Weekdays were often ravaged by the sounds of tearing down and building up and out, by sanders and nail guns, saws and drills. Aluminum ladders expanding and contracting. Grumbling motors and idling trucks. The incessant noise often made the newspaper column I worked on in my makeshift home office a mere aspiration.

Those who have been around long enough to hear the stories know about what a fighter he was, the badass nobody would mess with, back in the day, a man who could get respect by the way he entered the room, seeming to rearrange space, owning any territory he chose.