Remembering My Grandfather, Leo Levine aka Pop

I haven't posted here in a bit, but for those that couldn't be with us at the funeral, below is the eulogy I delivered this week in honor of my grandfather, Leo Levine.

 July 5, 2012

On behalf of my entire family, I would like to thank you all for coming today.

I’d like to thank my grandmother who put up with him for over 60 years; my mother and uncle who always put their parents’ health first; and to Desi and Ruby who cared for him in his last years.

Let me start by saying that he told me for years, no one should cry at my funeral.  You should have a lot of vodka and whiskey, but no tears.  I’ll try.

So what do you say about the Last of the Mohicans, A true One of a Kind, Uncle Leo to many, Mr. Levine to people he didn’t like, and Pop to me?  Well, I know this…since he had nine lives and died the first time 16 years ago, I have been writing this eulogy in my head for a while.  That said, I only get one chance, so here goes.

My grandfather was from a different time.  He told me stories about times when bread was a nickel and they didn’t have a nickel.  His brother-in-law Smitty became one of his heroes, not only for marrying Renie, his favorite, but also because he could fix shoes and they couldn’t afford shoes.

In some ways, he was my Mickey Mantle.  He was a flawed hero, but a hero nonetheless. Mickey thought he was going to die at 40 because all of the other men in his family died at 40.  My grandfather thought he was going to die at 60 for the same reason.  They both lived their life with the expiration date in mind and determined to have as much fun as possible before time ran out.  He drank too much, just like The Mick, yelled at people, called them fat, but when he smiled and told you he loved you, all was quickly forgiven.  He could knock you down and build you back just as quick.

So a few stories…

One of my earliest memories involves me falling out of a sandbox in my grandparents’ backyard.  They had a patio made of slate tile, I fell face first and was bleeding from either my nose or mouth.  My mother was carrying me up the stairs in front of the house to take me to the hospital or doctor just as my grandfather arrived home. He took one look at me and said, “What the fuck are you doing?  Do I have to stay home and take care of him myself?”  Keep in mind, he was yelling at his daughter…who was holding her bleeding son.  Not an easy guy. 

The next story involves a trip that I took with my grandparents when I was three or four.  We went to California, Mexico and Las Vegas.  I’m not sure why they wanted to take me, but we had a great trip.  When we went to Disney, we came out of the park and they couldn’t find the car.  As they were yelling at each other, I just looked up and said, “Goofy 6” or something like that.  Sure enough, I knew where the car was.  I’m not sure why my parents thought it was ok to send me away with these lunatics. 

 

Then, when we were in Las Vegas, my grandfather and I went to see the show at Circus/Circus.  We got separated and I found someone that worked at the hotel.  I told them my grandfather was lost and asked them if they could help me find him.  I knew where I was.  Looking back, it’s a miracle I made it back from that trip at all.  Maybe my parents were trying to get rid of me.

When I was eight or nine years old, I was sitting in his house on a Saturday or Sunday morning and I was dying to go to Bat Day at Yankee Stadium.  I guess I saw a commercial for it that morning on TV.  I called him at worked and asked if he could come home and take me.  He said that he was at work and practically hung up on me.  I heard the last part of the sentence as the phone was already moving away from his mouth.

Twenty minutes later, he burst through the door like a superhero.  He was like BatMan without the cape.  He said let’s go and we were off.  Now, my grandfather didn’t know much about baseball or Yankee Stadium, including how to get there.  I told him when we got on the Garden State Parkway that we were going the wrong way and he quieted me down saying this was another way.

When we got to the Stadium, the line at the ticket booth was long so he bought two tickets from a scalper.  They were in the same section, but he didn’t realize they were ten rows apart.  I sat on his lap the entire game, with my bat.

When I was 19, I worked for my grandparents for the summer.  At one point, I went up to him and said, “Pop, I have this great idea.”  I told him the idea and without hesitating, he looked at me and said, “Do you think I am a fucking idiot?  I have been in the restaurant business for 50 years.  If that was a good idea, I would have thought of it” and he stormed off.  An hour later, he came back to me and whispered, “Son, that’s a good idea.  We are going to try it.”  Like I said, he knocked you down and built you back up.

And then there’s the first time we thought he was going to die.  I was in college and he had a tumor at the stem of his brain.  It was a six hour operation, we were all gathered at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital and the surgeon comes out and tells us everything is fine.  I am the first one to see him in the recovery room.  He’s laying there, hands behind his head, legs crossed, almost like he’s on the beach.  He motions for me to come closer.  I think he’s going to tell me something profound.  He says, “How the fuck is anyone supposed to get better in here?  That woman is eating dinner, the phone doesn’t stop ringing.  What kind of place is this?”  I looked at him and said, “You’re fine.  I’m going back to school.”

A few years later, I was working for the family full time and we were trying to get a sample of a new product.  I called the company and they said we would have it in three days.  I reported back to my grandfather and he said he wanted it tomorrow and would call himself.  He calls and the same woman that I spoke to answered the phone.  He asks, “What’s your name?”  He then says, “Oh my God, what a coincidence, that’s my favorite name.”  Now, he’s 70 years old at the time and proceeds to say, “Listen, I need this product tomorrow.  I’m 80 years old.  I don’t buy green bananas.”  We had the product the next day.

And when I left The WindMill to start a career in real estate, which he thought was a part time job because I only worked five days a week; he called me and said, “This is bullshit.  I never see you anymore”.  And with that, our Monday dinners were born.  Every Monday for steaks…and some of the best memories I have.

He loved his business and took amazing pride in everything about The WindMill, even wearing the logo on just about every shirt for years.  Only a few people know this, but he was interviewed by Kevin Smith, the famous writer and director, for a segment for Leno that never aired.  During the interview, my grandfather claimed to have invented the crispy chicken sandwich and maybe cheese fries.  It was probably too funny to put on the air.

And when my daughter Avery was born, my 80 year old grandfather slept on the floor as labor started Sunday night and didn’t finish until Monday morning.  When he came to visit on Tuesday, he sat down and said, “This is great.  Now I can go”.  I said, “You just got here.  Where are you going so fast?”  He said, “No…I can die.  I saw the baby, now I can die”.  Three more great-grandchildren later, he got his wish.

My grandfather didn’t offer praise lightly.  He provided unconditional love, but his respect and his praise were earned and not easily…which made it all the more special.

There was no filter on his mouth…ever…and he hated hearing aids.  My mother loves to tell the story about calling and saying “Hi Dad” and him responding, “who’s this?” or “who’s this, Rena?”.

When I was growing up, we lived three houses away and I was there all the time.  We played cowboys and Indians…he played catch with me without wearing a glove which as a kid, I couldn’t comprehend.

I learned how to make coffee, play poker and bet on football games before I was 10 and had a full comprehension of how to use the F word before I started kindergarten.

He dyed his own hair and mustache, sometimes with terrible results.  He danced like he was listening to different music than everyone else.  He was obsessed for a while with Hermes ties, but called them “Her-Mees” and got pissed if anyone corrected him.

He was forever losing his keys so they had a combination lock on the front door of the house in West Orange, 5475.  He told me stories about Newark in the 70’s and 80’s when he ran the bar at Howard Johnson’s that was frequented by both wise guys and cops and how a few times, he was caught driving after having a few too many, but instead of getting arrested, he got a ride home from the cops or a nap at the precinct.

He tried to listen to Springsteen music because he wanted to understand what all the fuss was about, but couldn’t understand any of the lyrics.  He hated Joe Torre because he never smiled; hated Al Gore because he mentioned Tipper too often when he campaigned, and would yell, “Tipper, Tipper, Tipper…who gives a shit about Tipper.”  He thought George W was a liar and interested in getting his friends rich, and complained that my grandmother and her friends were the reason he got elected because they couldn’t figure out the ballot.  And he hated old people on principle alone.

He hated Florida saying that in Florida he was just some old schmuck. In New Jersey, he had his family and his business.  He drove around Long Branch in his red car and everyone knew who he was.

He appreciated those with strong work ethics, had no patience for people he thought were lazy or stupid.  He loved successful people, admired his nephews Gerry, Michael, Alvin, Elliot and Lenny…and always thought that he could have done better…not for himself, but for his family.  He would say, If I had done this…none of us would have to work and I would respond, “Then what would we do all day?”

And as my wife pointed out to me last night, he and my grandmother created something so very special.  My mother and David have carried it on, but it started with Sunday night Chinese food dinners at 28 Waddington, Passover Seders in Howard Johnson’s, Hanukah in West Orange with a million toys and so many other times where it wasn’t important why…just important that we were all together.  Sometimes it was just our branch of the family, but as a kid, it so often included his brothers and sisters, maybe some of their kids…which is I guess why I am so close with many of my extended cousins. What an amazing gift.

And up until almost the very end, he was part of my every day life with daily phone calls…getting pissed at my grandmother if she didn’t give up the phone fast enough.  I’d hear him in the background, “He doesn’t want to talk to you.  He called to speak to me.”  He was more excited to hear about my successes that I was to tell him…and I was pretty excited.

So he gave me a lot of advice over the years…some that I took, some that I didn’t.  But, I will leave you with two things.

First, what does the sign say?  Don’t trust anyone.  I would ask him sometimes if he trusted me.  Sometimes, he would smile… and say no. 

Second, he would always say, “Getting old sucks.  Have fun while you’re young”.  I hope wherever he is today, and I don’t know what I believe, but I hope he’s young, a little mean, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, having a good time.  That’s the guy I will remember..and after the last few years, he deserves it.

My Favorite Christmas Movies

I know what you're thinking.  He's been focusing on his "work blog", ignoring the personal stuff, and now...he's doing a blog about Christmas movies?  He's a nice Jewish kid...why is he writing about Christmas movies?  Well, this blog was inspired by Eric Fischgrund's new blog entry on his favorite Adam Sandler movies and partially by a conversation I had over the weekend with my wife.  I think you will find my list to be unique, so here goes...my Top Five Christmas Movies.

5. Gremlins - He should have followed the three simple rules.  But Billy didn't listen and paid the price.  Phoebe Cates wasn't quite as good as she was in Fast Time at Ridgemont High, but memorable nonetheless. 
4. Home Alone - Does anything really say the holidays like an eight year old kicking some burglar butt?  I don't think so.  In my opinion, the last great work by an amazing writer, John Hughes, who defined suburban family comedy in the 80's.
3. Bad Santa - Now this is really my kind of Christmas.  Billy Bob Thornton at his raunchy best, stealing, cursing, and beating up kids and midgets.  RIP Bernie Mac.
2. Die Hard & Die Hard 2 - These movies sparked the conversation with my wife.  She asked if I had ever seen a Christmas Story or a Christmas Carol...who knows.  Anyway, my response was that my idea of a Christmas movie is Die Hard.  And Die Hard 2.  John McClane saves the day...in both movies...on Christmas!  The first time, in LA at a Christmas party he wasn't really invited to and the second time in DC at an airport after which his wife asks, "why does this keep happening to us?".  He's a modern day superhero.  Sadly, the third and fourth installments of the franchise didn't have anything to do with Christmas, otherwise, they too would have made the list.
1. Rocky IV - Could there be a bigger Christmas miracle than Rocky beating the Russian giant Ivan Drago and ending the Cold War?  Rocky explains democracy to the Russians (with the help of an interpreter) and then wishes his son, who's home, a Merry Christmas.  My all-time favorite Christmas movie moment.

And there you have it.  What are some of your favorites?  Leave them in the comment section.  And if you haven't checked out the "work blog", check it out at www.NeuerSpace.wordpress.com.

"It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive!"

JN

Mariano - The Greatest of All Time

It's no secret that Mariano Rivera is the Greatest Of All Time with regard to baseball closers.  Monday, I was lucky enough to be at Yankee Stadium when he broke the career record for regular season saves.  Needless to say, Mariano is already the career leader in postseason saves.  October is really where Mariano has defined his greatness.


I could list all of the accolades...12 time All Star, five time Rolaids Relief Man Award, ALCS MVP (2003), World Series MVP (1999) and five time World Series Champion...and on and on.  However, the theme that kept coming through during the interviews on Monday was that he is an even better person than he is a player.  That's a tall order.


One of the things that struck me about the record breaking save was the Minnesota Twins coming out of the dugout to applaud Mariano.  Throughout his career, he has been humble, talked about the team first, and I can't ever remember him showing anyone up.  He never had a confrontation on the mound and while he looked like he was having fun, it never appeared at someone else's expense.  A lot of players, in all sports, can learn from the way he carries himself on and off the field.


I was there when Mo was the winning pitcher in Game 2 of the 1995 ALDS against the Mariners, a game that lasted 15 innings (3.1 innings, 2 hits, 5 K's).  I was there when he closed out the Mets in 2000 and I am glad I was there Monday as I was for so many others.  As many said, with Mariano on the mound, as a Yankee fan, there was and remains an extreme confidence that he will come through and a shock when he doesn't.  He has 42 career postseason saves (and counting) and three heartbreaking blown saves that still give me nightmares.  But not even Mo is perfect.


So today, in a short blog, I pay tribute to Mariano Rivera, the career leader in saves.  When thinking about Mariano, I always come back to the quote from The Natural, which is actually modeled after a Ted Williams quote.  Williams said, "A man has to have goals - for a day, for a lifetime - and that was mine, to have people say, 'There goes Ted Williams, the greatest hitter who ever lived'.  In the movie, Roy Hobbs said, "And then when I walked down the street people would've looked and they would've said there goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was in this game."


Well, Mariano....you are the greatest.


"It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive"
JN

Ten years ago...

I woke up on Labor Day 2001 in my sister Linzy's Monmouth Beach condo planning to make an early drive to West Orange (where I was living for the summer) to beat the inevitable "Shore traffic".  While getting dressed, I received a phone call from my friend, Brian Kirk.

The back story is...Brian is the front man for Brian Kirk and the Jirks, a wildly popular Shore cover band and if I had to guess, 2001 was near the peak of their popularity.  Brian had befriended Anthony DiAco years earlier and Anthony was friends with both local rock stars, Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi.  Anthony's son Nick was either in high school or college at the time and was also a musician.  Nick played with The Jirks pretty often at Donovan's Reef.  Back story complete.

So Brian calls and says that Anthony is bringing Bruce to Donovan's that afternoon to see Nick sing with the band.  Brian was trying to figure out how to make sure that Bruce came up on stage to play with him and band.  I told him that he had to just make it really easy for Bruce and suggest songs that Bruce knows the words to (since there was no teleprompter) and I mentioned Mustang Sally as a possibility.  He asked me to take some pictures with his camera if Bruce decided to play which I was more than happy to do.

Needless to say, I hung around the Shore for the day and headed to Donovan's in the early afternoon where I was joined by my sister and her crazy boyfriend at the time, Asher.  We took a spot on the sea wall right in front of the stage.  Part of the way through Brian's set, the DiAco clan appeared on top of the sea wall with none other than Bruce and Patti.  Brian let the band play a song without him while he went up to chat with Bruce.  When he came back to the stage, I taunted him to play Rosalita in front of Bruce.  Little did I know what they had discussed.

Brian ran through a few more songs including Sweet Caroline during which I noticed Bruce singing along during the chorus and pumping his fist during the "so good, so good".  Nick DiAco did a two song set and then it was show time.  Wearing the ever present Dolphins hat from the era and overalls, Bruce and Patti made their way to the stage and Bruce took Brian's acoustic guitar.  The band launched in to Rosalita and just crushed it. YouTube Link Now, remember that during the previous tour, Rosalita was played only once, so this was a big deal.

No one, especially Brian, was letting Bruce go after just one song so he asked Brian what other songs the band knew.  They decided on 10th Avenue Freeze Out YouTube Link and Bruce even changed the "Big Man" lyrics to "Giles" to reflect the Jirks' sax player.  After 10th Avenue, Bruce removed the guitar, but the crowd was going crazy.  Brian suggested Mustang Sally and Bruce obliged.  He led the band through the bar room favorite pointing to different band members to take solos.  Keyboard player Bryan Douglas played his solo so hard that Bruce walked over to hold the keyboard steady.

After a loooong version, Patti whispered something in to Bruce's ear.  He then went over and asked Brian a question to which he responded, "I know all the words!"  Brian then started playing the chords for Jersey Girl, YouTube Link but there was one problem.  Brian was playing it in the wrong key.  Bruce leaned over his shoulder with a priceless look that said, "Nice try, but not quite".  Brian changed to the right key, sang the first verse and then Bruce took over.  (Except, when he got to the third verse, he forgot the words!  Brian fed Bruce the lyrics until he caught on.  Where's the damn teleprompter when you need it?



Bruce then said "Happy Labor Day Jersey Shore"...and with that, disappeared back in the crowd.  It was a true highlight for everyone in attendance that day, many of us Donovan's regulars.

Little did we know, eight short days later, the world would change forever.

"It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive..."

JN

Life Changing Music

I was listening to E Street Radio recently and caught a clip of Brian Fallon, the lead singer of Gaslight Anthem, doing a Guest DJ spot.   Fallon is a Jersey guy, in his early 30's, has played with Bruce and is even on the recent DVD release, London Calling, guesting on No Surrender.

The clip that I caught was of Fallon introducing Backstreets.  He referred to Born To Run as an album that changed his life.  I could certainly relate and all of a sudden found myself wondering:

"Will an album ever change my life again?"

The sad news is...I don't think so.  I think when you are young and trying to figure out who you are, it's an amazing gift to find an artist, an album or even a song that can change your world or at least your perspective on the world.  When you are young, your world is infinitely smaller.  Music can open you up to what the world has to offer...what it might bring.

I remember driving at around 17 for hours listening to Bruce cassettes over and over. Hitting rewind and listening to Jungleland over and over.  The romantic possibilities were intoxicating.  The promise of something better that Born To Run offered made being a teenager a little easier.

Then in college, the world got a little bigger, but music could still make the same impact.  Falling for a girl and then getting dumped by the same girl sucked, but it helped to know that there was somewhere somewhere who had gone through the same things.  We knew because it was coming through the speakers in our dorm rooms.  We knew because August and Everything After by Counting Crows was an album about being miserable about girls.  Right?

At the time, it seemed like there was nothing better than these songs.  Not to be overly dramatic, but they became entrenched in my soul.  The songs that I connected with during those "growing up" years are the ones that I still listen to, still find comfort from, and still give me goosebumps at times.  I was having a rough day last week and randomly Incident on 57th Street came on the radio.

For seven minutes and forty five seconds, everything was right in the world.

A piece of music might never change my life again, but I am certainly glad that there was a point in my life when it did.

Now that's not to say that new music doesn't move me or I don't fall in love with new records.  Warren Zevon's last album, The Wind, was amazingly moving as he knew he was dying and wrote about it.  It remains an amazing piece of work and gave me a new perspective I didn't have before.  I don't remember enjoying a new album as much as Pills and Ammo, the new Southside Johnny and The Asbury Jukes record.  It's tremendous.  I just wish I was open enough to have them be life changing.

What music changed your life?  I'd love to see a list from anyone who's reading.

"It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive." - BS

JN

#3000 and Why We Care

I stalked Derek Jeter's 3000th hit.  I admit it.  I wanted to see it.  I needed to see it.  So, of course, I did.  Yet in conversation with my friend Jack on Monday, he suggested that maybe people care too much about sports and hinted that maybe I was one of those people.  He asked...who cares?  I did and I do.

There are a few marquee names in sports.  Those players create a aura of success and perform best in big moments.  Young boys grow up wanting to become those players and fathers dream of their sons playing those positions.  Fathers wanted their sons to be the next Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, Don Mattingly, Nolan Ryan, Joe Montana, Wayne Gretzky, Michael Jordan, etc.  Derek Jeter leads that list for people of my generation.

Derek Jeter has been the starting shortstop for the Yankees since 1996, the same year I graduated from college.  Meaning, he has been The Man my entire adult life.  Father Time may be catching up on him.  Thirty-seven is old for a shortstop (thankfully not old for a real estate broker since he and I are the same age), but for this summer day, July 9, 2011, he turned back the clock, went 5-5 with a home run, a double, a stolen base, and the game winning hit.

I have always said that if I could change lives with someone, the only person I would pick is Derek Jeter.  We have spent the last 15 years watching Derek carry himself with class and dignity as the de facto Prince of The City.  He says the right things, he play hard, he gets clutch hits, he dates the women we want to date, he treats the game and his elders with respect, he is respected by his competitors, he calls Joe Torre "Mr. T", he loves to win, hates to lose, he knew the right things to say when they closed The Stadium in 2008 and he smiles on the field because he's playing the game he loves.  But still...why do we care?

I can't speak for anyone else, but I care because I love the game and Derek reminds me of what it was like to dream in the backyard as a kid.  Back then, I was Don Mattingly getting a big hit or Dave Righetti striking out Wade Boggs to finish off the no-hitter.  Do I wish I was the one that hit the ball to Jeffrey Maier in 1996?  Do I wish I led off Game 4 of the 2000 World Series with a home run?  Or was the MVP of the All Star Game and World Series in the same year?  Do I wish I was the one that made "The Flip" in 2001 and hit a walk off home run in Game 4 of the World Series?  Do I wish I had five World Series rings?  Do I wish I had 3000 hits and was a lock to be a first ballot Hall of Famer?  You bet your ass I do!

We care because as kids, baseball players were our heroes.  We collected the baseball cards, memorized the stats, copied the batting stances, and needed to wear the same numbers as our favorite players when we played Little League.  Some of our heroes let us down along the way, but that's not what today is about.

Derek Jeter hasn't let us down.  Ever.  He's not only the baseball player I want my son to be, but he seems like the kind of person I would want my daughter to marry.

We care because we haven't seen this before and it's always fun to see something we haven't seen before.  The Yankee Tradition is long and storied and Jeter has written an important new chapter.  I am lucky enough to say that I was there when he dove in to the stands against the Red Sox, when he hit the home run in Game 4 against the Mets 2000 and the walk off against the Diamondbacks in 2001, when he got his 2000th hit, when he made his speech closing The Stadium in 2008 and now I can say I was there for his 3000th hit.  When he did, I high fived strangers and shared with 50,000 people a moment of pure elation that almost felt like we won the World Series.

We care because Derek Jeter is our guy and you don't have to be a Yankee fan to feel that way.

If you don't care...I kind of feel bad for you. You are truly missing out.

"It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive" - BS

JN

PS  A big public THANK YOU to my amazing wife who is nine months pregnant and yet insisted I attend the games necessary to see the 3000th hit.

The Big Man - Part II

In most Jewish synagogues, the rabbi is the spiritual leader of the congregation.  He sets the tone, the message, and is responsible for being a teacher to the congregation.  The cantor, or hazzan (cooler word) leads the congregation in prayers, typically by singing and through music.

For the better part of the last 19 years, Bruce Springsteen has been my rabbi and Clarence Clemons has been my cantor.  Stay with me...I will explain.

The E Street Band is definitely a band where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.  They play together, even though guys can stand out during certain songs or certain solos, and are truly in sync with each other and with Bruce.  They are a well oiled machine able to pull out songs that they haven't played in years (or ever) without rehearsal or even notice.  As much of a unit as the band was (or still is), Clarence Clemons always stood out.

When Clarence stepped forward to play a solo or even a quick riff, the entire arena would cheer.  He made it look effortless.  The notes would just ooze out of his sax and wash over crowd.  While his body was failing him and he may have hit a few bad notes over the last few years (or more than a few), he always looked like he was having as much fun as anyone in the arena, except for maybe Bruce.  Even as his role as the main on stage foil faded because he couldn't move, the fans still went wild for the solos.

I have a pretty great life, but everyone has good days and bad days.  When having a bad day, there's nothing like the redemptive spirit of rock n roll and when having a good day, it can take you higher and higher.  There's really nothing like a live rock concert to lift your spirits and for me, my redemption comes charging through the strongest when the E Street Band takes the stage.

Bruce is my rabbi with or without The Band, but everyone knows that the E Street Band has a power like none other to take it to another level and take the crowd with them.  As I said earlier, musically, Clarence stood out.  He always has, for MANY reasons.  But the ones I am talking about relate to the power of his sax and his presence. The power of those solos as they washed over me these last 19 years, lifted me up when I needed it and took me higher when I didn't.  As we have read and heard over the last two weeks, Clarence was a lot of things to a lot of people.  I knew when I posted my earlier blog post that I hadn't captured the essence of what I was trying to say.  It's really very simple.

Clarence led my congregation in music and he is irreplaceable in that role.  He helped my rabbi deliver his message, set his tone, and tell his story. Someone (or several someones more likely) will take his place when Bruce reconvenes the E Street Band again.  Someone will play those solos, probably even Jungleland.  But it won't be the same. I just hope it's close.  There's really nothing like it.

Rest in Peace Big Man.

JN