"I want to show you something."
Johnny Holliday is standing in the front hallway of his home in Kensington. His graying hair is parted, as always, perfectly to the left, not a single strand out of place. He grins, flashing his immaculately white upper teeth, and gestures toward the wall.
"I am as proud of this stuff as I am anything in the world," he says.
His voice, a syrupy blend of Johnny Carson and Bob Barker, goes quiet.
Johnny Holliday - John to his friends, Dad to his three adult daughters - has spent a lifetime describing the world as it unfolds in front of him. But in this moment, he is struggling with what he wants to say. It's hard to...