Boney Tenant.

Every once in a while, you read something or stumble across a story that is so profound that you feel obliged to check if it were written by Sophocles or Plutarch. This story here from Wednesday’s “Wall Street Journal” is an example of what I mean. You can read it here. I was never much of a Tony Bennett fan until 2001 when my father died. Around that time there was New York’s last jazz station…