The Road

My favorite tavern in Miami is Tobacco Road. It's been open since the early 1900s, and holds the city's first liquor license. I discovered it in 1983, when I was a senior in college. My friends and I would go there to listen to a group called the Fat Chance Blues Band, which changed its name to Iko Iko, and is probably the most famous local band in South Florida.

The Road caters to a business lunch crowd during the day, and my partner and I eat there a few times per week.

Yesterday, the place was packed. It turned out that to celebrate their 96th anniversary, the Road was offering 96 cent burgers for lunch. We sat at the bar, and ate two of them. They were delicious.

Jack the bartender, a guy about my age but 150 lbs heavier, has been there forever. He told us that when the Miami Vice movie was beong made, Colin Farrell made the Road his second home.

Jack tells a great tale, and kept us entertained for quite awhile with tales of Colin Farrell's sexual liasons, some even in "Doc's Closet," a supply room named after an ancient black fellow who worked at the Road for years.

Turns out that after the actor left town, he asked for a bar stool to be sent back to Ireland, where it sits in his pub there. Ah, the connections --a barstool from my favorite tavern in Miami gets Guinness spilled on it in Ireland.

It occurred to me that the perfect job for me would be bartender or host at a friendly tavern. I enjoy few things as much as good conversation, and the hearing and telling of stories.

MAybe someday...

Early Morning Thunderstorm

As I age, I find I sleep an entire night, without waking, maybe 2-3 times per week, tops. The rest of the evenings I either wake up at 2 or 3 am, and read, or wake up at 5 and figure it's time to start the day.

This morning, it was a 5 am deal, after falling asleep around midnight. I read for awhile and then checked the news on my laptop, since I am an admitted news junkie. Fortunately, it was a slow news overnight --only a few more grisly domestic murders for the papers to report.

Then,I had a rare treat --a violent thunderstorm came through. I love t storms when I'm inside with nowhere to go, and at 5 am...

There were flashes in the black sky, and loud rumblings of thunder. A neighbor's dog barked in the distance. Then came the downpour, and I got up to watch as the trees glistened in the lightning's flashes.

I'm always conforted being in bed during a storm --it brings back the childhood belief that pulling the covers over your head will immunize you from the attacks of all nature of monster.

I actually fell asleep for another hour listening to the rain.

I awoke and Wifey and I watched the end of a good Netflix offering: "The Savages." It was a small movie; I like small movies.

Then, I had a great breakfast with an old college friend who's now a Public Health Doctor. We told tales and laughed so hard that at one point the restaurant actually all stopped to look at us.

Thunderstorms in the early morning and breakfast with old friends. These are a few of my favorite things...

No One Here Gets Out Alive

I had lunch today with my friend John, whose young wife died of melanoma a few months ago. He's adjusting well, as is his 13 year old daughter.

He's going to the church service tonight for a mutual friend's mother, who died last week following heart surgery, at 60.

Another friend from Miami, who moved to Atlanta, died July 4, at 65. One of my consulting engineers is dying of brain cancer. I just asked after him yesterday, and was told he probably wouldn't see another Autumn.

When my father died, many friends and acquaintances tried to comfort me with words, some kind and some awkward. One of my professors, who was also a Presbyterian minister, said something that resonated with me: "Dave, we all do it."

Somehow, being jerked back into reality like that conforted me. My father didn't engage in some mysterious and scary process -- he had died, as we all will.

Of course, when a relative or friend dies, there is grieving and pain.

What's next, after this life? A young Rabbi was in my office this morning, and he said there is, indeed, heaven, where the soul is again with God. A better place.

I hope he's right, but just in case, I intend to continue cramming as much into this life as I can.

To those who have left or are leaving, I say see ya --maybe.

Dream Job

Our friend Elizabeth was in town this weekend, to celebrate her big 5-0 with us and her family. We loved having her here --she's a lovely house guest.

Last night, she asked us to go to Grove Isle for a dinner with her sister Ruby, who lives there, and a gentleman friend named Gregg. Liz was fixed up with Gregg by a mutual friend, but, alas, there seems to be a lack of "chemicals," as my mother in law malaprops.

Too bad. Gregg is a great fellow, born and raised in Minneapolis, who has my dream job: CEO of a charitable foundation. He spends his days deciding which charities to give money to --and typically they relate to health care for children, or education for deserving students.

The foundation was started by a transportation magnate in the Midwest, who had one son, who died after a lifetime of mental illness. Greg is the great nephew of the founder, and really the only family member. Greg himself has an interesting story --his mother died in childbirth, he was an only child, and has, as he reports, "zero family."

But, he lives part of the year in South Fla and part in Minneapolis, meeting with hospital administrators and educators, charged with giving away nearly $10M per year.

I couldn't imagine a better job --being charged with doing so much good, in a responsible way. I'd hate to be the REQUESTOR of charity, but it's great to be the giver.

He truly loves his job. The foundation is having its name put on a neonatal intensive care unit soon, and Gregg gets to write the check.

I joked with Wifey that if Elizabeth won't date this fellow --hell --he's MY type!

But, for me, back to work today, keeping my aging law practice limping along. I'll send out some legal papers today that will probably annoy their targets. How much grander it would be to send out a check to a children's hospital!

47

Today I'm 47, and really didn't want to make a big deal out of my birthday. I'm a decade man --I like to mark the "zero" birthdays with a big party. Three years from now, I'm thinking big sail boat and vomiting up into Biscayne Bay.

Still, yesterday my partner took me and another office roommate, Brian, for a few at the Blue MArtini. My friend and receptionist Mirta tagged along. To celebrate, I gave Mirta a $100 bill to spend on her grandkids. My partner followed suit. We're both so spoiled, self indilged, and pampered, but we truly share preferring to give than to receive.

I woke up this am to see signs D2 had put up around the house wishing me a happy 47. She also left me breakfast. I got a bunch of calls from family and friends as well.

D1 is on her way, with our friend Elizabeth from Orlando. Elizabeth turns 50 on Monday, and we'll all have dinner tonight before Elizabeth goes off to begin her sixth decade on this planet with her family in Coconut Grove.

Ah, birthdays. Just another day, but so nice to be loved.

I received one particularly poignant message. My friend Alan called from Atlanta to wish me a happy one. Alan's beloved wife Helene just died on July 4th of cancer.

Alan's always happy, and has tons of friends. His children and grandchildren adore him. His marriage to Helene was storybook, if they wrote the story in Queens, NY, with later chapters in Miami.

I know Alan is in tremendous pain, and yet he called to wish me well on my birthday. Even in the depth of despair, he gives. What a guy. I plan on continuing to emulate him.

Dog Days

I just got back from my daily constitutional, and it was less than it's usual lovely experience. It's been raining for a few days, and now the awful mosquitoes are here in force. I once went flats fishing in the Everglades in summer, and running from the car to the boat, my arms and legs grew black with the bugs. It's not that bad here today, but seems like it could get there.

People with good sense have left town until the climate grows friendly again. One neighbor is in Pennsylvania, another in Maine. It's said that in summer Asheville, NC and its surrounding area has more Dade County residents than locals.

Maybe after D2 graduates, Wifey and I will "summer" elsewhere, but not yet.

So, for now, it's saying prayerful thanks to Mr. Carrier and his invention, and especially for the fellow who figured out how to air condition cars.

What a Town

Got back from Vegas this am, after nearly 4 days of fun and excitement. My partner and travelling companion, typically not given to social commentary, answered a question posed by Dr. Barry why he loved Vegas so much. I have to note this exchange took place in the back of a limo at 2 am Saturday, as we shuttled from Club Tryst in the Wynn hotel to a raodside diner called the Peppermint Rhino.

"Vegas is the most honest town in America. There's no pretense here - if you have money, you're at the front of the line. If you're poor --go to the back. It doesn't matter if you have an Ivy League education, or your relatives came over on the Mayflower. The lowest groups who have the cash are king --the "classy types without the bucks are worthless. America is ALL about money, and Vegas is the clearest expression of America."

I was impressed. I was also feeling the effects of 4 stolis on the rocks, and dozing off. Still, Springsteen said it best, about Vegas's poorer cousin, Atlantic City: "There's winners and losers, and don't find yourself on the wrong side of that line..."

We stayed at the Bellaggio, and the place is beyone belief. Literally millions of dollars of Chilully glass sculptures. A courtyard beyond Disney, where Aaron Copland's "Hoedown" crescendoes --competing with the piped in jazz in the adjoining Cafe Bellagio, Sarah Vaugn.

My favorite spot was a piano bar, where EVERY player was terrific. At 1 am Sunday, after I left my companions to their nights of intrigue and mystery, I sat in the bar and gave the man a $20. Thank you sir, he said, may I play a request? Yes --please play "Misty" for me. He complied. A gorgeous blonde weekend warrior came by and said "Wow --a sensitive type." I literally shooed her away.

The wedding was lovely --the Bellagio has amazing banquet facilities. And, just when it seemed like the affair could have been held at the Plantation Sheraton --Elvis walked in, and sang 3 songs.

Other than the wedding, there was great food, and laughter. One of our number lost his watch and wedding ring at the pool. We decided the better story would be that he passed out in his room after an encounter with a Kenyan professional woman, and woke to find she had taken most of his cash (leaving $200 as a gesture of mercy) as well as his watch and ring. What's the truth? In Vegas that's a slippery thing...

Anyway --I got that city out of my system for awhile. My partner already wants to plan another trip.

The one funny thing was I found myself pitying couples there. They all seemed to be having less fun. Vegas IS a place where you oughtn't be responsible for anyones well being but your own.

Also, speaking of couples --there was a curious thing. I must have seen at least 100 grandfathers there squiring around their gorgeous granddaughters. It was creepy, though --they were showing atypical levels of phyiscal affection. Such is LAs Vegas...

Another Trip!

After recent trips to Baltimore, San Francisco, and Europe, I'm enjoying being at home. But, fate calls again, and I leave this Friday for my fourth (and final, for awhile I think) trip of this Spring and Summer: Las Vegas.

LV isn't on my list of favorite places. I don't gamble, and the shows playing there have zero interest for me. I'm one of the minority who DETEST Cirque du Soleil --I find acrobatics set to spooky and dreamy music tedious. In fact, the only time I enjoyed one of their performances was when it was lampooned in the movie "Knocked Up."

I checked the list of shows playing next weekend, and the only performer I'd see, I can't: Bette Midler. I think there's a federal law preventing a straight man from going to a Bette Midler show unaccompanied by a female,

Anyway --Dr. Barry's sister Phyllis is getting married Sunday, which is why I'm going. I've known Phyllis since she was 15, and, although I don't see her or speak to her too often, feel close to her. She's a Broward County teacher who knows tons of people, and figured it would be impossible to have a wedding locally without either inviting 500 people or offending many, so she opted to do the Vegas thing.

Wifey's back is still iffy, so she can't go, though she DID go to Atlanta and is planning another trip there soon. So, my law partner is going as my date, since he LOVES Vegas, and always looks for an excuse to go.

Phyllis, having a keen and wonderful sense of humor, is sitting Paul and me at a table with some gay friends. Hmmm...among drinking gay men in Vegas...there ought to be a few blogs on that when I return.

The only other time I was in the desert city was 1996. We had just settled a huge case, and decided to host a firm retreat there (actually Paul did --I would have taken folks to Key West or NY). We paid all expenses for a group of 14 --with rooms at the Mirage, meals, limo rides, etc... PAul's girlfriend at the time was a former, um , dancer, whose best friend from LA was living with a casino owner. She ended up killing him for his money. Paul got away from HIS femme fatale with his life, though quite lighter in his wallet.

That trip was out of a movie --watching goon bouncers lifet people out of the way so that our party could have a table at a premier restaurant (the casino owner was CONNECTED).

This time, I'm reading "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" for inspiration, although I think I'll stay away from the hallucinogenic drugs. I might enjoy a cocktail or two over the long weekend.

As a last minute development, our good friend Stuart is joining us. We owed him a co counsel fee, and Paul suggested he take it out in tickets and a room, so Stuart will be flying out with me on Friday. He was one of the merry pranksters along for the ride in 1996, so we'll have plenty to reminisce about while we're in the 110 degree heat.

Stuart's goal is to sit at the pool at the Bellaggio and watch the gorgeous women. I figure I ought to be able to help him out in that regard.

So --off to Las Vegas on Friday. Who knows what's around the bend?

Three Day Weekend

Today is July 4, and it falls on a Friday. The July 4 holiday was one where I used a calendar quirk some years ago to do some of the best lawyering I ever did.

I was hired in early June of that year by the mother of a 4 year old who was riding in her aunt's car, in the front seat under the sign that said, in effect, "Don't put your 4 year old niece in this seat --if there's a crash, the airbag will deploy and paralyze her."

Of course, the warning sign was much more brief, but that's exactly what happened. The aunt drove through a stop sign, collided with another car, the airbag deployed, and the 4 year old Ashley was rendered a quadriplegic.

My firm immediately had the case analyzed from a products liability standpoint --but several consulting engineers told me, in effect, that you can't get around the admitted stupidity of the aunt. The warning sign was even bilingual!

So, the only source of recovery was the auto policy the aunt carried, with liability limits of $10,000. That might have paid for one day in the ICU for the child.

My goal was to create a "bad faith " case. Florida law says that an insurance carrier must handle a claim against their insured, as a "reasonable man" would. I figured that if I were at fault for paralyzing a child, I'd want MY carrier to IMMEDIATELY bring the settlement check over to the plaintiff on a silver platter, and buy peace for me.

Well, I sat in my office and looked at the calendar. July 4 fell on a Tuesday. So, I applied common sense, something NEVER taught in law school, and concluded that the insurance adjuster, the person responsible for settling the claim, was very likely going to be out of the office on Monday July 3, so that he or she could enjoy a nice 4 day holiday!

I sent my demand for settlement, stating clearly that the $10,000.00 check was to be delivered to my office NO LATER THAN MONDAY July 3.

Of course, I took off the 4 days myself, going to the Biltmore in Coral Gables as I recall, and returned to my office on Wednesday July 5. Surprise! No check! My plan was working.

I immediately filed a lawsuit against the negligent aunt (she knew it was coming) and she turned it over to her auto insurer. I got an indignant phone call from Dan D, one of this carrier's long time lawyers. "I know what you're trying to do, Dave, but it won't work!" I feigned naivete, and soldiered on.

Well, a few months later, one of the company's heavyweight lawyers realized that what I had done WAS going to work --I was going to get a multimillion dollar verdict against the negligent aunt, and she was going to turn around and sue her insurance carrier for failing to meet my settlement demand of July 3, leaving her financially destitute. After all, July 3 wasn't a legal holiday, just, by quirk of calendar, a de facto one.

We went to mediation, and the carrier paid us $2 million.

We took our healthy attorney's fee, and the rest was put into a trust for the little girl. Her family had her house made handicap accessible, and bought a van that accomodated her wheelchair. Most importantly, the mother had money to hire qualified medical aids so the mother didn't have to be with this pathetic child around the clock.

The little girl mercifully passed away one year later. Ths story, like the vast majority of my cases, doesn't have a happy ending.

But, I've made my career as a legal Robin Hood --robbing the rich insurance companies and giving the proceeds to the poor (keeping 1/3 or 40% as my bounty), and this was one of the more enjoyable episodes.

Beware the quirks of the calendar.

Fourth of July

I went for my am constitutional, and saw a few American flags flying around my neighborhood. Sure enough --July 4 is 3 days away. As I walked, I went back in time in my mind, something I've been doing more and more lately.

July 4 was one of my favorite holidays. Some of my earlier memories are lying on a blanket at Salsibury Park, watching the fireworks. My parents loved them, too, and we would always watch a display somewhere.

1976 was, of course, the Bicentennial, and July 4 was going to be a really big deal. In retrospect, my friends and I should have gone to NYC to watch the Tall Ships, but we were suburban kids, and had simpler plans. We dressed up in nice shirts and dress jeans and went over to our local Beefsteak Charlies.

Beefsteak Charlies was famous for giving you "all the wine, beer, or sangria" you wanted with your meal. Since it was a restaurant and not a bar, older teens like us, if we acted "mature," could get away with drinking there. We were 16 or about to turn that age, and some of us had some facial fuzz. We thought we'd give it a chance that July 4, 1976.

As I recall, it was Mike, Mark, Fitz, John, Eric and me. The waitress took our order (I wanted sangria), and brought us our drinks! We were stunned and excited, trying to conceal our teenaged ecstasy. The steaks we had that night were the most delicious of our lives.

We had our fill, but didn't get drunk, as I recall. We decided to watch the fireworks at Eisenhower PArk, the new name for our beloved Salisbury (the Republicans had won in Nassau County in the late 60s and named schools and parks after their heroes. My high school was Gen MacArthur. The Junior High School, finished a few years earlier when the Dems were in power, was named after Jonas Salk).

We strolled the 7 or 8 miles to the park, in the evening breeze. I still remember how grown up I felt --I had ordered, been served, and paid for a meal with alcohol!

At the park, we flopped to the grass and tried to make time with some LI girls sitting nearby. I don't remember anything succesful, even though my friend Mark was a dead ringer for Peter Frampton, the heartthrob of the time.

I guess Mike had consumed more than the rest of us, as he loudly and proudly vomited up his dinner. Fittingly, he became our group's only bona fide alcoholic in later years.

We walked all the way home, past the evening trees, as Springsteen calls them.

We showed our true level of maturity the next year, when we set off homemade firecrackers. We had spent the better part of June painstakingly removing gunpowder from hundreds of firecrackers, with a razor blade. This was pre 9/11 and pre Colombine, of course. These days, our antics would have landed us in jail.

We came up with a bomb probably about as powerful as 1/4 stick of dynamite, and set it off in Mark's back yard. Eric was too close, and still suffers hearing loss today. The police came, but we ran, and escaped prosecution. We're lucky we didn't kill ourselves, of course.

I have 2 daughters, and hopefully they don't crave the destructive excitement I know teenaged boys do.

It was all part of growing up, I guess, and it's funny how a small flag hanging from a pole can bring me back over 30 years.

This July 4, D2 is going up to Gainesville to visit her sister. I can only hope there will be no explosives involved.

Wifey and I are heading to a house party, and then, of course, fireworks! Our usual venue, the Biltmore Hotel, has cancelled them for lack of Coral Gables funding, so we'll go to Baptist Hospital instead.

All these years later, I still love fireworks.