Farewell Friends

Summary

If this post is appearing, it means I’ve succumbed to cancer or one of its side effects. Please don’t feel sad for me. I’ve had a life filled with love, great experiences and wonderful career opportunities. Despite my demise at a relatively young age, I consider myself beyond fortunate.I’m hoping that, under the tree in front of our little Philadelphia rowhome, my wife Elaine will place a stone tablet inscribed with my name, and the year I was born and died. Underneath, I’d like the tablet to read:Family • Readers • Words(Note to Elaine: If you ever move, feel free to take the tablet with you.)Family is everybody who’s brought love into my life: Elaine, my two children, my larger family, my close friends. Meanwhile, readers have been those I’ve served, and who rewarded that service with so much loyalty and affection. Finally, words have been my playground, taking the insights I’ve garnered and trying to make them understandable to others. Beside the tree are two metal chairs. I hope family and passersby will occasionally stop by, and fill me in on what I’ve been missing.I’ve asked Elaine to arrange a memorial service at St Peter’s Church in Philadelphia’s Old City. She’ll post the time and date to the Forum when the details have been worked out.Regular readers will know much of my life’s story. But I figure it’s appropriate to offer a not-so-brief recap.I was born at 14 St Margarets Drive in Twickenham, London, on Jan. 2, 1963. At that time in the UK, it was standard practice for mothers to give birth in the hospital if it was their first child—or, in my mother’s case, her first two children. My older brothers, who are identical twins, had been born two years earlier. Because that first delivery went smoothly, my birth would be at home. From what I gather, the midwife took cigarette and scotch breaks with my father during lulls in the action. I was born at 6 a.m., thus establishing a lifetime habit of starting early.In 1966, my father left financial journalism for a...