ABSTRACT
My parents, may they rest in peace, coveted a Catholic school education for each of their numerous offspring. No sacrifice could be deemed too arduous if it contributed to achievement of this goal. In the pre-JFK days of the late 1950s, fellow Catholics would conspire to assist. That’s how my sisters and I ended up on sunrise journeys in the back of a milk truck, rattling along with the icy, pasteurized bottles.
