Two Caesars
Atlanta, GA
November 15, 2020
Every tribe has its honored elders, wise oracles, and seasoned sages.
Ours is fortunate to have two. For years, they held an undisputed duopoly of fermented wisdom along the east coast. This year, like Constantine from the Milvian Bridge, one of them expanded the realm by reorienting his flag.
Last summer, Hugh III (The Great) moved from Washington to Washington, leaving the territory east of the Mississippi to Jerry I (The Magnificent). But their feast days remain forever sutured…like Peter and Paul, Mick and Keith, Butch and Sundance.
Today is Hugh’s birthday, tomorrow Jerry’s. Both nights, in Tampa and Walla Walla, wine will flow…as it would any other day. But this evening, glasses rise across the land, toasting two men who mean so much.
Even The Masters took note. Often, the tournament our family founded…the most prestigious of the year…concludes on Easter Sunday. This year being one long Good Friday, the event was postponed.
After months of deliberation, of seeking a weekend suited to the solemnity of the contest, the Augusta pooh-bahs…golf’s venerable college of verdant cardinals…realized there could be only one. They decided that Jerry and Hugh, like Arnie and Jack, deserve their due.
Moreover, to ensure proper respect, the Augusta bishops kept their cathedral empty, allowing only the primary patriarchs…those who have attained highest holy orders, plus a few select seminarians…to trod the hallowed naves and sacred altars.
Meanwhile…
Friday night, I drove back to the mountains. Even more than last week, this was a short stay. David is on a church retreat, but to avoid clustering in buses, organizers asked participants to arrange their own transportation.
By the time we arrived, the sun had set, and it was dark. David grabbed his belongings, I said goodbye to my son, and within five minutes began the return trip on winding mountain roads.
There, aside from a fox and a couple deer, few travelers crossed my path. On a clear, cool night, I had only my thoughts to keep me company. As the car moved forward, my recollections brought me back.
Before long, I was reminded of our two esteemed Caesars, and the legions of wise thoughts, effulgent joy, and helpful guidance they bring to our lives. It was then that The Masters came to mind.
Like so many sporting events, I can’t watch it without thinking of Jerry. And not only because, as we’ve noted before, he brought the course to its knees by holing-out from a 10th hole bunker. As his caddy told him, “not even the big boys do that!” As with so many sporting events, I became attached to this one by watching it with Jerry.
But, Jerry, like his counterpart to the west, informs and reminds me of much more than sports. Both he and Hugh bear and share a wealth of knowledge. Politics, music, history, sports, and travel are but a few of the colors dotting their intellectual palettes. Wine is the appointed oil, conversation the chosen brush, and the daily salon of evening happy hour their preferred gallery.
On several occasions, Hugh has been kind enough to host us in his home, enlighten us with his wit, and enliven us with fine Bordeaux. Rarely do I spend time with Hugh and not have my perspective challenged or my horizons expanded. And it happens with the discursive dexterity of…well…a surgeon.
But our wise doctor is also a sneaky anesthesiologist. Sometimes, my mind is changed without me realizing an operation took place. Many might say that’s the wine. But in the wet cement of heated debate, wine typically acts like water, mixing dusty opinions into concrete dogma.
Yet, thru his pointed questions and pregnant pauses, Hugh provides his unwary patient the scalpel and forceps to conduct his own transplant. Before he knows it, without realizing he was even on a gurney, his opinion has been changed. Not till the following morning does his head hurt. And much of that is the wine.
Speaking of wine, Jerry…after searching the back of the fridge, rifling thru the garage, or pilfering the attic…somehow manages to scrounge up a few drops whenever a guest comes to his home. When he fills a glass, it becomes the prelude to many more, and to a wonderful evening. Conversation, dinner, and revelry are unmatched when Jerry is part of the proceeding.
And, like Hugh, Jerry is a source of countless stories of unending fascination. Both men come by their information honestly, from decades of experience, years of traveling, and a daily dose of reading.
It starts with the morning paper. Over coffee, they imbibe the latest stories, scores, and shenanigans from the public spectacle. Then, we imagine Jerry putting the paper in the trash…and Hugh tossing his on the pile. Or, more likely, just leaving it where it is to start a new one.
They each have their system, and they both seem to work. Being 2020, technology may have changed the routine. Perhaps they absorb their news from a glass screen rather than a paper page. I can see Jerry doing that, but not sure Hugh could pull it off. The number of tablets, phones, or laptops required to replicate his impressive stacks of superfluous stuff might be overwhelming.
Of course, being subjected to this note may entice both of them to dispense with whatever devices they have. If necessary, they may retreat for news to carrier pigeons and smoke signals, as primitive shields to this electronic effluent. But before they do, we wish them well, and assure them both that the next two days, despite our absence, will be in their honor.
Before the festive gatherings and celebratory repasts, loyal descendants, extended family, and fond friends will make meals, extend blessings, and raise a toast.
Hail Jerry and Hugh! We who are about to dine salute you.
JD
