Switched At Birth

 So it was a lovely Sunday. D1 and the boys and Lemon the Spaniel and Betsy the enormous puppy and her Mom D2 came by in the afternoon -- leaving D2 and Betsy and taking the boys and Lemon to Coral Reef Park for a playdate. D1 texted when she was on her way back, and I ordered Anthony's Coal Fired, and everyone sat around munching on pizza and wings and meatballs and salad. The happy, well fed crew left, and Wifey and I settled in to watch some "Mobland," and English themed Sopranos, and then headed upstairs for the season finale of "White Lotus" which has become our go-to show.

After it ended, and we discussed the fates of the spoiled rich white people infused with some Buddhist wisdom, I depressed myself a bit reading about today's stock futures, which may well portend another Black Monday. Truth is, since I am my Dad's son and never really trust the Stock Market, the losses will not affect our daily lives (if savings and muni bonds tank -- uh oh!), but still, it's no fun to watch my Merrill Balances tumble from the heights. Hopefully they bounce back, like they did from our first Black Monday.

That was 1987, and Wifey and I opened our first brokerage account, with Ronnie, a Drexel Burnham guy who was Wifey's co worker Kathy's husband. They were SO much richer than we -- huge house in Pinecrest -- wedding at Grove Isle -- BMWs. Ronnie was smart, a South American Jewish guy who had gone to Bentley, I think, and Wifey and my total life savings, other than our house which had small equity, was $9K -- my IRA with $2K, and Wifey's with $7K. We opened the accounts in late September, and took a trip to D.C. to visit Wifey's friend from FSU Dolly. When we toured the Capitol Building on Monday, I noticed most of the Congresspeople were gone -- later, in a Pub, I learned why: Black Monday.

We returned to find our $9K nest egg was worth probably less than $7K. I freaked, but Ronnie told me to stay the course, and I did, as an investor, ever since. Of course, Drexel went out of business, Ronnie and Kathy divorced, and we lost touch. These days, I'm happy when a monthly AMEX bill is close to $9K -- so things have changed, a lot. Hopefully Trump doesn't push us totally into a depression this time --I'm getting too old to do manual labor. No -- I AM too old to do manual labor.

Anyway, I kept reading online, and I came across an article about a guy my age named Kevin McMahon, born in Queens at Jamaica Hospital minutes after another baby McMahon was born there, and, sure enough, it turned out the babies were switched! The other baby was named Ross.

Ross ended up having a great childhood, with a loving family, but Kevin's father and paternal grandmother always treated him like the proverbial "red headed stepkid." They KNEW he wasn't their biological kin - -he was much darker in eyes and complexion -- and abused and treated him awfully. Grandma always suspected that her daughter in law had had an affair, and convinced her son of that, and so poor Kevin suffered his entire life.

His sister learned the truth through genetic online testing -- it showed she had a full brother -- the REAL McMahon, it turned out. All 4 parents are dead, and Kevin is suing Jamaica Hospital for the mix up -- he ended up doing ok, it seems, and he has met his biological siblings.

Of course the awful part of the story is how badly Dad and Grandma treated him just because they FELT he wasn't biologically connected. Ross McMahon was the one who lucked out -- he ended up with the loving, accepting family, even though he was the only blue eyed blonde.

These stories will only increase as more people get the DNA tests, although I suspect most of the "scandals" will be more of the great reggae song variety: "Your poppa not your poppa but your poppa don't know."

This caused me to reflect: maybe I was switched at Long Island Jewish Hospital in July, 1961, and truly belonged to one of the elite Ashkenazim from The Five Towns, or Great Neck, instead of my middle class family from Glenn Oaks. Hmm..I could have been handed everything, instead of working from age 12 to, really, about 5 years ago -- I STILL work, though only very part time. Hell -- I just assumed the role of private counsel for a good doctor friend being sued who has no insurance -- though Norman is the one getting paid and will do the real defense...

But I'm glad the way things worked out. Had I been to the Great Neck Manor born, maybe I'd have become a total douchebag, and instead of making the great friends who went to UM on scholarship, had MORE douchy friends who went to places like Duke. I might be still running my Dad's company...who knows?

All I know is, the luckiest part of my childhood is that I always felt PLENTY loved, and a strong sense of belonging. As I grew, my older than the others Dad and I became truly best friends. I loved and adored him so. Plus, I look a lot like him -- so pretty confident LIJ got it correct.

Another week begins. Speaking of UM, Wifey and I had planned to attend UM's Centennial, with open house and a concert by Music School alums, with Kenny and Joelle, neither of whom are alums. But when I told Wifey there'd be lots of walking -- she opted for Door #2 -- just dinner with our dear friends. And that's fine with me. I'll just plan on attending the Bicentennial...

Psychological Ozempic

 So during the first years of the Pandemic, I lost a LOT of weight --probably a good 40-50 lbs. My appetite was low, and I walked miles per day -- often 10 -- to fight the anxiety. During one of our "distance walks," Kenny took a photo of me to show how much thinner I was than a few years earlier, when we traveled to Sonoma County for Kenny and Joelle's 25th wedding anniversary celebration.

The anxiety came from the unknown -- would our baby, first born grandson survive this awful disease? Would the kids? I had a constant low level of queasiness that kept me from eating -- and the weight loss was needed.

In January of 2021, Wifey had her stroke, before she was able to get the Covid jab, and my anxiety increased. I knew she would survive the stroke -- would Covid in the hospital or in patient rehab, where she spent 3 whole weeks, get her? 

Thankfully, Wifey survived and recovered, and by 2022 or so it became clear that Covid was largely the "Boomer Remover" the pundits thought it might be -- taking, mostly, older folks. My appetite returned to it's typical fraternity boy levels, and my walking, though never ceasing, went back to 3 miles per day. The weight, not surprisingly, came back.

Well, the psychological Ozempic is back -- a series of life events have me dealing with existential changes, and the weight is coming off again. Wifey noticed it the other day -- I was wearing shorts I had retired in 2023 or so -- and I guess it's a positive unintended consequence of anxiety. Hey -- if the The Donald keeps up the craziness of his presidency, and drives us to a true Constitutional Crisis, or even Civil War -- I may become as svelte as I was in college, law school, and about 5 years after -- my pants were 32 waist size or lower. 

Meanwhile, I dealt with another silly phobia yesterday: tech. My IPhone, which is with me like a pacemaker to a heart patient, is, or was, a IPhone 11, which I got in 2017, from the Verizon store Downtown while Wifey and I were still Hurricane Irma refugees. The phone worked, except the battery wasn't lasting, and I was SO opposed to upsetting any tech carts, I took it to the Apple Store on Xmas eve and had the battery replaced -- that was nearly 2 years ago. 

But we have a Euro trip planned for late May, and I didn't want my ancient phone dying over there, so yesterday I steeled myself and visited the Verizon store on 104th St and S Dixie. It was 1030, and the place was empty, except for 2 salespeople -- I went up to Juan. I told him I thought it was time to get my free upgraded phone, and he asked if the one I had worked, and I said it did, but when he took it from me and saw it was an 11 that was 8 years old, he laughed and said indeed it WAS time to replace -- many of the Apps I use didn't work well with such an ancient piece of equipment.

I asked if they had a service where you could pay and have them transfer all your date, and he said yes -- it was $29.95 and I would need to stay in the store 1.5 hours or so. I did, and Juan got 'er done, while we talked of our lives -- he was born and raised in Cuba, came here at 25, and is now turning 40. He is no fan of the Communist government -- he told me even what USED to be good about Cuba -- like the doctors, no longer are -- no money to even run med schools correctly.

Somehow the time flew by, and I walked out with my new IPhone 16, which works just like the old one did, with some spiffy upgrades. The Ds called on FaceTime returning from Miami Beach, and I learned I could hit an emoji and fireworks or balloons or rain would appear in my image. They laughed at first and then told me to not use that with anyone else, lest they make much fun of me...

Of course, I had to reinstall Facial Recognition with some of the Apps, and of course no longer recalled user names or passwords -- but I spent a lot of this am after my long walk getting THAT done. So I'm back -- even bought all the new chargers the newer phones require.

So the phone lasted 8 years -- Juan's manager came by, I praised Juan to him, and he said "Well you got your money's worth with this guy." Indeed I did.

So I had my yogurt parfait for breakfast, and then a chicken salad sandwich for lunch, and now have zero appetite to eat more. At D1's the other day, we brought in wraps from Pura Vida, and I ate half -- I ALWAYS polish off a whole wrap. Hopefully lower bad blood markers await -- even though I was already strangely healthy while fat...

Hopefully we get to see the grandsons tomorrow, and maybe even D2 and Jonathan! We always order in Uber Eats -- less for me these days!

A Monday Night Visit

 So we spent a high energy weekend with Little Man -- originally just going to spend Sunday night here, but his trip to Naples to watch the soccer team his uncle Bob owns got canceled on account of his Daddy's wrist. Joey went mountain biking and took a nasty fall -- compound fracture in his left wrist.

Luckily, my friend Dr. Lew is an excellent hand surgeon -- and saw him yesterday and is set to repair things tomorrow am. We figured we could simplify things by taking Little Man early, and we did.

The 2 nights proved again what Wifey and I already knew -- raising and watching energetic little ones is for the young. This boy is non stop -- movement, questions, what to play next? We adore him and had a great time, but by the time I re-homed him via a Morningside lunch with the Ds and their dogs, I was wiped out.

I came home and felt more of the darkness surrounding me lately -- 2 seriously ill people flying back to South Florida is a part of it -- one seems to be fine and is due today, and the other not so fine -- ICU to ICU transfer from Dallas to the 305.

The second, Susan, was truly a shock. We became friends with her and her husband Steve when D2 and their middle boy met in middle school. The young ones drifted apart in college, but we stayed friends -- dinners a few times a year to compare notes on how even adult kids these days seem to need their parents much more than we did at their age -- totally our fault -- and the joys of grandparenting.

Susan is my age and very much a healthy lifestyle person -- exercises all the time and eats clean, as they say. Still, she suffered a devastating stroke while grandson sitting in Dallas -- weeks have passed, and she is barely responsive. Hopefully the air ambulance gets her back today, under the amazing care of our neighbor and UM stroke maven Dr. Jose. We're hoping for good news, and will take Steve out.

When Wifey was recovering from her stroke, Joelle taught me something about friendship. It's nice to ask "What can I do?" as most people did, and this independent guy politely refused offers. Joelle, a law professor, said "You WILL be here for dinner at ..." and later "You WILL meet us for dinner at Titanic..." and when I arrived, realized how curative for ME, the caregiver, those visits were. So I plan to do the same with Steve, though I know he has a fine support system.

Anyway, I was sitting on my couch, and the gate ball rang --- a bit later than package delivery guys typically do it. It was young Rabbi Moshe, Yossi's son, and recent leader of our "Bible study," out doing his pre- Passover mitzvah of delivering the special schmura matzah eaten on the holiday. I knew he had a baby and toddler at home, but invited him in. Wifey joined us.

I asked coffee or a L'chaim, and he said he was never a coffee guy. I went to my liquor cart and was stunned -- my vodka was gone! What -- had fraternity or sorority kids sneaked in while we were in D.C? Luckily, Moshe spotted a bottle of Johnny Walker Red, which he knew was kosher, and I poured us a few fingers in glasses with the big ice cubes from the mold D1 had bought me as a Fathers' Day gift.

And we spoke -- joyously of our families. When his parents moved here, his older brother was a baby - Moshe is the next son. He's one of 9, and has emerged as the scholar, and Rabbi Yossi's true successor at the shul. He's a delightful young man.

I knew he was time pressed -- had to get home to those young kids and his wife -- they're living in an apartment 1 mile walk from his parents and the new Friendship Circle campus, but he was in no way rushed. When I told him it was his father who truly led me back to a strong belief in The Big Man -- he beamed -- that's the whole reason for the Chabad movement -- gathering the straggling Jews who forgot who they are.

And I told him the folly of my ways -- thinking I truly had control over all the sacred pieces of my life -- somehow unlike everyone else. He already knew this, but was comforting to me as we discussed this on our walk back to the car.

So I realize his visit can be seen as a mere coincidence -- a fundraising young man doing a nice deed for a donor before a holiday. But as I sat on my front porch, I felt deep down that his visit had more meaning. And that brought me succor.

Puffy White Clouds And Dust In The Wind

 And so it was a memorable weekend in D.C., for Scott and Sam's Big, Fat, Media wedding, as I called it. The weekend was a microcosm of life: joyful new beginning, in the form of the wedding, scary sickness, and recalling death.

And as this semi-retired, overweight and gray Jew from LI ponders all of this, I am comforted by, of all things, a song from the 70s and a view of the sky yesterday as I drove north on the Palmetto. The song is Kansas's masterpiece "Dust in the Wind," which borrows heavily from Genesis and Ecclesiastes, reminding us that, in the end, all of our anxieties, accomplishments, and heaviness of life is in the end, vanity -- dust in the wind -- and we return to dust as we came from it.

And the clouds were huge, puffy cumulus, set against a beautiful sky. It brought me back to my first time driving back to my parents' condo in Delray from UM in Coral Gables, on the Turnpike, and realizing that skies on LI rarely looked this way. I was dating a girl before I left New York who told me that she always wanted to live where she could see mountains, unlike our flat LI, and it occurred to me we had them in Miami -- just hanging in the sky. It was nice to feel 18 again, if only in my memory.

So after a lovely shabbat dinner, and South Florida themed rehearsal dinner, where the grandsons danced and had the time of their lives, ending in Little Man taking an uncharacteristic nap, Sunday was great. Saturday afternoon, too, as Eric noticed a heaviness about me and asked to meet before the rehearsal dinner.

We sat at a Starbucks and talked, deeply, for the first time in awhile. We've been brothers since 1979, but Eric is not a talker like Barry or Paul are. But that afternoon we were, and it was a conversation that meant the world to me. I recalled another great talk in my life -- after Paul's daughter Tracy's wedding in NYC -- on a gray, misty day, Barry, Paul, and Paul's best college friend Frank and I sat for over an hour talking of life -- the two late 60s college grads and the two early 80s version. Frank died last year from brain cancer, and it brought home how all of the plans we make mean nothing compared to what the Big Man does.

Anyway, Sunday before the wedding, Wifey was SO tired, and so stayed in, and Little Man was recovering from a bout of "Gomitar" -- his version of vomitar, or vomiting, from a quick bug, and so Lizeth the nanny stayed with him. Paul, Patricia, D1, Baby Man, and Jonathan and D2 and I walked from the hotel to the White House and then to the GW campus, where Paul showed us where he and Frank had lived back in those heady days of the 60s in D.C. We ended the walk at the corner of our hotel, and I spoke about how Patricia was the finest woman Paul ever had in his life, and how much I appreciated her caring for him, and next thing I knew the scene reprised the final episode of "Mary Tyler Moore" where we all met in a tearful hug -- thankful for our friendship and sorority and fraternity.

And then came the wedding, well, after a mass tefillin wrapping in the lobby with Rabbi Yossi, fresh flown in from Miami. It was a big ask -- Rabbi is SO busy with many projects, including the final opening of his and Nechama's gleaming new Friendship Circle. I asked him about taking off 2 days to officiate at a wedding a 2 hour flight away. His response: "With what Barry has done for my family, as a trusted health confidante, and all he does for the community -- if he asked me to fly to Europe to marry his son I would have done it." And so it proved that Barry, ever humble about his accomplishments and station in life, truly is one amazing and powerful man.

Speaking of which, he balled the entire time under the chuppah -- watching his oldest son start the next phase of his life as a true man -- one with a wife.

The party was terrific -- great band -- and Scott actually got on stage and rapped to Pitbull, his favorite. D2 noted she had been to many weddings and thought she had seen it all, but now she really had.

And poor Barry -- always the Horton of the medical world. His brother in law Marty needed middle of the night hospitalization, and so he Ubered to GW Hospital with him and his wife/Barry's sister Phyllis. Marty should be ok, though had to spend the week in the hospital -- coming home this weekend, hopefully. Barry did many of the simchas on 3 hours' sleep.

And we got awful news: our friend Susan, a child protection psychologist at JMH, who Barry also knows, had a devastating stroke in Dallas, while visiting her oldest son and his family. Susan is my age, a health nut and clean eater. We've been texting with her husband and son Spencer, since we have some experience with stroke recovery, and hopefully Susan will be ICU to ICU medevacked home to Miami next week, under the care of our neighbor and Neuro Chair at UM Jose Romano -- a true maven in the field. We're praying for Susan, and will support Steve.

So I left for the trip with trouble in mind, as Willie Nelson and Leon Russel wrote, but days later, it has eased somewhat.

Boy -- talks with people you truly love and love you are the best therapy there is! And beauty is everywhere to see -- even outside the windshield while driving on the Palmetto in traffic. And in the end, all we are is dust in the wind...

Spring But Not Yet April

So today begins Spring, and we're off, most of my family, in a few hours to D.C. for what I've named the Big, Fat, Media Wedding. My nephew of another mother, Scott, is a writer and reporter for AM station WTOP and his fiancee Samantha is a producer for CNN, and so the guests will include lots of their friends from the biz -- none famous, I'm told.

Spring is special in DC because of the cherry trees in blossom, and I've seen it once, years ago. I was there for some depos, and I strolled the Mall, and later, met Kenny and his then new girlfriend Joelle who took me to a neighborhood in Bethesda which reminded me of Coral Gables where the trees are plentiful and beautiful as well.

We're taking the grandsons, and the Little Man is already excited about the Air and Space Museum and Natural History, where I told him we would look for the "Mommies" he learned about, but not to be scared since they're just "Dead Adyptians." I loved and adored him from the day he was born, and I love and adore his toddler brother Baby Man, but I sort of knew I would really relate to him after age 5, when we truly talk and I tell him essential things about life, like how orange goes with green and not blue, even though his Mommy, D1, Aunt, D2, and Tio Jonfin are all Gators.

The wedding has 4 events -- a Shabbos dinner tonight, rehearsal tomorrow at a sports bar at Navy Pier, the big event Sunday, and a brunch Monday am. The size and scope of this celebration gives great laughter to my family, as our dear Barry loves to fashion himself a populist and man of the people -- tends to disdain rich folk - and yet the 4 big events have the Ds saying this wedding weekend is like "Shahs of LA."

Paul and Patricia are coming up tomorrow, and many of the local guests are friends I have connected -- Paul pointed that out to me. Our partnership of now past 30  years led to his friends becoming mine, and vice versa. And our Rabbi, Yossi, adding to the Shah-like nature of this weekend, is being flown in specially to do the service Sunday night.

Yossi is the busiest man I know -- his enormous and shiny new Center just opened, and I asked whether giving up 2 full days was tough for him. It is, but he adores Barry for all he has done for his family and the community, and wouldn't have dreamt of refusing this big request.

So it ought to be joyful, and yet I've been in a deep funk over the past days -- ironically, as T.S. Eliot pointed out, precisely when the rebirth of the land takes place -- April in the epic Eliot poem.

There have been some deaths of friends' parents, and also some battles with life threatening illness, and some deep family issues -- I guess they just all got to me at the same time.

But last night, there was D2, who I've come to understand is the wisest, most level headed in the family, snapping me back to happy reality -- reminding me that this should be a banner weekend.

And hopefully it shall.

Young weddings, despite the drama surrounding them, are indeed symbols that, no matter how bad things are in a nation or indeed the world, we look to the future.

So my future is to get on a jet plane, like the great John Denver song, but knowing when I should be back again.

May it be a weekend of laughter and celebration, and not at all, as Eliot wrote, the cruellest.

Born At Night But Not LAST Night

So probably going on 7 years ago, maybe 8, I joined a local boutique gym -- prompted by a combination of the Ds imploring me to move more so I'd be around awhile, and Kenny and Joelle going to a cool place they had found that had exercise classes.

Kenny and I were the two oldest (and typically only biological males) in the class, and it was taught by one of the gym's co-owners, Enrique. I was the class dunce, as my out of shapeness had me comically tripping and finishing routines last. Enrique came to me one day and suggested, nicely, maybe I would benefit from private training. I agreed, and we began a long and happy time together, ending when he needed to focus on building the business and only training a few corporate type clients. I switched to Juan.

Juan was great, too -- a Palmetto High grad who had made it to Triple A MLB, and he pushed me and I enjoyed our twice weekly sessions -- talking of life so the hour flew by. And then Covid hit, and I got into the best shape of my recent life having nothing to do with the gym, as they were closed. My anxiety about my family's survival and lack of anything much to do except walk 10 miles per day caused a 50 lb weight loss. I sent Enrique pictures. It was great, but when I realized the plague would spare my grandson and kids, and even Wifey who was hospitalized with a stroke during the throes of it, unvaxxed, my appetite returned. Now I like to say I'm fat but relatively healthy.

Juan left, and I fell to Jonathan, and we've grown closest of all. He plays guitar professionally, and is VERY single, and comes from a successful Sephardic family and we have tons in common, and the hour truly flies by.

There is zero I can't do on my own, but my laziness really benefits from knowing I have those Tuesday and Thursday appointments -- time I would otherwise be in LOL or Roasters instead of working on strength and mobility.

I got Wifey to go, too, and she is a bigger user of the services than I -- training with Bianca and taking private pilates with Joann. I bought an $1800 private training package for Barry, too, trying to push him into fitness like my Ds did, and he, after a long delay, started going to the Broward outpost -- loved his trainer. I think he renewed one or two times after the gift was used up, but then the trainer said she could no longer make it to Broward because of our local scourge: untenable traffic, and Barry has not re-upped . I hope he does.

Anyway, all was going well, and I was paying a lot, but figured with all my generosity to my family and friends, I could well splurge a bit on my own health. Training sessions are $85 per hour, and Wifey's pilates $100 per hour. Apparently these are typical for Miami private stuff.

But then (dramatic music) on Thursday Enrique handed me an envelope and told me to read it after my session. Ah, I figured I knew what it was. I had given him 2 solid hours of free legal advice -- he was going to thank my by offering a few free weeks to Wifey and me. I mean, we learned recently that 38 year lawyers can charge $800-$900 per hour to consult -- seems fair, right?

Ha. As if. It was an "offer of true partnership for health in the community" by having us pay, up front, just north of $16K, to "help in the health of the community with increased pilates classes, etc..." The offer would give us apparently a small discount, dropping the hourly rates to $75 from $85, and Wifey's PT (pilates) charges from $125 per session to $100 per session -- these discounts would last for 140 sessions, which works out to about 1.5 years.

When I read the "offer" closely, I really got annoyed. If it said simply "Pay a lot upfront, get a long discount" that would have been one thing, but trying to couch it in terms of "helping the community" - well --yuuuge turnoff.

Wifey said it reminded us of an email or FaceBook request years ago where friends who lived at that time in a $1M house (now worth $2.5M) had their daughter asking for funds so she could attend a private camp, or visit Israel -- I forget which. We laughed it off, but the girl, who went on to attend 2 Ivy League schools, was serious.

So this week I shall tell Enrique that no, there will be no checks or credit card charges coming for $16.5K. And Wifey and I may actually use this as impetus to check out the new LifeTime gym that opened in the Falls -- Wifey gets free membership with her Classic Medicare, and apparently the hourly costs for training and pilates are a good deal lower.

I really enjoy my time with Jonathan, and Wifey with Biance and Joann...but business owners need to read rooms better -- don't ask clients to "help the healthcare community" via paying your luxury business.

Wifey and I also debated whether our increased crankiness, that accompanies age, make this seem more annoying than we would have found it in our 40s. I have a feeling we'd have simply laughed then, and not insulted. And that's just the way aging works... 

Mentorship

 Maybe it's because I lost my life's true mentor, my Dad, when I was so young, but I often sought out mentors in life. And when it came to lawyering, the main guy was Ed, my dear friend Mike's father.

I was far from Ed's only protege. Scores of young lawyers sought him out for career and life advice, and he relished that role. If a young lawyer had a problem with his firm, there was a routine. You'd sit in Ed's yeoman-like office as he chain smoked -- until 1989 when he quit cold turkey following a minor heart attack. He let you go on for a moment, and then he would start making calls in front of you, to the many lawyers he did work with: "Sutton? Ed here. I gotta a 3 year lawyer in my office -- smart guy -- boss being a greedy asshole. Give him an interview." Typically the lawyer would agree, and more often than not, it led to a great connection.

I got my first job on my own -- I clerked for an insurance defense lawyer who I'll call Dan Schwartz, since that was his name, and he kept me as a young lawyer after I passed the bar. Dan was a virulent anti-semite -- despite his name and being born and raised in Miami, he was Catholic, and openly couldn't stand Jews. He thought I was NOT a Jew -- my name could, I guess, be confused with German, too, and when he found out he laughed and said "I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a Jew -- I can't stand Jews or Cubans." He had a Cuban associate, but found Lou acceptable since he was raised in Chicago and therefore was not "your typical Miami Cuban."

Anyway, Dan's firm was failing, and upon returning from our first vacation as a married couple in August of '87, I got a call from Lou saying the ship was sinking and I would be first fired. Dan had let his associate Vanessa run things, and he was also sleeping with her, and when Vanessa found out he was leaving his wife but for someone OTHER than her, things got cray cray.

I called in sick and went to see Ed. He got me an interview with Dick Thornton, and I was hired that afternoon. A year later he called to say there "was an open seat" with his biggest client Ratiner, a fellow I had heard about and went to law school with his daughter Randy. Although I initially turned down their offer, the senior associate Paul convinced Wifey and me I was a fool to pass it up, and after asking my present firm for a $5K raise and being turned down, I accepted.

In 1991 I brought in my first 7 figure case, and Ed was entitled to a co-counsel fee for the trial support he provided. When the case closed, Ed R handed me a check for nearly 7 figures -- truly life changing money. He was going to mail Ed's check, but I asked to hand deliver it. I called and asked if we could have a couple of vodkas -- he said of course. As we drank in his amazing sports cave in the house behind Baptist Hospital, I thanked him for his mentorship and then handed him HIS 6 figure check. The midwestern stoic man got teary eyed and we hugged.

I recalled this since today is Michael L's birthday, and I consider him my finest protege. Michael is married to D1's sorority sister, and while he was clerking for a federal judge, on loan from his white shoe firm, he asked if we could meet -- he wanted to become a PI lawyer, like me. We met, and I discouraged him -- top young lawyers like him made careers in the huge firms repping major companies. But Michael was adamant, and then I said the best he could do was apply at only select Miami PI firms -- the cream of the crop. He did, and was hired, and he soared.

He made partner in record time -- in addition to his legal brilliance, he is savvy, and has brought in a lot of business -- including from Paul and me.

Over the past half decade, by far the majority of our income has been fees from co-counsel cases with Michael's firm. And even when his firm won't take a case, he refers us to a firm that will -- we are awaiting a very nice check from one such firm -- it'll pay our yearly insurance costs.

I sent Michael an heartfelt email, and he wrote back -- we have a mutual appreciation club. Wifey asked the other day if he EVER disappoints Paul and me. I answered quickly: nope.

There have been plenty of other young lawyers I tried to advise. Wifey has a close friend whose daughter is an FIU Law grad. I offered to mentor her -- she politely declined -- and that's ok.

Others have asked for help finding jobs, and of course I did what I could, though the current Miami job market for lawyers is at a historic high for lawyers seeking jobs -- tons of big firms have moved here or opened offices, following the big finance companies, and most young lawyers I know get monthly offers of employment.

But I will forever prize all Ed did for me. He died in 1994 -- he was 63, like my Dad was. Like my Dad, I think about him all the time, and miss him.