New York taxiBack in the days when I lived in New York, it was a rainy day and I needed a taxi. As luck would have it, I saw a cab and he saw me, so I was successful at my first attempt. A very fortunate coincidence. I got into the taxi, and the cabbie says, “Great timing! You’re just like Irving.”

Me: I said, “Pardon me! “Who?”

Cabbie: “Irving Glickman. There’s a guy who was Mr. Perfect; he did everything right.”

Me: “Nobody is perfect. There are always a few clouds over everyone.”

“Clouds didn’t even get close to Irving. He was a terrific athlete. He could have gone on the pro tour in tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang opera like Pavarotti, danced like a Broadway star and you should have heard him play the saxophone; just like Kenny G.”

Me: “Sounds like he was something, huh?”

Cabbie: “He had a memory like a computer. Could remember everybody’s birthday. He knew all about wine, which foods to order and which fork to eat them with. He could fix anything. Not like me.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I change a fuse, and the whole neighborhood blacks out.” That Irving sounds like quite a guy!”

“And he knew how to treat a woman and make her feel good and never answer her back, even if she was in the wrong — and his clothing was always immaculate, neat and he even ironed his own shirts.”

Me: “An amazing fellow. How did you meet him?”

“Well, I never actually met Irving.”

Me: “Then how do you know so much about him?”

Cabbie: “I married his widow.”

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