Small World Across Three Generations

I love hearing about and making connections about people, and I happen to live in a very fertile place for it.  Miami is the smallest town big city in the US.  Particularly when it comes to doctors and lawyers, I never get past ONE degree of separation -- let alone six.  But D2 just made a connection decades in the making, and Long Island based.


She and D1 have a friend named Jason -- I believe he went to UM and now lives in NYC.  He and D2 work for the same e commerce company.  The other day D2 told me that Jason's father Marc is a native Wantagh guy, like I am.  I didn't recognize his full name, and apparently he's in his early 60s, so we wouldn't have gone to school together.  But I did recognize his last name, and told D2 to ask if his grandfather was named Marty.


Marty owned the local hardware store, on Wantagh Avenue, and was a place I used to love to visit with my Dad.  My father was not anyone's idea of a handyman -- the family joke was that he could fix something only if he could be mended with Scotch tape -- but he would still visit Marty's store whenever he needed any sort of supplies.


Marty was a WWII vet like my Dad, and I remembered another thing about him -- he owned his own airplane, a single engine Cessna he kept at nearby Republic Airport.  On Summer afternoons Marty would fly low over our neighborhood, and wave his wings.  It got so that whenever a small plane flew over, my Dad would wave at it and say, loudly, "Hiya Marty!" It is a very pleasant memory for me.


Well -- the text came today -- in fact Jason is Marty's grandson.  Better -- his Dad Marc remembered well my father!  Wifey pointed out how nice it was -- grandparents D2 and D1 and Jason had never met were friends.


It also occurred to me how great the names are.  Marty is a classic Greatest Generation name, Marc is a classic Boomer name, and, of course, Jason is extremely common among Millenials...


Yesterday's theme was connections over time.  I was at my office tavern, Trulucks, attending a farewell party for Michelle, who is leaving law for the medical marijuana business.  As I walked towards the restroom, I saw a small, bald fellow I hadn't seen in years -- the former English Department Chair at UM, John Paul Russo.


We hugged, and caught up.  He is now 73, and looks exactly as he did when I was in his class 35 years ago.  He still teaches a full class load, and still lives in the same Grove apartment he once hosted me after I had won English grad of the year in 1983.  He was waiting his dinner companion -- a medical school professor, now retired.


I brought him over to our group, ordered him a Malbec from my bartender Victor, and enjoyed his conversation.  My partner Stu, a closet intellectual who was Phi Beta Kappa at Delaware, chatted with him about Philosophy.  Michelle, our honoree, has a sister who is a Professor at Bascom Palmer Eye Institute, and when John Paul's guest arrived greatly enjoyed that connection as well.


John Paul and his companion were seated, and I went to David, the nice young manager, and gave him my Amex -- dinner was on me.  I figure it was the least I could do for the professor who taught me about Gusto, and the Classics.  I also remember a conversation we had when I brought up the Doors -- asking John Paul is he thought Morrison's power and passion rose to the level of true art.  He told me he wasn't much into "popular"music -- he always wished to be like a giraffe -- taking only from the tops of the trees...I think about that lesson whenever I can chose between quality and the mundane.


This afternoon I returned to Trulucks, and David told me that the Professor became teary eyed when he was told his student of 3.5 decades past had picked up his bill.  Maybe it was that second or third glass of Malbec...


I'm sure I'll be hearing from John Paul.  I look forward to it.


But the biggest gift was hearing, albeit indirectly, from someone who knew and well remembered my father Hy...Connections can be awesome.