Great stories. The image below hangs in our garage. Dad managed a wholesale meat packing plant. Gone now. Transit authority eminent domained them for a new freeway (they made out). Aside from occasional visits he kept my sister and I away. We were expected to become "professionals". He had apprenticed in Croatia (pre Tito) and was a sought out sausage maker in Austria. He knows nothing of my butcher relations. When husband and I moved out of our apartment to another distant part of LA my hardest good-bye was to the butcher at my local Safeway. Fairly young, shy, gentle eyes -- always willing to special order me what I needed in my early cooking life. Like breast of veal. I think I amused him.
I ran into one of the former owners of the packing plant in a retail outlet they still had open. I was going to do veal shank at nearby friend's house. Lloyd was working behind the counter catering to the little old ladies from the Fairfax district who had him turning pieces of meat over for inspection, setting it on butcher paper for the to closer inspect/sniff/poke. They had no clue he was a retired businessman from Beverly Hills. He did it for fun because he enjoyed the interaction.
The fishmongers at Grand Central in downtown were on my day off Friday route. They taught me how to pick fish, bone and fillet - very missed, the place is hyper gentrified now - think EggSlut et al. The fish and meat guys at my local upscale market are wonderful. They take time, they explain, they save carcasses and bones for me (!) as they still break down meat in store.
My list is much longer in history but will stop. Oh and we have all probably read about this guy https://www.finedininglovers.com/article/italian-butcher-dario-cecchini-serving-steak-and-poetry