We gather here today to celebrate the life of a giant in the business. He was a leader, a mentor, a visionary, and a trailblazer. Although he was not averse to using a pre-blazed trail now and then.
He left a void that will not be filled quickly, though it’s still early in the day.
Nobody could touch him. But then, nobody wanted to touch him, because he had skin like a reptile’s.
People talk about loyalty. People talk about a lot of things.
He was feared more than he was respected, but he was respected more than he was despised, and he was despised plenty.
Men wanted to be like him. Women wanted to be with men, so you could stretch it and say women wanted to be with him.
His effect on the industry is incalculable, and his accomplishments are legion. Through sheer determination, his company’s yearly earnings were almost half as large as they were when his father ran it.
He had grit, gumption, and moxie.
He had backbone, chutzpah, and cojones.
He had common sense, horse sense, and common horse sense
As the plaque on his desk read, “If you want it done right the first time, do it yourself. If you want it done right the second or third time, come to me.” A second plaque read, “If you want to know, ask Joe.” Of course, his name wasn’t Joe, but he got the plaque cheap at a yard sale.
He was wise beyond his years, and his height.
He was not a man of the people, but he was definitely a person who shared personhood with other persons.
Who can forget his karaoke rendition of “Sixteen Tons” at the company picnic last year?
He cast a long shadow, especially early in the morning and late in the day. Some people theorize that this was why he was the first to arrive at work, the last to leave, and ate lunch at his desk. And his shadow was even longer in the winter.
He was kind to the little people on his way to the top. After that, of course, there was no point.
He lived life to the fullest. He believed in reaching for the stars, grabbing the brass ring, and going for the gusto. When he was too busy to go for the gusto, his assistant went for it and brought it back to the office.
His compassion knew no bounds. Well, very few. The actual number of bounds probably fit within the average range for big shots.
His legacy will endure. His dried-up husk may no longer be with us, but his spirit lingers, eerily, in the dark corners of the snack room.
His The Fusco Brothers is a stitch.
Reminds me of R. Crumb's works.