My Friend Ken

My first memory of Ken was this man with an orange frizzy head of
hair and gold wire rim glasses held together with tape and clothes that
were too big for him. I remember thinking to myself; "This is my
husbands boss, a lawyer? He looks more like the buildings maintenance
man than Ron." And Ron acted more like his boss than he should have; at
least I thought so.

When Ken spoke, he was articulate and calm, never loud, never
overreacting to problematic situations. How intelligent I thought this
man to be with his quiet strength. Not anything like the loud know it
all abrasive man I was married to. I had observed Ken interacting with
people and admired him for his manners and his style of dealing with
people. I developed a deep respect for him back then, as I have always
held educated persons in high esteem. He is the most intelligent man I
know, I swear he was a personal friend of Freud in a past life.

That was many years ago, a lot has happened between that time, 1976 to
2002. The best thing that happened is we became friends. Over the years
we had always been in touch, some years more than others depending on
our life situation. He may have been busy raising kids while I was busy
raising hell. It didn't matter, because no matter how much time would
pass between phone calls, the comfort level was the same as if we had
spoken the day before. Over the years we would yap on the phone like
two girlfriends, me forgetting my proper English and sliding into my
Brooklynese mode. And while he thought that was just fine and charming,
I did not.

As I got to know Ken through other circumstances over the years, it
became evident that he was a keeper. I knew I wanted him for a friend.
The way in which he cares for his father, his children, his employees,
his friends is genuine. He is a friend you would want to have if you
value decent caring people who you can trust. That's not to say that we
agree all the time. Our views differ on many issues, but that doesn't
matter one bit. We respect each other's opinions.

Ken has helped me many times. As a lawyer he assisted me in a divorce
proceeding I could not afford. Ken made it painless and cheap and for
that I am forever grateful. I'll never forget him telling me "When you
go to court, wear a short skirt and smile, it's the only way you will
get through the system on your own". He sent me down to City Hall to
process my own divorce. I remember wearing my brown mini dress showing
imagined cleavage and white go-go boots. Tacky yet effective, I was out
in two hours and didn't need to leave the premise for a notary, as the
clerk was happy to accommodate me for a look at my cleavage.

Once I needed a stove and this man dug one up from his storage
basement, roped it on the roof of his car and delivered it right to my
door.

He has helped me with legal issues, has given me advice and perspective
in family situations, recommended eye doctors, a house painter for my
building, a good insurance broker, got me on T.V. , listened to my
deepest thoughts and shares in my joy of writing. He has been there for
me, always, and it is gestures like these that caused me to be forever
grateful.

Humorously thinking back, I remember his car. Knowing that he had the
financial resources to buy any car he wanted, it amused me to watch him
scoot around in a beat up Honda with a roof rack constructed of
plumbing material. I considered that maybe he was cheap, but practical
and unpretentious is more accurate. So while my husband without a
nickel in the bank is riding around in a new Camaro with a motorcycle
as a sidekick, neither of which he can afford, Ken is riding in a
coffee can happy as can be, money-gaining interest in the bank. Good
for him, that's a smart man.

There is a point in genuine friendship where the line between friends
and family overlap. Sometime, and often, our friends are more loved by
us than our own relatives. That's how I feel about him.

If a woman were allowed to name a male mentor, Ken would be mine. I
always knew to dial that 212 area code if I was feeling unsure or
insecure about myself. He has fed me emotional encouragement for
twenty-three years. It has helped. He had more confidence in me than I
did, and still does. Because of him, my perception of knowledge vs.
being really smart has changed. He was right, a certificate, a degree
isn't all it's cracked up to be. There is a lot to be said for "Street
Smarts" and plain old fashion common sense. I learned this from a man
with more degrees than a thermometer.

He still dresses like a poor man, although he has upgraded his mode of
transportation, finally. No one would consider mugging him for a score;
they might perhaps feel sorry for the guy and hand him a buck or two. I
think he enjoys being undetected, fooling people, and then shocking
them with an act of unexpected generosity. Like those homeless who roam
the city begging for dimes while they are actually millionaires.

It seems to me that he has been the nurturer, and I have been the
nurtured, thus far. Maybe someday I can do something for him; perhaps
stop sending him birthday cards.

Or, I could just pull the plug when he's ready.