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That is telling of a high level self obsession. My father died. I loved him very much. He left behind a huge trunk of journals, clippings and the type of professional photos taken at The Stork Club in the 1950’s. I have never once delved through the journals. I assume that he, like you, held himself in such high esteem as to imagine we would read every word. He probably even imagined our reactions to certain juicy entries. Well guess what? No one has time to respond to your selfish assumption of your own fascination.