My wife’s uncle’s marriage yielded two sons and a stepson, so his stepson was my wife’s step-cousin, if you will. I met him 30 years ago during my first sabbatical at UCLA. At fifty, he was still unmarried, his business having required constant traveling overseas, particularly to Asia. But by that time, he decided that he had enough money. He sold the enterprise he built up and devoted himself to art and literature.
He had recently built a house for himself in the Pacific Palisades hills, with terrific views of the valley below. The house was hidden from the street by a high wooden wall, concealing a structure as perfect as any I’ve ever seen. The house was, like him, elegant and handsome, with the kind of simplicity that only a lot of money can buy.
He took good care of himself. Haunted by his father’s early death from heart failure, he ran five miles a day, until his joints complained forcibly enough to make him find other exercise. He gardened. He listened to music from his vast collection of recordings. He studied French and read French literature. He read histories. He knew what was going on in politics and the arts. He sparkled. Conversation with him was unfailingly stimulating on a wide range of topics, in fact on any topic at all.
A few years after we met him, he married a widow, beautiful, gracious, charming, and intelligent, his match in every respect. It was a pleasure to see them together, for they seemed superbly suited to one another. They engaged in some of the same passions, including an annual visit to Paris.
His brother has just called us to tell us of his death. He was my age. Yes, he was old, but he could have enjoyed life had more years been granted to him. The news of his death was upsetting. He had been for me a beau ideal, admired not only for his taste, elegance, and savoir faire, but also for his character, which was pleasant, considerate, and kind. He was not only a gentleman. He was a mensch. To all who knew him, his death is a loss, and of course for his brother, his stepchildren, and especially his widow the loss is enormous.
They say that when you save a life, you save an entire world. But it’s also true that when you lose a friend, you lose an entire world. May he rest in peace.
2010-2011 Anchises: an Old Man's Journal All rights reserved
I was very struck by your description. At half of it I thought I want to exchange mails with that interesting guy. The news of his death came suddenly and I was as sorry as you. But rethinking of it, I consider he had a very lucky life: culture, trips, a beautiful house, a handsome wife, money. I am more struck by death when people die without accomplishing their aims, when they are unlucky, when they do not have the possibility of enjoying life. That is really unjust. Wally
ReplyDeleteI am truly sorry you've lost such a special person and friend.
ReplyDeleteYour description is beautiful, warm, respectful, and constitutes a very good example of your attitude to other people.
You are really a good friend, and I am sure he loved you very much