On Monday, two days before I officially retire, my employer is catering a luncheon to mark the occasion from one of the best deli's in the city. I've been to more than a few of these things and know that at some point it will become expected that I make a few appropriate remarks.
Making a speech is no problem for me. That's basically what I am retiring from, a career as a litigation attorney in state and federal courts and administrative offices, all over the country, for almost 40 years. Making speeches in all kinds of settings has been a big part of my career.
It's that word, appropriate, that has me worried. I'm not quite sure what to say to the other lawyers, paralegals, administrative assistants and managers with whom I've worked for so many years. I know it should be brief, two minutes or so. No one will ever remember anything about it unless it is personal, something they've never heard me talk about, yet germane to the occasion and, at least at some point, humorous.
I have an idea of what I want to say, but no idea of how it might be received, even though I think I can defend it on each of the points above. I've put that idea out in the tall grass. If it interests you, please check it out and if you have a constructive comment or lawyer joke, or any pertinent thought, please post it.
Ahem.
Sixty-five years ago, yesterday, little note was taken of the birth of the second son and last child of a one-time teenage runaway, the daughter of a middle class drunkard.
In the late 1930's, Mom, married my father, her third husband, a Southern White trash, drunken fry cook who ran off for good when I was two.
Mom was a beauty operator, if they still call it that. I grew up over the shop with my bed, at one time, exactly one floor above the shampoo bowl.
In second grade, a loving teacher, Mrs. Whitaker, decided that I had a precocious vocabulary. She remained a direct influence in my life for many years after I left that school. She guided me to build up my speaking and writing ability.
It wasn't until years later that I realized the importance of Mrs. Whitaker's influence. She is gone now, but I never thanked her.
Everybody told me I'm good at saying stuff and telling stories and writing and ought to be a lawyer because that's the stuff lawyers do.
There weren't really any lawyers in my little world, so what did I know about it? There weren't actually very many high school graduates in my little world, either. I graduated from high school thinking I'd become a lawyer.
Some years later, I was a lawyer. I blame Mrs. Whitaker for that.
It seems like the blink of an eye. After stops in Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Fort Worth and Dallas, wandering a variety of career paths, I wound up here with you wonderful people. I'm not kidding about that wonderful part.
I was hired in the Dallas office by a managing counsel who, for almost two years, when we spoke, always got my name wrong. I really believe that sort of thing would be impossible here in Chicago where I have been fortunate to spend most of my career with the law department. I have enjoyed working with all of you.
I am inexpressibly grateful to my wife of 43 years, Mrs. Left, and to all of you, for being who you are, for doing what you do and for taking a bit of your precious time to be here to see me off. Thank you.
Time: 2:20
Mrs. Left suggested that I limit myself to something like the last paragraph. I'm not sure I agree. I'd love to have constructive feedback from the community.