“What are we going to do?”
“What are you going to do?
Solemn words from a mother on a mission as her eyes bored holes through our brains.
Ira and I looked at each other like two deer caught in the headlights. We had known each other for only a week. Two young fathers with their little boys joining a group called: Indian Guides-
Jewish Indians in our case-teaching our boys to do ‘guy things’ with their dads.
Ira was medium height, maybe 5’10”, well-proportioned with sandy hair and a well-trimmed, droopy moustache. He had a kindly smile with an inquiring look and a slight, humorous twinkle in his eye that made you feel at ease.
‘Our new soccer coach has been has been given a new job assignment, and is moving out of the area next week!”
“You two need to step up. You can be co-coaches.”
“What about Indian Guides?”
“Forget that. The issue is soccer and we need a team!”
“You two need to do what’s right!” As she spoke, her demeanor began to change into Miss Trunchbull from Roald Dahl’s Matilda!
All I knew about Ira was that he had a young family like me, lived in Bethesda and taught at the American University in DC. I was just starting out in the wine business. Neither of us had a clue about soccer except that it involved a ball.
Our boys,-Andrew and Nicholas- looked at us intently as Ira and I stared at each other in a trance, both nodding slowly, on cue, as if ‘mom’ was pulling invisible strings from the back of our necks like puppets.
“Ohhh…Kaaaay.”
“I’ll get all the information for you, practice times, rooster of all the boys. And, of course, the schedule for the coach clinics.” “Coach clinics?” “Eh..ma’am, I said, in my native Oklahoma twang.” “We do have to work.”
Ira looked down in a calm, thoughtful gaze. Then he looked up at me.
“Ben, I know you have a fast-paced job. If you can’t go, no problem. “I’ll give the clinics a try, take notes.” “We can meet later on the practice field and I’ll fill you in.” “Thanks, Ira.” Sounds good. I really do appreciate it.” As we left each other I am thinking: ‘Yet another task to break my plate.”
We had soccer practice two hours every week.
Week after week I would rush from Washington National (now Reagan) airport to the practice field at the elementary school in the DC suburbs of Bethesda. Of course, Ira had the field set up as he coached our multi-cultural team of lively boys, trying to keep their attention as they went through their paces.
“Hi Ira!” “Hi Ben!” “How did your travels go?” “Were your sales efforts successful?”
Of course, I would launch into a specific, blow by blow account of my approach and ultimate victories in the world of wine marketing as Ira kept an eye on the boys practicing ; the more I talked the more I became ever more enthralled with my own enthusiastic sales speak. Ira would listen intently; ask questions with genuine interest and support.
Our friendship grew as our team went from ‘magnet ball’ to a few victories along the way.
Soon we began to confide in each other about our careers. I had an opportunity to become vice president of the wine company. This would mean moving my family to Seattle. It would be a major change and disruption for our family. Ira had an opportunity as well. He had graduated from Harvard Law School and now had the opportunity to become a professor of law at Harvard. Contemplating my ‘heroism’ in my own mind, I somehow never grasped the unbalanced discrepancy between Ira’s opportunity in one of the most prestigious law school’s in the world, and my own as a ”Captain of Industry” for a little known wine company in Washington State
Such a move would disrupt his family as well. He agonized over how such a move would be so disconcerting for his family, what this might mean for them. I only agonized over my future performance and let my wife worry about the moving details, the complete disappearance of her professional career at the National Institutes of Health, and the kids. After all, this kind of opportunity and financial increase would ‘lift all boats’ for our family in a wonderful part of the country: the Pacific Northwest. At least, that is the way I spun it as my wife worried to death.
“I just don’t know, Ben.” “I am too concerned about the family.” Ira decided to stay in Bethesda, teaching law at American University.
As I contemplated the move to Seattle, with a rare, brief glimpse of clarity and contemplation, I realized that Ira was my best friend. He was the kind of man I admired even if I didn’t have his attributes. I remember attending his daughter, Alexandra’s, Bat Mitzvah. The words he spoke of his love, respect and admiration for her brought tears to my eyes. I will never forget his demeanor and his loving gaze. Alexandra became a New York Times best-selling author. When I read the dedication in her first book it was to Ira for spending countless hours with her, editing the manuscript and supporting her every step of the way: ‘He is my hero’ read the dedication. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I read it.
We moved to Seattle, bought a large house; put the kids in private schools, and I jumped into my job at corporate headquarters with both feet, stressed out of my mind. Pulled from her comfort zone, my shy wife did her best to make a place for our family in an isolated suburb of Seattle, while I travelled around the world selling wine for the company.
About three years later my wife joined me on a business trip to Paris. As we were dressing for a business dinner, with CNN on the television in our room, my eyes caught a glimpse of a man being interviewed. As I looked closer, I saw that it was my friend: Ira! “Joining us is Professor Ira Robbins, the foremost authority on penal law in the United States. Author of numerous texts and articles on the subject.” Unassuming, kind and supportive Ira. Never one word about it during the entire time I had known him.
Ira and I kept in touch over the years. I had to leave my job in the wine company, and Ira supported my efforts at a new one; as usual, cheering me on in my new adventures. Ira continued to teach law, bringing his admiring students to ever-higher standards of the legal profession- understanding the law through Ira’s eyes, with compassion and rigor.
There is not one week that goes by that I do not think about Ira, as I consider his fine mind, coupled with his intelligence, compassion, wit and strength of character.
I ask myself during these thoughtful times, how I could have been fortunate enough to have such a best friend: a man who always let his ego remain a slave to his character. Not the opposite of so many men in this world.
And I think about how it took me a lifetime to understand the lessons Professor ‘Ira’taught me as he lives them every day. I hope I can be as good friend to him for the rest of our lives as he has always been to me.
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Photo: “Ira” Courtesy of author
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