An Interview With Dan Domizio
I’ll always remember Dan Domizio sitting in a corner of my bedroom on a quiet night in January, 1976, a bearded man in a white turban, seemingly lost in carving and sanding the hull of a model boat — as a few feet away Priscilla was lost in her thirteenth or fourteenth hour of labor. He’d look up occasionally, say something encouraging. His casualness both soothed and disconcerted me — was he really paying attention? He was supposed to deliver this baby.