People will forget what you said and forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel
Maya Angelou
Dear Amy, Jeff, Liz and Marc,
A lot of people can make me smile, and I’m blessed for that.
I can count on one hand though, those that would ALWAYS, yes ALWAYS make laugh. And although our paths hadn’t crossed in years, Ben Erlich was one of them. Yesterday’s news meant I lost a finger.
We were brothers-in-law married to distinctly different sisters.
From different parts of the world, different upbringings, but, in so many ways…the same. (Perhaps that’s why we always clicked).
Your Dad was irreverent, old-fashioned and loyal. He was a passionate host, always opening his home to Ohio’s wandering Jews.
He was not only a good man, but a man that made you feel good.
Fact is I don’t have one memory of Benny that doesn’t bring a smile with it. Not one.
With all his “streets,” with all his tough-guy bravado…those who knew him…knew him for what he was… A“Gutte neshumah,” (good soul).
We lived parallel lives, Ben and I. Our times together were limited to family retreats to the east coast. Even so, in those intermittent visits, we found a common ground. Always.
Your Dad knew I was his foil and LOVED to egg me on.
Your aunt would give me dirty looks and your Dad would go further.
At the movies, or in a restaurant: when people turned away…from out of nowhere we’d hear a dog bark. Or yelp!
It was always your dad; I always laughed. It never got old.
“Why do you laugh at him?” my wife would chide.
“Not at him,” I’d correct. (It was always WITH him).
And we shared a special warmth for Grandpa Ben. Your dad was lucky and saw much more of him than I. He made his father-in-law a home at the luncheonette—a safe haven where your grandfather could read his sports page and overeat in a way he was never allowed to at home.
“Have some more!” your Dad would urge. “Quick, before Lil sees!”
Our bond was borne as much from our differences as from our similarities. One Passover he dared me to work the trailer outside the restaurant. From 7AM on I passed out Pesach food to the patrons, and even sweat. The corner of my eye watched your Dad WATCH me…waiting for the college kid to bail on him…and getting a kick out of the fact I didn’t.
We had that thing going on.
They say people come into your life for either a reason, a
season, or a lifetime. Your Dad was in my life for a season.
A championship season.
He will be missed.
Love, Uncle Bruce
Thank you, Bruce, for an eloquent and thoughtful entry. You made me cry and laugh. You brought back memories that were long forgotten. Thank you for dedicating a blog to him – he was worthy.