8 September, 2025 7 7 Comments

A Wonderful & Meaningful Life

September 8, 2025 By 7 Comments

Our beloved friend Tony in front of Crossroads.

Tony Allerton was a bright light.

And that bright light will continue to burn bright. Of that I am certain.

At his essence, Tony was a man who exuded optimism, love, empathy and care. In a world that often exhibits the opposite of those words, Tony stood tall and stood out. He was someone you could always count on to find a way forward, a way toward a better future. A path toward grace.

My friend Tony passed last week. He was a few days shy of 97. That’s a good run for most folks, but for people like Tony it wasn’t enough time. He leaves a void in a whole lot of lives, but he also leaves a legacy of hope, compassion, understanding and belief in others that will last for generations to come.

If that sounds like an exaggeration, you don’t know my friend Tony and the impact he’s had on countless lives.

He was a beacon to those in recovery, those looking to put their lives on a better path. He understood their struggle, because it was his struggle as well. And he served as a model for what’s possible for those looking to live a life of sobriety and dignity.

The word recovery carries a heavy weight in Delray Beach.

Over the years, we have seen both compassion for those in recovery and we’ve seen intolerance and fear as well.

We’ve been known as a welcoming community and we’ve seen words like “cancer” used to describe those who come here to recover.

Through it all, Tony stood strong. Tony never wavered, never stopped caring and never gave in to anger or despair. He was a beacon. A man who exhibited nothing but love, kindness and understanding.

He was a rare breed. I can’t think of anyone who has done more for his community.

And Tony’s community is our community. It’s all of us. He stood for all of us.

Every family has a story. We’ve all been touched by addiction.

Some of the very best people I’ve ever met in this town came here to recover. Many stayed and built lives here. They’ve been incredible contributors.

They have been invaluable.

Tony’s civic resume alone is breathtaking: he led the Delray Beach Playhouse, Delray Beach Rotary Club and the Lake Ida Property Owners Association.

For decades, Tony has quietly but persistently been an advocate for those seeking sobriety.

I have known Tony for close to 40 years. When I came to town, his iconic Crossroads Club was operating in what is now Pineapple Grove.

Sometime after I got elected to the City Commission in 2000, Tony came to see me at City Hall.

He wanted to relocate Crossroads to an out of the way (yet convenient) location on Lake Ida Road.

He told me that he didn’t want to Crossroads to be in the path of  the progress happening downtown and that Crossroads needed more parking and a place to grow and thrive.

I thought that showed great foresight.

I remember the conversation very clearly.

I was with our Planning Director at the time Paul Dorling and Tony looked at us and with a smile said: “When we shut the lights downtown we need to be turning them on in the new building.”

Tony reminded us that Crossroads served as a lifesaver for people and he didn’t want anyone to miss a meeting. Hundreds and hundreds of people go to Crossroads on a daily basis and rely on the program for their well being.

Paul and I looked at each other and agreed.

“Ok,” we said.

Tony leaned forward with a serious look.

“ When we shut the lights off downtown we need to be turning them on in the new building.”

Then he smiled, that magnetic smile.

We got the message. And so that’s exactly what happened.

Tony and I remained in touch over the years. We would meet for lunch at Granger’s periodically to discuss Crossroads, happenings around town and the like.

Every one of our lunches proved meaningful, for me. Tony was a teacher. He was a champion for people and he was very open about his story and the importance of his work.

If he was ever hurt by some of the periods of vitriol over recovery he didn’t really share it, at least with me. It wasn’t about him, it was about others striving to recover.

I deeply admired his courage, sense of humor  and dedication.

We are taught that people are replaceable. And indeed the show must go on as they say. But I’m here to testify that there will be nobody quite like Tony.

You can’t go to the shelf and pluck out another leader to fill the void he leaves.

But being the optimist I’m struggling to be, I believe that people like Tony live on. His care for others and his legacy cannot be forgotten and will continue to pay dividends. There are scores of people doing good things in this world because of Tony’s heart and dedication. These ripples of good endure and grow.

Thanks to my friend Steve English, I had what ended up to be a last lunch with Tony recently.

I wrote about it here.

Here’s the link. https://yourdelrayboca.com/my-lunch-with-tony/

To Tony’s family and many friends I’m so sorry for your loss. What a blessing he was. Tony will always be a part of us.

Tony was a bright light.

And that bright light will continue to burn bright. Of that I am certain.

 

25 August, 2025 4 4 Comments

Born To Run

August 25, 2025 By 4 Comments

50 years ago today…

50 years ago today, an album was released that changed my life.

On August 25, 1975, one day before my 11th birthday, Bruce Springsteen released “Born to Run.”
It was a masterpiece.
Eight songs, each meticulously and painstakingly created with musicians who would soon be known the world over as The E Street Band.
The album went on to sell millions of copies. Born to Run has become a touchstone for countless fans who see pageantry and artistry in four chords and a back beat.
Countless words have been used to describe the magic of Born to Run so I will spare you mine.
But on the 50th anniversary of its release, a new book called Jungleland by Peter Ames Carlin tells the story of how the album came into existence.
After two critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful albums, Springsteen was given one last chance. Born to Run was do or die.
The making of the album was torturous. Springsteen labored over every note of every song driving the musicians to the brink.
The story of Born to Run is the story of a driven artist, desperate to succeed but unwilling to compromise.
It’s a great story.
And there are lessons to be learned: great artists don’t compromise, they stay true to themselves and their vision. No man is an island: Bruce needed the E Street Band, his managers, producers and engineers to fully commit and they were rewarded for doing so.  But when  it comes time to “ship” you ship.
Let me explain.
Springsteen almost became paralyzed by the desire for perfection. The album took forever to produce, take after take after take. The song Born to Run took six months to finish. There needed to be an intervention to get Bruce to agree to release it.
But there comes a time when you just have to hit send. That’s a life lesson my friends.
Every year on the anniversary of Born to Run’s release Bruce takes a drive around the Jersey shore and visits the places that inspired the album. He remains grateful for the record that saved his career and seeks to reconnect to the places and experiences that inspired classics such as Backstreets, Thunder Road and the epic Jungleland.
I think that’s an important practice. We have to drive  slow at times, take in the sites and  reconnect.
There’s a line in Thunder Road that has always intrigued me.
Because in these words I sense a paradox. That makes it interesting. That makes it art.
Here’s the line: “it’s a town full of losers and we’re pulling out of here to win.”
The protagonist in the song is asking the object of his affection to leave with him, to find a better place than the dead end town where they live.
It’s a cinematic song, a girl on a porch, dress swaying, a young suitor asking her to take a chance.
Yet we know that Springsteen is an artist rooted and wedded to his native New Jersey.
He jokes that he’s travelled the world, but chooses to live a few miles from where he grew up in Freehold.
The town holds a number of memories—some good, some bad, some joyful, some painful. It’s  been a full experience. One many of us can relate to.
It’s this realism, this depth of feeling, this sharing of pain and joy that makes Springsteen a special artist.
Born to Run was the album that introduced me to an artist that would play a big role in my life.
Alongside The Beatles, the Stones, The Who and several other bands and artists, Bruce’s music became the soundtrack to my life.
What made him a little different for me was that I feel like I grew up alongside his music.
The Beatles, so amazing they defy description and comparison, broke up when I was six. I didn’t have the pleasure of anticipating a new album. When I discovered music their whole canon was there for me to listen to. But with Springsteen there was always new music to discover—right up to today. Even at 75, he’s releasing new work that somehow, magically tracks with my life.
When I was 11, I liked the guitars and music on Born to Run. It was a visceral experience. But I can’t pretend I understood the record or the stories he was telling. I was too young. But over the years, after living a little and listening a lot the record began to take shape for me. Great art does that, it meets you where you are and clarifies at the same time. It also raises questions, makes you think and transports you.
So on the 50th anniversary, I want to savor that experience. And give thanks to an artist who has shaped me and so many others.
26 August, 2024 37 37 Comments

On Turning 60

August 26, 2024 By 37 Comments

My wife and a dedicated team of bakers, icers and friends made these. They are delicious.

“The file labeled me isn’t finished.”
I saw that sentence somewhere recently and I wrote it down a few hours later because I couldn’t let go of the thought.

I don’t remember where I saw those words, but they spoke to me like the best sentences do.
I just turned 60.  Today.

It’s a number. Quite a number. There’s more road behind me than ahead, but still it’s just a number.
It feels like you blink and decades of your life flies by.

Childhood, high school, college, first job, marriage, kids, career—love and loss. Laughter and tears.
Plenty of laughter, plenty of tears.

I think many of us live on three planes—the past, the present and the future.
We reflect and we remember. We take the day to day as it comes. We meet our deadlines and we strive to honor our commitments. We decide what  to leave in and we decide what  to leave out.  We try and think ahead. We invest our hopes in a better tomorrow.

That hopeful mindset is how I navigate the world. I look back fondly and often, I try  to be present and I dream about tomorrow.
But when you hit 60, there’s a shift. Tomorrow— which is never guaranteed — is here.

Earlier this year, my friend Randy sent me a chart with rows of chairs -10 across- representing each decade of life.
There are 8 rows that most of us feel we can be around to experience, the 9th row is in red, because making it beyond 90 is tough.
That chart has both haunted and focused me ever since he sent it.

I just entered the 6th row. There are only a few rows left —if I’m lucky. Moreover, within those rows is the logical conclusion that the age I am now will be better than the years ahead. I’ve been told by older friends that aging isn’t for sissies. I believe it.
But there’s something liberating about this stage of life.

I find myself happy with where I’ve been and where I’m at. I take joy in those I love. I’m surrounded by friends, have meaningful work and feel pretty good.
I’ve decided to let some things go, try a few new things and spend as much time enjoying the goodness in this world. And there plenty of goodness in this world.
Give me family, friends, pets, music, a good book and good conversation. I don’t need things but I want and crave experiences. And I want to make time for what’s important. As my friend Scott Porten says..we’ve got things to do.

For me, that’s time with my wife and best friends, visits with my children, travel to a few places, time in Maine, writing and learning all I can because this world fascinates me.
I’m also going to remain involved in the world via the Carl Angus DeSantis Foundation, which is the most inportant work I’ve done in my life. To find this kind of work as a career capper has been a blessing. Philanthropy has reawakened my passion for trying to make my corner of the world a better place. That I get to do this work with a wonderful teammate, a supportive board and in the name of a man who changed my life is an honor and a blessing. Carl DeSantis was so good to me and to so many others. I miss him beyond words.

I’m at an age where I’m sometimes asked for advice. And truth be told, I’m flattered and I always want to help but I’ve lived such an unconventional life that I feel I can’t offer a recipe, only a template.
Say yes to things that scare you.
Try new things, it’s ok to fail as long as you learn.

Surround yourself with people who lift you up, fulfill you and inspire you.
Try and see others and encourage them. Dare to love passionately. You will suffer more than a few broken hearts but you will survive and love again.
Everything I just wrote is a cliche. But it’s all true.

When I left college I got a newspaper job, I barely knew what I was doing and I was intimidated by the veterans that commanded the newsroom.
Newspaper reporters are great characters, and this group seemed so competent and confident. They were grizzled, and I was young, naive and far from confident. But I faked it until I made it.  I listened, I learned, I threw myself into the job and studied the greats sitting near me and working in other newsrooms and in time I got better.

When I went into business for myself, I was terrified. But I figured it out —in time.
When I went into politics, I was way, way over my skies but I joined a team that nurtured me and made me look like I knew what I was doing–at least some of the time.

Post politics I helped start a magazine, briefly owned part of a newspaper (a longtime dream), worked with a dear friend in public relations, did a lot of consulting work and freelance writing and then ran into a legendary entrepreneur who changed my life and asked me to help him with a little beverage company he believed in by the name of Celsius.

I wrote two books, a play, this blog, stayed with Carl’s family office and went into real estate and a slew of other businesses ranging from a hot sauce to whatever else caught my friends eye. What a ride!
And I was unprepared for all of it. I made all sorts of mistakes and invented a few along the way. But each day I woke up and vowed to do better.

Now we are diving into philanthropy in a big way, because big is what  Carl was about. He roared like a lion- literally. But he was humble too.
I tell my partner at the foundation that we are building the plane while flying it. We don’t know what we don’t know.
But isn’t that wonderful ? Isn’t that life?
I’ve been blessed.

And if it all ends tomorrow I’ve lived a good life.
Hopefully it won’t end quite yet and while I have great faith that there is something beyond this, I guess we really don’t know. But that’s one area I do have confidence in, I’ve found living proof. I’ve seen things, glimpses of something beyond. I know there’s meaning to this life. I’m keeping the faith.
The file is not closed on any of us if we learning from the past, believe in the present and focus on the future.

Thanks for reading and allowing me to share my life with you.

5 August, 2024 8 8 Comments

Time & Lasting Impact

August 5, 2024 By 8 Comments

Stanley Tate: from humble beginnings to lasting prominence and impact.

In three weeks, I’ll be 60.

It’s a birthday my mother, who passed away in 1998 at age 59, never saw.

That sad fact gives me pause. Because she didn’t get this far, I’ve been contemplating this birthday for a while now. It’s been there– on the horizon— for 26 years. Now it’s here.

I think about mom every single day.

I miss her.

Some days that dull ache is sharp.

Whenever I see a movie she would have loved; whenever there’s a family milestone I know she would have savored, I feel that loss and the experience becomes bittersweet. She’s missed by so many.  She’s missed so much.

Four years ago at this very time, I was in the throes of a knock-down brawl with Covid.

There were moments—too many to contemplate—where I did not think I would get out of Bethesda alive. I try not to think about that period, but I still do. There are times when I can’t quiet my mind. There are mornings when I wake up and for a split second, I’m back in that loud ICU room isolated, struggling to breathe.

Then I realize I’m safe, and a wave of gratitude washes over me. I’m thankful to be alive. I’m thankful for the good in my life. I’m aware of how fragile we are.

During my Covid battle, I kept thinking that if I didn’t make it, I would be younger than my mother was when she lost her battle with cancer. I thought about all that she missed; grandchildren growing up and doing great things, time with my dad, time in Florida, a place she loved.

What would I have missed if that damn virus claimed me?

Four years later, millions of lives later, I think about those who didn’t make it. I think of their families, and I think of those whose lives were transformed by long Covid.

They say that people grow when challenged. I believe that’s true.

Strength through adversity is the phrase.

“The strongest steel is forged by the hottest fires. It is pounded and struck repeatedly… The fire gives it power and flexibility, and the blows give it strength,” says the writer, Sherrilyn Kenyon. “Those two things make the metal pliable and able to withstand every battle it’s called upon to fight.”

Indeed.

But sometimes those fires engulf people. Sometimes the strongest people succumb.

That realization puts everything in perspective. We are all passing through. Let’s make the most of it. That’s my prayer for everyone.

It’s what we do with the time we are given that matters. Life is about love. Life is about service. Life is about connections.

It’s also about faith, creating and appreciating magic, making and keeping friends and leaving things better than we found them. My mom did all of that and more.

She continues to inspire and inform me. Life may end, but love endures.

A Life In Service to the future

Florida lost a giant last week with the passing of Stanley Tate, a self-made millionaire who was instrumental in the creation and development of the Florida Prepaid College Program.

Mr. Tate died at his Bal Harbour home on July 26. He was 96.

Mr. Tate grew up in a tiny Brooklyn apartment and came to the Sunshine State to attend the University of Florida. He waited tables to pay for college and then became a South Florida real estate mogul. He was well-known in Delray as the developer of the High Point community.

Mr. Tate started the Florida Prepaid program with $600,000 of his own money. The program has helped thousands of parents afford college for their children by allowing those enrolled to lock in tuition rates from the time their children are born. It’s a brilliant model.

In my work at the Carl Angus DeSantis Foundation, we took advantage of Mr. Tate’s vision by investing in Take Stock in Children which buys prepaid plans to make college affordable for students who would not otherwise be able to get an education without the lower tuition rates.

Mr. Tate’s legacy is a big one. He will be missed, but his work continues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

19 February, 2024 4 4 Comments

More Of The Good Stuff

February 19, 2024 By 4 Comments

I found the sweatshirt on Amazon. Didn’t order it, but will try the words on instead.

During a recent weekend trip to New Smyrna Beach I saw a guy wearing an interesting t-shirt.

Using my trusty iPhone I discreetly took a picture so I could decipher the treatise he displayed on his shirt.
Here’s what it said:

More Music. More Love.

More Sunsets. More Kindness.

More Road Trips. More Hugs.

More Fun. More Peace.

More Wandering. More Art.

More Laughs. More Dreaming.

More Adventures. More Happiness.

More Concerts. More Smiles.

More Freedom. More Creativity.

More Movie Nights. More Life.

I can’t argue with a single word. 

I didn’t see what the back of his shirt said but maybe it was a companion list of what he’d like to see less of. 

That list could be endless. But that “more” list… well that’s kind of special. I can’t stop thinking about it. 

Recently a friend told me about the four pillars of life: work, family, love and spirituality. Build all four pillars and you’ll find fulfillment. 

I can’t argue with that. But I do think life is a journey not a destination and your work continues until you can work no more. 

Anyway, I think I will keep the t shirt list nearby and use it as a guide. 

Last week, as I perused the news I became momentarily overwhelmed: Ukraine, inflation, lawsuits , predictions of a depression in the 2030s and Russia getting some crazy weapon we don’t have an answer for yet. It can drag a person down. It can make you want to cut that t shirt up and chuck it all. 

Not me. I’m not going down that path. 

So I did when I usually do when I’m feeling on the brink, I hugged my wife and lost myself in some music. 

“Late Night Willie Nelson” popped up in my Spotify feed. Yes! A brand new Willie album that features the amazing Norah Jones and Wynton Marsalis. 

And I thought how lucky are we to be alive right now. 

If it all ends tomorrow–and I don’t think it will– we will have been around to listen to The Beatles, we heard Joni Mitchell sing and listened to lyrics by Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and Paul Simon. 

We got to see Patrick Mahomes play QB, Roger Federer glide around a court and Michael Jordan soar through the air. 

We got to go to the movies and watch Brando command the screen and we got to see the most perfect romantic comedy ever: “When Harry Met Sally.”

We see people cured of cancer who were once sentenced to die and we see foster children find permanent homes because of our own 4Kids of South Florida. I can go on and on. What a wonderful life. 

The same day I saw the t shirt, I stood on a beach at night with my wife and her family. My family.  I adore these people.  I listened as my brother in law Paul pointed his phone toward the heavens and opened an app that told us what constellations we were looking at. I marveled. 

Such a night. It’s such a night. 

Sweet confusion under the moonlight.

As I write this I am listening to Willie Nelson sing Stardust. Friends, it doesn’t get better than this. 

So let’s add more stargazing and more Willie to that t shirt list. 

More gratitude too. 

Reunions

Remembering our time in Oz while enjoying Elisabetta’s.

Recently, I reunited with three guys I went to college with at Suny Oswego.

I hadn’t seen two of the guys for 38 years—ever since we left the shores of Lake Ontario to embark on this mystery ride, we call life.

We managed to stay in touch via Facebook.  I watched their lives unfold on social media. Birthdays, trips, graduations. It’s fun to keep tabs.

But seeing each other in person was special.

We met at Elisabetta’s on Atlantic Avenue, and we wore Oswego State baseball hats to mark the occasion.

The hats served as a calling card, and we had at least six people come to the table to present their SUNY bonafides. This one went to Cortland, another one went to Oneonta, and one had a friend who went to Oswego. It was fun to compare notes.

Seeing people after 38 years apart is an interesting experience. Last time, I saw Joe and David, their entire lives were ahead of them. Last time I saw Stu was 10-12 years ago when we met at Brule in Pineapple Grove for a beer.

I’m proud to report that everyone did well in life and love. They are successful professionals with happy marriages and kids who are doing very well. I found myself taking pride in these guys—I had seen them when they were young and wild. And we shared those stories, filling in details that one or more of us forgot. It was fun to relive those days—pre-cell phone, one computer on the floor of the dorm, when Prince, Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Bruce Springsteen ruled the radio.

We spent our nights at the Tavern and on Bridge Street and quite honestly, I don’t remember talking much about the future. We were living in the moment, careening from good time to good time. It was a special time in life.

Anyway, we vowed not to wait another 38 years to get together (the odds aren’t that good for us to make it) and I certainly encourage you to reconnect with old friends. It was a very memorable evening and I must say these guys loved the Avenue, which also made me feel good.  I went home at 9:30. They were just getting started.

27 March, 2023 8 8 Comments

Endings & Beginnings

March 27, 2023 By 8 Comments

“The road is long and seeming without end

The days go on, I remember you my friend

And though you’re gone

And my heart’s been emptied it seems

I’ll see you in my dreams” – Bruce Springsteen.

It’s been a rough patch of time.

In the past month or so, I’ve lost five friends, learned that another has a terminal illness and watched yet another dodge a health scare.

Welcome to middle age. Sometimes it feels like a mine field. I step out my door and try and dodge the bad news.

An older friend of mine used to describe aging as “a massacre.”

I know some of you visit this blog for a weekly dose of inspiration and I try to deliver.

But I also hope you expect a dose of honesty and if I am going to be truthful, I have to share the sad stories too. And the truth is life is beautiful, sad, wonderful, and painful—all at once.

When we’re young, endings are a remote concept. You know things don’t last forever, but there are far more hello’s than goodbyes when we’re young.

But by the time we hit middle age, we slam into a wall. I think they call it reality. And reality— as they say—bites.

I lost a business colleague last week and it hurts. This gentleman visited us from New Jersey frequently and told lots of great stories. He dreamed of the future and urged us to do big things. He called me “kid” or “kiddo” and I liked it because the nickname was affectionate and because well, I’m not a kid anymore so it was good to hear.

My friend talked about getting a place in Delray “someday” but someday never happened. He endured one last Jersey winter and now this man and all his stories are gone just when the leaves on the barren trees grow green again.

A few weeks ago, I told you about losing my friend Beth Johnston, a community servant beyond compare and last week I wrote a little about the lovely artist Susan Romaine and the charming and accomplished Jim Sclafani and a few weeks before that about Skip Brown, a retired Delray police officer who won a Bronze Star for his service in Vietnam. As I write this, I just learned that we lost Carl Wesley, a legendary local educator and beloved bandleader who touched countless lives in this community.

These special people added so much to this place we call home. It’s the special people that make us a village; that make us more than a Zip Code or a dot on the map.

For me, that’s what Delray has always been about.

When I drive the streets of this place I’ve called home for 36 years, so many corners, so many buildings conjure up memories of special people. When you live in a place long enough, these intersections are both literal and figurative.

When I come to work, I pass by St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, and I think of my friend Father Chip Stokes.

I’m not an Episcopalian, but I spent some time in that church when Chip was there because we connected on a human level, and we were passionate about the same issues. Chip’s church sat on the dividing line of Swinton Avenue—a line that kept Black and white apart for so long. I wanted to break down the barriers that divided us—I wanted to smash the prejudices that hurt so many for so long and so did Chip. I saw him as a champion who opened the doors to his church and I wanted to know this man, because I saw his heart.

Chip Stokes is a talented man, and those talents were recognized by his church. When a team came to town interviewing parishioners and community leaders about Chip because he was under consideration to become a Bishop in New Jersey, I found myself choking up describing his role in our community. My reaction surprised me, and I apologized. But describing his heart and the important role he played as a sounding board for so many moved me to my core.

When I drive A1A, I pass Caffe Luna Rosa and Boston’s on the Beach.  I think of the proprietors and founders, Fran Marincola and Perry Don Francisco. Both are long gone from the day-to-day bustle of those landmark restaurants, but they left a lasting mark and continue to impact lives. Special men; like characters out of a wonderful movie. I treasure these guys.

When I drive a few blocks north to George Bush Boulevard, I think of once seeing presidential candidate Michael Dukakis jogging on the street (think about the irony for a moment) and I remember when the Governor and his wife Kitty spent winters in Delray teaching at FAU and working for the Wayside House respectively. I made it a point to meet the Governor and we spent a few days riding with our police officers because he was fascinated by our city’s efforts to embrace community oriented policing, a philosophy of law enforcement that was truly special.

Before I reach U.S. 1, I glance over at St. Vincent Ferrer School ,and I think about Sister Mary Clare. She was so special, so loving, so much fun. She retired and took that marvelous brogue back to Ireland. I miss her.

On my way home, I pass by the Achievement Center and think of my good friend Nancy Hurd, who started her life’s mission over 50 years ago in a church basement. That mission changed countless lives over the decades. She’s retired too, but I see her name adorning the campus every time I head east toward downtown, and I think of Nancy. What an amazing legacy she created.

Loss, illness, and time makes me nostalgic—and appreciative too.

I hope these examples inspire you to be grateful too. I hope they inspire you to continue to contribute.

Middle age…. what an interesting time of life. Yes, there is loss and yes there are times when my head thinks I’m 25 and then I look in the mirror and wonder who is  this old guy  staring back at me?

But it’s not all doom and gloom. There’s hope and life left. Hopefully, lots of life left. Let me share an example.

I have this friend.

He reads this blog every Monday. He wants me to record it, so he can listen instead of read, but I don’t have the technical chops. But if he reads this far, I have a surprise for him.

My friend’s name is Randy Smith, and he has this great company called Heritage Flooring. The company has been wildly successful and has enabled Randy and others to live great lives.

Randy sails.

Randy skis.

Randy goes to great restaurants and visits exotic locales. And I love that he shares it all with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.

About a year or so ago, Randy took up the guitar. And you know what?  He rocks.

He sends his buddies videos, and he can sing, and he can play and he’s having a great time doing both. He’s also my age, 58, and I just admire that he’s attacking life with joy, spirit, and resilience. Like others, he has worked hard for his success and overcome all sorts of adversity. But his gusto, his zest for life and personal growth inspires all of us in his orbit.

He’s become an expert in business, politics, human health, investing and now music. And he motivates those of us who feel slammed by middle age to live in the moment. Last week, Randy’s world was hit by tragedy when a beloved colleague at Heritage died at the age of 39; proof that life is fragile, our time finite. We must live now. We must savor our days and create the moments that give us meaning.

I’ll conclude this indulgence—and thanks for taking the ride—with a shout out to a 73-year-old inspiration known as “The Boss.”

Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band are on the road and rocking arenas across America. We saw them in Tampa in February and I’m still riding high from the experience.

Anyway, Bruce’s most recent album “Letter to You” is remarkable. It’s about loss, life, love, friendship, death, and the hereafter. The songs pack a punch, and he plays a whale of a guitar. He’s also an inspiration. You may hate his music. You may hate his politics, but you can’t deny that into his 70s he can still play. And there’s something redeeming about someone putting it on the line every night in his 70s.

Recently, I had the privilege of appearing on a podcast called “That One Lyric” hosted by Ted Canova, who happens to have a brother who lives in Delray. Here’s a link to the show and a conversation about a song that has gotten me through some dark days. Maybe it will help you too.

https://www.thatonelyric.com/episodes/ready-to-grow-young-again

 

Well, now young faces grow sad and old

And hearts of fire grow cold

We swore blood brothers against the wind

I’m ready to grow young again—Bruce Springsteen, No Surrender.

 

 

13 June, 2022 0 Comments

Birthdays, Father’s Day, A Puppy & A Beatle

June 13, 2022 By Leave a Comment

Celebrating decades of friendship at Avalon nature trail in Stony Brook, NY. earlier this year. Dewey is the good looking one.

This is a big week for me.A big, important and wonderful week.My father, two of my best friends, my new golden retriever, and one of my all-time heroes are celebrating birthdays. Plus, it’s Father’s Day.So this is a time to celebrate, a time to rejoice and a time to take stock.I’m sharing my bounty in the hopes that it will inspire you to think about yours or to create one if your lacking. It’s never too late to resurrect or cultivate a relationship. And you know what? Life is all about relationships.Close readers of this blog know how much I admire my father.

He’s my hero and someone who has made a profound difference in my life and the life of everyone he has encountered. He’s just a good man. And when I survey the landscape these days  I realize that he’s a rare commodity in a troubled world. I appreciate him more and more as time and life go on.On this Father’s Day, I find myself thinking about how fortunate I have been to have such a great father and I hope I’ve been a good father to my children.

I also find myself thinking about the father’s who’ve lost children in Uvalde and elsewhere. Life is capable of delivering us sorrow beyond words, a fact I remind myself of when I find myself stressing about something that will be insignificant a few months from now.So that’s a reminder to enjoy the little perks  of life—a lunch with a good friend at Granger’s, the squirrel who comes to the door and watches us watching television and the first birthday of your golden retriever.Yes, our Gracie turns 1 on the first day of summer. A good dog—and they are all good—changes your life. Gracie happens to be a great dog.

She’s a joy. A character. A beauty.

She’s friendly, affectionate and so well behaved. She delivers a large dose of love everyday without fail and has an endless reserve.I wish I could say the same about myself.Dogs make you question your priorities because dogs—Gracie especially—-have their priorities in perfect order. Happiness equals good sleep, good (or any) food, affection, long walks and spending time with your pack.

Speaking of my pack, two core members are celebrating birthdays this week; my buddies Andy (we know him as Dewey) and my brother from another mother Scott.I go back a long, long, long time with these guys. I’m talking 50 years back. We graduated high school 40 years ago—together.So, if you have old friends you know how special they are. And if you have lost track of your friends look them up and reach out. It’s worth the effort.

I’m so proud that I have stayed in touch with my childhood friends. We are all proud. Life doesn’t make it easy. Deadlines and commitments what to leave in, what to leave out, Bob Seger once sang.

Distance, time, wives, kids, careers and now even politics can separate  you from people who mean so much.But if you can navigate those things the rewards are enormous.We’ve managed to do it. And I’m so grateful.Today, when I look at these guys via Zoom across the years and the miles I still see the kids I once knew. They are there, right in front of me. While we talk about current events, we can also access decades of history. Nights spent in Dewey’s legendary Karmann Ghia, summer days playing tennis with Scott but mostly dreaming of the future. Where would it lead?Today, we have most of that answer.  Not all of it. Nope, we are not done yet.But I can say this, when I talk to these guys I’m overcome with pride. They’re good men. And that fact satisfies something very deep inside.My buddies share a birthday week with one my all-time heroes Paul McCartney.The “cute” Beatle turns 80 on June 18.I have loved The Beatles for as long I can remember. I have listened to their music almost every day since I was a little kid.So Paul is a big deal for me and a few hundred million people. It’s amazing and inspiring that he’s still out there performing, writing and recording music. A blessing in a screwed up world.My dad, two friends, a golden named Gracie and a Beatle.I just boosted my spirits writing this.I hope you have your own version of this happy tale. Have a wonderful Father’s Day.

She’s a lot bigger now but just as cute.

8 November, 2021 25 25 Comments

Old Friends Are Good For The Soul

November 8, 2021 By 25 Comments

Celebrating decades of friendship at Avalon nature trail in Stony Brook, NY.

Forty years ago, in September of 1981, my friends and I hopped on the Long Island railroad and went to see Simon & Garfunkel perform in Central Park.

It was a legendary evening immortalized in a hit live album and film. For us, it was an adventure; an experience… another chapter in a deep bank of memories.

Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel were already sort of an oldies act when they took the stage and sang their timeless classics.

“Old friends, old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends”

The song is about childhood friends who sit together on a park bench a lifetime of memories between them.

In the song, the characters are 70 and they find that fact to be strange.

Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Where did life go, they wonder. And so do we all.

Back in ‘81, we were 16 and 17, we had just gotten our driver’s licenses and our first cars.

A green ‘67 Mustang for Ben, a ‘69 Karmann Ghia for Dewey and oddly, a 76 AMC Pacer for Scott who insisted that the car was really a squat version of a Porsche. Nice try…Scott.

Life for us, was just beginning. We were loving high school, chasing young women with mixed success, going to parties on weekends and watching something called a music video on a new station called MTV.

College, marriage, careers, children, homes, travel and all the other stuff was all ahead for us.

It was a special time. Our parents and grandparents and beloved aunts and uncles were alive and very much in our lives. The mysteries of life were still there to be experienced for the first time.

They were truly the “wonder years” and we were experiencing them together. We spent our time talking about the future into the wee hours of the morning on deserted beach roads on the east end of Long Island.

Last weekend, several of us left our lives behind to meet back home in Stony Brook for a quick mini-reunion. We visited old haunts, fell into old taunts and drank wine and bourbon way past our normal bedtimes.

We are 57 now. Still young and spry enough to kick up a little trouble but old enough to see that 70 year old man on the park bench and realize we are fast approaching that part of our lives if we are fortunate enough to get there.  We know there are no guarantees.

A few of us have had scares and were left scarred by what life throws at all of us. A serious bout of melanoma, Covid, divorce, financial crises, business ups and downs and the loss of people we knew to cancer, heart attacks, strokes and crashes both plane and car.

Nobody gets out unscathed. It seems to be the law.

But it’s the “in betweens” that matter too. The joys which are so abundant.

We have all found love, we all have kids we are proud of, we have all done well in our careers. We have also experienced the joys of friendship. The flat out miracle of enduring bonds that formed when we were 5,6 and 8 years old that have lasted a half century.

From Nixon to Biden, from rotary dial phones to smart phones and from MTV to Netflix. The one constant for me and for the others has been each other.

We have been there for one another  at every step of the journey and at this stage it’s a reasonable assumption that will always be true.

Together and collectively, we’ve travelled a million miles and gone a million places. I am so proud of these guys. They are good men in a world where that is not a given.

During the height of the pandemic, my oldest friend Dave, organized a regular Zoom call for all of us to gather and share wine, spirits and conversation. The zoom happy hours helped us all get through the isolation of lockdowns.

Those calls were a lifeline and a joy. Old stories that make us laugh, gaps in our memories filled, new stories and plenty of debates about the day’s news. I loved every call and they are ongoing.

When I got a bad case of Covid, I couldn’t participate for two months or so. But as I lay on my back too weak to sit up and too sick to walk across the room, I could count on a steady stream of texts from my brothers. Funny messages. Encouraging words. Hopeful questions. I felt the care and concern. And I thought “my goodness, I may never see these guys again.”

If Covid takes me out, I won’t be on that park bench when I’m 70 telling the story of that time in the parking lot of Mario’s… But, miraculously I made it home and back to the calls and my friends.

We resolved that when vaccines were out and it was safer to meet that we would get together.

We used to get together every few years as a group but life got in the way. We got busy. We all get busy.

But this time we met—back home where we came of age— together.

The details of the weekend are private but suffice it to say that we did a lot more worrisome things when we were teenage boy’s roaming those winding roads of the Three Villages in unsafe muscle cars with questionable brakes.

I do want to say that if you are lucky enough to have an old friend or two or 10, make sure to see them while you can. Zoom is great. So are texts. But live and in person beats Facebook, FaceTime and WhatsApp.

The park bench looms large these days. I can see it in a dozen years of so.

I hope to make it.  I trust these guys will meet me there.

7 December, 2020 10 10 Comments

Bookends: The Healing Power Of Old Friends

December 7, 2020 By 10 Comments

A little scruffier, a little balder, but the bond endures.

The most treasured gifts in the world are kind words spontaneously tendered. (Thanks Dewey)

— Jim Collins

It’s December.

Thank goodness.
We find ourselves in the home stretch of a brutal year and at last there is hope that 2021 will treat us better.
Like miners stuck below the surface of the Earth trapped in a dark cocoon of gloomy news— anger, divisiveness, disease and death —those of us still fortunate to be here can find solace that next year will be brighter. It has to be, right?
With any luck, we can resurface and reclaim our lives.
I, for one, can’t wait.
In the years to come, if I am given years to come because I realize that’s not a given, I will look back on 2020 with a mixture of awe, gratitude and dread. I know that’s an odd combination of emotions. But this has been a very odd year.
But despite wave after wave of brutal news, many of us still found some light.
I found my light in the usual place: family and friends.
Close readers of this blog have heard me mention my twice a month Zoom calls with childhood friends.
I write about those calls because they have been a lifeline to me in an extraordinarily challenging year.
It’s been hard to be quarantined.
It was hard to work remotely—because I like the interaction and the kibitzing you get in an office with people you can see right in front of you.
I miss being able to gather with my friends.
I miss happy hours and dinners with a bunch of people.
I miss the movies.
I miss the meetings in coffee shops (and I’ve never even had a cup of coffee).
But the next best thing to being there is Zoom.
To be honest, I have a love-hate relationship with the technology but when I think about it, Zoom has been a life raft that has kept me from drowning. Zoom made it possible to see my oldest and dearest friends—if only on a screen.  Those boxes, that contain those familiar faces, have meant the world to me this year.
I hope you have had a similar story of connection during this year of Covid.
Here’s mine.
I grew up in the 70s and early 80s in Stony Brook, located on the north shore of  Eastern Long Island.
From the age of six (not a typo) I was fortunate enough to build a small cadre of friends that have remained in my life for 50 years.
The bond we share is both special and rare.
We’re spread out these days—California, Virginia, Wisconsin, North Carolina, South Carolina, New York, Arizona, Vermont and Florida.
We went all through school together and stayed close through high school and college.
In our early 30s, we had some reunion weekends and then life took over.
But the pandemic has somehow brought us back together again over Zoom and I couldn’t be happier about it.
While we never drifted apart totally (well a few of us maybe) our communication became spotty and we were never all together anymore. These Zoom meet-ups have changed all that.
Our calls—which usually last about 90 minutes—cover a range of subjects and I always come away energized by the interaction.
When I was asked recently by my dad what it’s been like to “hang out” again with all these guys I told him the one feeling that comes up is pride.
I’m proud that our friendships have lasted.
I’m proud of the men they have become.
I’m blown away by their intelligence, humor, life experience, professional success and by who they are.
They are all interesting. And they are all interested in the world.
So I’m proud of them.
Someday, maybe soon, we will be able to get together in person.
That would be great.
Over the summer, I learned that life can be very fragile. I think we are all learning that lesson these days.
It’s the rapport, the kindness, the playful ribbing and the fact that we serve as the gaps in each other’s fading memories that make for lasting and special friendships.
One of the crazy things about this year is that it has forced us to  take stock of what really matters.
We no longer can take the simple joys of our lives  for granted.
Whether it’s the joy of meeting a friend for dinner, taking a weekend trip or having family over for the holidays—Covid has made sure we will appreciate moments large and small.
For me, when I look back on 2020 I will be forever grateful that every other Wednesday I can find my buddies on a screen if not in person. That’s more than good enough–for now anyway.
I’m just glad to still be around to laugh and share with them.
 Here’s to what comes next guys.
24 February, 2020 4 4 Comments

And It’s Still Alright

February 24, 2020 By 4 Comments

Nathaniel Rateliff

Two weeks along, I find myself unable to let go of Valentine’s Day.

Unable to let go of things I love.

Or maybe I’m just more appreciative than usual.

I’m writing this sitting in my backyard in Delray Lakes gazing out over a lake listening to Nathaniel Rateliff sing “And it’s Still Alright” and watching egrets wade into the canal on a beautiful winter day. Florida in February, when it’s right and today is right, can’t be beat.

The song is sad yet hopeful. It’s about the artist burying a friend and losing his wife. Heavy stuff. But it’s still alright. There’s hope in the darkness, there’s a path back from the sadness.

We have it pretty good here in Florida. We have it pretty good here in Delray Beach.

During the hustle and bustle of the week, I can sometimes lose sight of how good.

I sometimes forget to slow down long enough to absorb the sights and the sounds of life in what most people would describe as paradise.
But not this year. This year I am going to appreciate the little things.

A text from a good friend who says she is thinking of me and my family.

A call from a cousin I haven’t spoken to in awhile.

Watching my two dogs sleep and my birds sing (in between making a huge mess).

I scroll through social media and it’s an odd cross between a highlight reel and a hate rally.
People posting pictures of their weekend trips and outings and the usual suspects ranting on the political pages.
Today, I’m turning them both off.

I’m resolved to write more, to read good books, to listen to more great music.
I’m set on more drives on A1A, more trips to parks, more long walks with the love of my life and more time with family and friends.
More meaning. More good times.
Lord willing….it will still be alright.

 

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