Scorched!

Not hardly. I needed to get together with my attorney, Nancy Appleton (the blonde), and she suggested that we meet up at Scorch, dine in style, take care of business and I'd get to meet her new legal secretary (the brunette). Then over a few drinks and between umpteen courses of scrumptious food I got to sign my name on a seemingly endless stack of papers. The secretary (sorry, I can't recall her name) then notarized each signature in turn.

The lighting was quite dim in there but I managed to come up with a few recognizeable, if not crisp, shots by handholding the camera against the seat back at 1/2 a second. The food was fantastic and I stayed reasonably sober. I wrote Nancy a check, we said our goodbyes, and I took my stack of papers and went home.

Where There's A Will There's A Way

It reminds me of the Beatle's song, that line that goes "Her name was McGill, she called herself Lil, but everyone knew her as Nancy". Well, we'd met up at a nearby restaurant so I could hand her a check and she could give me my new updated will. And it's true! It seems that just about everybody around North Miami knows her as Nancy. Nancy Appleton became an attorney in an era when it was more common for a woman to become a legal secretary, but Nancy was just following in her mother's footsteps. Lucille Coughlin was also an attorney. Nancy's card still says "Coughlin and Appleton" even though Lucille is no longer with us.

Nancy, like her mother before her, is extremely active in the community and I'm always running into her at Chamber of Commerce functions, dedications, and such, and whenever I need a lawyer I call Nancy.

She arrived at the restaurant with her secretary a few minutes before I did. When I got there she introduced me to her secretary, and made sure that I was aware that the secretary wasn't currently married. Always looking for more business, and sharing my droll sense of humor she continued with "How many pre-nups and divorces have I handled for you Al? I forget exactly." I guess she's not so much giving me a break on her fee so much as a quantity discount. I'd been expecting to have to write a larger check. Just as well. I must have signed my name fifty times on all the copies of all the documents. I left there with some documents in hand and the promise that the rest would arrive in the mail shortly. The secretary left there with my card and Nancy assured her that I cleaned up nicely and looked good in a suit. I guess I'll just sit home and wait for the phone to ring? Nah, no need! She has my cell number!

Maggie's Gallery

I had a couple of friends who didn't know one another but they both used the same attorney, so I soon got to meet Jerry Weisberg, and he was looking for a photographer to shoot pictures for various cases he had. His office was in Coconut Grove, the "arty" part of Miami back then. I was in the Grove frequently, met people on my own and got introduced to others. One of them was this young woman who'd just opened an art gallery. I'm pretty sure that her name was Maggie, but 1968 was forty years ago. I'm also pretty sure that my friend John Patteson was the one who shot the photo with my Leica. He and I used to go down to the Grove together all the time.

The guy on the right, an artist, was Dutch and had a pretty strong accent but I can't remember his name*. This was probably the only time I'd ever met him. The guy on the left with the long hair was me. We were going through a bunch of my photographs trying to decide which ones to include in an exhibit.

*23 Feb. 2009 ~ I just got an email from Al Olme, one of my closest friends back in those days. Al wrote that the guy's name is Renis Opstal. Neither of us are sure of the spelling but it does seem to sound right. Hey Renis! If you run across this please post a comment on the blog or send me an email. preacherpop42@aol.com Thanks!

Elena Kaplan, Atlanta Attorney

Yeah, that's me, maybe a year or two before my daughter Elena was born. Her mom, Stephanie, and I were still married. She made that shirt for me. I think they called that a Nehru collar, and love beads were in fashion. The only grey hair that I had was a dime size circle in my left sideburn, probably where the dimple was when I was little. Wow,I had a big head, and when I was being born the doc had to pull me out with forceps, leaving a dimple on each side. I guess it caused some damage, at least on one side, because when my sideburns started to grow in at 18 or 19 there was that little patch of grey.

Stephanie took this picture of me in our back yard. Judging by the angle she probably used the Minolta Autocord, a camera best used at waist level.

There's an old Jewish custom. When a child is a complete dissapointment, marries out of the faith, whatever, you go through a period of mourning as if they were dead, a seven day period called sitting shivah. It helps to bring finality to your feelings for this person. Time to move on with life for the living.

About six or seven years ago I was planning on driving up to Gainesville for a few days to visit Elena. She had gone back to school to pick up a masters degree in tax law. She was already an attorney in Atlanta. I'd visited her there a year earlier We talked on the phone all the time. Then I got The Letter. She wrote that she never wanted to see or speak to me again for the rest of her life. I tried calling her but she wouldn't talk. I tied calling her mother. She said to give her two or three months. She'd get over it. She didn't. Now it's been six or seven years.

I decided to just enjoy the memories of the good times we'd shared and accept the fact that she was gone from my life. I'm amazed at how many men that I know that have the same situation with their daughters, but not with their sons.