Bill Trainor b. 1949

This is my dad as a young man, singing on the steps of the house where he grew up with 10 siblings. He and his brother Francis, the guitarist, would kick our family parties up a notch with their classic-rock covers for many years to come. When Dad sang — in the car, while barbecuing, in his Man Cave in our basement — his passion for music was evident and contagious. His strong voice was a natural gift; its soulfulness was earned through the hardships he faced, including his time as a Marine in Vietnam. A man of few words (though he knew many — one of my proudest moments is beating him at a “friendly” game of Scrabble), he made them count. His maxim to my brother and me was “work hard, do good,” and he led by example. He worked at the N.Y.C. Department of Buildings for 28 years and assisted in the recovery efforts following 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina. At the "End of the Line" (one of his favorite Traveling Wilburys songs), he was surrounded by the loving presence of his wife of 32 years, his children and many family members, as some choice tunes played in the background.