They'd take up a whole pew, the Weaver girls. "Everybody called us that," says Nan. Five born in seven years. Joanne was Daddy's girl, at least that's what the others claimed. Barb had red hair and matching temper. "Little Nan" was timid and quiet. Then came Sue, then Mary, the baby. They lived a classic Roman Catholic postwar childhood: their father, a bandleader, easygoing and affectionate; his wife a stern but loving homemaker; new outfits, with bonnets, each Easter; the strict, black-and-white doctrine of the Baltimore Catechism. Ice skating at the church rink. Splitting the work after supper, one girl clearing,...
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