A Friend In Need...

I spent one of my final nights in New York walking around Times Square.

Smoking a cigar.

And talking to my friend David on the phone.

No, not that David.

Another David.

We spoke for two-hours, thirty minutes and 29 seconds.

Really.  I wrote it down.

Thankfully it was after 9:01, so I didn’t get charged for the minutes.

We talked about all of the usual subjects.

Life.

The death of my career.

The Cleveland Indians.

David loves the Indians.

And my mom is from Cleveland.

So we always talk about the Indians.

David and I went to college together.

Actually, both Davids and I went to college together.

And there was another David too.

But stick with me here.

This David and I not only went to school together, but we ended up working together too.

Three different times.

And there’s a good reason.

He is great at what he does.

And I needed someone great around me to make me better.

So in the fall of 2005, when I got relocated (and promoted), I talked to David about joining me.

To make a dynamic duo.

And for the next four years, it was a dream.

On paper, I was his boss.

But in reality, we were a team.

Like Batman and Robin.

Starsky and Hutch.

Loggins and Messina.

What I really liked about it -- especially as a manager -- was I could tell David anything.

Straight to the point.

No sugar coating necessary.

Not only was he loyal to me.

He was loyal to what we both believed in.

And that made for the perfect arrangement.

Say it once and it got done.

Well, sometimes twice.

I might’ve had the office, with the door.

And the window.

But I got nothing done without him.

Nothing!

Until the day he was told his job was no longer needed.

Actually, his job and about 29 others.

The entire department was wiped out with the touch of one merger.

Our entire department.

Poof.

Gone.

With no notice.

Classy.

Neither one of us saw it coming.

The good people who organized this execution knew how close I was with David and the group.

So they told me nothing.

After that job went south, David went south.

Moving his family to the next job.

In the next city.

And for David, that meant moving his wife and five-year old twins.

And his mom.

As part of his new job, David got a bigger title.

And a smaller paycheck.

So to make things work, David’s mom moved in.

Each month she gave them a little somethin somethin.

They gave her an all-access pass to her grandchildren.

Such a deal.

Being around two young kids was nothing new to her.

She raised two boys.

On her own.

She was a single mom before it became trendy.

But life is different as a grandmother.

Or so I am told.

And she treasured every single day.

I haven’t been around David and his family since they left town, but we still talk all the time.

Of course we talk about the Indians.

But we also talk about the time we shared together here.

And there was a lot of time.

Work.

Weekends.

Carpool.

Our families lived just miles apart and we took full advantage of that.

And whenever she was available, David’s mom was always part of the plan.

In fact, my kids even called her Grandma Rhoda.

A few weeks ago I got a call from David that his mom had been diagnosed with cancer.

But thankfully they caught it early enough, he said.

He told me how the doctors were going to deal with it.

And how she was going to move on with the rest of her life. 

In fact this week, she had just started chemotherapy.

But something just wasn’t right.

And yesterday at around one in the morning, Rhoda got up.

And David was there to help her.

Like a good son.

Like David.

He told me when he helped her back to bed, he gave her a kiss.

And told her that he loved her.

As he had thousands of times before that.

With no idea this would be the last time.

When he woke up in the morning to check on her, she had passed away.

No sign.

No pain.

No way to see it coming.

Just like my dad.

And when David called me to share the heartbreaking news, that’s what we talked about.

David wanted to know how I coped.

And what I did.

And what he could expect.

And I did my best to tell him.

And offer support.

I tried.

But I really wish this call would've been all about the Indians.

Rest In Peace Grandma Rhoda.

You made us all smile.

Apple Bottom Genes

I was planning on keeping my new hometown a secret.

At least that was the plan.

But with each day I walk around this amazing city, I think to myself...

...Self...

THAT’S A BLOG.  

AND THAT’S A BLOG.

AND THAT’S A BLOG TOO.

Through the first seven entries in my new journey, I’ve managed to make vague references to the greatest city in the world.

Well, enough is enough.

I AM A NEW YORKER.  

And proud of it.

If I want to write about yesterday’s journey through the subway system, where I took three different trains to go 17 blocks, then I’m going to write about it.

Just for fun, take a look at the map of the New York subway system and tell me it doesn’t look like Russell Crowe’s wall in A Beautiful Mind.

And if I want to write about the eight-cent tax on sliced bagels, but no tax on unsliced ones, I’m going to write about that too.

Why don’t they just call it the anti-Semetic tax?

Just because we own all of the banks on 5th avenue and all of the jewelry stores on 47th street doesn’t mean we can afford an extra eight cents on a sliced bagel.

And if I want to write about eating dinner from a street vendor near Times Square, I’m done with the secret code of...

... so I decided to have a meal from this place.

The truth is tonight after work, I enjoyed a beautiful lamb and chicken combo from a street vendor near Times Square.

Not just any street vendor, but KWIK MEAT.

Yep, that Kwik Meat.

The 2008 runner-up for the Vendy Award.

You know the Vendy Award, the annual award handed out for the most outstanding street meat.

Street meat, that’s what us New Yorkers call it.

Well tonight after work, I was told “you gotta go up to 45th and sixth to the get the best street meat in the city.”

I thought all the vendors were the same.

“Trust me," he said.

So I headed up to 45th and sixth... Yada Yada Yada... $8.50 later ($9.20 with the tax), I had a great dinner.

GREAT!

I can still remember my mom telling me that I couldn’t eat off the floor, so I can only imagine how she would feel about me eating off the street.

But she obviously never tried Kwik Meat.

Let me tell you, this stuff was good.   Real good.

Well, actually I won’t know how good until tomorrow.

My dad split many of his years between Los Angeles and New 

York.  

He always raved about the Big Apple, but I never really understood why.

Until now.

There is just something electric about this place.

The buildings.   The taxis.   The restaurants.

But that stuff about this being the city that never sleeps is a bunch of hogwash.

A friend of mine was in town this week and we met up for a late dinner.   

No problem, this is New York.

Plus she was staying in one of the busiest parts of town.

Well, so much for that theory.

One place stopped serving at 9:30, another at 10.

Is this Cleveland or New York?

We eventually found a place and had a great meal.

There are so many restaurants in this city that you better be great or you will be gone by breakfast.

Its no wonder why you try to walk so much in this place.   

Its to avoid having your belt buckle explode on you.

I guess that gets us back to Kwik Meat.

These vendors are on EVERY corner.

In the morning, you can get a muffin on one street.

Three bananas for a dollar on another.

Coffee on another.

Then later its a pretzel.

And a hot dog.

And wash that down with the lamb & chicken combo.

I would call that a perfect day.   

Actually, I would call it a normal day.

At least the pretzel part.   

My goal is to break Cal Ripken’s streak by eating a pretzel every day for the next 17 years.

I think I can do it.

It sure will be fun trying.