My two best friends through high school came from middle-class families where their parents had been to good universities and were active in the intellectual activities in the community. When I was invited to their homes, I got an enormous amount of encouragement from their parents to pursue my art. While my father and mother made every sacrifice imaginable for my brother and me, they didn’t have the broader view afforded to my friends’ parents. While I received love and concern from my family, it was that expanded circle of friends that supported my creative and artistic aspirations.

Lenny, my younger brother, became an engineer. He went to Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, New York, and then married the daughter of the director of a hospital in New Jersey. He not only got a master’s, but a PhD. When he graduated from school, he became a chemical engineer with Exxon and traveled all over the world. He spent time working in England and France, and visiting Exxon’s refineries around the globe. He had a wonderful career.

I guess Lenny was in his late-sixties when he contracted cancer. All he cared about during the whole thing was making sure that his wife and family would be well cared for. He was a very generous and caring man; a very sweet person.

When I finished high school, I went to a commercial art school — The New England School of Art in Boston. I was sitting in a drawing class one period when one of the instructors, J.W.S. Cox, stood behind me and watched me draw. He quietly said, “You know Myron, you’ve got no business here. Get yourself to a fine arts school. This isn’t for you.” I took his advice and went to study art in Boston.

Boston is a perfectly wonderful town; a college town with a famous symphony hall, great museums and parks. It boasted grand tree-lined avenues, famous art galleries, the docks with marvelous seafood restaurants, and a great China Town. The two years I spend there were delightful. My apartment was just across Beacon Street from the Fisher Business School for girls.

The next year, I had decided I wanted an art education, but didn’t want to be paying for it for the next 50 years. It was also much too expensive for my parents to afford. So, with one eye on eventually being eligible for the G.I. Bill to finance that education, I enlisted in the United States Air Force.