In memory of Jascha David Gelman 1972-1999

Jascha

Who was he?  He was my handsome, bright, charming, witty, kind, personable, incisive, crazy, intense and devoted son.

Nothing epitomizes his character to me more than the manner in which he took care of me, to make sure that I did as much right as he was capable of influencing.  My diet; my exercising; my alcohol intake; my driving habits; my dealings with clients, other attorneys and judges; my temper; my relationship with Judy and Gabe; my clothing; my sunglasses; my office correspondence (no letter the he read ever went out without changes in grammar, syntax or punctuation), etc., etc.

But all of it was done with  love, whether through humor or dead serious discussions.  If he loved you, he felt you were fair game for analysis and advice.  And, more amazingly, we all took it, because he was so persistent and usually so right.

Of course, that does not mean that he was a saint.  All of us who knew him know otherwise.  If he didn’t like someone or some attitude, he could be unmerciful.  He would ask those infernal questions:  why? why? why? until he made you either laugh or give in, and often both.  But he never used his wit to maliciously embarrass anyone.

As with many fathers and sons, we “bonded” (we both hated that word) through sports, both as participants and as fans.  Anyone who ever watched us watch football or basketball knew how we both screamed at officials, coaches and players, whether we were at the game or home watching on TV.  We parted ways, though, on the issue of sports statistics.  I would ridicule their use (who cares if no team has ever won the World Series after being down three games to none; maybe this is the time).  He couldn’t believe I could get actively hostile over stats (most of which were considerably more trivial than the above example).  As soon as some announcer spouted off about statistics he would look at me and say, “I know, Dad, you hate statistics; spare me the tirade” always goodnaturedly.

On Thursday night, I typically pay bills for that week.  He could never understand why it had to be Thursday (and, of course, it didn’t) and why it took me so long.  Invariably he would say:  “My dad’s about to do his favorite thing:  pay bills.  He loves to pay bills.  He waits all week for this moment.”  We would both laugh, but the following week, same thing…

Like everyone else, I have a lot of Jascha stories.  From time to time I will add them to the website.  They were all inimitable to him.  He was one of a kind more than any of us will ever know.  He never gave in to convention for convention’s sake.  He was his own man.  Wouldn’t we all like to say the same.