The Wind and the Sail

Atlanta, GA

October 15, 2020

This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.

– Polonius to Laertes, Hamlet

Orson Welles said that old age is the only disease you don’t look forward to being cured of.

This year, those who endured the solitary confinement of a nursing home or forced seclusion in a hospital room might beg to differ, and plead for release.

Yesterday, Rita’s father received his. For as long as I’d known him, his health was vulnerable. Given those persistent problems, I honestly thought old age was one condition he’d never have to deal with. But among other things, he loved proving people wrong. And I’m glad he did. He was as tough a man as I’ve ever met. It took more than mere years to vanquish Lazar Morgulis.

My father-in-law endured a long list of ailments. Diabetes, Parkinson’s, kidney failure, and heart disease fought him, but none alone could subdue him. A couple weeks ago, pneumonia entered the ring, and was beaten. Days later, the coronavirus joined the fray. Finally, God called the fight, reclaimed His child, and gave him peace.

Of all Lazar’s afflictions, the worst was being kept from his family. Living in a nursing home, he was since March denied all visitors, including his daughter and two grandsons…the joys of his life, and his reasons for living.

His daughter was his angel, his tireless advocate. If not for her, he would’ve died months (perhaps years) ago…earlier than he’d have liked, and probably in discomfort. She ensured him the time he desired, and the dignity he deserved.

I have known my wife half her life. For all of it, she has been relentless in her devotion to others. Somehow, despite COVID restrictions…and thru persistence, persuasion, and sheer will…Rita managed to overcome the bureaucratic gate-keepers to visit her father each week in dialysis, and during his last days in the hospital. She came naturally by such determination and selflessness.

Her dad could be stern, opinionated, and intimidating. He was also direct and sincere, and immediately garnered my respect. At least early on, he also instilled the requisite amount of father-in-law fear.

When I first met him, in Rita’s Philadelphia apartment, he looked at me like I was a used car she was trying to sell him. As the evening progressed, he took his time kicking the tires. Yet he never took the air out of me, or made me feel flat. He simply knocked me a bit out of alignment.

But among things he taught me were that people deserve not only our consideration, but our reconsideration. We should sometimes allow them a second chance to make a first impression. My future father-in-law was merely treating me as he would anyone presumptuous enough to think himself worthy of his beautiful daughter.

He could be domineering and stubborn. But he was also caring and genuine. There was nothing phony about Lazar Morgulis. JP Morgan once said that men had two reasons for doing things: the one that sounds good, and the real one. With Rita’s father, you always knew it was the real one. And you knew what it was.

It’s been said that if you want to help people, tell them the truth. If you want to help yourself, tell them what they want to hear. Lazar wasn’t afraid to help people. By doing so, he didn’t always help himself. His perspective sometimes came from the head of a hammer, but never off the blade of a shovel.

Everything my father-in-law did was authentic. You knew who he was and where you stood. And he cared about people like he did anything: intensely. Birthdays never went unnoticed, special occasions unrecognized, nor gifts unsent.

He would give everything he had, and often more than he could spare. He’d always call to celebrate when things went well, or to commiserate when they didn’t. He was there when needed, no matter the circumstance. For my wife, he always will be.

He adored his daughter. Having grown up amid the horror and wake of the Soviet theater of World War II, he knew deprivation. When Rita was a child, he removed her from the Soviet Union, and gave her a life.

It wasn’t easy. When they arrived in Savannah, he spoke little English. His ten year-old daughter spoke none. But they had each other. They were the wind and the sail of their small ship, moving steadily forward, thru the ups and downs of many waves. Eventually, I floated by, and was privileged to be welcomed aboard.

A wedding binds not only two people, but two families. When my wife married me, she became part of an extended, crazy crew. When I joined her family, I increased it by half. Her father warmly received me, and accepted me as a son.

He and I shared many interests, among them reading history, discussing politics, listening to opera, and swirling all of it in snifters of cognac or shots of vodka.

I think he also appreciated that I pursued a scientific profession. Lazar was a mechanical engineer in Russia. He then earned a graduate degree, and began a career, in Marine Biology. After emigrating to the US, he was unable to find steady employment as a marine biologist, so returned to mechanical engineering. He eventually held several global patents, and became head of R&D for Juki Corporation.

By the time I knew him, he was continually formulating and designing a stream of new inventions, or rivulets of improvements to those that had come before. He was brilliant in many ways. I felt like I was over my head before I got in the water.

But my greatest contribution was not my perspective, but my progeny.

Above all, Lazar cherished his grandsons, whose presence always made him beam. Even in later years, confined to a wheelchair or struggling with pain, their appearance would ease his ache, and elicit a smile. They were the delight of his life, and the primary reasons he strove to prolong it. No boys had a more loving grandfather, or meant more to him.

Lazar craved company almost as much as he favored his family. He relished holidays, and parties. Not that he needed one to provide an excuse for the other. But when it did, he appreciated the impetus. A few festivals vied for primacy of place.

He thoroughly enjoyed Thanksgiving, as both a warm family gathering and a uniquely American celebration. He’d often join us for turkey, and his grandsons at the TV. Knowing they were fans of football, he tried every year to understand that strange spectacle. He never did.

One thing he did grasp was New Year’s Eve. That night, his home was the Atlanta epicenter of Russian revelry. For years, he’d host a festival of drinking, dancing, dinner, and debate, often enlivened by periodic playing on piano keys or violin strings, until the stroke of midnight. At which point glasses were raised, hands shaken, and kisses exchanged.

Then…an hour or so later, when around town most parties were winding down and people were reaching for the keys or passing out on the bed…the meal was served.

A half dozen courses, separated by a series of intermissions to toast our health or save the world, brought us heartily thru the night, and wearily into breakfast.

His birthday was another highlight of each year. He died two weeks shy of his next one. But his last was memorable. We brought him to the Blue Ridge Grill in Buckhead, where he was regaled by relatives from Savannah, and fêted by friends from Atlanta. The last couple years, these friends had become his family.

Shelly Guerrero has known Rita and me since college, and introduced us soon after we graduated. Her husband and our good friend, Nick, began the last couple years to help us tend to Rita’s father. Before long, he became Lazar’s caregiver and advocate…and, ultimately, his best friend. I have known my father-in-law a quarter century. During that time, few meant or did more than Nick. To my wife and her father, he was indispensable. None of us can thank him enough.

A couple months after Lazar’s last birthday, we celebrated another New Year’s Eve. It was much more subdued, but just as special, as the festive affairs of earlier days. We joined Lazar for an early evening celebration at his last home. A meal was eaten, conversation had, and champagne consumed. He made a couple calls to a few friends, before his eyelids fell with the sun. We walked him to his room and wished him well. Then, we went home.

Yesterday, he did too.

Lazar Morgulis was as good and genuine a person as I’ve known. In his final hours, he was where he needed to be. With his daughter, his hand in hers, saying goodbye.

The wind bid adieu to its sail. But the breeze will always blow.

Пусть земля будет пухом (requiescat in pace).

JD