When Paul and I started our firm in November of 1994, it was in a shared office suite -- sort of an early version of We Work, or Buro. It was located in THE building at the time -- the Centrust Tower, which was lit up different colors each night. We were on the 26th floor, and enjoyed after work cocktails looking down on the entire city. And then the company, Quantum, lost its lease, and we had to move.
SunTrust on Brickell lured us to their space -- at the time we had clients with millions of dollars in trust and guardianship accounts there, and they wanted us close by. They offered us a very sweetheart deal for Brickell space, and we moved in Spring of '95. We had an option to stay for many years, but I screwed up -- forgot to send in the written option, and the bank wanted our space for a restaurant. They kept our rent low and moved us to the 4th floor.
In 2008, Stuart largely took over our operations, and took over the lease. Our space was nice -- and it had a tell tale address: Suite 400. When you have an even number like that, typically it means you have the premier address on an office floor. Before Covid, the building was sold, and the rent was to skyrocket, and Stuart's associate Vince found nice space 2 blocks south -- on Brickell.
This building is more downscale, but our suite number was 600 -- the main office suite on the floor. Well, that ended, and 2 weeks ago the operation moved. This time our Suite is 201-E. That says a lot.
The office is much smaller, and a number with a sub letter says the glory years are gone.
I remember following the career arc of my former boss Frank. He co-owned his building, and then had his own firm, before becoming of counsel with another. The arc pointed downward, and finally a year or two ago, he was listed as "retired."
And this is ok. Truth is, at 61 I could indeed start anew, get some top drawer space, excite old referral sources, and give it a go. Nah. Zero desire to do that, and I am fortunate to not have to.
A lot of my friends, career lawyers or doctors, are dealing with existential crises these days. But the bottom line is, to me, careers are for the younger. Doing surgery at 70? Really? Making life and death decisions when putting on one's socks is a chore? Doesn't seem to make much sense.
So I I guess we'll limp along in these yeoman's quarters for awhile. The space is fine, but by no means impressive. There is a nice view, though, including one across SE 10th Street to a particular bench.
A fellow lives on that bench -- he has been there every day since we moved into the building in 2018. He looks about my age -- wears khaki shorts and camo shirt. He has a back pack. He literally sits there all day, watching the very busy life go past -- "watching the wheels go round and round" as Lennon sang.
I always say hello when I pass, and I can tell from his demeanor and manner of speaking he is educated, or was. I have no idea where he goes at night -- for all I know, he sleeps right there.
But he observes the human condition, and is there with his thoughts. As am I, now in an office suite with a dash and letter.
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