Delusional

So Wifey and I had a lovely time last night -- we went to Coral Gables for their "Art in the Park," an event we had never before sampled. They had vendors selling food and booze, and some local galleries showing their wares. They also had music: a reggae band, and then a young fellow named Jacob Jeffries, who I had seen before. He's angling, it seems, to be the next Springsteen. His songs were catchy and the crowd seemed to enjoy him quite a bit.

We walked around under a gorgeous full moon, the "Wolf Moon," brightest of the year.

We ran into some old friends who Wifey first met when D1 and their boy were newborns. The wife, a pretty blonde Midwesterner, caught us up on her life while her husband chatted on his cell phone. The husband is a formerly succesful Cuban business owner, who knows tons of folks and is always doing deals.

The wife allowed as to how they're broke -- trying to sell all their fancy possessions, and embroiled in litigation about failed business deals. Their son, a handsome and athletic young man, was never much of a student, and despite sending him to a very expensive private school, couldn't get accepted to any universities. But, the wife told us, he's at an upstate community college, on the "many year plan," trying to get into the university there.

The husband got off his call, and we began to chat. I've always really liked him, and still do --he's funny and charming. But then he began to tel me how GREAT his new business was going, and how his son was at the UNIVERSITY, and how rosy it all was. OF course I was happy to hear the good things, but hadn't I just heard a completely different version?

They met other friends, and Wifey and I ambled along. We got such a kick out of the "Rashamon"-like effect --how people going through the same things can have such radically different points of view. One is a realist; the other delusional.

Still, it was nice to see some old friends. And, I want to wrangle at least one more ride on their gorgeous yacht, before they sell it!

Human Resources

Over the past 15 years of having my own law firm, the business end of it turned out to be the thing I enjoy the most. My partner does most of the depositions and hearings, and I hire and fire.

Fortunately, the firing part has been rare, as I hate to do it. I guess it comes from my Liberal Democratic upbringing --it's awful to have to let some one go.

We hired a new receptionist 2 months ago, a nice, bright FIU student who wants to go to law school. Like D1, she's in her final semester of her senior year, and can't work all 40 hours per week. But, she's resourceful, and brought in a high school friend to cover the 10 hours per week or so the receptionist is away.

The part timer started 3 weeks ago. She goes to Miami Dade college, is smart, and has been doing a fine job. In fact, one of my office roommates, and experienced criminal defesne lawyer, prefers the part time worker to the one who is there more.

Alas, as I was on my way in today, Mirta called and said there was a major problem. It seemed that another clerk had lost her debit card, and all of the ladies figured out it was C, the part timer, who had stolen it. She rang up nearly $200 in charges, and even bragged about "finally having some money to spend" on Facebook.

I came back from lunch, and brought C into my office. She's 19, and overweight. I told her what we knew, and at first she denied it. And then Mirta went into prosecutor mode, telling C that the store where she used the stolen card had her on videl. C confessed.

The girl shose card had been stolen didn't want to call the police. I told C how lucky she was, that this thing could have essentially rruined her life. Diana, another secretary, told her that stealing was bad enough, but to do it to a co worker was despicable.

C was fairly impassive --almost annoyed at the whole affair. She left after writing out a resignation letter.

I was saddened at all of this. Her attitude showed she'll do this again, and probably escalate her life of crime.

The receptionist who brought her in is most embarrassed, wondering why she never knew her high school friend was a bad seed.

Ah --people come; people go...

Insufferable Lawyers

Ishmael said he knew it was time to go to sea again when he hung around too long at funerals, and felt melancholy about his life on land. Maybe the sign I need to truly retire from the practice of law is how little tolerance I have for the agressive, obnoxious personalities of my professional brethren.

I got a call last week from an old friend, who's a retired doctor. He was subpoenaed to give a deposition about a patient he saw one time in 1996! He has zero recollection of the gentleman, and hasn't even been near an examination room for 8 years.

I called the lawyer who issued the subpoena, and it turned out she worked for a friend of mine, a partner at a large firm. The partner came to the phone, and I asked whether the doc could simply send in a letter saying the note in the file WAS his, abut he had no other memory or information.

My friend said that sadly, the plaintiff's lawyer was a stickler for detail (the word he used was better: "asshole," and that he would insist on having my doctor friend testify about the authenticity of the single note in the chart.

I asked then for a simple favor of having the depo take place at the doc's house, lest he have to schlep Downtown for this annoying bit of his civic duty. My friend agreed.

Tonight my secretary called, telling me I had an "urgent" call from the plaintiff's lawyer. I know him, sort of, from years ago when I was a clerk at a firm where he was a young associate. I guess he was concerned why I, a fellow plaintiff's lawyer, was involved in his case, and wanted a preview of this pro forma depo.

Now, had I been in HIS shoes, I'd have said simply "Dave --what's the deal here? Seems like a simple records custodian depo --why are you involved?"

He took a different tack. Before I was even finished saying hello, he launched into a soliloquy about how his case was "worth $50 million" and how the defense lawyer was "going to get his head handed to him," and he assumed tomorrow's depo was no big deal...

I let him go on, as he was obviously enjoying the sound of his own voice, and then I answered, deadpan, that his client, years ago, told my doctor friend that he was planning, someday, to find a way to hurt himself and claim fault, that "no matter what, I'm going to win the Lotto at the hands of some idiot company."

There was a pregnant pause, and then the plaintiff's lawyer started saying that if my doctor friend had kept that to himself, it would be a breach of ethics, that he must be lying, and that he (the plaintiff's lawyer) might have to call the Medical Board (it's actually the Department of Health, or D'OH), etc... etc..

I answered that my client was retired anyway, and was therefore immune from these threats.

Again, stunned silence, until I said "Dave (what I will call him, because that's his name)I'm just kidding. My doc has no memory of your client at all, and there's only a depo because you, apparently, never agree to dispense with these things."

He laughed, nervously, the laugh of someone who saw his huge case's success pass before his eyes. I felt grand...

In fact, my inderstanding of this whole dustup is that his client IS badly hurt, but essentially hurt himself by misusing some sort of machine. My friend has defended these types of cases before, and gotten defense verdicts for his corporate clients.

I have no dog in the fight, of course.

Still, I wonder whether I was ever that insufferable. Nah --I never loved the sound of my own voice, at least to that extent...

Brush With Luridness

Wifey and I were watching "48 Hours" the other Saturday night, and they featured a story on the death of Teddy Binion in Las Vegas. It brought back memories of a few days we spent with him, and his alleged murderer.

It was 1996, and my law firm had settled a huge case. My partner had a live in girlfriend who he had met in Vegas, and he convinced me to host a "law firm retreat" in that town.

We paid for 11 folks to fly out there, and stay at the Mirage, and to live like big shots for a long weekend. It was some experience! We had limos, meals at the best restaurants, shopping sprees --the whole trip was something out of a movie.

My partner's girlfriend has a friend named Sandy Murphy, who had come from the LA Valley with her to find her fame and fortune in Vegas. Both girls worked as strippers, and Sandy ended up meeting Ted, from an old, wealthy Vegas family.

Ted was royalty there, and whenever our party would arrive at a venue, tables would be found, and lines would be cut.

Ted was a sweet, humble fellow, prone to saying "yup" and "nope," and we had a fine time with him. Our last night in town, he took us to an Italian place off the beaten path, where all of the waiters were convicted felons. His then teenaged daughter stopped by, and told him she was going out. "Well, sweetheart, take this," he said, pulling out an enormous gun he wanted her to have for protection.

We left Vegas, and returned to our mundane lives, and my parter broke up with Sandy's friend, and then years later the story broke that Sandy killed Ted to get his money. It was a sensational scandal, involving assignations with Ted's assistant, and buried silver in the desert.

The "48 Hours" episode recalled the whole affair. Sandy was convicted, served 4 years in prison, and then won a retrial with the help of the annoying but effective Alan Dershowitz. The second time was her charm, as she was acquitted.

These days, she's married to a succesful art dealer in LA, and again living the high life.

Wifey and I looked at each other, and were amazed we had met these characters out of a film noir movie. She assured me she had no plans to have me killed, since 1/2 of my money is hers already.

To thank her, I made her a cup of tea.

Two Old Guys Died

Yesterday my partner Paul told me about the death of Nate, his best childhood friend's father. He was 90. Paul is flying up to Philly today for the funeral.

This morning, my sister told me that her ex father in law Bob died, in California. He was 82. His funeral is sometime this week.

I never met either man, but I know a lot about their lives. Nate was a succesful business man, who made his money buying and selling properties in Philly. He adored his kids and grandkids, and, from what I've heard from Steve, his son, was extremely generous with his family.

He put his kids through school and helped them do the same for THEIR kids. He lived modestly, in the same row house he bought after WW II. His family grieves his passing.

Bob was a succesful salesman, who was of that generation who could become well off as a company man. He bought several properties, and was a collector of vintage cars. He and his wife bought vast amounts of antiques.

He was very cheap with his family. I know personally about one grandson, who once borrowed about $1000 to get through a semester of college, and was made to feel like he had borrowed the money from the mob.

As far as I know, Bob never gave to charity, although he'd probably consider tipping the waiters at his country club to be a charitable act.

I don't grieve for either of these men, as I didn't know them.

To Nate, I'd say, so long, and congratulations on a life lived well.

To Bob, I'd say...

The Death of a Memory...

I stopped at the UM campus today, to check on a kosher restaurant that opened in student union. Wifey's orthodox second cousin, Ephraim is coming to visit this Sunday, with his 2 lovely little girls. They're glatt kosher, and I figured we'd get food from the restaurant for them.

They were closing early for shabbos (sabbath) but I learned they'd be open on Monday, so we can get the observant family over there for breakfast.

On the way back to my car, I stopped at Starbucks by the library, and got myself a copy of the student paper, the Hurricane. On page 3, I saw a terribly sad article.

They're closing my old on campus apartment building, number 22! Apparently the new housing on and near campus has made the old apartment buildings, circa WW II vintage, expendable. Today's undergraduates prefer wood floors, and new kitchens to the barrack-like fixtures in the old apartments.

I was saddened. I lived in 22Z for 3 and 1/2 years. I was there from my second freshman semester through graduation. I can honestly say it was my real home in Florida --I never felt at home visiting my parents in Delray Beach, where I'd go for breaks from school.

Dr. Barry and I were roommates the whole time, and grew closer than brothers. Dr. Eric commuted to the U, but spend many a night crashing on our couch, or staying in Barry's bed when he'd go to Broward to work weekends.

The experiences I had in building 22 were those that transformed me from a boy to a man. I contemplated the meaning of a broken heart there. I stared out at the setting sun, dealing with the pain of my father's death. I plotted my adulthood there.

And now they're closing the place down. The article said the university hadn't yet decided whether to demolish the building, or use it for offices. I'm betting the old white brick and concrete structure is coming down --it's not at all an attractive edifice, and space is always at a premium on an urban campus.

I called Dr. Barry as soon as I finished the article. We pledged to meet there, if they DO demolish it, and hoist one final beer.

As soon as I hung up with Barry, as if on cue, Jorge called me as well. He was our roommate for one year --the first Cuban I became close to. Jorge, more of a historian and political scientist, said "Wow --it'll be like when the Berlin Wall was knocked down." I corrected him --it's more akin to the loss of the Orange Bowl.

I'm reading the pop rabbi Kushner's latest book, about bad things/good people/stress, etc... He made the point that change in life is the only constant.

Goodbye, Building 22.

It's Hard to Be an Optimist in the City

Tuesday night my office roommate Brian and I went to watch the Canes basketball team. They dominated Boston College, an ACC opponent, for 3/4 of the game. They led by 17, which in college ball is a huge lead, and then they collapsed, losing by 5. I have my doubts about a coach who can let his players lose focus that way --Frank Haith reminds me of Randy Shannon in that regard.

The loss was tougher to take than a close game, or a blowout by the other team, because my Canes SHOWED their ability and then squandered it.

I came home late, and learned that the Democratic party pulled a similar stunt. They somehow squandered political capital, and LOST a Massachussets senate seat! The Peoples Republic of Mass, as my GOP friends call it! They elected a Republican!

Of course, now all the Times OP ED pieces are decrying the end of health care reform, peace, etc... I guess we'll see.

And, I'm no political scientist, but it's easy, even on casual analysis, to see what happened there. The Dem candidate was a know it all scold, sort of Marcia Clark/ Moira Lasch type. Most don't remember Moira Lasch, but she's the humorless prosecutor who lost the Kennedy Smith case ("Are you some kind of sex machine, Mr. Smith?").

The Republican guy drove a pickup truck, and knew his sports. He even palled around with Doug Flutie, he of cursed name to me and other Canes fans. Anyone who grew up in the suburban Northeast in the 70s knows that Northeastern suburbanites all fantasize about being Southerners, so the GOP guy got it, while the off key Dem frosty lady was bumbling Red Sox facts.

As Dr. Barry noted, the top TV show in this country is "American Idol." What can we really expect?

So, I guess I'll keep my optimism and sunny outlook on a local level. I guess Hemingway was right: the most we can reasonably hope for is to secure our own little bits of heaven, "clean, well lighted places," in this world of idiots.

And as for my Canes? We need a new coach...