The worst thing about my last job was having to fly on my boss's private plane. While I worked for him, he had 3 different models, and as much as he delighted in showing off to defense counsel ("I don't know when your flight leaves, but for me it's wheels up whenever I say") I loathed those flights.
The last plane he had was a Beech King Air, and I nearly died twice on it. The first time, on a flight to Tampa, the plane shuddered and wouldn't steer right after takeoff. My boss and his pilot friend struggled to get the thing back to the runway, to find that a rudder trim tab was locked in the "right turn" position, so the plane didn't want to go left.
The second time, as I was in the jump seat, just as the plane became airborne, the pilot (same fellow) put the plane right back down, explaining to me that the contraption that kept the props in synch was broken, and we could have flipped over as soon as we got a bit higher. Needless to say, I'm not going to fly with this fellow a third time, to tempt fate.
So, yesterday, I find myself on a commuter flight heading to Gainesville, to fetch D1, abourd a Beech 1900, essentially a bigger version of the King Air. As we're taxiing to the runway, I'm replaying in my mind the fun events of my prior brushes with death. I notice out of the corner of my eye 4 Metro Police cars racing pretty fast. The Beech halts, and the pilot announces that there is "an unauthorized vehicle on the runway," and there would be a delay.
Perfect! I'm going to die on a freakin Beechcraft, but not even in the air! When they show the list of the victims of this terrorist, most of them will have been sitting on big jets when the car bomb explodes. I'll be in the pathetic group of 9 souls sitting on a commuter plane.
Well --the delay was short, and it turned out that some senile old man drove around a wooden gate, and made his way to a runway. He's lucky he was only arrested and not shot by the police.
The flight went smoothly, and even enjoyably, as the low altitude gave me some great views of Lake Okeechobee as we flew North.
I don't know --I'm still a bit leery of those Beechcraft...
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
It's A Wonderful Day in the Neighborhood
Like all neighborhoods, ours has had its share of annoyance over the years --mostly due to a crank or two. This morning, I was up early and did my daily constitutional, and fantasized I was in a Midwestern small town, with lusher foliage, and warmer weather...
I ran into Irv, who's kissing 80 if not yet there. Irv is a "reformed" lawyer who still works part time in the hotel management business. He, like me, is typically happy. He walks around the neighborhood with a pocket full of dog biscuits, which he gives to pooches who come over for a scratch or two.
We chatted about disbarred lawyers we know, and UM sports. Irv's been a Canes fan since the Korean War, at least, and goes to football, basketball, and baseball games. As we chatted, his wife Kay was leaving for golf. Kay is a retired "stewardess --not flight attendant," from the days where that job required beauty. Irv stole Kay away from a doctor friend --I'm guessing in the early 60s, when Kay must have been a knockout. She's still a lovely lady, and athletic, and Irv let on that sometimes he makes believe his back hurts more than it does, to avoid playing golf with his wife, who always beats him soundly. As Irv said: "I worked with a golf pro, who advised me to take off 2 weeks, and then quit."
After Irv, I ran into pretty Stephanie, who grew up in Pinecrest, and then went north to an Ivy League college, where she met a budding investment banker. D1 sees Stephanie as a role model --Master's Degree, but doesn't have to worry about supporting a family. We chatted briefly about our kids, and Stephanie jogged off.
Next I saw Brian, a warm and charming surgeon, as much as an oxymoron as that sounds. Brian was off to the hospital, and we chatted about repairing gates. My friends at the hospital where Brian works tell me he's tops in his specialty, yet he's always self effacing almost to the point of shyness. He's married to a Latina flight attendant, who could have fit the old criteria of her job's description.
After that was Steve, the retired NAvy JAG officer, now a lawyer in practice. Steve is a Tom Cruise lookalike and soundalike. He was coming back from his daily 50 mile bike ride, in all the silly biker clothes those guys wear. I always ask him if something is chasing him to go that fast, and caution him that he'll NEVER be able to grow a belly like mine if he keeps up with all of that aerobic work. He chuckles every time.
So --it was a wonderful day, as Mr. Rogers sings. I'm flying up to Gainesville tomorrow to fetch D1, who is coming home for most of the summer. She always tells us how much she misses living at home. On a day like today, it's easy to see why
I ran into Irv, who's kissing 80 if not yet there. Irv is a "reformed" lawyer who still works part time in the hotel management business. He, like me, is typically happy. He walks around the neighborhood with a pocket full of dog biscuits, which he gives to pooches who come over for a scratch or two.
We chatted about disbarred lawyers we know, and UM sports. Irv's been a Canes fan since the Korean War, at least, and goes to football, basketball, and baseball games. As we chatted, his wife Kay was leaving for golf. Kay is a retired "stewardess --not flight attendant," from the days where that job required beauty. Irv stole Kay away from a doctor friend --I'm guessing in the early 60s, when Kay must have been a knockout. She's still a lovely lady, and athletic, and Irv let on that sometimes he makes believe his back hurts more than it does, to avoid playing golf with his wife, who always beats him soundly. As Irv said: "I worked with a golf pro, who advised me to take off 2 weeks, and then quit."
After Irv, I ran into pretty Stephanie, who grew up in Pinecrest, and then went north to an Ivy League college, where she met a budding investment banker. D1 sees Stephanie as a role model --Master's Degree, but doesn't have to worry about supporting a family. We chatted briefly about our kids, and Stephanie jogged off.
Next I saw Brian, a warm and charming surgeon, as much as an oxymoron as that sounds. Brian was off to the hospital, and we chatted about repairing gates. My friends at the hospital where Brian works tell me he's tops in his specialty, yet he's always self effacing almost to the point of shyness. He's married to a Latina flight attendant, who could have fit the old criteria of her job's description.
After that was Steve, the retired NAvy JAG officer, now a lawyer in practice. Steve is a Tom Cruise lookalike and soundalike. He was coming back from his daily 50 mile bike ride, in all the silly biker clothes those guys wear. I always ask him if something is chasing him to go that fast, and caution him that he'll NEVER be able to grow a belly like mine if he keeps up with all of that aerobic work. He chuckles every time.
So --it was a wonderful day, as Mr. Rogers sings. I'm flying up to Gainesville tomorrow to fetch D1, who is coming home for most of the summer. She always tells us how much she misses living at home. On a day like today, it's easy to see why
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Bitterman
Dr. Bill is one of the wisest men I know. He's a retired UM engineering professor, who developed a wildly succesful consulting career reconstructing accidents for lawyers. Dr. Bill is from Georgia, and originally of Irish stock. He's about 6 4 and looks like Abe Lincoln without a beard.
I always enjoy my time with Bill, because he's such a polymath. He's a devout Catholic, and yet often tells me something about Judaism I didn't know. He has travelled the world and learned something from each place he's seen. He loves a great joke as much as I do.
Bill's going through an awful time. His son in law John, who is Bill's former student, was in the process of taking over the consulting business. John was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.
This morning, my law partner was speaking with Bill about an upcoming deposition, where Bill will be testifying in one of our cases. At the end of the conversation, Bill spoke about John. He said John would know in a few weeks if he'd have more time, with the success of some therapy he was getting.
Regardless, Bill said, his faith remained strong. Bill said that, as people age, it's easier to become bitter, as we see so much sadness and disappointment. Bill chooses optimism, even in the face of tragedy. To him, it's only logical.
Recently my partner spoke to one of Bill's contemporaries, a retired lawyer now living upstate. This fellow had something negative to say about every name my partner mentioned. He had become a bitter old man.
Bill heard that, and was disappointed. As long as there is life, there is hope, the wise professor thinks.
It makes the most sense.
I always enjoy my time with Bill, because he's such a polymath. He's a devout Catholic, and yet often tells me something about Judaism I didn't know. He has travelled the world and learned something from each place he's seen. He loves a great joke as much as I do.
Bill's going through an awful time. His son in law John, who is Bill's former student, was in the process of taking over the consulting business. John was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.
This morning, my law partner was speaking with Bill about an upcoming deposition, where Bill will be testifying in one of our cases. At the end of the conversation, Bill spoke about John. He said John would know in a few weeks if he'd have more time, with the success of some therapy he was getting.
Regardless, Bill said, his faith remained strong. Bill said that, as people age, it's easier to become bitter, as we see so much sadness and disappointment. Bill chooses optimism, even in the face of tragedy. To him, it's only logical.
Recently my partner spoke to one of Bill's contemporaries, a retired lawyer now living upstate. This fellow had something negative to say about every name my partner mentioned. He had become a bitter old man.
Bill heard that, and was disappointed. As long as there is life, there is hope, the wise professor thinks.
It makes the most sense.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Fambly
Tonight is the first night of Passover, and most of us will be getting together at Villa Wifey. The notable exception is my sister Sue and her boys, who are in California and can't make it.
It's funny -as a kid, family gatherings were sort of ok, but nothing to get excited about. There was nothing as great as going out with friends, and when family duty and friend opportunity conflicted --it was a complete drag to have to see family. Of course, of those precious friends, from teenage years, I speak to one of them about twice a year, and another rarely.
Now, getting together is something to be excited about, especially since my mother and Wifey's parents hear, to quote Marvel, "...time's winged chariot hurrying near." In other words, how many Passovers together will there be?
My niece is coming from Tampa, with her funny and dutiful husband, beautiful bouncing boy, and earnest and brilliant daughter. My nephew, feeling his entrepreneurial oats with a new business, is coming with his lovely wife, and 2 gorgeous girls. These 4 kids are the next generation of the family, and it's clear the future is bright.
My sister and brother in law are bringing my mother, the world's happiest 88 year old, who will look out over her grandchildren and great grandchildren and positively beam. My brother in law and sister are nearing retirement,, and trying to figure out the next stage of their lives as they enjoy their storybook marriage. Ha! My sister would say storybook if it was written by Stephen King, and yet we all know that neither of them will get out of their nuptials alive.
My in laws will come, and enter with all the grace and subtlety of a rodeo bull. My father in law will rush to feed my pond fish and water and fertilize his cactus. My mother in law will have some mail for me to review that requires IMMEDIATE attention, as if the future of the nation was at stake. Of course, it will be an offer from AAA to buy car insurance...
D2 lives here, of course, and she will have to endure, I'm sure, the ribbing for her recent prom misadventure. D1 flew in yesterday from UF, surprising her mother and sister. She leaves tomorrow to take the finals of her sophomore year --somehow college is 1/2 over.
Wifey is happily low key. Having a caterer cook, serve, and clean up afterwards is the best money I ever spend. It lets all of us be in a good mood, and enjoy each other's company.
As for me --well --I flirted with becoming more religiously observant, but concluded, to quote Dylan, that it ain't me, babe. There will be no real seder, as it is, and instead just a family dinner with a few unusual foods, like matzah. I'm not proud of this, it just is.
So, I'm thankful for today --for the shared laughter that will come, and the memories we'll create. I see so much sadness and misery in the world, that celebrating the good is, to my view, a requirement for a happy life.
It's funny -as a kid, family gatherings were sort of ok, but nothing to get excited about. There was nothing as great as going out with friends, and when family duty and friend opportunity conflicted --it was a complete drag to have to see family. Of course, of those precious friends, from teenage years, I speak to one of them about twice a year, and another rarely.
Now, getting together is something to be excited about, especially since my mother and Wifey's parents hear, to quote Marvel, "...time's winged chariot hurrying near." In other words, how many Passovers together will there be?
My niece is coming from Tampa, with her funny and dutiful husband, beautiful bouncing boy, and earnest and brilliant daughter. My nephew, feeling his entrepreneurial oats with a new business, is coming with his lovely wife, and 2 gorgeous girls. These 4 kids are the next generation of the family, and it's clear the future is bright.
My sister and brother in law are bringing my mother, the world's happiest 88 year old, who will look out over her grandchildren and great grandchildren and positively beam. My brother in law and sister are nearing retirement,, and trying to figure out the next stage of their lives as they enjoy their storybook marriage. Ha! My sister would say storybook if it was written by Stephen King, and yet we all know that neither of them will get out of their nuptials alive.
My in laws will come, and enter with all the grace and subtlety of a rodeo bull. My father in law will rush to feed my pond fish and water and fertilize his cactus. My mother in law will have some mail for me to review that requires IMMEDIATE attention, as if the future of the nation was at stake. Of course, it will be an offer from AAA to buy car insurance...
D2 lives here, of course, and she will have to endure, I'm sure, the ribbing for her recent prom misadventure. D1 flew in yesterday from UF, surprising her mother and sister. She leaves tomorrow to take the finals of her sophomore year --somehow college is 1/2 over.
Wifey is happily low key. Having a caterer cook, serve, and clean up afterwards is the best money I ever spend. It lets all of us be in a good mood, and enjoy each other's company.
As for me --well --I flirted with becoming more religiously observant, but concluded, to quote Dylan, that it ain't me, babe. There will be no real seder, as it is, and instead just a family dinner with a few unusual foods, like matzah. I'm not proud of this, it just is.
So, I'm thankful for today --for the shared laughter that will come, and the memories we'll create. I see so much sadness and misery in the world, that celebrating the good is, to my view, a requirement for a happy life.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Ferris Bueller
So, it turns out that D2 didn't have such a great prom experience after all. She came home Sunday morning, and I asked her how it went, and she said it went fine. Upon more detailed cross examination, she let on that, oh yeah, one girl got sick from drinking, and had to go to the hospital --but she was fine.
Later that night, I got an email from one of the other prom dads. He assumed that I knew about "the debacle." I didn't. It turns out that after that lovely pre prom party, the kids on the bus directed the driver to a second "phantom party." This was at a girl's house where there were no parents, but there WAS stashed quantities of alcohol.
Two of the kids drank so much, that they were passed out by the time they reached the party, and were taken to local hospitals. Police were called, and threatened to give the kids on the bad bus breathylizer tests. In other words --a disaster.
D2, instead of calling me to come get her, lied to some of the other parents, and went ahead to the hotel, where she spent the night. To say I was livid with her is an understatement. I screamed so much and so loudly that my throat hurt for 3 days.
D2 is grounded for the remainder of the school year.
The principal called an assembly for the kids on the bus, and they all confessed to the underage drinking. The penalty: no attendance at the annual Disney "Grad Night."
D2 went to see the principal the next day, and said she felt bad, but that, as a sophomore, she couldn't go to Grad Night anyway, so she escaped school punishment, although she was grounded at home.
Later that morning, Wifey was at a PTSA meeting at the school, and the principal came in. He didn't know that D2's mother was there, but shared a story about "a delightful girl who came to his office, took responsibility...her parents raised a wonderful young lady...the future of the high school, with kids like D2 is great...etc..."
It was nauseating. Like the great character Ferris Bueller --D2, who broke several rules, and abused my trust, was somehow lauded as a hero.
Talk about being her father's daughter...
Later that night, I got an email from one of the other prom dads. He assumed that I knew about "the debacle." I didn't. It turns out that after that lovely pre prom party, the kids on the bus directed the driver to a second "phantom party." This was at a girl's house where there were no parents, but there WAS stashed quantities of alcohol.
Two of the kids drank so much, that they were passed out by the time they reached the party, and were taken to local hospitals. Police were called, and threatened to give the kids on the bad bus breathylizer tests. In other words --a disaster.
D2, instead of calling me to come get her, lied to some of the other parents, and went ahead to the hotel, where she spent the night. To say I was livid with her is an understatement. I screamed so much and so loudly that my throat hurt for 3 days.
D2 is grounded for the remainder of the school year.
The principal called an assembly for the kids on the bus, and they all confessed to the underage drinking. The penalty: no attendance at the annual Disney "Grad Night."
D2 went to see the principal the next day, and said she felt bad, but that, as a sophomore, she couldn't go to Grad Night anyway, so she escaped school punishment, although she was grounded at home.
Later that morning, Wifey was at a PTSA meeting at the school, and the principal came in. He didn't know that D2's mother was there, but shared a story about "a delightful girl who came to his office, took responsibility...her parents raised a wonderful young lady...the future of the high school, with kids like D2 is great...etc..."
It was nauseating. Like the great character Ferris Bueller --D2, who broke several rules, and abused my trust, was somehow lauded as a hero.
Talk about being her father's daughter...
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Don't Do It For the Fame
Jerry Pyszka died, and his funeral is tomorrow, at a Catholic church in Miami Shores. In today's Herald, there's only a death notice, no obituary. There is a pleasant obit about Beverly Clark, who owned a coffee house and was a stewardess for Northwest Airlines. Nothing about Jerry, other than what his family submitted.
Jerry was a well respected insurance defense lawyer. To those of us in the business, he was well known. He started a firm in 1975 that most plaintiff's lawyers encountered in their quest for settlements or trials for their clients. He had a reputation for honest dealing. I always admired his dry sense of humor.
About 12 years ago, I encountered Jerry at a car dealership, where we were both leasing new vehicles. The salesman was touting the new technology of GPS, and asked if he could give us both a presentation. We agreed. After the salesman was finished, Jerry asked one question. "So, if someone got my code, they could go on a computer and learn the precise location of my car, at any time?" The salesman, thinking this was a BENEFIT to a vehicle owner, answered "Yes, precisely!" Jerry looked at me, knowingly, and said "That's the stupidest invention I've ever heard. Keep it the hell off my car!"
Why has society decided that a stewardess's death is more newsworthy than a 54 year member of the Florida Bar?
In 1993, the same thing happened when my mentor, Ed Perse, died. Ed was a lawyer's lawyer, and through my friendship with his son Mike, took me under his wing. Ed guided my career, as well as the careers of literally hundreds of young lawyers --getting us jobs, counseling us though tough times. In fact, Ed used to joke with me that he was more like Lucy in Peanuts, when she assumed the role of psychiatrist, than an appellate lawyer. I miss Ed to this day.
When he died, the Herald gave him a paragraph or two. I'm sure the death of some former Director of Sanitation or something got more press.
Anyway, my partner and I plan to go to Jerry's funeral tomorrow. We don't know his family, but we think it's proper to pay our respects.
If your lucky, in the law business, you can make a fine living, and maybe even do a handful of useful things for people. But, unless you represent folks like OJ, or a Kennedy family member, you don't get a lot of fame. That's fine with me personally. I just wonder whether it's right.
Jerry was a well respected insurance defense lawyer. To those of us in the business, he was well known. He started a firm in 1975 that most plaintiff's lawyers encountered in their quest for settlements or trials for their clients. He had a reputation for honest dealing. I always admired his dry sense of humor.
About 12 years ago, I encountered Jerry at a car dealership, where we were both leasing new vehicles. The salesman was touting the new technology of GPS, and asked if he could give us both a presentation. We agreed. After the salesman was finished, Jerry asked one question. "So, if someone got my code, they could go on a computer and learn the precise location of my car, at any time?" The salesman, thinking this was a BENEFIT to a vehicle owner, answered "Yes, precisely!" Jerry looked at me, knowingly, and said "That's the stupidest invention I've ever heard. Keep it the hell off my car!"
Why has society decided that a stewardess's death is more newsworthy than a 54 year member of the Florida Bar?
In 1993, the same thing happened when my mentor, Ed Perse, died. Ed was a lawyer's lawyer, and through my friendship with his son Mike, took me under his wing. Ed guided my career, as well as the careers of literally hundreds of young lawyers --getting us jobs, counseling us though tough times. In fact, Ed used to joke with me that he was more like Lucy in Peanuts, when she assumed the role of psychiatrist, than an appellate lawyer. I miss Ed to this day.
When he died, the Herald gave him a paragraph or two. I'm sure the death of some former Director of Sanitation or something got more press.
Anyway, my partner and I plan to go to Jerry's funeral tomorrow. We don't know his family, but we think it's proper to pay our respects.
If your lucky, in the law business, you can make a fine living, and maybe even do a handful of useful things for people. But, unless you represent folks like OJ, or a Kennedy family member, you don't get a lot of fame. That's fine with me personally. I just wonder whether it's right.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Prom Night
D2's only a high school sophomore, but she was asked to her school's senior prom. Since she's shown great maturity, and is such a wonderful kid, we allowed her to go. Plus, she was asked by a friend from the campus newspaper who is heading to Penn next year, and about 4 inches shorter than D2.
Wifey and I went to an enormous mansion, where the 50 kids who had rented a bus were gathered. The parents of the girl who lived there had a catered party for about 140 people, with an open bar and delicious appetizers. The Dad is a senior partner in one of Miami's oldest CPA firms --it appeared he gave himself a bunch of excellent financial advice.
If there's a lovelier sight than a group of young adults in gowns and tuxes, standing together for a group photo, positively dripping with the promise of youth and the future, I don't know what it is. Wifey and I enjoyed ourselves immensely.
The kids boarded the custom bus, one like a rock star might have for his entourage, and off they went. A group of girls, D2's friends from the newspaper, rented a hotel room on South Beach. I'm pleased and happy to report that D2 came home this am sober, happy, and tired.
What a contrast to my prom, nearly 30 years ago. My friends and I were polyester tuxes of, in hindsight, a putrid array of lime green, beige, etc... We had long hair or Jewfros. We drove ourselves to a 3rd rate country club, and danced. My date was exactly my height --5 11, and in heels rose to 6 1. One of my favorite teachers, Mr. Gallagher, was a chaperone that night. "Dave," he said, "I will always remember watching you stand on your toes for the whole affair."
So, if D2 is lucky, she'll get to go to 2 more proms. I've already decided to host a pre prom party for her senior prom.
John Mellencamp advised to "hold on to 16 as long as you can." Most of the 18 year olds last night, at least the ones I spoke with, couldn't wait for high school to end, so they could head off to Gainesville, or New York, or Ann Arbor, or Philadelphia.
I guess the job of an aging guy is to appreciate for them the gift they have.
Wifey and I went to an enormous mansion, where the 50 kids who had rented a bus were gathered. The parents of the girl who lived there had a catered party for about 140 people, with an open bar and delicious appetizers. The Dad is a senior partner in one of Miami's oldest CPA firms --it appeared he gave himself a bunch of excellent financial advice.
If there's a lovelier sight than a group of young adults in gowns and tuxes, standing together for a group photo, positively dripping with the promise of youth and the future, I don't know what it is. Wifey and I enjoyed ourselves immensely.
The kids boarded the custom bus, one like a rock star might have for his entourage, and off they went. A group of girls, D2's friends from the newspaper, rented a hotel room on South Beach. I'm pleased and happy to report that D2 came home this am sober, happy, and tired.
What a contrast to my prom, nearly 30 years ago. My friends and I were polyester tuxes of, in hindsight, a putrid array of lime green, beige, etc... We had long hair or Jewfros. We drove ourselves to a 3rd rate country club, and danced. My date was exactly my height --5 11, and in heels rose to 6 1. One of my favorite teachers, Mr. Gallagher, was a chaperone that night. "Dave," he said, "I will always remember watching you stand on your toes for the whole affair."
So, if D2 is lucky, she'll get to go to 2 more proms. I've already decided to host a pre prom party for her senior prom.
John Mellencamp advised to "hold on to 16 as long as you can." Most of the 18 year olds last night, at least the ones I spoke with, couldn't wait for high school to end, so they could head off to Gainesville, or New York, or Ann Arbor, or Philadelphia.
I guess the job of an aging guy is to appreciate for them the gift they have.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A Sad Gathering
Steve the Cop called, and asked me to go with him to his high school girlfriends' family's house on Monday. It was a terrible thing: Jill's 45 year old sister Debbie had been killed in a car wreck in San Diego.
Debbie was born and raided in Miami, and moved to Colorado 12 years ago. One year ago, after her oldest (now 20) had gone to college, her family decided to give California a try. They were going back to Aspen this summer...
The house, 2 miles north of mine, was filled with family and friends, some of whom who hadn't seen each other in 30 years. The 20 year old was inconsolable, but I tried, telling her how I was 20 when my father died, and I felt for her. She told me she felt strangely outside of her body. I told her I spent my senior year of college that way, like I was looking down on myself going through life, rather than living it. Since then I've learned the term --dissociative syndrome --a defense mechanism against trauma. I've been thinking about that young woman a lot...
Debbie's mother, a very youthful 67, had a look on her face that seemed to say "What the F???!!!" She raised her 4 kids, was enjoying being a grandmother, and then this tragedy dropped out of the sky. She looked lost. I have, unfortunately, many clients whose children have died. They never truly find their way.
The funeral was today. I dodn't go, but Steve the Cop did, and called me tonight. Steve's been an officer 25 years, and has seen a lot. He's unbuckled corpses from cars, and been to bizarre homicide scenes. He said the funeral was the saddest event he's ever been to --hundreds of people all asking, in effect, What the F?????!!!
Debbie was born and raided in Miami, and moved to Colorado 12 years ago. One year ago, after her oldest (now 20) had gone to college, her family decided to give California a try. They were going back to Aspen this summer...
The house, 2 miles north of mine, was filled with family and friends, some of whom who hadn't seen each other in 30 years. The 20 year old was inconsolable, but I tried, telling her how I was 20 when my father died, and I felt for her. She told me she felt strangely outside of her body. I told her I spent my senior year of college that way, like I was looking down on myself going through life, rather than living it. Since then I've learned the term --dissociative syndrome --a defense mechanism against trauma. I've been thinking about that young woman a lot...
Debbie's mother, a very youthful 67, had a look on her face that seemed to say "What the F???!!!" She raised her 4 kids, was enjoying being a grandmother, and then this tragedy dropped out of the sky. She looked lost. I have, unfortunately, many clients whose children have died. They never truly find their way.
The funeral was today. I dodn't go, but Steve the Cop did, and called me tonight. Steve's been an officer 25 years, and has seen a lot. He's unbuckled corpses from cars, and been to bizarre homicide scenes. He said the funeral was the saddest event he's ever been to --hundreds of people all asking, in effect, What the F?????!!!
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Tossing the Old Pill...
Baseball was my first sports love. The summer I turned 8, when most boys start to really get into sports, the Mets won the World Series. I watched or listened to every game that year, and could rattle off batting averages and pitching statistics. I remember they let out of school early to watch the lase Series game, and I ran into the house just in time to see Cleon Jones make the final out, and drop to one knee.
Baseball was also my best sport to play. I was a serviceable first baseman, since that position required little foot speed, which I had in inverse proportion to charm and intelligence. I did pretty well in Little League, and actually tried out and made my high school team as a sophomore. Unfortunately, my non sports friends (they came to the games and smoked pot behind the dugout while cheering for me, inviting the wrath of the coach and my teammates, who took the game far too seriously) caused me to quit organized baseball. I still have some small regrets about this today.
Anyway, as a spectator, I left baseball behind to become an afficionado of football, the much more exciting and passionate game, particularly when my beloved Hurricanes are playing well. I watched the Marlins in 2 World Series games, but haven't seen a MLB contest since then.
Last week, I got an unexpected urge to go out to a game. The MArlins were playing my boyhood team, the Mets, and I got some tickets from my banker, and went to the stadium. All of the cliches still apply, even though the Marlins play (for now) and a football stadium. The grass was still amazingly green, and the sounds of the ball being hit or caught were terrific.
I sat at the game, with a lovely middle aged banker who was born in Cuba, and knew baseball pretty well. Still, she had never considered that it was the one major sport without a time clock --the game itself defines the time, not the other way around. This is the way life is, I commented. I think she thinks I'm deep and significant.
Anyway --I had a thoroughly enjoyable evening. I left in the 6th inning, with the MArlins down 7-0. The many Mets fans there were loving it --it seemed many were NY Puerto Ricans, and they cheered loudly in Spanish. The Marlins ended up losing 13-0, and I couldn't have cared less.
Now, I have a new mission --to see a game this summer at Shea, before they knock down the stadium of my childhood. I think I'm going to accomplish this goal.
A
Baseball was also my best sport to play. I was a serviceable first baseman, since that position required little foot speed, which I had in inverse proportion to charm and intelligence. I did pretty well in Little League, and actually tried out and made my high school team as a sophomore. Unfortunately, my non sports friends (they came to the games and smoked pot behind the dugout while cheering for me, inviting the wrath of the coach and my teammates, who took the game far too seriously) caused me to quit organized baseball. I still have some small regrets about this today.
Anyway, as a spectator, I left baseball behind to become an afficionado of football, the much more exciting and passionate game, particularly when my beloved Hurricanes are playing well. I watched the Marlins in 2 World Series games, but haven't seen a MLB contest since then.
Last week, I got an unexpected urge to go out to a game. The MArlins were playing my boyhood team, the Mets, and I got some tickets from my banker, and went to the stadium. All of the cliches still apply, even though the Marlins play (for now) and a football stadium. The grass was still amazingly green, and the sounds of the ball being hit or caught were terrific.
I sat at the game, with a lovely middle aged banker who was born in Cuba, and knew baseball pretty well. Still, she had never considered that it was the one major sport without a time clock --the game itself defines the time, not the other way around. This is the way life is, I commented. I think she thinks I'm deep and significant.
Anyway --I had a thoroughly enjoyable evening. I left in the 6th inning, with the MArlins down 7-0. The many Mets fans there were loving it --it seemed many were NY Puerto Ricans, and they cheered loudly in Spanish. The Marlins ended up losing 13-0, and I couldn't have cared less.
Now, I have a new mission --to see a game this summer at Shea, before they knock down the stadium of my childhood. I think I'm going to accomplish this goal.
A
Thursday, April 3, 2008
When You Need something Done, Ask A Busy Person
I just came in from retrieving my mail, at 10:30 am, and my neighbor Ann drove by. "Don't you ever work?" she asked. I replied that I had concluded that work, as a daily activity, was extremely overrated.
I've worked since I was 15, either at getting 2 degrees, or for money. I'm my father's son, who came back from WW II, and worked 3 jobs to support his family. Later, in his late 40s, as his sales job had become more automatic (he earned commissions from his clients without having to see them) he began to take it easier, and then he retired at 60.
Over the past 14 years, no one outworked me as I built my practice. Now, though, I've convinced my partner that the smarter thing to do is to refer out the majority of cases. Getting a 25% co counsel fee on a case where we do no work is often preferable to 100% of the fee ina case where you lose sleep from worry, venture costs, and, most of all, WORK!
It's funny --some of the busiest people I know don't really work. I have one friend who's been on disability payments for 15 years, and volunteers at a bunch of stuff, and never has time to meet for breakfast. This fellow is a world class putterer, and can turn a trip to go buy batteries into an event akin to a Himalayan expedition.
My mother has never worked outside the home, and is near 88, and is rarely in her condo. My sister, the mother of 2 kids nearing middle age, typically hurries me off the phone because she has "too much to do."
As for me, I'll put in the time at work only for a select few cases. I no longer have my ego tied up in "appearing busy" as a professional when I'm not.
Today --I have a dental cleaning scheduled at 1145, and then I'll probably have lunch, with my newly polished teeth. After that? Well, the biggest Barnes and Noble in Florida just happens to be located 2 miles west of my dentist.
I'm inspired by John Lennon's line about "just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round..." He jumped off the "merry go round," as he called it, and seemed to savor his life more, before that very bad night next to Central Park...
So the answer, Ann, is "Yes I still work, but as little as possible!"
I've worked since I was 15, either at getting 2 degrees, or for money. I'm my father's son, who came back from WW II, and worked 3 jobs to support his family. Later, in his late 40s, as his sales job had become more automatic (he earned commissions from his clients without having to see them) he began to take it easier, and then he retired at 60.
Over the past 14 years, no one outworked me as I built my practice. Now, though, I've convinced my partner that the smarter thing to do is to refer out the majority of cases. Getting a 25% co counsel fee on a case where we do no work is often preferable to 100% of the fee ina case where you lose sleep from worry, venture costs, and, most of all, WORK!
It's funny --some of the busiest people I know don't really work. I have one friend who's been on disability payments for 15 years, and volunteers at a bunch of stuff, and never has time to meet for breakfast. This fellow is a world class putterer, and can turn a trip to go buy batteries into an event akin to a Himalayan expedition.
My mother has never worked outside the home, and is near 88, and is rarely in her condo. My sister, the mother of 2 kids nearing middle age, typically hurries me off the phone because she has "too much to do."
As for me, I'll put in the time at work only for a select few cases. I no longer have my ego tied up in "appearing busy" as a professional when I'm not.
Today --I have a dental cleaning scheduled at 1145, and then I'll probably have lunch, with my newly polished teeth. After that? Well, the biggest Barnes and Noble in Florida just happens to be located 2 miles west of my dentist.
I'm inspired by John Lennon's line about "just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round..." He jumped off the "merry go round," as he called it, and seemed to savor his life more, before that very bad night next to Central Park...
So the answer, Ann, is "Yes I still work, but as little as possible!"
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
If It Weren't For the Clients...
When folks ask me how it is to be a lawyer, I always reply that it's ok, except for the clients. My doctor friends usually have the same sentiments about their patients. Yesterday I got a phone call that further supports my wry (seeded, with lean corned beef and mustard) observation.
Without getting into the facts, I'll just say that I recently settled a case that was nothing short of an act of magic. I rarely toot my own horn, as the saying goes, but this client came to us a year and a half ago with some serious burn injuries and no one to really blame but himself and some illegal alien co workers.
My partner lobbied heavily to reject the case, but I had a positive feeling, and we filed suit. After we litigated and spent a bunch of money and effort, our appellate lawyer, the supposed voice of reason in our operation, reviewed the case for us. He agreed with my partner and told me I ought to have my head examined for continuing with this frivolity. I again resisted, and we soldiered on.
Well, I was vindicated, and 2 weeks ago we settled the case for a most healthy sum. The client, dull normal in intelligence, illiterate, and typically without emotion, was ecstatic. He realized he was about to come into more money than he had seen over the entire 60 years of his life, and would be able to move out of the 2 bedroom apartment he shares with his wife and 9 !!! children, all of whom are also illegal aliens.
Yesterday he came to the office to sign some closing papers. "I have a problem here," he said through a translator. "My relative in Mexico says I should change my mind --there is not enough money ."
I patiently explained to him that, in all due respect, his relative in Mexico, a laborer, was incorrect in his legal analysis, and that my partner and I, with a combined experience of 55 years of handling these types of cases, might be in a better position to offer him meaningful advice.
He signed off on the settlement.
It could be worse, I realize. My friend Barry was involved in literally saving the lives of 2 of his patients, and ended up being sued by the parents for complications resulting from the life saving procedures.
This client has two years from now to sue me. Stay tuned.
Without getting into the facts, I'll just say that I recently settled a case that was nothing short of an act of magic. I rarely toot my own horn, as the saying goes, but this client came to us a year and a half ago with some serious burn injuries and no one to really blame but himself and some illegal alien co workers.
My partner lobbied heavily to reject the case, but I had a positive feeling, and we filed suit. After we litigated and spent a bunch of money and effort, our appellate lawyer, the supposed voice of reason in our operation, reviewed the case for us. He agreed with my partner and told me I ought to have my head examined for continuing with this frivolity. I again resisted, and we soldiered on.
Well, I was vindicated, and 2 weeks ago we settled the case for a most healthy sum. The client, dull normal in intelligence, illiterate, and typically without emotion, was ecstatic. He realized he was about to come into more money than he had seen over the entire 60 years of his life, and would be able to move out of the 2 bedroom apartment he shares with his wife and 9 !!! children, all of whom are also illegal aliens.
Yesterday he came to the office to sign some closing papers. "I have a problem here," he said through a translator. "My relative in Mexico says I should change my mind --there is not enough money ."
I patiently explained to him that, in all due respect, his relative in Mexico, a laborer, was incorrect in his legal analysis, and that my partner and I, with a combined experience of 55 years of handling these types of cases, might be in a better position to offer him meaningful advice.
He signed off on the settlement.
It could be worse, I realize. My friend Barry was involved in literally saving the lives of 2 of his patients, and ended up being sued by the parents for complications resulting from the life saving procedures.
This client has two years from now to sue me. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
April, the Cruellest Month
Well, D2 lost the election for junior class V.P. , to the incumbent. She learned a basic political lesson: it's very tough to unseat a sitting elected official, unless they're dreadfully bad, like Jimmy Carter. She's coping with the loss quite well, by catching up on sleep during her Spring Break.
Meanwhile, a big DFC shout out to Edna.,Wifey's best friend in Atlanta. Last weekend D1 was in the City Too Busy To Hate (Right!) attending a sorority conference. Edna took D1 to dinner, and they had a grand time comparing notes on Wifey's pathologies, I'd like to think. Afterwards D1 went out, and around midnight had "the worst belly pain of my life." She called Edna, who drove her to a nearby hospital, and waited with her there until 4 am, at which time the pains subsided. It looks like it was simple gastritis coupled with a panic attack.
Nonethless, Edna stayed with her through the wee hours of the am, giving her confort and reassurance, as well as the excellent advice of NOT calling me until the next day, lest I take off on a tear up I 75. Edna showed, as the 80s benefit for AIDS song went, what friends are for.
It is said that when we come up with a better mouse trap, there will develop a smarter mouse. Since lawyers are most rodent-like, the same rule applies.
I got a call yesterday from an old business acquaintance, who went bust in the personal injury case arena. He handled a volume of traffic tickets for awhile, until coming up with a most timely idea: he "answers foreclosure actions."
Deadbeat homeowners pay him a flat rate of $5000 to answer the foreclosure/eviction lawsuits filed against them. For his fee, he delays the case, for at least 1 year. The deadbeats still lose, but at least get to stay in their houses for enough time to allow them to make alternate plans.
As the Guinness ad goes: "Brilliant!" The lawyer tells me that most foreclosure cases are filed by bank lawyers or other real estate types who have "never read the rules of Civil Procedure." As such, it's a pretty easy task to delay a case.
What about the morals of representing a client who comes to you admitting he owes money and has no intention of paying? Ah Dr. Pangloss --this is truly the best of all possible worlds.
Meanwhile, a big DFC shout out to Edna.,Wifey's best friend in Atlanta. Last weekend D1 was in the City Too Busy To Hate (Right!) attending a sorority conference. Edna took D1 to dinner, and they had a grand time comparing notes on Wifey's pathologies, I'd like to think. Afterwards D1 went out, and around midnight had "the worst belly pain of my life." She called Edna, who drove her to a nearby hospital, and waited with her there until 4 am, at which time the pains subsided. It looks like it was simple gastritis coupled with a panic attack.
Nonethless, Edna stayed with her through the wee hours of the am, giving her confort and reassurance, as well as the excellent advice of NOT calling me until the next day, lest I take off on a tear up I 75. Edna showed, as the 80s benefit for AIDS song went, what friends are for.
It is said that when we come up with a better mouse trap, there will develop a smarter mouse. Since lawyers are most rodent-like, the same rule applies.
I got a call yesterday from an old business acquaintance, who went bust in the personal injury case arena. He handled a volume of traffic tickets for awhile, until coming up with a most timely idea: he "answers foreclosure actions."
Deadbeat homeowners pay him a flat rate of $5000 to answer the foreclosure/eviction lawsuits filed against them. For his fee, he delays the case, for at least 1 year. The deadbeats still lose, but at least get to stay in their houses for enough time to allow them to make alternate plans.
As the Guinness ad goes: "Brilliant!" The lawyer tells me that most foreclosure cases are filed by bank lawyers or other real estate types who have "never read the rules of Civil Procedure." As such, it's a pretty easy task to delay a case.
What about the morals of representing a client who comes to you admitting he owes money and has no intention of paying? Ah Dr. Pangloss --this is truly the best of all possible worlds.
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