This holiday letter, sent to us by Judy Knotts, a friend of Mobile Loaves & Fishes, is a beautiful reminder of what the Holidays are all about. I hope you enjoy this as much as we did here at MLF:
DAVIN CAPITAL CORPORATION
A Christmas Wish
It wasn’t until I found myself deep in the bowels of Saint Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church staring at an industrial sized refrigerator that I realized why I was there. Earlier that day in the overflowing pews above, we attended the memorial service of Bob Brimberg. I was there because in the 1980s Bob and his partner, Carl Jones, adopted me. I was in my late forties then in the clutches of a bear market. I needed to know everybody in the investment world; as a result of my association with them, I did. Bob and Carl took me under their wing and I thought taught me everything and everyone they knew.
St. Bartholomew’s was a logical enough choice: close to his home and the pastor even mentioned a friendship born out of communal elevator rides. This elegant church on the corner of 50th and Park Avenue was, of course, the classic venue for a man of Bob’s stature and influence with the curious exception that Bob was Jewish.
“I need a roast for eight people,” a voice boomed from above. This was my annual sojourn to the Tiffany’s of New York butcher shops. It was long before I would ever met Bob, and while, at the time, I still considered myself quite tall, the voice seemed to tower over me in the small sawdust strewn vestibule of Lobel’s shop.
The voice belonged to Paul Volcker--the then head of the Federal Reserve and our chief warrior against soaring interest rates and runaway inflation.“140 dollars,” the butcher said as he removed a beautiful roast from the scales. Shifting his weight and reaching for his billfold, the Chairman asked, “Don’t you have anything more reasonable?” The butcher placed another, smaller roast onto the scales and announced, “68 dollars.” Pleased yet wary as was his want, the Chairman inquired, “And that will serve eight people?”
“Sure,” smiled the butcher. “Four can eat, and four can watch.”
This Christmas some will eat and some will watch.
Back in the basement of St. Bartholomew’s, lost somewhere in the gleaming steel of the Rolls Royce of refrigerators, I discovered why Bob chose to bring us all to this church. The pastor explained to the dozen or so gathered downstairs that he was going to break a promise to Bob. He told us about the New York City Harvest Program. He told us how it enabled St. Bartholomew’s to feed some thousand people a day via food donations from restaurants. However, the supply was unpredictable. Lacking proper storage space, the church was often forced to discard garbage bags full of spoiled food everyday.
Bob learned of this dilemma during his morning elevator ride and without reservation or commendation purchased the largest commercial “reefer” he could find. His only condition was that the gift remain anonymous save for a plaque alongside the hulking steel door which reads: Hunger is Nonsectarian.
For many of us this has been a very, very tough year. For some, awful. Nevertheless, every year, every season, every day, some eat while others watch. So as you take a breath and count your blessings as the holiday season tends to demand, I urge you to think about what we can do to bring more people to the table. With a little help from you, they will never have to watch again.
A Christmas Wish
It wasn’t until I found myself deep in the bowels of Saint Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church staring at an industrial sized refrigerator that I realized why I was there. Earlier that day in the overflowing pews above, we attended the memorial service of Bob Brimberg. I was there because in the 1980s Bob and his partner, Carl Jones, adopted me. I was in my late forties then in the clutches of a bear market. I needed to know everybody in the investment world; as a result of my association with them, I did. Bob and Carl took me under their wing and I thought taught me everything and everyone they knew.
St. Bartholomew’s was a logical enough choice: close to his home and the pastor even mentioned a friendship born out of communal elevator rides. This elegant church on the corner of 50th and Park Avenue was, of course, the classic venue for a man of Bob’s stature and influence with the curious exception that Bob was Jewish.
“I need a roast for eight people,” a voice boomed from above. This was my annual sojourn to the Tiffany’s of New York butcher shops. It was long before I would ever met Bob, and while, at the time, I still considered myself quite tall, the voice seemed to tower over me in the small sawdust strewn vestibule of Lobel’s shop.
The voice belonged to Paul Volcker--the then head of the Federal Reserve and our chief warrior against soaring interest rates and runaway inflation.“140 dollars,” the butcher said as he removed a beautiful roast from the scales. Shifting his weight and reaching for his billfold, the Chairman asked, “Don’t you have anything more reasonable?” The butcher placed another, smaller roast onto the scales and announced, “68 dollars.” Pleased yet wary as was his want, the Chairman inquired, “And that will serve eight people?”
“Sure,” smiled the butcher. “Four can eat, and four can watch.”
This Christmas some will eat and some will watch.
Back in the basement of St. Bartholomew’s, lost somewhere in the gleaming steel of the Rolls Royce of refrigerators, I discovered why Bob chose to bring us all to this church. The pastor explained to the dozen or so gathered downstairs that he was going to break a promise to Bob. He told us about the New York City Harvest Program. He told us how it enabled St. Bartholomew’s to feed some thousand people a day via food donations from restaurants. However, the supply was unpredictable. Lacking proper storage space, the church was often forced to discard garbage bags full of spoiled food everyday.
Bob learned of this dilemma during his morning elevator ride and without reservation or commendation purchased the largest commercial “reefer” he could find. His only condition was that the gift remain anonymous save for a plaque alongside the hulking steel door which reads: Hunger is Nonsectarian.
For many of us this has been a very, very tough year. For some, awful. Nevertheless, every year, every season, every day, some eat while others watch. So as you take a breath and count your blessings as the holiday season tends to demand, I urge you to think about what we can do to bring more people to the table. With a little help from you, they will never have to watch again.
All the best of the Season,
James M. Davin
President
©: 2008
James M. Davin
President
©: 2008
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