When I was a young kid, I always insisted like a spoiled brat on having one foot wedged securely in the closing door of Paradise!Īs the bright light of that paradisal dawn left my world on its ceaseless journey west, I refused to think Paradise was over for me - at least until the fat lady started to sing.īut then, way back in 1960, I sat next to my Mom on a gleaming - though already antiquated - little post-war twin-prop ‘aeroplane’ to Toronto.
