Randall Hill
The memory I share was Chromatone, the summer of 1971. The summer of Dodge Chargers, Ruthie, Laura, Paul and Paul’s mom; the summer of learning how to work and the summer of fear of being caught doing something stupid, not at all hard to do when Dave came near, at least at the beginning. Hilariously profane insults for which it was best not to laugh, until later, far away. Tenderly leading us out of the screen-wash, to fresh air. Coming from a meeting, impeccably tailored suit, afterward walking onto the production floor, hanging up his jacket, and methodically cutting stock at the giant iron cutter as he smoked long cigars into the evening.