When we ended our opening Broadway show of Seven Guitars after the curtain call, the lights came up, cameras from the television station glared in my face, everybody in their tuxedos and gowns was standing up clapping and shouting in thunderous applause and I saw MaMama and Daddy. Daddy was crying, clapping, staring at everybody, and I could tell his heart was pounding out of his chest. He looked beautiful; he had on a black tuxedo; he could always “clean up nice.” My mom was clapping uncontrollably. I had put them in a hotel across from the theater and they were so happy. It was a Best
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