, while nurturing and affection, unfortunately, was absent. My brother was ten and I was eight when my father remarried and was finally allowed custody and brought us home. During those earlier years of emotional neglect at the foster homes, I withdrew into myself and the world of adventurous daydreaming.