Everything's Quiet on Veterans' Day

I play a scene over and over in my head -- vivid, but in black and white. A 22 year old man is hard at his job -- an "expediter" for the garment, or schmata trade, in Lower Manhattan. It's December of 1941. He pushes multiple wheeled carts from factory to finisher -- the factory is where his father works as a pattern maker.

The young man wants to do more with his life, and found out about joining a union as a storefront designer -- the person who plans and creates the many display windows up and down NYC streets. But his immigrant father dismissed that notion with a slap to the head and the words "You HAVE a good job -- they like you in the company. You'll move up." So the expediter continued pushing the carts, singing all the way.

Suddenly, the city stopped, movie-like. Cab drivers left their cars, and everyone huddled around radios. It was a speech by President Roosevelt -- the famous "Day that will live in infamy" speech -- telling Americans about the attack by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor.

The young man listened, and knew immediately what it meant for him: he would be drafted into the Army. And indeed he was -- he reported to Fort Lee, NJ, in April of '42, and would serve "for the duration." That turned out to be over three and a half years, during which he came close to being shipped to the Battle of the Bulge, where he almost certainly would have died, and the opportunity to marry the girl he left home in The Bronx, a pretty girl nicknamed Sunny.

So the man, of course, was my father. He was no prideful veteran -- he, like many of his generation, simply undertook the duty and performed it. He grew to distrust and really despise bureaucracies -- to this day I hear his words about them: "Never volunteer, and always sit when you don't have to stand."

He gave some of his prime years to the Army -- and returned to a tough life. He worked three jobs to support his wife and soon two daughters -- the second born in 1948. The hard work paid off -- he moved up in the gift ware industry, and became a top salesman. By the time I came along, at the end of the Baby Boom, he was able to buy his first house -- with a loan from his boss, the larger than life Morris Katz.

I see, in my mind's eye, many scenes from my Dad's years in the Service. He told me the tales with such great detail -- including the one that truly saved his life. He was at a base in Texas -- he had sent my Mom home from Pasadena to give birth to their first child surrounded by the support of her family. He was to be shipped out to Europe the next day, and met a landsman playing pool at the base exchange. They were in T shirts in the heat, and my Dad confided in the older NY Jew that he was down -- he had a daughter he might never get to meet. The man listened, and understood.

At the end of the night, the man put on his shirt -- he was a full colonel! My Dad stuttered, calling him "Sir" and all. The man dismissed it -- they were two sons of immigrants far from home -- he wished my Dad well. The next morning, as my Dad was about the board the transport plane to the Bulge, he was sent away -- this Colonel had changed his orders -- back to California.

I always wished I knew the Colonel's name, so I could contact his descendants and thank them for what their father/grandfather did -- allowing my family to be. But I never knew his name.

Anyway -- I think of my Dad daily -- even more as I near the age he was when he died. He was only 63 -- too young. I wish he could meet Wifey, and the Ds, and their amazing men.

Just yesterday, Rabbi Harlig called me -- he is doing the Orthodox required pre marital counseling for D2 and Jonathan. He wanted to make sure I knew I had won the lottery with D1's man Joey and D2's man Jonathan. I assured him I knew this very well.

My Dad would have truly beamed to meet them.  I play that meeting out in my mind, too, even though it never happened.

So today, I thank my Dad for his service -- along with all the veterans. My brother in law Dennis served in the Air Force during Vietnam. My friend Kenny was a Navy Flight Surgeon, and served in the Gulf War.

I was lucky to have never had to give up years. But I never forget those who did. Today is their day.

Mission Accomplished

So it's Veterans' Day weekend, and I celebrated, so far, the freedom we enjoy here thanks to our Vets. First and foremost on my mind is my beloved Dad, who was drafted in April of '42 and served over three and a half years, until he was discharged on Peal Harbor Day of '45.

I think back what it was like for that young man to give all that time in the prime of his young manhood. I remember being Dad's age -- I was on a track for college and law school -- taking that long a detour would have been quite a sacrifice.

But he indeed WAS discharged, and met his first born for the first time -- she was nearly a year old. And he began my family's modern life -- working three jobs to get ahead, and fathering my middle sister, and then, at the tail of the Baby Boom, me.

Among my close friends, the only Veteran is Kenny, who joined the Navy in College to have them pay for Med School. Kenny ended up liking it -- became a flight surgeon - and indeed became a combat veteran by serving on the aircraft carrier the USS Saratoga during the Gulf War. I've always been very proud of him, and indeed will have dinner with him tonight -- his wife is out of town doing lecture work for her legal career...

Anyway -- we started the weekend with a Rehab visit to my recovering buddy -- and got terrific news. He would be discharged the very next day. I had given away my Canes tickets, planning to watch the game at JMH, and so an audible was called: I would drive up to Broward and watch at least the second half with him, assuming he was discharged in time.

From JMH Wifey and I fetched D2 and Jonathan in the Grove, and then drove to MiMo to meet D1 and Joey. D1 chose La Placita for dinner -- a Puerto Rican place owned by her and Joey's neighbors. The place has been in the press a lot -- they painted the entire 2 story building as the Puerto Rican flag. The City has ordered them to paint over the mural. A fight is ongoing -- the press has helped the place a lot -- indeed it was pretty crowded on Friday night. We enjoyed the seafood based dinner, and toasted the recovery of our great family friend, as well as major family milestones that await us in the coming month, Big Man willing...

Wifey drove us home -- the "youth", as D1 calls them, stayed to meet friends at a trendy Midtown bar.

And Saturday Wifey left -- her friend Cara's 70 something birthday. Per usual, Cara wanted to celebrate at Joe's, and so Wifey drove Cara's friend Ronnie, buddies since Summer Camp in the late 50s, to South Beach and their celebration.

I began watching the Canes -- who jumped out to an early lead. I texted my recovering friend -- he was discharged and thought he's allow me to avoid the drive. Nope. As halftime approached, I fired up the boring mid sized sedan and drove, traffic free, to the Pines -- arriving before the second half began. It was perfect timing.

I caught up with their adorable dog -- hadn't seen her in awhile, and we watched the Canes dominate. It was grand. Then we watched some of the next game -- Clemson beating up NC State, and I left around 8 -- warm inside with my buddy's recovery.

There is one more local game -- the Canes are playing FIU at Marlins Park, which sits on hallowed ground for me -- the site of the old Orange Bowl. My two tickets arrived in the mail -- Wifey is going with me, in two weeks. She likes the fact that it's a roofed stadium -- if it's too hot, they'll close the roof. I hope it's cool and the roof and glass walls are open -- the better to harken back to the glory years of the Canes on NW 7th Street.

So Canes won big, my brother is recovering well, and we live free. Not too bad to be thankful for this Veteran's Day weekend...

The Drudgery of Law Work

So my work lately is mostly what I call consulting and consigliere duties. I help strategize with the other lawyers, and sometimes explain cases to clients. It's been a long time since I actually went to court, or even attended a mediation in person.

Instead, I'm the team member who waits in the office while the mediation takes place, providing a hopefully objective view on the best way to proceed.

On Wednesday, I met Stuart at the Hallandale Denny's, and drove up with him to Fort Lauderdale to attend a mediation. It reminded me why I generally do NOT go to these things in person anymore.

The case is a strong one -- a medical negligence matter where an early 60s man died in a Broward hospital -- one of those corporate owned places where the care is crappy. The details aren't important, but the first part of the case, against the hospital, was settled a few years back, and now the target is one of the treating doctors.

His insurance carrier is famous for not settling. Years ago, a doctor friend, who carried a $250K policy, was sued for causing the death of a young patient. I was personal counsel, and pleaded with the carrier to settle. They did not. The case went to trial, handled by an experienced defense lawyer I'll call Jon, since that's his name, and the jury awarded $6M against my friend.

Luckily, I was able to save his tuches -- I got the carrier to settle with the plaintiff's lawyer, and even made a nice fee for our firm for getting this done. To this day, my friend and his wife credit me with saving their financial lives. It's actually true.

Anyway, it was deje vu all over again. The claim manager, a hefty woman from Tampa with the appearance and manner of Frau Blucher from "Young Frankenstein," was the decision maker. The soldier lawyer for the doctor -- still Jon. The doctor was a meek looking foreign guy who just wanted this over -- but naively, he didn't have personal counsel to move things along. He'll get that later -- after HE gets hit for a huge judgment.

The mediator was way cool -- a retired Circuit judge who is also a surfing champion. I really dug him -- we talked all about South Florida music during the very long breaks in the action. He saw the Beatles at the Deuville, and the Doors at Dinner Key. He also surfed summers on the Jersey Shore and got to know a young Springsteen.

Oh -- those pregnant pause mediation breaks. After 5 hours, Frau Blucher offered a tiny amount. We left. It had taken 5 hours to "accomplish" what should have taken 20 minutes.

It reminded me how OVER this whole thing I am.

Stu called the day after to debrief -- I told him I was still recovering from the tuches sores I got sitting for so long. He understood -- he's still very much in the game.

As we were saying goodbye, and Stu and Jon were signing a pre trial stipulation, I reminded Jon we had a client in common -- Doctor Dave. His young associate, another Frau Blucher in training, asked about the case. I happily told how it was JUST like this one -- low ball offer, likely headed to a HUGE judgment against their client.

I smiled the whole time, and told the tale in a subtle, laughing manner. Jon wasn't smiling or laughing. He knew he was going into ANOTHER losing battle. But -- he would be paid either way, so no sympathy for him.

His meek, foreign doctor client will likely be losing some sleep, though -- a case that should be settled and give him peace will instead require him to be in Court a week and be told by a jury that he killed a patient. That's our system.

As for me -- I plan to stick around the office in the future. There's plenty of talent to go to the meetings, hearings, and trials. My patience for it is too thin...

I was sitting outside last night, reflecting on the case, and it occurred to me: one week from today is the 25th anniversary of the founding of my law firm. 25 years of doing anything is plenty. It's no wonder my patience has run out...

Canes Full Circle

It's been a rough week, since last Wednesday. A very dear friend came down with a rare and potentially devastating illness -- truly "out of the blue," as the saying says. Thankfully, he was treated by the best docs in the country -- at UM/JMH, who properly diagnosed his rare illness, and treated it perfectly. He is on the mend and expected to fully recover. The many who love and admire this man are breathing a very deep sigh of relief.

I thanked the Big Man for this outcome. It could have gone the other way.

But now, involving our beloved Canes, something is coming full circle.

In 1984, November, in fact, my brother was in his first year of grad school out of town. He planned to come visit for the weekend -- to see his family, and watch our Canes host Boston College. We had been taken to the promised land the January before -- Canes first National Championship - but our beloved coach, Howard Schnellenberger, had left to coach a USFL team in Miami that never came to be. The new guy was a fast talking Texan named Jimmy Johnson, and he lead our boys to early wins against Auburn and UF.  We were favored to beat Boston College, even they had an amazing young quarterback named Doug Flutie.

Back then, I was in my second year at Miami Law, and also teaching Freshman English at the College. Since I was adjunct faculty, I was able to buy good seats at the Orange Bowl for half price, and I had 8 -- on the North side of the stadium, closed end zone, around the 20 yard line, 14 rows from the field. I loved those seats -- probably because I saw many great victories from them sitting with my buddies -- Mike, Jeff, and Craig bought the other 6 seats, and we would attend with our wives, who feigned true interest in our Canes back then.

Anyway, my buddy was coming, and Wifey readily gave up her seat so he could attend with us. But then I got sick -- a nasty cold or flu -- I remember having a pretty high fever, which was unusual for me. The weather was cold and clammy, and I decided to watch the game on TV -- I told my buddy to take both tickets. He wasn't having it -- he would watch the game with Wifey and me in my apartment in Kendall. We brought in pizza. I wasn't THAT sick...

Well, turned out the game was one of the most famous ever (infamous for Canes fans). The BC QB, Doug Flutie, scrambled and launched a pass that became known as the "Hail Flutie" to win the game as time expired. Wifey recalls my friend dropping to the carpet in agony as the pass was completed. That stupid pass has been shown thousands of times in replay. As it turns out, I was glad I missed it live.

The Canes went on to lose another game in big fashion -- Maryland staged the then biggest comeback in NCAA history -- 31 points -- to beat us. I WAS at that game. But Jimmy got the team together afterwards, and won us our second championship, before leaving for the Dallas Cowboys and having great success with them.

So no, here we are, 35 years later. The final home game is Saturday -- Canes are hosting Louisville. We have another first year coach -- Manny Diaz -- and some disappointing losses. I gave away my tickets, and am returning the favor to my buddy -- I plan to watch the game on TV with him in the rehab hospital, where he will be putting the final touches on his recovery from this weird illness.

I hope the analogy continues, and our Canes just need to get through this challenging season, and go on to soar again. I also hope there is no similar choking loss at the end --Hail Louisville or something.

But mostly I am thankful my brother is on the mend, after some scary crap the last week. That's the main thing, of course.

An After Affair to Remember

So last night, after a small domestic dust up related to Wifey's re-decoration project (I asked for my way on .0003% of the new furniture, and Wifey thought that was asking too much), we made up and got ready to leave for a wedding.

Actually, it was a tense getting ready -- my Canes were at Tally, and playing well against the rival Noles. I missed the second half, but was happily told they had kicked serious butt.

We fetched three sharp dressed men, including future son in law Jonathan, and headed to the Rusty Pelican on Key Biscayne. It was a big wedding -- over 250 folks from Panama, all over Florida, and Georgia, including an imported Southern Rabbi who kept saying "Y'all." I sat behind some Bulldogs, who were very happy with their team beating the Gators (I was, too) and said "What the hell kind of rabbi says "y'all?" They laughed at my attempt at Yankee humor...

The chuppa was outside, on a deck overlooking the most spectacular view of Miami's glorious skyline. It was a bit loud -- party boats were passing below, in full base thumping glory. But the ceremony was lovely, and we then retired inside, for a party that was indeed lit, as the young ones say.

We sat a table with fellow parents of friends of the bride, Catherine. We finally met Tara's parents, who graciously thanked me for helping their girl with career decisions (she recently left the State Attorney's office for private practice). We also sat with Chloe's parents -- a lovely blonde who is engaged to a South African fellow waiting to start Oncology fellowship in Cleveland. We bonded right away -- I told him a pet peeve of mine was that people never referred to white South Africans as "African American," and yet here was this large fellow born and 20 years in Capetown before coming to America. He agreed he was indeed African. He told D2 and Jonathan they ought to consider honeymooning in his native land -- compared to South Africa,  he said, New Zealand and Australia were "shit."

Anyway, also with us were Stuart and Abbe, pretty Carly's parents, who we've known since the girls were in Middle School. In fact, Carly was at our house when she learned she was accepted to UF -- and she and D2 later became sorority sisters. Carly was living in LA, but happily returned to her native land, and now is Grove neighbors of D2 and Jonathan. Apparently she is dating a fellow who attended and now works for the U -- we need to meet and vet this guy -- I plan to do so before 2019 is out.

So there was dancing -- the Atlantans acquitting themselves nicely to the salsa and reggaeton favored by the Latins, and the rest of us Miami gringos...But they did play Earth Wind and Fire to get we Boomers moving...

So Abbe and Stuart left, around 10, to attend another function back here in Pinecrest. We said goodbye, and about 20 minutes later, they were back. What happened? They pointed out a window at the Causeway -- all red tail lights. The Causeway was totally shut down -- bad accident west of the tall bridge.

We figured it would clear in an hour or so. We figured wrong. At 1 am, most of the people had decided to hoof it back to the mainland. Wifey couldn't make the walk, on account of orthopedic issues, and so we decided she would stay back at the restaurant (they graciously said they'd stay open as long as the road was closed) and I would Uber home, to let our our dogs.

And we were off...up the tall bridge, walking past all the stalled cars. The upside was the amazing view from the bridge -- I stopped to admire it. The downside was my dress shoes were NOT appropriate for a long hike, and it was hot and humid as hell.

Finally, in about an hour, we had made the nearly 3 miles to Vizcaya. It was total gridlock. We passed the 2 wrecked cars, and I was dumbfounded as to why the road needed closure for what turned out to be 6 hours, with at least 50 City of Miami Police cars...

In front of Vizcaya, Stuart and 2 of the young-uns got into a Lyft -- the driver was headed to Key Biscayne -- we explained it wasn't going to happen. The Lyft took them to Carly's place.

We hailed 2 Ubers -- I rode with Ben, one of my favorite people -- a special needs teacher in the Bronx, and a guy who I hope also someday returns to the 305 to share his gifts as an educator with his native land. We'll see...

We mustered at D2 and Jonathan's place. Stuart pulled right up. We said our goodbyes, and Stuart drove Ben and me back to Pinecrest. It was 3 am. It was really 4 am, since the time had "fallen back."

Wifey finally got off the Key about an hour later -- they opened the road again. She had napped first on the Rusty Pelican patio, along with other stranded guests.

We'll all forever remember our post affair adventure. And most importantly, Catherine and Jacob begin their lives together. We were privileged to be there.

And, Big Man willing, in over 2 months, we'll be hosting our own big wedding. And the good news is, there are SEVERAL ways out of Miami Beach. Hopefully no hoofing will be necessary, other than on the dance floor.

Adios, Libros

My Dad taught me to love books. He was a self taught educated man, and from an early age instilled in me the magic of being able to hold something in your hands on, say, Long Island, and somehow be transported to ancient Israel, or the English Cotswolds...

Through college and grad school and early married years, I gathered thousands of books -- paperback as well as hardcover. I always took them when I moved, along with Wifey's much more modest collection. She was always more of a film and magazine sort...

I have a library in our house, D1's former bedroom, and it has several large bookcases. Wifey "borrowed" many of my nicer, leather bound books to use as decorations around the house -- many in an antique cabinet we bought together years ago, at a place called Lucky's -- now long gone...

Well, Wifey is in the midst of updating, largely getting rid of old, high quality furniture and replacing it with much lower quality new stuff. That means the Lucky's wood and glass cabinet has to go.

She gave away most of our furniture to Gloria, the woman she hired to suegra sit a few years ago. Gloria feels like she won the lottery -- she is totally redecorating her house with the stuff Wifey "can't stand to look at" anymore. I did make one demand, as Wifey just had the house repainted. Gloria needed to hire professional movers, lest some well meaning nephews and friends bang the crap out of our walls as they remove large leather sectionals, and heavy wood cabinets...Gloria agreed -- she's probably getting well over $20K worth of stuff for free -- having it professionally moved is quite a bargain.

Anyway, Wifey brought me about 25 of the leather books -- I needed space for them. So today I set about getting rid of the paperbacks -- many of them 30 to 40 years old, by Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Malamud...

Piling them into boxes was easier than I thought. They brought back memories, of college or even high school, but I romantically hope someone else will now read them -- and be transported to the Spanish Civil War, or East Egg, NY, or just to the mind of a great thinker like William James...

I called Pinecrest Library and asked if they accepted paperbacks. They did -- except for encyclopedias, or text books.

I filled the first box with about 50 volumes, and drove over. The young man happily accepted my long time companions. I walked away without a tear.

As I was packing them, Wifey said "Wow -- you read ALL of these? No wonder you're so smart." Well -- book smart, at least.

Meanwhile, the house is still in tumult -- an electrician was here installing a new kitchen fixture, and apparently there's a delivery of a new liquor cabinet. My 40 bottles of wine stand waiting on the kitchen counter...

I told Wifey that whatever activities she has scheduled, we must be out of the house by 5. We're going to a wedding at the Rusty Pelican -- D2's BFF Catherine is marrying Jacob. They live in Atlanta. Catherine finished her conversion to Judaism, and their rabbi is coming down from the City too busy to hate...

It'll be a great mixture of folks -- suburban Atlantans, as well as Cath's mother Mireya's people -- Panamanians, along with her Dad's folks -- born and raised Miami gringos...

I have a feeling the ceremony will be breathtaking -- the sun setting over the glorious skyline on Biscayne Bay, followed by a lit party, as the millennials say...

So adios, libros. Nice to clear the clutter. Nice to have the memories of times past...

I'm Not In the Mood for Halloween This Year

One of the most precious things about my family is our sense of humor. We find it in areas maybe others would not. And Wifey is typically the member of our clan who is funniest without meaning to be.

We always made a pretty deal about Halloween for the Ds when they were small. We'd often make haunted rooms in the garage, and invite a lot of their friends over. Trick or treating was big with us -- I recall one year when D2's friend Amanda had a broken leg -- I schlepped her in a red wagon all over our neighborhood.

We'd decorate the house, and in later years, enjoy welcoming the new crop of trick or treaters -- some years we'd get over a hundred kids.

One Halloween -- I think D1 was in college and D2 in high school, D1 came home and saw there were no decorations. Wifey stated simply: "I'm not in the mood for Halloween this year."

I'm not sure exactly why -- but we all found that hilarious -- as if one could decide based on fleeting feelings that a holiday not take place.

It became family lore, and a saying. "I'm not in the mood for politics this year" was an example.

Well, the sentiment was indeed true this time around. Wifey bought candy for the trick or treaters, but ended up meeting me at D2's place in the Grove. She left a basket of candy out front, and, indeed, most was missing when we returned.

We had dinner with some friends whose father is in the hospital -- a sort of cheer up evening. We ended up at Spillover, where they were hosting a Bark-O-Ween -- lots of dogs and their owners all dressed up. It was adorable.

Sitting at the bar was a man with 2 gorgeous white German shepherds. I often see a convertible in the Grove with those impressive dogs -- but the fellow said no, he was one of THREE guys in the North Grove with two big white dogs, and he didn't have a convertible.

And, he explained, the dogs were domesticated Arctic wolves, not shepherds. They were very sweet -- D2 really dug them. I was hoping they'd howl, but they quietly sat with their owner.

So, none of us were really in the mood for Halloween this year. I have a feeling things will be different for Thanksgiving. We're hosting our son in law and future son in law's families -- I think 18 of us in all. The mood ought to change by then.

If we're blessed to have grandkids, I think Halloween will become a thing for us again. That'll be grand...