HOWARD, HOW WEIRD!

Way back in the 1970’s, was a gentleman who was a jack-of-all-trades. A snappy dresser who had served his country well in WWII, the big one, he did all the non-clerical and non-creative things that needed taking care of around the office.

His name was Howard, and his personal life was very secret, kind of hush-hush. Howard fixed chairs, clean phones, washed coffee cups, ran errands, and drove you to the airport when needed. A voice that was almost reduced to a whisper, and raspy at that, Howard was loved by everyone. Howard could spin a yarn; tell a tale, schmooze and what have you. Everyone loved Howard.

I had a habit of keeping my office very neat. Everything had to have a place, and a place for everything was had. Every morning, Howard would come to my office first, and proceed to put things in their correct assigned place, and made sure that I was happy with it. If a picture were lopsided, Howard would correct it. My clock was official Greenwich time; there was no fooling around, as long as I had Howard. He would even wipe my phone with some kind of alcohol solution to top things off.

One year we got a client from Italy, called Prodomo, a classy giftware company that did all their ads in the NY Times or the New Yorker Magazine. Very high end, and trendy. One of the partners of Prodoma also had a lot of money, and a brother who ran a very expensive restaurant in the heart of NYC.

One day my company moved from our top-floor office space to a brownstone, we leased on the east side of Manhattan, near the UN Building. We now had a kitchen, and decided that we would make lunch once or twice a week for the employees, and entertain our clients there. Who was to do the cooking? I mentioned this casually to my boss, and all of a sudden, who comes out of the woodwork but Howard. Howard was a chef. Not only was Howard a chef, he was polished, and taught us all some tricks about chefdom, that I still use to this day. If I could get Howard to design for me, I could as they say: “mail it in.”

Then one day we got a call, Howard wasn’t coming in that day. Why? Howard had cancer. Howard had his wife, who we never knew about, and whom he never mentioned called. Howard had worked for the company over 10 years, and not one mention was made. Our curiosity took over, and we began imagining this extremely good-looking young woman, (Howard was in his 60’s at the time), and we all romanticized about his personal life.

When we finally got the news that Howard had died, it hit us all, taking our breath away and making us feel like we lost a friend. His wife called to tell us the sad news, and that she would come in for the necessary paper-work that was needed, and to collect Howard’s personal effects. As luck would have it, I had to be in Chicago the day she finally appeared at the office, so I never finished painting the biography of Howard’s life in my mind. It seems that she was older than he was, was missing some front teeth, needed to get her hair at least combed, and had a high–pitched voice, that peeled the wall of all its paint! So there is a lesson in all this boys and girls. Actually two: one; don’t let your imagination run wild, and always expect the worst.

These blogs making you sick? Wish you were watching re-runs of Bowling for Dollars? Do what millions of Americans do: write to”joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com, tell him: Hey stop this writing, I have a life too.

Can anyone guess who this lovely young lady is with me in the photo? The answer tomorrow.