The Humbling

One of the Reader's Digest "Most Unforgettable Characters" of my life is my old boss, a man who was truly larger than life. He was brilliant and extremely aggressive as a lawyer, and taught me a crucial lesson about living to the fullest:  he would always say, when deciding when to spend money -- you can't afford NOT to.

Our business relationship ended very well -- we continued to handle cases together long after Paul and I left our firm, and when he decided to semi retire, he sold his local mansion and moved to Martin County, on the fork of a local river, where he could keep a yacht.  Paul and I threw him a large party in my house -- we bought a glass trophy thanking him for the years of lessons and laughter.  His grown kids and their spouses were there, along with a few close friends of his and his wife's.

After the party, we never heard from any of them -- Paul and I chuckled -- it was typical of their view of life -- of COURSE he'd be thrown a testimonial -- saying thank you was for lesser mortals.  One lady DID send a lovely thank you -- his long time secretary, who appreciated being invited.

Following that, we lost touch, until about 10 years ago when we were invited to his 75th birthday party, at a now closed restaurant of Coral Way. He had physically transformed -- lost most of his bulk, and no longer had the famous comb over -- he looked like a retired professor, but the eyes still sparkled, and he talked of far flung adventures. Most importantly, his kids and grandkids were there, and all seemed happy and loving.

From time to time, Paul would say we needed to go visit him up in Martin County -- have a pilgrimage.  I begged off -- we had ended on nice terms, and if I was going to drive far, it had to be for something I really needed to do -- like visit my Ds in Gainesville.

Well, the other day Paul asked for the secretary's number -- he wanted to track down our former boss, to glean, as Paul said, wisdom about going from one's late 60s to the 80s -- figuring our man must have done it with panache, in a huge way.

Yesterday we chatted with our lady. We were shocked. Money had become an issue -- the man with a mansion in Coral Gables and a strange compound in Martin County was now living in a $350K tract house off I-95 in Jupiter. Worse -- he and his wife never saw his son or his kids, and his daughter visited once per year.

I don't know specifics, nor do I wish to, but a man who was truly big to my life, in many ways, had become very small. There had been, apparently, a major humbling.

Paul and I were sad. We prefer to think of our man holding court, on a yacht or one of his airplanes, traveling to Paris and staying in some ultra luxury hotel only he and his rarified acquaintances knew about.

His son has come upon tough times, too -- recently disbarred and, according to our lady friend, forced to sell his big place in Pinecrest.

The material losses are one thing, but I knew this family well -- they were so close. The fact that our man never sees his grandkids is, to me, inconceivable.  That saddens me most.

The great Bruce sings that, in the end, what you don't surrender, well this world just strips away. I had hoped an exception was the love of one's children and grandchildren.  I guess, even among the biggest among us, that's not necessarily true.