MY PAL JOHN

John was a big man, a large man, the quintessential playful teddy bear of a human.

A superstar in the restaurant business where a smile goes a long way, his wry grin could portend any number of things. “How are you, John?” Invariably, if not always his response was the same. “Couldn’t be better,” he’d reply.

With most people, a line like that is nothing more than poppycock. Nonsense. Mularkey.

And maybe once in a while John couldn’t have been better. But he had a way of reeling you in and making you believe that everything was the berries. With him and then with you. That was John.

As a restauranteur, John and his brother Karl — and their father Curt before the boys grabbed the reins— took care of people. They just knew how to do it. Their demeanors were perfectly suited to the restaurant business and service; the fit was like a hand in a cashmere-lined glove.

Upbeat, always smiling and armed with a ready quip, they were welcoming. They made you comfortable; the moment you crossed their threshold you felt at home.

Certainly it didn’t hurt that their two establishments offered great food, cocktails made with feeling and a zillion beers of all kinds from all over the place. Draught. Bottle. This. That. Ice cold if it was supposed to be; not so if it wasn’t.

All at a fair price. Hell, they probably could have charged double and still had the front door with its beveled glass explode off its hinges.

Part of John’s — and Karl’s — allure was that they were incredibly self-effacing. Not only was there an absence of ego but the boys knew how to joke, kid and laugh naturally. At themselves too if and when the circumstance warranted it. And they worked. Hard.

This marriage of personality traits defined John, Karl, their families and their restaurants. I mean who wouldn’t want to be around folks like this? In addition John and Karl had the good sense to surround themselves with quality people who behaved and conducted their business exactly as their bosses did. Unfailingly. Day after day.

It worked.

Then John got sick. He was tortured by illness for several years. He and his family tried everything. All the standard procedures. Other stuff. Cutting edge medicines. New trials. Patience. Hope. Faith. Unyielding belief in a miracle.

None of it worked.

John died three days after Christmas. This was according to God’s plan I assume. It would be wrong to question even though we all want to scream from the highest mountain-top about the gross injustice and unfairness of it all.

John was a credit to his mother and father and to his siblings. He was that to his lovely wife Barbara and to his children. To his nieces and nephews. And to the next generation making a relatively young man a grandfather.

His was the blueprint of a good life: a life well-lived, kindly, honorably and with respect no matter what may be.

I loved my buddy John.

May he rest in peace.

[This piece was written by Mr. Kaplan in January 2019.]