The province of old men is sentimentality and nostalgia. Springsteen sang, when he was only 35, about glory days -- hoping that when he got old he didn't want to sit around and talk about them -- but he probably would. And so do I.
After I was told about a seat at a plaintiff's firm in 1988 by my mentor Ed Perse, I originally turned down the offer. Wifey was pregnant with D1, I was happy at a boutique defense firm in the Grove, and I figured I had enough going on that a job change wasn't warranted. But then a senior associate at the firm, 11 years older than I and already making big money, called. He wanted me -- needed help at the firm, and saw something in me that told him I was a good fit.
I thanked him for his thoughts, but still said no. He asked what my wife thought -- could he speak to her? Well -- she was in Atlanta on her last pre birth trip -- sure -- here was the number. And he called and kept Wifey on the phone for hours -- arguing that her her nice Jewish boy husband was passing on the greatest opportunity of his young career.
Wifey's ex friend Steve, a successful chiropractor, called me afterwards, and said I could learn a LOT from this guy -- just his aggressiveness, if nothing else. But I was still reluctant, but did figure I would at least use the new offer of more money ($45K per year versus the $36K I was making) to get a raise.
On Monday, I went to see my "boss" Barry, and asked him to match the offer -- Wifey was going to quit when D1 came, and $9K was a lot to us. Barry had no say -- he was a partner in name only -- I had to ask Calvin. Ha. Calvin, a Miami born and raised WASPy type Jew, was one of the most self important, smarmy guys ever. Years later he ended up disbarred because of his hubris in handling a case.
He invited me into his office, praised my work ethic, and laughed off the offer I had received -- saying that plaintiff's lawyers were "bottom feeders" while HIS firm, which represented insurance companies that only existed because of said bottom feeders, was somehow elite. He brushed off my request for a raise -- playing, he thought, on my being an academic dilettante. Would I leave Harvard because Miami Dade College was cheaper? No, of course not. Well, said Calvin, I WAS at Harvard.
I was young but had a keen bullshit detector. I thanked Cal for his time, went back to my office, and called Ed, the firm's owner. Was the offer still there? It was. I gave a shocked Barry the news.
I joined that firm in October of 1988, and within a year or two, realized my real partner was Paul. In 1992 I made a LOT of money on a case I brought in. Maybe we ought to leave, I suggested. Paul rightly said we had it too good there -- sharing in profits, with no risk of firm expenses. But by 1994 things had changed, and the time was right.
So, over lunch at Tobacco Road, our unofficial firm HQ, we plotted our move. Paul would leave first, we'd get things set up, and then I would follow some weeks later. But then I went back to the office and marched right into Ed's office -- I was leaving with Paul. Ed and his then partner Frank tried to talk me into staying -- Frank and I had lunch at an Italian place in South Dade.
But I said I always dreamed of owning my own practice -- and that was never going to happen where I was. To Frank's credit, he saw that and backed off. And to Ed's credit, he made the separation fair and easy -- keeping deals on fees with cases.
We ended up working on many large cases afterwards -- gentlemen who treat each other fairly get stuff done. It was a stark contrast to the way most lawyer divorces go -- stealing files in the middle of the night, as John, a former employee of my friend Stuart, did several years ago.
Anyway, on November 15, 1994, our firm came to be. Paul's ex wife Jeannie, still a friend, found office space for us in the top building of the time -- the old Centrust Tower, which was lit nightly with colored lights. It still is. We got two offices there in an early WeWork type operation.
And then came the time for a partnership agreement -- typically lots of paperwork with buy-sell agreements and complicated contracts. Paul and I went a different route. We poured shots of vodka, shook hands, and recited a pledge that upon the honor and memory of our late fathers, we would treat each other well and fairly. Also -- we would bust ass for 10 years at this endeavor.
Well -- the 10 years went moot in 2004, but the main agreement remains solid. At the time, Paul had 2 high schoolers, and the Ds were in preschool and elementary school. Now all 4 of our kids are married, and there are a combined FIVE grandchildren.
We've provided VERY well for our families -- helping with an apartment on NYC's Upper East Side, a house on Miami's Upper Eastside, and two seven figure houses in Miami Beach and Coconut Grove. We paid for 4 bachelor's degrees, 3 Masters (actually 4 -- I think Tracy has two), and a J.D.
We've given a bunch of charity -- the originating loan to start Chabad of Kendall and the Friendship Circle. Reading charities for Miami's inner city kids. A scholarship fund at FIU. And FAR too much money to our beloved alma mater, U Miami, and it's lately hapless football program.
We've gotten some amazing results for clients, though Paul is wont to second guess those results. I don't.
When D2 was in grade school, and asked what her Dad did for a living, she wrote "He argues with judges and helps people when they fall down." That is NOT a bad way to be described, and it pretty accurately describes our 27 year old law firm.
And mostly, we've shared our lives -- the good and bad, and, as Paul likes to quote from the Eastwood movie, the ugly.
And, there has been laughter -- a LOT. The kind that hurts in the belly -- the only kind of pain to have, if you get the choice.
So there clearly will NOT be another 27 years, but we'll happily settle for several more, Big Man willing.
Glory days, indeed.
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