Strolling Down Memory Lane

 As I remain happily seated in the twilight of a mediocre career, as my friend Norman likes to quote, often my thoughts and discussions tend towards the nostalgic. There were many good times and riches and son of a bitches, to quote Buffet, to recall.

But a friend was telling me of a recent deposition where opposing counsel acted the total asshole -- interrupting, misrepresenting, and just making everyone uncomfortable. This triggered, of course, MANY memories of these types -- which, I am told, are less common these days given the supposably (Miami spelling) crack down on "unprofessionalism."

Back in the day, though, intimidation, bullying, and other less than savory tactics ruled the day, and my late boss Ed was a master. He was a genius -- a true engineer's mind -- and was savvy enough to know when to do his bad behavior OFF the record. Back then, nobody had camera phones, and Ed's stable of court reporters knew when "let's go off the record here" truly had meaning.

I recall one particularly heinous act -- a Labor Law attorney named Susan was defending an ERISA claim we brought for a client seeking a kidney/pancreas transplant, and his wife's employer refused the pancreas part, saying it was "experimental." The case turned up a true smoking gun piece of evidence -- a letter where the company wrote to a medical consultant saying, really, "We KNOW this should be covered -- do whatever you can to give us reason to deny." Ed and I ultimately tried the case in Federal Court before a long dead judge - Lenore Nesbitt, a Reagan pick who today would be considered a centrist Democrat. We won, and after years of appeals, including a denial of certiorari by the Supremes, we got the client his money, and earned a comically small fee. The client, Tom, who I am sure is long gone, had borrowed the money from his family friends in Pittsburgh, the Rooneys, who owned the Steelers. I got to travel there and meet some of them.

But back to the pre trial skirmishing. Susan had been hospitalized with an awful headache, and asked for an extension to answer some discovery. I agreed. She called for a second extension. This time, I told her, even though I had brought the case in, she needed to talk to my boss. She explained her plight, and Ed said "Young lady, I'm only sorry you were in the hospital for headaches, and not ovarian cancer, so that you could die a horrible, slow death, rotting from the inside out like the rotten (See You Next Tuesday) you are."

Wow. Ed really didn't like to give extensions. Susan called me a few minutes later, shaken. "Should I call the police? The Bar? I've NEVER been spoken to that way -- and I'm from Cleveland!" I told her all I had heard was Ed saying no extension -- I was a loyal soldier, of course. And there's a surprise coda...

We stayed friends, and probably 10 years later, Paul and I referred her a Labor case, and she had agreed to pay us a 1/3 co-counsel. Since she was a "friend" we put nothing in writing -- and sort of forgot about the case. The client called a year later, to thank me for referring him to Susan -- she had done a great job. He showed me his closing statement, and sure enough, had paid a $150K fee. Great -- I called Susan to ask about the $50K coming to us.

She said "Um, David, I can't pay. My husband and I are in big financial trouble, and sorry to skunk you, but that's reality -- and we both know you trusted me and without a contract -- you have no real claim." I told her no rush -- when they regained their footing, she could pay then. Nope, she replied -- she knew she had stolen, but NOW was being honest -- she got away with our $50K and that was that.

I signed off the call telling her Ed was right. Another 10 years later, I got a mass email to all members of the local Bar advertising her starting a new firm, and asking for referrals. I responded: "Susan accepted a referral from me and owed me $50K. She told me she wasn't going to pay, and, so sad, too bad. If you are an idiot, you will trust her with a referral. Contact me for more details."

I pondered hitting "Reply All" and ended up just replying to her. I think it was a Tuesday. I told her how close I had come to exposing her character to everyone she had emailed, but unlike her, I had at least SOME character. That was the last of her.I looked her up -- she still practices in Broward. She's probably 74 or so. I don't wish her cancer, like Ed did -- but hopefully she got screwed out of lots of money over the years.

Ah, the stories and memories. I sure am glad I sit on the sidelines, mostly. I acted as Guardian ad litem for my friend Dave on a few cases -- to keep my pro bono chops active. Since the hearing was Zoom, no big deal.

And my friend Michelle was just selected as a judge -- investiture is November -- she invited me to attend. I asked whether I could wear a guyabara. She said Si. She speaks perfect Spanish -- Argentinian Jewish Dad; garden variety Brooklyn Jewish Mom. Michelle's great -- she'll be a terrific judge. I guess it'll give me a chance to see the new Miami Dade Courthouse.

Maybe some new stories will be told, or have origin. 

It's a Sad Man, My Friend, Who's Livin' in His Own Skin, And Can't Stand The Company

 Ah, the days get hotter as Miami Summer draws nigh. So far, it's been less than brutal -- I've been able to get in my 7500 steps without breaking much of a sweat. That will change soon.

Some good local news on the Village front: a friend of ours, Shannon, was elected the next Mayor of Pinecrest. Actually, no one opposed her, so she automatically gets the job -- replacing Mayor Joe, who lives in our 'hood. Shannon's terrific -- lawyer, Mom, wife, and whip smart. She also happens to be VERY easy on the eyes. She emailed today, along with our friends Kenny and Joelle, who introduced us, and we plan to go to dinner this Fall and celebrate her victory.

Other than that, we've been taking stock lately. What to leave in; what to leave out. I was chatting at length with a friend about the stages of parenthood. Wifey and I are in the second to last stage -- grown kids and grandkids. We just want to enjoy them all. The last stage, when WE need the care -- ain't nobody looking forward to that.

My Dad never got that far. He checked out at 63. My Mom started needing a lot of care at 89. We still trace the beginning of her end to a car crash where she wrecked 3 cars -- luckily no injuries. From 89 until her death, at 93, things weren't great, though Rabbi Yossi would say that questioning the quality of even one moment of her life is sinful. Whatever. I still maintain that Dad died too young, and Sunny too old.

I just know, as Dylan sang in "Key West," that I've always tried to do what is good, tried to do what is right. Whether that proves to be true, I guess I leave to others to decide.

Meanwhile, the grandsons are due over tomorrow, and that brings joy to Wifey and me. Those boys -- so full of life and energy. The older one is whip smart and hilarious. The other day he asked Wifey if she would buy him Pokemon cards. Wifey responded she would, as soon as her visiting friend Giselle left. He sweetly went to Giselle: "Will you be staying long?" We corrected his rudeness, but barely hid our laughter. 

Paul and Patricia are back from a fortnight in Europe -- would we meet for dinner? We would -- and so tonight we're headed to Sra. Martinez -- a place we've enjoyed with Joelle and Kenny. Giralda Street has a new art installation -- it should be lovely to post dinner stroll beneath it -- maybe peek in on the NBA Finals game at one of the many bars there.

Next Sunday is FD -- MD's po relation. We have reservations at Platea -- Barry, Donna, and Josh will join us. Not sure yet about July 4 -- I kind of want to do SOMETHING, since it's our 250th birthday.

Man -- I am so old I still clearly recall the Bicentennial. We were 15, and had fake IDs, which got us into Beefsteak Charlies where we drank beer and sangria, before hiking down to Eisenhower Park to see fireworks. I recall walking across Hempstead TPK to Modell's after the show, to call my Dad from a payphone for a ride home, and all of us packing into his large sedan. "I don't smell alcohol, do I ?" he asked. "No Dad -- Gerry uses a lot of cologne." Pretty sure he knew we were less than truthful.

Turns out, a lot happened in the following half a century. I finished high school, worked hard at Rite-Aid , and moved to Miami the day after graduation in June of '79. Dad got 3 more years. Mom got 31 more.

I went to law school, and practiced for about 6 months before realizing I didn't like being a lawyer. But it was a decent gig, I learned that he who gets business makes the shekels, and focused there.

I also realized, beginning in 1988 and again in 1992 that being a Dad was my main identity. It still is.

So maybe I WILL celebrate myself next Sunday.

To get back to the Boss: "These are better days, baby."

Boomer Dinosaurs

 So last night we had a terrific dinner with very close friends, and were joined by their younger son, with whom we are also very close. He recently started his first real job -- a position he found himself with no nepo help, and we're thrilled for him. Important for his parents, he finally has health coverage, and so his Dad can cease the huge Obama care monthly premiums...

We asked him all about it, and he mentioned that he was still planning a trip to Europe in late September -- although he gets no vacation time with this start up until he's there a year, he had told them during the application process that he already had plans and would miss that week. The company agreed.

Wifey, who like her late mother says what's on her mind, starting questioning him -- why did he need to take that trip, shouldn't he be more concerned with impressing his boss with his commitment than leaving so soon for what is truly frivolous, why wouldn't he put it off? He's already been to Europe a few times, so this isn't some "dream of a lifetime" excursion -- and it's funny to note his parents, hard working for decades, have NEVER been to Europe.

Our young man was polite but steadfast -- no -- he WAS taking the trip -- it's what he wanted, had gotten an early pass, and that was that. Hopefully all turns out well -- his millennial boss gets it, and his budding career with the start up doesn't get quickly abridged.

On the way home, Wifey and I talked about it -- I told her things really HAVE changed. D2, during her tenure as a "People" officer with a company, what we used to call "Personnel" or later "Human Resources," explained that a long tenure with an employer was a liability. In our day, it was impressive to hear someone had been with a company for decades. Now, apparently, if someone stays more than a few years without some sort of equity in the operation, they're frowned upon -- not aggressive enough about advancing their own career such that it's harder to get a new job. Wow.

I thought back on my first lawyer job -- enduring blatant anti-semitism from my boss, and simply accepting it since Wifey and I had a mortgage, I wasn't a top of the class guy, and was happy to have the paycheck. Wifey's jobs were also rife with issues -- but it seemed like such a privilege to get paid for what we did, we stayed and got the pay check.

We ARE so out of touch, as Mick Jagger sang when he was still a young man. Now in his 80s, he's REALLY out of touch. In matters of careers, it seems, we are, too.

And it's not just jobs. The WSJ, which I finally broke down and subscribed to, electronically of course, had an article about Boomers giving more to their adult kids while they were alive, as opposed to waiting until estate time. Wifey and I always did that -- the Ds chose public schools throughout, and the money I would have paid in tuition towards Ransom, and Emory, and whatever, I invested for them -- and given the rise of the markets over the past decades, made them, in the words of Hall and Oates, rich girls.

Maybe that was folly. When I started making money, maybe I should have turned to cocaine, and exotic sports cars, and expensive escorts. Ha -- I'm SUCH a Walter Mitty -- a reference the youngins won't get.

Wifey and I and the Ds have enjoyed an amazing life -- yeah, due to my work efforts, it turned out, and I never took it for granted. We've lived in a house for nearly 26 years now where EACH time I pull into the driveway, beyond the gates, I can't believe I live here.

Back when I used to go to the street to fetch the Herald, I always expected to hear "Hey kid -- what the hell are you doing here -- get the hell out!" I still feel that way -- we are SO lucky and blessed.

When Wifey and I were first married, if we needed a new AC unit for our 1200 square foot house, it would have freaked us out. Last week I happily Zelled Danny the AC guy nearly $8K for a new bedroom unit, and was happy that we ought to be good for another decade or so with the Rheem/Rudd (they've merged, it seems).

So we Boomers probably would be most helpful getting the hell out of the way. Paul and I sure have in the law business. We still have a firm, but other than referring cases that still come our way, and Paul grinding the guys who take over about the results -- we're pretty irrelevant. The other day Paul mentioned a statute of limitations question. I reminded him those changed like 7 years ago!

I guess every generation, as they age into decrepitude, defaults to the "In my day" mode. Jeff and Lili's girl is a rising 3 L in Chicago. Turns out, they no longer torture law students with the socratic method. I wonder how that will play out when some client has his lawyer come under pressure in a major case.

My doctor friends are always flummoxed at how soft the new Residents and Fellows are. I guess we'll all find out how that turns out as we need more and more medical care from young doctors. 

Who knows? Maybe AI will render much of that moot, anyway.

So I chose MY path, and it will NOT include cocaine, luxury sports cars, or escorts. Even though Wifey was initially turned off by my lease of a Buick, last night she saw, for the first time, the LED strip lights and said "Wow -- this looks like a limo."

I WILL splurge on better vodka. I plan to have Stoli Elit and Zyr for my 65th. And then the best all of us Boomers can do is watch and listen.

Our old ways are passing into history.

Grandkids

 So Wifey and I both grew up with loving parents, but no real involvement with grandparents. For Wifey, it's on account of the Nazis killing all 4 of hers, along with most of the rest of my late suegros' families. For me, my Dad's Dad was gone 6 years before I was born, my Mom's Dad died when I was just a little boy (I have a single memory of visiting him in a hospital bed) and I wasn't close with my grandmothers.

Jennie, my Dad's Mom, always seemed SO ancient to me, and our bi-monthly visits to her apartment in Jackson Heights were most memorable to my child self for the strong stench of urine, due to her incontinence. My Dad would bring her some groceries, and the daily Forward, the Yiddish paper she preferred, and then we would go upstairs and see my Aunt and Cousin -- also not close -- but no urine smell.

Wifey got to meet Jennie once, and it led to a humorous misunderstanding. We were in NY, and I wanted to have Wifey meet my Aunt, but she had other plans that day (there was a reason my Mom only barely tolerated her sister in law) but she told me which nursing home "Mama" was in. It was funny, I always recalled Jennie as cold and mean, but in her final time of dementia, she had become a ray of sunshine -- smiling and giggling.

I told her hello, and that I was her grandson, and she said no -- she only had Steve. I said I was Hy's son, and she insisted Hy had Trudy and Susan. I guess the memory banks ended in the 40s or 50s, and my 1961 birth didn't make the cut. But then I introduced Wifey, and decided to use the Yiddish version of her name,  Faye, since I figured the Hebrew name would be confusing. They met, and that was the last time we saw her, but then came the funny part.

Weeks later, Anne called my Mom and said she had no idea I was gay. What? "Mama said David came to visit with his faygellah (Yiddish slang for gay). So I had no real relationship with Jennie, but at least the final event was hilarious.

Anna, my Mom's Mom, DID spend time with us on LI, but between her mumbling and heavy Yiddish accent, I never understood a single word she said. She had so many grandkids and great grandkids, and so I treated her with respect, and she was nice enough (though inscrutable to me) but I recall zero meaningful encounters. My Mom would tell me snippets of her folk wisdom, but I never got them first hand.

Wifey got to meet her, too, once -- at a nursing home in West Palm Beach. She was indeed ancient -- I think she made it to 97, and for me, that was a woman who seemed old world ancient in her 60s.

Wifey's parents and my Mom were indeed close with the Ds. Since Wifey is an only child, the Ds were kind of a big deal to the two Holocaust Survivors. And MY Mom was a hoot to them -- her quirkiness was the seed of warm memories, like the time she broke the silence in our mini van to sigh and say "Ah -- it's 430." The Ds asked -- so what? Was she expecting a call, or was there a show on? "Oh now, I just looked at my watch. To this day, 430 is Grandma Sunny time...

And now...well...we kind of cotton to D1's boys. Friday was Baby Man's last day of preschool 3 performance, and Wifey actually made it into the car at 730 am for the trip to North Miami! Wifey no longer does mornings. It was a delightful scene -- Little Man mad a sign for his brother, and sang and danced along to the songs the little ones performed.

There's lots of exotic Jews there -- South American, European, along with the garden variety ones like us. One little girl looked Asian -- sure enough -- Jewish Dad and Asian Mom. I asked D1 if she was accepted to MIT yet...

We decamped to Bagel Bar East, and D2 met up with us. She and Jonathan are working hard at bringing a new member to the Band as well. Big Man willing -- we're hoping that's the news of 2027.

The boys left for Naples with their Dad -- soccer tonight, and some time at Wolf Lodge, which they love. The Ds, Wifey, and I went to D2's house and spent quality time with Betsy the enormous puppy, and Lemon, the skittish Spaniel. Lemon came home with us since D1 has a friends' reunion in Chicago.

One of her group is Caroline, a delightful and brilliant young woman, now a doc there. Her father Michael was an amazing man -- top surgeon in Miami -- the kind of guy who went to patients' houses to check on them, and had yearly charity trips to Haiti. He was a Richard Corry -- had it all -- but also demons -- he killed himself in 2018. As I saw the photo of Caroline , it struck me how sad her Dad will never meet his grandkids. 

So today, the skittish Spaniel will get a walky walk soon, and then a chill Saturday until this evening -- we're meeting Barry and Donna for dinner in Doral at Basilico -- precisely 20 minutes from each or our houses. Donna jokes that she will be an OLD grandma -- Scott, who is married, doesn't seem too close to having kids with Sam, and Josh is finding his path professionally now.

I hope they get this supreme blessing. I've heard it a lot, but now I know for myself -- grandkids are pretty, pretty, pretty wonderful. What I missed out on as a grandchild, I am MORE than gifted with as a Grandpa. And I dig it.

If You See Her, Say Hello

 So for me, it was a busy am. I awoke late, near 9 am, and spoke to Paul in Provence -- enjoying the beauty of the place but able to do without the French. It reminded me of an old friend Vince, Sr. who was there during WW II. He said Paris was the most beautiful city he ever visited -- if only Italians lived there, instead of French.

I began my constitution and called lawyer Tom in Michigan, who referred us a client -- his daughter's friend. She lost a finger tip in a bar in Key West. Who hasn't? We referred the claim to young Michael, and he go another absurdly positive result -- settling for probably 4 times what I thought the case was worth. Tom was thrilled, of course, and we talked football. His son in law, from upstate NY, is, strangely, a huge Dolphins fan -- likely since he resented the local Bills for their omnipresence there. We agreed his son in law would NOT be celebrating this year, or for many seasons...

I then ran into neighbor Oscar, whose son is serving decades in Federal prison. I tried to refer the son to my friend Joel, but the young man's ex wife picked his lawyer -- a move I never understood. Oscar told me they're appealing -- using a guy Joel respects. Oscar is a sweet man -- late 70s, Muslim from Guyana -- served the US Army in Vietnam. He's none too pleased with the government these days.

I came home and made a call I've been Jonesing to make -- to Florida Blue. I told them I had made my final payment of $2200 for my ObamaCare plan, with its high deductibles. First, I shut off Auto pay, and then called the company -- telling them my Medicare begins July 1. I figured they'd try to sell me one of their inferior Medicare Supplement Plans, but the agent did not -- just confirmed the dates, and that was it.

Young Josh called to ask if I was free tonight -- I told him other than bartending for Lili during Mah Jong, I was. He may stop by -- and if he does there'll be pizza along with a martini or two. His parents' 35th anniversary is today -- I plan to make him nauseous by telling him maybe go home REAL late -- lest he catch them cavorting naked in the swimming pool. I know how to sicken adult kids...

Meanwhile, I got to feeling nostalgic, and put "Blood On The Tracks" on Sonos -- hence the title of this entry. I guess 65 drawing close hits hard that far more years are behind me than ahead. And that's ok. There have been good times. DAMN good times as David Lee Roth sang.

Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of our law school graduation. They were heady times. I was clerking for Dan Schwartz, an insurance defense lawyer and avowed anti-semite who I though was Jewish. He thought I was NOT. "I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a fucking Jew," he said. I needed the job, wasn't exactly top of my class, and so I just laughed him off. I only stayed until August of '87 -- his biggest clients fired him when they realized he had left control of the firm in the hands of Vanessa, his name only partner who spent more time doing cocaine than working the cases.

Dan died young -- my friend Pat told me he had become a pariah at Riviera CC for cheating at golf. Yeah -- I didn't mourn his loss, and, in fact, appreciate the strange tales that first job gave me. As for the anti-semitism, he sort of beat the Christmas rush, so to speak. I wonder if he'd send money to the likes of Tucker Carlson, AOC, and Platner in Maine if he was alive...

So the days flow on and on, and it's nice to enjoy them. And if you see her, say hello...

All Cool in the 305

 So Jorge and his boy Marlon, a Music student at Miami Dade College, arrived bright and early Friday, to remove our old (11 years) bedroom AC unit and replace it with a new one. Wifey and I left around noon for North Miami -- Marlon said they had about an hour to go.

Danny had assured me they were fine to trust in the house. I laughed. I got nothing much to steal! I have one hidden safe with cash and some gold coins, and I guess Wifey's jewelry, but the rest of the stuff? We returned home late, and the bedroom was nicely cooled -- the fellows did their work.

We found our way to the Scott Galvin Center, named for the first openly gay mayor of North Miami who secured the funding for the lovely facility. And as we watched the kindergartners parade in, it struck me why Barry and Kenny chose Pediatrics -- children are precious. They performed, and got their diplomas, and the cuteness level was immeasurable. Little Man beamed -- he's off to the First Grade Gifted Program in the Fall, and had LOTS of questions about whether that meant it would be more work. It would.

Wifey and I decamped to Temple Beth Moshe to fetch Baby Man, and take him to D2's house where Tio Jonathan was working from home. Baby Man is a delight -- so much more mellow without his hurricane older brother, and we enjoyed him, too, before all re-locating to D1's for Uber Eats Turkish food and a cocktail for Jonathan and me -- toasting the first of what will hopefully be many more graduations.

We packed Little Man into the car, and before we hit I-95 he was fully PTFO. We got him home, and he wanted to collapse onto the couch, but I shepherded him upstairs and the deepest of 6.5 year old sleeps. It had been quite the day.

Saturday, D1 suggested we take him to see a new kids' movie out, but he instead decided to enjoy the privilege we provide here: doing nothing. D1 has a multitude of activities when he is home -- here he can watch shows, play on his IPad, build with blocks...

I took him to the Falls Roasters, and got the news that they were closing -- the rent had become untenable. But, most of the staff was simply relocating 1.5 miles north to the Dadeland location. Little Man was given a going away black and white, and I was given a $25 gift certificate. That'll pay for one breakfast with Trump era prices -- assuming I avoid the lox!

Later, we visited Chick-Fil-A for a takeout order, and then I FaceTimed with Dr. Barry as I squeezed orange juice --Little Man loves it in a cup, as his Grandpa Dave drank his with some vodka, and we toasted the graduate. No one advised him about "plastics." I guess these days it would be "AI."

Sunday we were up early, to House of Bagels, where we got chocolate chip bagel and cookie for Baby Man, and chocolate chip bagel and a B and W for Little Man. I dropped him with D1, who had plans to take them to a Balloon Museum pop up (Ha!) at Wynwood and a birthday party afterwards. I came home and napped.

I cut a check for Baby Man's 4th -- to be held at Mitzvah Kitchen the am after MY birthday -- since D1 will be in Cali on his actual birthday. Rabbi Yossi and Nechama run it -- the kids get to play in the activities they have for the special needs kids, and bake cookies for themselves and to box off for food challenged folks. It's become quite an operation -- corporations have team building sessions there, and Camillus House gets thousands of meals -- glatt kosher -- though they don't care about that.

This am I was back at the gym, and then Danny emailed me the new warranty info and invoice for the new AC -- nearly double what it cost 11 years ago. But, apparently I can get a tax credit -- so there's at least SOMETHNG good for the rich white man.

But most importantly -- the new unit works -- WELL. No AC -- we would be heading elsewhere to live -- especially in the Summer. 

Each time I feel its refreshment -- I give thanks. This cool, rockin' Daddy and Granddaddy in the USA needs to actually be cool...

Friends Lost Along The Way

 When I turned 40, I threw myself a BIG party at Villa Wifey. Loffler's Caterers presented a clam bake -- tons of delicious seafood everywhere -- and a VERY busy bartender. Back then, Paul and I were at the height of our law biz, and I invited referral lawyers, doctors, and our whole staff.

The staff surprised me -- told me to come outside and look up -- there was an airplane flying with a banner that said "Happy 40, Dave." It was the first and only time I had been so honored -- as important as Coppertone!

At the cake cutting, my sister Trudy gave me a beautiful complement which was SO accurate. She said she and her husband, like many, collected things in life -- like antiques, but I collected PEOPLE. It's true. Among things I'm proudest of, it's my long term friendships -- the closest dating back 4 and a half decades. I treasure them.

But alas, some folks (the Ds love when I use that old term -- particularly when referring to someone's parents) fall out of your life -- and that's ok, too. In my case, when I got close to someone, I tended to put a halo above their heads -- imbuing them with qualities that were often not there. And that's ok, too.

In college, I grew close to Vince. We met in the most comical way of any of my friends -- staring at the same girl's ample bosom from either side of her -- in Calculus class (I was still pre-med). I looked up and saw a guy with glasses and huge nose. He looked at me and gave me the thumbs up sign. We instantly knew we were fellow connoisseurs...

He was a few years ahead of me -- grew up in North Miami, Irish Mom, Italian Dad. His father was an Italian version of mine -- same high school in The Bronx, even -- self taught intellectual. Vince, Sr. owned a schmata factory in NYC and ran afoul of some bad hombres -- and Vince recalled being about 9 and being rushed into the family station wagon to drive to Miami for a new life -- his Dad opened a factory in Hialeah. Vince went to FSU and partied too much -- his Dad brought him back from Tally with an ultimatum: bring up your grades, or come be my janitor in the factory. Vince picked Door #1 and did well enough to get into med school.

He met his first wife in my apartment -- Barbara was headed to law school -- lovely and smart young woman from Chicago. The marriage only lasted a few years on account of -- well -- that's not important -- but Vince ended up marrying the nurse with whom he was having an affair -- and having his kids with her. That marriage ended when a prettier and more exotic nurse crossed his path -- separated from an angry Persian man.

The story of our friendship is long and varied, with the loss of all 4 of our parents -- but nurse number 2 ended up being wife #3 AND #4. Our friendship ended when Vince asked me for a big loan to start a pain clinic -- and having been burned by a donut investment from another college friend, and knowing he had paid millions to wife #3, I said no -- maybe ask now wife #4. He said, straight faced "Oh no -- she'll never trust me with money again."

Turned out, Vince was so disappointed in me, he ended the friendship. I found out later, at a lunch with his even older friend Fred, maybe it was for the best. When Fred's wife was dying young, of cancer, Vince was nowhere to be found -- broke his fellow Italian's heart, And later, through FaceBook (TM), I learned from Vince's sister upstate that he sort of abandoned his dying mother, too -- the sister bore the entire load of her loss alone. So probably not a guy to have in my life, anyway.

Another loss was John, who I met when he was a young lawyer and I a clerk the Summer of '85. He was WAY cool -- Southern guy, former USAF pilot, engineer before going back to law school. The firm didn't hire me, but we kept friends -- he jumped from firm to firm, and we handled a few cases together -- one, a blown tire case, he did VERY well on. He also repped my friend Sandy's step dad against UM after they botched the care of Sandy's Mom, Frances.

Much later, John was looking for a landing spot to re-launch his career after his wife died, and he was leaving another close friend, Curtis. I advocated strongly for him to join our group, on account of Stu was smart but comically lazy and needed someone to take charge of the cases.

Long story short: turned out John was lazy, too, and the relationship soured. John found another landing spot -- with a major TV lawyer I called Saul Goodman after the "Better Call Saul/Breaking Bad" character, and stole a major case from us. John became, forever, Fredo to me -- to this day everyone in our circle calls him that.

We ended up having to sue, and a resulting trial lasted most of a week. We got some of the money back, and could have settled for some more, but, as Paul pointed out, I wanted vengeance for the betrayal more than the money -- and so we got to air our grievances publicly. He's probably correct.

Anyway, Robert/Better Call Saul fired John, too, and last I heard John was up in West Palm -- still working in his mid 70s. He had a fraught relationship with his daughter, who I helped get accepted to UF via a key connection I had there, and I wonder whether it's still fraught. I'd bet it is.

Other friends -- well -- over time we just fade apart. Wifey is more blatant in that regard than I am -- with a single exception, she is no longer close with most of her formerly close friends. One she was close with, Elizabeth, died in her sleep 5 years ago -- we just spoke of that sad anniversary last week. But for most -- she had no drama -- just no longer the energy to keep the relationships going more than a few times per year lunch or so. 

As usual, John Lennon sang it best, about people in his life: "Some forever not for better -- some I've lost, and some have changed."

I'm not looking to add to my people collection anymore. Nice neighbor couples have asked to get together with Wifey and me -- we politely make sure the dates never get set.

Yet my love for those in my true inner circle remains as strong as it ever was -- stronger, even. And that makes me a very blessed man.