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of fingers spinning themes, variations, never repeating twists and trails of melody from the rigid tending of the silk in endless never changing design. She was pretty. She was talented. She was frail. If only her health could have held up to the surges of the jazz circuit. It was very hard on her. But, rhythm was still building in him. Jazz Man was still evolving. War in Europe brought unimaginable changes and demands. The freedom of jazz was not the freedom of an occupation in jazz. Freedom was sacrificed to necessity, finding an eddy of stability in the chaos for raising a family in a healthy predictable environment. That required a steady, if modest, job given a war time economy. And so, the budding Macaluso family survived as a self sacrificing Macaluso first sold appliances and then furniture, as best he could under the limitations of goods allotments. He rejected the quick small fortunes that were easily had by merchants in black market trade. But it was jazz gigs that put extra food on the table and transfused an anemic business which ought to have folded, due to its honesty. Dishonesty. Jazz Man would not even tolerate a hint of it. Yes, some flourished, but more had folded to dishonesty. About as regular as the washing of the sidewalks, neighboring merchants were hauled away in sweeps of black market enterprises. To the Macaluso's, honesty was not just a value. It was THE value. It was everything. They had it in abundance and invested it in their children. Honesty was not just a word to these plain folk, but a blue print for life itself, a sacred score played carefully and sung in chorus. You didn't seek happiness, per se. Happiness could demand more than honesty could deliver. Contentment was the guiding word. An honest and purposeful life satisfies the