6:27a.m., St Barnabas Hospital

Every year, on April 13, I’d call my mother and wish her a happy Labor Day. And each year, on April 13, she said I was no problem at all; I just sort of slid out, no problem, and I don’t remember her ever talking about labor pains.

You see, I was pretty much a preemie in those days. Not on the dangerous side, but definitely early and small. These days, it would not be any problem at all, but back then Mom called the M.D. and said she was delivering. He said, “Nonsense; you’re not due for a while yet.” She replied, “I’ve had a child before and I know I’m delivering.”

Mothers, of course, are always right. Ask them.

So it’s early Monday morning, and some guy is going to work on the bus. Approx 6:27, he passes a hospital where my mother is busy delivering her latest.

I know this because 31 years later he and I are doing a radio show together, without knowing each other. In our subsequent 30-year friendship, this incident comes out much to our mutual surprise. It was more of a surprise when, just a few years ago, he passed away one day after my birthday.

So, it’s April 13; the original day was 1942; both were on a Monday. George Rihan was the fellow on the bus, who later co-wrote a music column with me for 23 years. My brother and I both had a brother.