“No one knows my name,” he told me, sitting at the corner diner near my place on the Upper West Side. “They can say whatever they want about me. They can keep me from getting a job.” “Do what’s best for your girls,” I said. McHugh shook his head. “I don’t know if I can.” Bringing up the family was no use—it was the man’s conscientiousness about the world his daughters were stepping into that had prompted these fits of principle in the first place.
