Rest in Peace Murray Meyerson

Paul and I always talk about attending funerals -- he still feels he should "make an appearance" at the services for prominent members of the Bar or Bench.  I no longer do -- I really hate wearing a suit unless I have to, and unless the person meant much to me, I figure my presence won't be missed.  As an example, a very successful PI lawyer Erv Gonzalez hung himself earlier this year.  Paul went -- I stayed away.

We joke about whose funeral I WOULD attend.  And a name always came up: Murray Meyerson.  When the time comes, I'd assure Paul, I'll go with you to Murray's...

Well, last night, in passing (ha!), Norman mentioned to me that Murray had died last month.  What??? How wasn't I informed?  Norman knew via a FaceBook post from one of Murray's fellow mediators, Frank Allocca.  I don't know Frank.  Wifey and I got home from dinner and I messaged Peter Abraham, a mediator I knew also knew and liked Murray.  He responded, right away, after the Heat lost another game (Peter is the official scorekeeper).  It was true.  Murray died last month, there was no obituary, no media coverage, and a tiny funeral the next day.

I savored my time with Murray, or judge, as I always called him.  He was old school gangsta Miami Beach -- a guy who'd preside over government or cases (he was Miami Beach mayor and a long time judge) and then head to Joe's Stone Crabs and the track -- probably Hialeah was his place, long before Gulfstream became the go to venue.

Murray was long married and then became a widower -- he never had kids.  He looked like he was related to Woody Allen, though much taller.

He was out go to mediator -- settled many cases for Paul and me, and made us a great deal of money while always helping our clients do the right thing -- avoiding the pitfalls of a capricious jury.

We'd have huge chunks of time in our bigger mediations -- so we got to really talk.  Murray was a Miami Dade cop, and went to law school at UM at night after realizing a local lawyer on a crash case he worked on made more on that single case than Murray made in two years of police work.

Murray, like Paul, loved Vegas.  He would go up to a pretty lady of a certain age, and say "Have you ever danced with a perfect stranger?" And they would dance, and there'd be romance, and fine dining, and gambling.  We made plans to go to Vegas with Murray, but sadly never did.  Still, I see him in my mind's eye, charming the ladies, and winning at the tables...

Years ago, he developed a brain tumor, and he thought it was the end, but the neurosurgeons at UM removed it.  He was left with a disfigured face -- one eye drooped badly -- but his intelligence and wit danced on.

I saw him and said I thought he looked fine.  He pointed to his face and said "Dave -- I never WAS a Clark Gable."  Also pure Murray.

When you'd greet him, as I did with a hearty "How are ya, judge?" he'd always answer the same: "I have no JUST complaints."  I stole that response from him years ago.  I plan to use it even more now.

Wifey could tell I was saddened last night -- I knew Murray was old, but I was so surprised at no funeral.  "Just like my Dad," Wifey said.  Yes, but my father in law was a private man.  Murray was a mayor, and judge, and mediator who knew hundreds of lawyers, most of whom adored him like I did.

I guess he wanted a quiet end.  Ecclesiates is always one of my favorite parts of the bible -- because it teaches that no matter how big a shot we become, in the end we're just dust.  All is vanity, it says -- our struggles are all, ultimately, in vain.

So I'll remember Murray Meyerson warmly.  He shared great tales with us.  He shared great wisdom.  His memory will be as a blessing.

I just wished I could have been there to pay proper respects.