I remember Morey at the Hartford Times as a terrific print manager and a patient mentor as I learned that end of the business — but also as a thoughtful and totally honest man.
One day, learning that I lived in Blue Hills, he told me that his parents also lived in that part of the city, and stubbornly — foolishly, he thought at first — brushed aside his urging them to move elsewhere because the neighborhood was being taken over by schwartze.
Then one day his father suffered some kind of seizure; his mother called for an ambulance, and called Morey. Both arrived at the same time, to find the house full of helping and caring neighbors. The next-door husband was a police officer, heard the call for an ambulance on police radio and phoned his wife, who immediately phoned other neighbors and hurried over, one of them as I recall the story a nurse — all African-Americans.
He stopped telling his parents they ought to move, he told me.
it was a moving experience told by a man of deep introspection and intellectual honesty — the Morey Oster I will always remember.