“Many times, on the way home, women with nothing but kids and poverty would come running out and plead with him to paint their blinds. ‘Frau Hallah, I’m sorry, I have no black paint left,’ he would say, but a little farther down the road, he would always break. . . . ‘Tomorrow,’ he’d promise, ‘first thing,’ and when the next morning dawned, there he was, painting those blinds for nothing or for a cookie or a warm cup of tea.”