Sorry for the tardy McFly; here is my tribute to Grateful Dave, the Rock n Roll star who didnt play guitar.......... I would like to thank the Linda, Bob, and Jeff for the opportunity to speak and remember Dave today. I am humbled and honored. The last time I really saw Dave was about 5 years ago at our 20th FMHS reunion. Before that, it was a while. The amazing thing about Dave’s perspective was that those gaps in life did not necessarily matter. If it was 10 minutes or 10 years, he would always treat you the same: apply a crushing hug, immediately followed by a genuine interrogation into my life and well-being. His interest was genuine and he always asked about the happiness of my wife and girls; and he did this up until a couple of months ago. We became very close again during that visit. He was glowing, so full of joy and love, his compassion for others infectious. My favorite moment of that weekend, however, was our time together after the festivities. After all the pictures, handshakes and awkward goodbyes, we retreated with a select few (most here today) to the comforts of Linda and Bob’s back porch on Carey Drive. It was a warm and humid night and we laughed, teased, and reminisced about lost moments and times gone by. It was a safe and comfortable place and it reminded me of the time I first met Dave 39 years before. Dave was my first and best friend for years. We were inseparable. From sun-up to sun-down, and sometimes later, we were constantly fulfilling some fantastic adventure. The neighborhood was our kingdom and we ruled the land. We knew every short-cut, every hiding place, and every tendency of each homeowner. We knew when it was safe to cut-through and when our trespassing would put us at risk for punishment. Friendships and alliances were created that would last for decades. A hierarchy was created in this special little microcosm and we all knew how we ranked with each other. With time, nicknames were born: classics like Putz, Boob, Gink, Little Gink, Fig, Bumba, Hank, Cali, Mikey Boy, Dar, Alukarachi, Moose, and even Special K. Any time the sun was shining, Linda would kick us out of the house and a new chapter would begin. We often found ourselves in a quandary, usually with the threat of Police involvement. But Dave was our savior; he always knew how to lead us out of a predicament. And if one of us did get pinched, we never betrayed our brethren. We lived by a code of silence and were steadfast in our loyalties to each other. One of my most memorable moments with Dave involved a threesome, but not the kind you may be thinking. Back in 1982, when we were 12, Dave made the score of a lifetime: 3 tickets to the original farewell concert of the rock group The Who. Not shocking to me, Dave asked me to join him and Uncle Bob for our first real live rock and roll show. 1982 was a very pivotal moment in my development; technically I was not quite a man yet, and I was living a very sheltered life. Dave, however, was much more “mature” and maintained a polished set of certain social skills. In my little world at that time, I was afraid of girls (still am), germs, second-hand smoke, high decibel music, and crazy unruly rock fans. Dave, however, had no problem with any of those things, in fact, he embraced them. He was so excited to be part of that high energy experience. He told me not to worry, he and Bob would take care of me. They did and I lived through it. I was so envious and jealous of his confidence at such a young age. He taught me that it was OK to be afraid, it was OK to let go sometimes, and it was definitely OK take that protective Kleenex out of my nose and ears so I could truly enjoy that magnificent show. I learned that to be truly free, perhaps enlightened, we must engage our phobias and fears, be courageous, and just let go. There is right way to do things in life and then there is the Dave way. I say this with the utmost respect and reverence. There was a time when Dave’s Uncle Irv and my Grandpa Baurice were in the hospital at the same time, both very ill, both near the end of life. Dave and I would pass each other on solemn visits, exchanging updates and comparing prognoses. I think Uncle Irv was just a bit sicker, his doctors worried about choking and aspiration pneumonia. Thus, he was placed on a pureed diet, similar to Gerber’s baby food. Well, Dave realized that to deprive a Jewish man of decent food, especially at the end of life, was essentially worse than the suffering of the disease itself. So, in classic Dave benevolence, he went down to Pickle’s Deli and bought a hot corned beef sandwich on rye, with a side of kosher dills and smuggled them into Uncle Irv’s hospital room. It was a bold move with potential devastating consequences, but that was the beauty of it. Simple convention tells the ordinary person to follow doctor’s orders and accept what is thought to be right. And I tell you that the word right is subjective. Dave looked at this situation differently, he saw the true bigger picture. That simple, yet delicious sandwich, meant so much more to Irv than any medicine or therapy. Dave realized that and that was the magic that personified his life. He had that special ability to see through conventional beliefs. His intentions were always good. In sneaking in that sandwich and risking everything, Dave taught me that goodness is not necessarily derived from the ramifications of customary and ordinary actions, but rather it is measured in the pure joy and pleasure brought about by selfless giving and clandestine offerings. The only time that I can remember not seeing Dave smile was in that classic Bar Mitzvah picture that has been circulating recently. It was puzzling to me since he was surrounded by several hot ladies and handsome young studs. Quite frankly I can relate to the anguish of bar mitzvah preparation and ceremonies, and perhaps Dave was still upset at all he had to sacrifice to officially become a man. Jeff called me on Thursday to discuss the recent developments of the past week. It was a difficult one to for him to make and a difficult one for me to take. We told stories, laughed, cried, and tried to make sense of it all. It was a particularly emotional day for me. The outpouring of love and affection for Dave that I was witnessing was overwhelming. He touched so many people in so many ways. He made strangers feel like family and friends feel like they were his brother. I was so proud of Dave for his accomplishments in life. There is a cliché that my brother and I always recite, “ Success consists of getting up one more time than you fall” and Dave certainly achieved that. He came from a loving and supportive family. I know Linda, Bob, Jeff and Ilana were so proud of him, too. They always spoke so highly of him and always made family a priority. I see the same beautiful qualities in them as I did in Dave, and I am certain they were responsible for his affable and altruistic traits. If I can find any solace or peace in losing Dave too soon, it is knowing that he will in live in our hearts and our souls for the rest of our days. I will never forget that sly smile of his, those big gnarly bear hugs, and of course, his contagious laugh. He taught us how to love unconditionally, to be tolerant and forgiving, to be loyal and devoted, and for me, how to be brave. I will miss him and I love him (with all my heart)
Posted on: Mon, 28 Jul 2014 23:44:57 +0000
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