By David Eskenazi and Steve Rudman
If all the flattering words used to describe
Emil Sick in the aftermath of his Nov. 10, 1964, death could be bumped together in a single volume, the work would probably be fatter than a
James Michener novel. “If you couldn’t work for Emil, you couldn’t work for anybody,”
Edo Vanni said after Sick’s graveside service. “I would have worked for him for nothing.”
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