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David Klein Obituary
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Memories and Condolences
for David Klein
Sponsored by Judy Klein.
Roger S. Hayes
July 8, 2008
David and I met over 25 years ago when we were both members of the Association of the Bar’s Judiciary Committee – a group of lawyers that reviews the qualifications of candidates for judicial office. I was attracted by David’s intelligence, fairness, and perceptiveness about the candidates. Additionally, I loved his colorful argyle socks which stood in great contrast to the black and navy socks worn by the other committee members. It was apparent David was someone who would do it his way – slightly irreverently! Over the course of many committee meetings and many discussions, we became friends.
In the days since David’s passing, he has provided me with many smiles. When I think about him, I feel good – and that was one of the gifts David gave – he always made the other person feel better.
I miss David very much. I somehow thought he would always be with us. Until I read his obituary, I never realized he was 88 – he had such an upbeat manner, such a joy in the moment, I thought he was ageless.
In August 2004, my wife and I were having dinner with David and Judith. I am a judge and had recently officiated at one of my relative’s weddings and we talked about the service. David liked my wedding ceremony and asked me to speak at his memorial. You can imagine the banter that followed this request – I asked him for a definite date – he told me there was no hurry. About two months later, I told David I had made some notes and asked him if he wanted to preview them. Again he said, “No hurry.” I asked him if there was anything in particular he wished me to say. He paused for a moment and said, “Say whatever you like – as long as it lasts two to three hours.” I answered, “David, that is a little long. I think I should cut my remarks down a bit.” With a smile, he said, “I wouldn’t do that, Friend.”
Well, I love David, but despite his request, I won’t be speaking 3 hours so everyone can relax.
After David asked me to speak, I started thinking about him and what I would say. Every time I had a thought, I wrote it down and filed it. Exactly as he would have wanted – in a Duane Reade shopping bag. These are some of the notes I had in the shopping bag.
Wonderful dinners – usually at Beatrice Inn with groups of people David and Judith brought together. Seating arrangements that always kept you far from your spouse or companion, but somehow almost always seemed to work. Of course, your place card was always on stationery from the White House or the Desk of Nikita Krushchev and you could only wonder as to their true origin. I remember David’s wild ties, argyle socks, and the twinkle not only in his eyes but his whole face as he pulled out a spring-loaded fork that extended two feet and grabbed some morsel from your plate or when he gave Marco, the waiter, his credit card that was not American Express but Ecumenical Express. Of course, Marco knew what it was but always made a show of acting surprised.
I remember David as my lawyer when my wife and I were selling our co-op. You can imagine what it was like for him to represent a judge! Well, after my 30th objection to the contract’s terms, he stopped me and said, “Roger, do you want to sell the apartment?” When I said, “Of course,” he said, “Don’t demonstrate what a knowledgeable lawyer you are – let’s sell the apartment!” Of course, he was correct and the sale went through. His common sense and decency in dealing with the purchaser’s attorney were crucial in keeping things on track.
I relied on David’s advice many times – he prepared my mother’s will when she was about 75. When he asked her the required question, “Is this your last will and testament?” she answered, “I hope not.” I was embarrassed and annoyed with her, but David loved the answer and frequently reminded me of it when he inquired about her.
I also remember David’s response about two years ago when he learned my wife did not know how to swim. She had a fear of the water. He said he would teach her – and he did – she now loves swimming, in part because of the support and encouragement David provided. It is difficult to imagine someone else volunteering to give swimming lessons at age 86.
My wife and I have had dinner with David and Judith about 200 times over the 25 years we have been friends. During those evenings, I watched David warm up even the haughtiest wait staff. He did it with humor and a real interest in the person. By the end of the dinner, he knew not only their names, but how they became waiters and their real ambitions. Inevitably, even when my wife and I were the hosts, as we would be leaving the restaurant, we would hear: “Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Klein, have a great evening. Please come back!” Of course, this was no accident. David had an interest in others and the ability to draw them out. I think people sensed he was genuinely interested in them and wanted to be friends. And with his humor and smile, he could disarm anyone.
I received many gifts from David – not only the gifts of friendship and companionship, love and understanding, but physical gifts – the kind that reflected David’s playful nature. For instance, a moving coaster, model racing cars, wind-up figures that tumble and twirl, and perhaps my favorite, a doormat that bears the inscription: “A Lawyer and a Normal Person Live Here.” Like David, the gifts were upbeat, fun, occasionally mischievous but never mean or hurtful. David was never that – in fact he laughed the loudest and enjoyed a joke most when it was about him. He loved a good time, making new friends and sharing his enjoyment of life. I also witnessed countless times how he loved his life with Judith – whether decorating a Christmas tree, having dinner or a good political argument.
In his later years, David had a number of medical problems, like his hand surgery, diabetes and of course, his final illness. Still, when you were with David, you never heard a complaint about his problems – there was never bitterness or “why me.” There was always his intelligence, warmth, and kindness, his humor, understanding and forgiveness.
Of course, I don’t want to confuse David with Mother Theresa. A call from him sometimes was a pain – a pain because he would ask you to intervene for someone who needed help. In my case, when I worked for Bob Morgenthau, the help was usually on behalf of someone who was being taken advantage of and needed help from law enforcement, or someone who might need some free legal advice. The call quickly moved to “Roger, do you know someone who could meet with my friend?” I would ask, “Is this a fee-paying friend?” and his response was “How big a fee?” No one could ever turn down a request from David because it was never for himself but always for someone who deserved help. I guess David was what’s called an “easy touch” and we were all a little better because he was.
Also, along the non-saint path, David was a world-class pack rat. A keeper of everything. One evening, my wife and I offered to help him clear up some clutter in his apartment. His response: “Hey, don’t be a couple of hoo haas.” I never learned what a hoo haa was, but I knew from his tone I didn’t want to be one and that no one would throw out his things during his life.
I am speaking longer than I planned – although short of David’s requested 2-3 hours. But I want to remember David’s modesty. From time to time, David would speak of World War II, “the last great unpleasantness” he would call it. In all the time of our friendship, I never knew he had earned the Silver Star and was a Lt. Colonel. If you listened to him, you would have thought he left as a P.F.C. But, of course, that was David – modest about his accomplishments. As I think about it, that modesty is probably why he didn’t want to preview what I would say – he would be uncomfortable with the praise.
In the end, he lived his life his way – with generosity, kindness, and self-directed humor. He had enormous courage and heart, an appreciation for the slightly off-beat and eccentric. He was a wonderful man who enjoyed everyday and always tried to ease others’ burdens. It is very sad to lose his physical companionship, but we are all fortunate he was a part of our lives for so long and fortunate that in the most important ways, he will continue to be a part of us. It is odd to say death came too soon for a person who lived to 88, but in David’s case, it is true. It came too soon for him and for us. I wish he were physically here so I could tell him what he knew – we loved him and will miss him.
Good-bye, dear Friend.
Ernie Lepore
July 7, 2008
It’s customary to apologize for the tears we shed; or at least to make a concerted effort to fight back those tears when we reflect on the passing of someone we love. But anyone who knew David knows how appalling he would find any such effort or apology. David would be so pleased to learn that we were bawling on the news of his passing. He would call it ‘a weeper’ – that was his expression. To designate an event as a weeper for David would be high praise even though any expression of generosity, warmth, tenderness, or compassion could make David weep; even expressions of joy might provoke weeping. He was the best of all possible weepers
Just the same, David had rather high expectations of weepiness from others. I and David’s sister-in-law Francine, got to see the penultimate performance of Chorus Line the first time around – after David had un-invited his wife Judy and his brother Paul on account of their not having emoted enough at a prior performance. I didn’t know Judy so well then, but during the show, sitting next David, both of us in tears, I wondered how David married a woman not be moved by this play. Later at dinner Judy joined us. She asked me whether I had enjoyed the performance and I replied almost as a direct challenge that I had found it very moving – in short, a weeper! Judy replied swiftly – “Oh I couldn’t agree more; I felt the same way that first dozen or so times David took me to see it!” Judy’s sin had been not to react with the same emotional intensity she had on those first few times David took her.
In this regard, David was a child; he wanted to hear the same story over and over again, relishing in each word each time. I’m sure many of you would regularly receive an envelope from David with a postcard inside from a place you had visited with him years before, or with a playbill of play you had seen together, or a menu from a place you had eaten with him, or just something that reminded him of you. How wonderful is that.
David was like a father to me, an excellent father indeed. I dedicated a recent book I wrote to him. I waited for a particularly dense technical one since I knew how much fun he took in telling me he couldn’t understand a word of what I wrote. He liked to say that he couldn’t even understand my glossaries – and believe you me this was no compliment. In my dedication I wrote that several decades ago I had unofficially adopted David as my father and that though I couldn’t speak for him, the arrangement had worked out very well for me. Truer words have never been written by me. I can’t recall anyone ever making me feel as safe and protected, so watched over, in this world. I can’t recall the last important or even semi-important decision I made without first consulting David. More often than not, of course, I didn’t make the decision – David did! He loved to embarrass me into doing the right thing.
Parents invariably and unwittingly embarrass their offspring but David downright delighted in it. How many times did I squirm over the years watching him run some poor server through his many pranks – each trying to figure out what on earth was this man up to? Usually these gags came off without anyone getting too upset, though I do recall one occasion about fifteen years ago when David and Judy visited me in Italy. After eating at an exquisite restaurant in Florence, the bill came and David handed over his credit card; some ten minutes passed when the owner himself came over and in an angry tone informed us that David had given the server a phony credit car. David, his unflappable self, brusquely retrieved his credit card with some indignation and then handed over another obviously phony one! He was not about to let a humorless man ruin his fun.
So here we all are –wondering how we are going to fill in the immense void David has left us with. I in particular worry how I am ever going to succeed in conveying to my new child – who was born while David was in the hospital and who will never have the opportunity to be entertained or to learn from him – How, I wonder, am I ever going succeed in sharing with him all that I learned from David?
The answer came to me in a flash the other evening while cleaning up my apartment. I found an entire closet, actually several, chock full of gadgets, toys and pranks David had given me over the years. I was never sure why I kept them all but now I know their purpose. I will introduce my boy to David over and over again in the best of all possible ways; I will pass on to him toys from Grandpa David. I have a lifetime’s worth of them. I can’t wait to embarrass him in public with all my love and affection – just like David taught me.
Dick Foley
June 26, 2008
Here are the bare facts of David’s life. He was born October 7 1919. He was a lifelong resident of New York City, being born and raised in the city and spending most of his adult life here. He was an undergraduate at Cornell. He served in WWII, earning a number of military decorations, including the Silver Star. After the war, or as he invariably called it “the Great Unpleasantness, he attended NYU Law School. He worked for a while at a law firm, where he quickly discovered that the partners were interested in billable hours. So, for the rest of his life, he practiced law in his own way with his own style, and always in New York City. He died May 4 2008. 88 years. Years during which he witnessed most of the 20th century.
These are the bare facts of a life. David’s life. The reality of anyone’s life, even the most ordinary, go well beyond such facts, but of course was anything but ordinary. For him, such facts do not begin to convey the special atmosphere he carried with him.
How to convey that? How else but as David would have. With a story. David had a repertoire of stories about the people in his life, and --- I say this with the greatest affection --- he would tell these stories over and over and over again.
There were also stories he loved hearing others tell. Here is one such story. The story of how I met David, a story David would insist that I tell whenever there was a new audience to hear it.
I met David when I was 10 years old. I grew up in South Bend Indiana, but my uncle on my father’s side was the captain of a passenger ship, the S.S. Ancon that sailed between New York City and the Panama Canal. The Ancon had been built in 1914 to be the first cargo ship to officially transit the Canal, but after the Second World War it had been refurbished to carry passengers as well as goods, and it was then that my uncle, after a long navy career, became captain of the ship. In the hold for the southbound voyage were supplies for the Canal operations. Bananas and coffee made the northbound trip.??Above the hold were comfortable, air conditioned rooms for 200 passengers, well appointed dining facilities, gleaming white decks where tea was served every afternoon, cream colored smoke stacks, and tiled swimming pools.
As a summer treat for my two older brothers and me, my parents arranged with my uncle for the whole family to make a 10 day sail on the Ancon from New York to the Panama Canal and back, with a stop in Haiti. The family traveled from the Midwest to Manhattan, my first look at the city. We had a few days of sight seeing and then boarded the ship. And there, that first night at the captain’s table where we were seated with my uncle was a young attorney, David Charles Klein, with his new wife, Lois, on their honeymoon.
Over the next ten days, David entertained my brothers and me with banter and silly jokes that even (perhaps especially) a pre teen boy could understand, and he spent long hours in the ship’s pools instructing us on proper techniques for diving. All this despite being on his honeymoon.
When the cruise returned to New York harbor, we hugged our good byes. For several years my parents and the Klein’s exchanged holiday cards, but with the years they lost touch. But in that ten-year old brain of mine, a memory of David Klein had been implanted, waiting to be reactivated.
Flash forward 30 plus years. I am now a professor and have just taken a position at Rutgers University. I am in the East Village apartment of my friend and faculty colleague, Ernie LePore. Ernie is on the phone, and while I wait for him to finish his conversation my attention turns to a book on his desk. I reach to pick up the book but on top of the book is a sealed envelope. The month is March. Tax time. The envelope is addressed to a “David Klein.” which activates that buried memory that had been waiting for just such an occasion
After Ernie gets off the phone, I say to him, pointing to the envelope, “You know when I was a kid, I was on a cruise with my parents, and we met a young attorney on his honeymoon whose name was David Klein.”
Ernie tells me, “This David Klein does my taxes but he is an attorney too.” I say, “As I recall, his wife’s name is Lois.” Ernie responds, “No. This David’s wife’s name is Judy.” I shake my head, “Too bad. I remember my David Klein as one of a kind, full of terrible jokes and silly gag gifts and good humor.” Ernie looks at me a little strangely, “It has to be the same guy. Let’s call him.”
Ernie calls and here’s how that conversation went: Ernie on the phone to David: “I have a friend with me here named ‘Dick Foley’ who says he may have met you on a cruise when he was a kid.” David to Ernie: “I’ve taken more than one cruise. What was the name of the ship?” Ernie to me: “What was the name of the ship?” Me to Ernie: “The Ancon.” Ernie to David: “The Ancon”. David to Ernie: “Dick Foley, I remember. The youngest of three brothers. I had a terrible time trying to teach him the breaststroke.” Ernie to me: “He says he couldn’t teach you the breaststroke.” Me to Ernie: “No, no. It wasn’t the breaststroke. He taught me to dive.” Ernie to David: “He says it wasn’t the breaststroke. You taught him to dive.” David to Ernie: “Put him on the phone.” David to me, his first words to me in more than 30 years: “I never got around to teaching you to dive. You were so bad at the breaststroke.” Me to David: “No. I don’t think so. You taught me to dive.” David to me: “I couldn’t dive all that well myself. I was teaching you the breaststroke.” Me to David, beginning to recall the rhythm of conversations with David: “Nope. Diving. Though now that I think of it, I never actually saw you dive. You just stood by the edge of the pool telling me how to do it.” David to me: “Rather than argue. Let me ask you a couple of questions. Can you dive well now?” Me to David: “Not all that well.” David to me: “Can you swim the breaststroke well?” Me to David: “Yes, pretty well.” David to me: “I rest my case.”
The year was 1990. David and I talked and regularly saw each other from that moment on. For David, I was a found again friend, which for him was a special category, since he collected friends the way that others collect books or paintings or baseball cards. Perhaps more relevantly, he collected friends the way he collected corny jokes, old newspaper stories, rubber bands, gag ties, and his own special array of restaurant paraphernalia: extendable forks and spoons, highly realistic plastic cockroaches, fake credit cards, phony $1 million dollar bills, and so on.
Much as he loved such paraphernalia (the pockets of his jackets were like the lost and found office at a practical joke convention), it was people who captivated him, and his friends were nothing if not eclectic. Business associates, writers, political associates, waiters, professors, doormen, friends of friends, friends of ex- spouses. Any connection was an occasion for friendship.
It is a common place that human biographies are intertwined. The play Six Degrees of Separation refers to the idea that if a person is one step away from each person he or she knows and two steps away from each person who is known by one of the people he or she knows, then on average with just six such "steps" one is linked with every other person on Earth.
David would have thought this to be an amateur’s game. A mere link is nothing. There had to be histories and stories and jokes connecting the people. And making the connection in 6 steps is way too elementary.
Here is another story, illustrating how this tended to work in David’s life, and once again it begins on the S. S. Ancon. On that cruise, the ship docked at the port of Colon, Panama, near the Atlantic entrance of the Canal. The boat was scheduled to depart at 3PM, and the passengers had been repeatedly warned to be back from their sight seeing and shopping in time for the departure. By 3PM all but one passenger had returned. My uncle, the captain, waits. And waits some more. He has the ship’s whistle issue its warning signal. He waits a few minutes more. Then a final warning on the ship’s whistle when in a whirl of activity, the missing passenger finally arrives. It is of course David, but David with a group of men and kids carrying a handcrafted low, wood table. While everyone leans over the side of the ship to watch the table being carried on board, David looks on like a proud, satisfied parent.
He takes the table back to their Manhattan apartment. A number of years later when David and Lois are divorced, she takes the table with her. Lois eventually remarries. The table goes to the new apartment of Lois and her second husband. Lois later dies of cancer, but because David is David, he has by this time become fast friends with the husband. In time, the second husband, David’s “husband in law” as it were, meets a woman he likes. The eventually marry, and the table follows them to their new apartment. Years later he dies. His wife, a kind of “wife in law” to David two times removed, inherits the table. By this time, she and David are of course close friends. She eventually dies. In her will, she bequeaths the table back to David, where it still is in David and Judy’s apartment.
I love this story because it illustrates that David used any connection to form a friendship and also that he threw nothing away. Not people. Not things. But the reverse was also true. People and things somehow, sometimes mysteriously, tended to gravitate back to him.
That’s my story. Gravitating back to David.
As for so many others, David was like a second father to me, but as I once told him, despite our age difference, he sometimes also seemed like a pesky kid brother. His response was, “I like that.”
All of us have our complexities, and David was more complex than most. Alternatively lighthearted and serious. Off the chart sentimental but also capable of giving hard headed advice. Uncompromising moral principles but also a constant jokester. Hugely gregarious and also determinedly private about many things.
But in my view, the single most important fact about David was his immense capacity for friendship. And a capacity for friendship at the deepest level. This is surely among the most significant of all human talents, and David had it in abundance. In his life there were friendships everywhere, because he looked for them everywhere.
I adored David, and there is a hollow feeling in me knowing that I won’t hear his voice again on the phone, or have a chance to tease him about his tie only to see him reach into his jacket and pull out an even more outrageous tie, or arrange to meet with him to do taxes and then manage to spend only minutes talking about the taxes and hours on everything else.. Yet the world goes on. It somehow goes on. But for as long as I am in this world, whenever I think of David, which will be often, I will be smiling. There are not many people one can say that about. I also know this. On May 4 2008 the world became a duller place. A much, much duller place.
Monique Cahn
June 25, 2008
After returning from France recently, I was very sad to learn about the death of David. I remember him as a man of great compassion who also understood your problems and try to help you emotionally to deal with them. I remember his great sense of humor and great advice. I shall miss him.
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Paul M. Filipanics
June 17, 2008
I first met Mr. Klein when I was a teenager, and as I grew older calling him Mr. Klein was a sign of respect. He was already my mother's accountant when I first met him and I am sure she asked him if he would do my taxes that year. As you can imagine I had a very simple tax return back then and was still very grateful to Mr. Klein for his help and his services in filing it. I don't even think he charged me. His only caveat was that, if I felt his work merited it, I come back to him as a client when I was older and hopefully a little more well to do. I am 35 years old now. Believe it or not my one regret in our relationship is that I only started using the long form tax return last year. It would have been nice to finally be able to afford his services and work with him again after all these years.
I still remember how formal he was in addressing a teenager like me as Mr. Filipanics, but in a very friendly way. I also enjoyed the fact that he wore a goofy tie and that he had, among other toys scattered around his desk, a set of chattery teeth. That impressed me and amused me in equal measures. In a world rapidly losing it sense of humor it still does. His mix of professionalism and an unwavering commitment to a little irrelevance is something I respect even more today.
Although he and I only met a few times Mr. Klein meant a great deal to me. He was my mother's accountant/lawyer and a family friend, and he was someone who she relied on and trusted implictly.
Amidst the difficulty that my mother had closing on her old apartment and moving into her current residence, Mr. Klein was the one voice of reason and the only person who could make us both laugh no matter how stressful the situation. He was a very caring man, who really went above and beyond the call of duty. If he had chosen to become a doctor, I think he would have made the occasional house call. He was very much a product of his generation in that way, and his warmth and generosity of spirit showed in everything he did.
Whenever my mother was seriously ill or had surgery, Mr. Klein was one of the people I had to call to inform that she was alright. I always enjoyed talking to him and he is the one person who I can ever imagine calling me "young man" and having me enjoy it. He was practically family. He was always there for my mother and he was a good friend to both of us. My mother will find another accountant, but Mr. Klein will never be replaced.
I have an enormous amount of respect for him and I truly believe that the impact and influence he had on the people in his life be they friends, family, clients, or even acquaintances, will last a lifetime. He was a very special man, and really one of a kind.
Raffaella De Rosa
June 10, 2008
I met David a few years ago through a common friend. He must have been secretly amused by my bewildered expression the first few times he sprang his jokes on me. I did not know how to react, what to say, whether to say anything, or remain silent. But I quickly fell in love with his sense of humor and his passion for funny objects. My bewilderment was transformed into a game we enjoyed playing at dinner parties and on other occasions. In the years we have known each other, he has always been a generous, sensitive and loving friend. I often asked for his advice about important matters in my life, both of a professional and personal nature. I feel privileged to have known David and I am deeply sorry that my newborn son will not have the same privilege. Despite the brevity of our friendship, he left his mark on my life
Anders Stephanson
June 3, 2008
To say that David Klein was one of a kind is to state the obvious. The number of wrist watches and rubber bands alone was enough to indicate that here was someone beyond the fringe. A novelist academic friend of mine went to ask him for help on my advice. He came back in awe. The first ten minutes gave me material for several short stories, he said. David's usual humorous comment after a typically chaotic display of mismanaged record keeping: "One more victory like that and we're done for" really masked a truly stunning lucidity of judgment when it came to the actual filing of the return. This was always what impressed me the most, as well it should as I enjoyed my sizeable refund. I will always think of him fondly. Any accountant who insists on a semi-formal inquiry into how one's personal affairs have turned out since 1040 came around last time is worthy of tremendous respect and affection.
Alan & Mary-Anne Greenall
May 27, 2008
Counsellor, neighbor, squash partner, moral compass, surrogate father and best pal. David has provided surprises continually for the 30 odd years I’ve known him and he has done so now. For probably the first time in 25 years of marriage, he has followed Judy’s instructions, as he now surely flies with the angels.
Barry Loewer
May 26, 2008
I was introduced to David by Ernie L who told me that David does the taxes of "all the philosophers in New York." This turned out to be almost true and probably due to his being something of a philosopher himself. As many people commented he did much more than taxes. He was an essential advisor to me in difficult times and in many ways was a surrogate father. He never could get me to get my taxes done by April 15 but he did help with many thing from getting my wife a visa to re-mortgaging our apartment to bugging us to get proper insurance. I will miss his corny humor and the letter he sent every year "That Time Again".
Dave Staudenmaier
May 20, 2008
I am fortunate that David entered my life when my sister married him 25 years ago. He was certainly the funniest brother-in-law one could ever have! His quirky and eccentric sense of humor brought laughter, color and life to our family gatherings creating many memorable moments. Take for instance the time he invited a large half-dressed man looking like Buddha into the Water Club Restaurant to dance and jiggle his belly as a birthday-Buddha-gram for me. You can imagine the kick David got when I had to rub the Buddha's tummy in the middle of this fancy, crowded restaurant with all eyes on us. Never a dull moment with David! Goodbye BROIL.
Ira Skutch
May 20, 2008
I may be the oldest person in this guest book, as David and I and Felix Lilienthal were classmates at Columbia Grammar School from eighth grade to graduation. Five days a week, the three of us walked back forth from 71st Street to 93rd Street, arguing politics (and more trivial subjects) while watching the construction of the Roosevelt Hall of the Museum of Natural Histoy on 80th Street and Central Park West.
For a couple of years, David and I went each week to Viola Wolff's Friday night dancing classes held at the Dorset Hotel on 54th Street, as we went together through the adolescent traumas of first interrsex communication.
We drifted apart as the years went by, but those teen-age memories are still vivid.
Livio Dimitriu
May 18, 2008
Dear Judy,
Please accept my heartfelt condoleances. My writing skills do not help me on this sad occasion. I simply wish you to know that I am always here for you, as you may need friends to talk to.
I will remember David always as a prized and honest friend, who knew how to listen and help, and for whom time passing did not change the steadfast friendship he offered so generously and unconditionally. He had an unfailing ability to judge human character without passing judgement. In my view, he had absolutely the highest ethics of anyone that I know, and his standards stood and continue to stand by me, and help continuously even he is gone now.
In all my friendship, yours as always,
A more serious moment!
May 18, 2008
Winnie and Harold Staudenmaier
May 17, 2008
Dear Judy,
We will miss David, our wonderful and thoughtful son-in-law (SOIL) who added much joy and humor to our family gatherings, and who was so generous in including us in a number of vacation trips and hosting us for many Broadway shows and dinners. All our love and sympathy are with you as you cope with his loss and treasure memories of your 25 years together.
Love, Mom and Dad
Ron and Leslie Hammer
May 17, 2008
Who will send us a post card of Disney World when he's visiting the British Museum now?
Thanks for the years of caring and understanding.
Philip Redman
May 17, 2008
Dear Judy
Since starting to frequent 10th Street one of the first things that always happened was an invitation to dinner with David and Judy. Almost the last words from David before we left again was 'Don't forget to come back.'
In between, depending on how long and at what season we were in NYC, we usually dined with the Kleins on two or three occasions. Invariably they were hilarious evenings from wine tasting, the toasting fork which swooped across the table (the looks of horror from the adjoining tables), the skelton brought from the cupboard by the proprietor (a Klein present, naturally). The finale, if it was a new waiter or a new restaurant, was the bringing forth of the 'American Express Credit Card' and the following efforts of swiping it, swiping it and swiping it to no effect and finally the dawning that it was a spoof. I believe that the one exception to the amusement of everybody was when the waiter was on the brink of turning out New York's finest! I could go on - the Christmas parties and the incredible toys and presents, etc., etc.
I did not know the whole story of David's military career but I did a little research on his story of landing in France in 1944. David told me that he landed on a beach near St. Tropez. In fact he landed from one of the first ships to enter the port of Marseilles. From there he slogged up the Rhone Valley and into battle in eastern France in the bitterly cold winter of 1944 when the Battle of the Bulge was raging. Like most war veterans he spoke little about those harrowing times.
So Judy, my thoughts though sad are with you. David had a full and good life and was generous and kind to a fault.
Philip
Deborah Borenstein
May 16, 2008
I think of David as the eccentric accountant/attorney whose path I was fortunate enough to cross. He was a unique combination of an accomplished man with a little boy inside, always rearing his mischievous self. I am honored to have known him, and flattered to have been a guest at David and Judy's dinner soirees.
He shall be missed here, but has passed to bring his wisdom and humor to the other side. Goodbye...
Debi Bee
Claire Martheleur
May 16, 2008
Thank you David for being the remarkable man that you were! You were one of a kind!!! I am so fortunate to have known you and ever so grateful that our paths crossed many years ago. I am privileged to have had this opportunity and I can say that my life is better for having known you. I will miss that wonderful sense of humor, wit and charm. And I will fondly remember the support, kindness and compassion you generously gave to so many. You will never be forgotten, my friend.
Mike and Gen Timpane
May 15, 2008
What a rare blessing was David Charles Klein. How many, after all, have a tax attorney who becomes such a dear friend--wise, generous, courtly, and most of all, endless fun. We were introduced to David through his fantastic network of client/friends, and gladly introduced him to others. Thus, we, too, shared many Beatrice Inn evenings with David, Judith, and an always fascinating collection of their friends, selected by the regal David for their diversity and ability to inform and amuse one another. And, down to our last telephone conversation (just before April 15th, naturally), David was straightening out our tangled finances with good humor and great effect.
How lucky were all those who knew him.
Bettine and Philip Montgrolle and Redman
May 14, 2008
DAVID,
so many memories - which ones to tell? Walking home from dinner singing Gilbert and Sullivan with Norman; Saturday evening race to the Korean's to get two copies of the Sunday Times; Evenings at the theatre, especially one of the final performances of "The Fantastics", always as guests of DCK and JASK; A hayride in Connecticut with country and western music; The ploy to get into the front seat of the taxi; Christmas trees to decorate followed by hillarious presents and convivial dinners; Slipping a note under the door without getting caught; and the list goes on and on.
David made all of his friends feel special, loved and valued and was there to help and advise in our times of sadness and difficulty.
I cannot yet accept I will no longer meet him in the lobby or on the street, but his love of life which he lived to the fullest will always be present.
Lisa and Allen MacPhail
May 13, 2008
David was such a unique person and such a force of nature that I cannot believe he is no longer with us. The first time I met David was shortly after Allen and I got married over thirty years ago. I was young and slightly intimidated and when I took my seat at the conference table, an ashtray suddenly raised itself up on little feet and raced across the table towards me. It was David's way of getting me to relax and it was both funny and sensitive which is a good way to describe David. He made us laugh with his silly jokes, his unorthodox ties and his crazy gadgets but he was also capable of the most remarkable insight and sensitivity when discussing family relationships and the problems that we all face in our lives. David was a good listener and had a fine memory for the details of discussions. Whenever we got together, it was as though the conversation picked right up where we had left off. We felt privileged to be included in the wonderful dinner parties that David and Judy gave at the Beatrice Inn. Our thoughts are with Judy and the whole family. We will miss David very much.
Kim Roche
May 12, 2008
Dear Judith,
My memories of David go back as far as I can remember. When I was a toddler, he was always a trusted friend and advisor to my mother, and he was always there. As i got older and went through my own travels, he was still always there. As I reached middle age, he became my friend and advisor as well, a staunch supporter through all I did. I'm afraid he never knew how important and life-sustaining it was for me. And he was still always there, but now for me as well as mom. I felt so honored to have been invited to one of his dinners that mom spoke so gleefully about year after year, it was truly an event I will treasure always and still he will always be with me.
With all my love and admiration to the woman who was such a part of this indescribable man.
Sam Tramm
May 12, 2008
Few are those whose presence consistently enrich and brighten. And when you're privileged to know such a person, it seems only fitting that his tenure on earth be extended as long as possible. In David's case, "we was robbed"!! I'll miss you...
Carol Godel Archer and Hugh Archer
May 12, 2008
We will forever have a hole in our hearts at the passing of this remarkable man. We feel so very fortunate to have known him, and we will remember his smiling face and his friendship for the rest of our lives.
Judith, our hearts are breaking for you too. He was so very fortunate that you came into his life. I'm sure Bill was smiling from ear-to-ear when DCK flew through those pearly gates!
SUSAN PINTO
May 12, 2008
YOU ALWAYS MADE US LAUGH WITH YOUR FUNNY JOKES AND GREAT SENSE OF HUMOR
ARDI & I WILL MISS YOU TERRIBLY
LOVE
SUSAN & ARDI PINTO
Wendy and David Sibulkin
May 11, 2008
David Klein -
All those fantastic dinners and those jokes, ties, and rubber bands!!!
Imagine - a patient I actually wanted to see!
In 30 years, never one word about the Purple Heart. But the Silver Star - that's something else; "Gallantry in Action" to be exact and never one word!
Full of good counsel; always remembering my mother's birthday, even after she passed away.
We will miss a wonderful man and friend.
Elizabeth McGurk
May 11, 2008
Even thinking about David makes me smile--he could be so outrageous (usally in a restaurant where he was well known) and funny, so kind and generous, but completely serious when the situation warranted it. I never knew of his war record, or many of his other achievements; he never blew his own horn. He was a man of great integrity as well as humour. And he loved animal toys--when I was in the hospital one Christmas, David and Judith brought me a large teddy bear in a Santa suit whose buttons lit up and who sang Jingle Bells! We have lost a very special person, truly one of a kind, and we will miss him very much.
Mike Wallace
May 11, 2008
It's been such a pleasure to read the other entries here, especially those from of my generation of Davidiers. I was introduced to him in 1969 by my friend and mentor the Columbia historian Richard Hofstadter, and began consulting him for tax purposes. I quickly discovered (as have others here) that he was a counselor capable of providing far more than merely legal advice (though his financial wizardry saved my bacon on more than one occasion). My father died around that time, and David became something of the father/uncle that he clearly was for others. Avuncular is a good word here – though arguably he was really more like a grandfather, in that he was always fun as well as nurturing; there were no down sides, as is necessarily the case with parents, who have to correct as well as cherish. He helped me (legally and emotionally) with the first of my divorces, and with the last of my marriages (even loaning his brother to preside over Carmen and my nuptials). He advised on the countless life crises, large and small, that popped up over forty years of living. He was generous, and he was hilarious – I'm terrible at jokes, can't remember them, can't tell them, and he was a master of them, the little lists of jokes he'd pass along off from time to time were often as not real thigh-slappers, and always life-lighteners. My one regret – and it's probably something built into the son-like situation – is that we never talked much about his own life (other than his and Judith's far flung travel adventures), and especially never got into his own past. I was particularly startled, though I shouldn't have been, to learn from his obit that he'd risen to Lieutenant Colonel, and wish I'd have asked him about his war experiences (especially as I'm writing about the Second War at the moment). But all in all I'm just profoundly grateful that I had the opportunity to be David's friend and advisee all these years, and to benefit from his wisdom and affection. He's absolutely irreplaceable: at my age, I'll never have an older wiser counselor who's known my faults and frailties for decades. I miss him and will remember him with great fondness and gratitude for the remainder of my days.
Sheldon King
May 9, 2008
The memories of you are indelibly bright and full of the wit and compassion that characterized you in life. Thanks for being a true and fast friend.
Gary and Bill Sanders
May 8, 2008
David was a surrogate father for both of us. David gave both of our children their very first baths - accompanied by whoops of "woo, woo, woo". A photo of the first such ablution is in the photo album section, together with his note on the back of the photo. Typical of David, he was in the San Francisco area as a political consultant for ABC news during the Republican National Convention that nominated Barry Goldwater.
He was also one of Gary's mother's best and most loyal friends and supporters. When she passed-away, David was extremely helpful in dealing with her estate when her local lawyers almost created a disaster.
We have so many precious memories of David that it is impossible to recount even a small fraction of them. We have an inch-thick folder which contains all of the notes, letters, postcards and newspaper clippings that he sent to us over the years. We kept them because they were all interesting and even provocative.
We were very lucky to have had him touch our lives.
Arden King
May 8, 2008
Dear DC:
Your conversational barbs, always returned wih the same affection, your friendship of 50 or so years, your generosity and warmth, will always be with me. You will be sorely missed - but thanks for the memories.
Love, Arden
Bonnie Foster
May 7, 2008
I met David many, many years ago when I was living in NYC with my Aunt Alice. He was whatever is wonderful about NY. I had nothing but admiration for him.
Teresa Smith, MD
May 7, 2008
You were like a second father to me. I hope there are plenty of frogs in heaven! New York will never be the same, but I'll always be thankful for the numerous opportunities that you provided. Rest in peace.
Gerry and Midori Curtis
May 7, 2008
Dear David, thank you so much for all you did for us. You seated me next to you at every dinner you had invited us to, knowing that as a foreigner I was going to have trouble following the conversation and helping me understand your humorous and special way of talking. We were so happy to know that David had met you, Judy and that you were able to enjoy so many years together ! hugs, Midori. David was my lawyer, advisor, the one person I could confide in and be sure that he would not only say something sensible and reassuring but would manage to get me to laugh before the conversation ended. He was a dear friend for almost forty years and I will miss him terribly. Gerry Curtis
May 7, 2008
David Charles Klein
We love you
Always did
Always will
Anonymous
Fernando Azevedo
May 7, 2008
What a nice man, Mr. Klein.
It didn't take too many years for you
to make yourself unforgettable to me.
You always be in my heart, my friend.
May 7, 2008
Helene and George Karas
May 6, 2008
Each time we dined with DC and spouse, "PG" became a tad richer for the experience.
- P.G.
Having known David for 14 years as a colleague, friend and lunch buddy, the experience was one that will remain with me. I shall miss his wit, his droll sense of humor, his charm and integrity.
- Helene
Goodbye to a true gentleman. We both shall miss you.
Zenon Pylyshyn
May 6, 2008
I met David initially as a tax maven. But because he cared a great deal about people, he also ended up serving as a personal therapist. He lightened the legal bluster with his wit and playfulness. Tax time will be a lot more somber without David’s bright and caring personality.
Dr John Ambrose
May 6, 2008
David was at one time my patient but more a friend than anything else.
My wife and I attended several of his and Judith`s Greenwich Village dinners and usually left a little tipsy but always grinning fron ear to ear.
His zany antics never became stale but underlying this was an individual with wisdom and great common sense.
I will miss him and always smile when I think of him
John Lower
May 6, 2008
David was a true friend throughout my life. He was humorous, witty, charming, generous, iconoclastic, irreverent and yes, a bit crazy, too.
David was like an Uncle to me. In my youth, he was the adult who seemed to understand us kids, my brother and me. He was a playful tease who mocked (my parents) but always with a twinkle in his eyes. He simply enjoyed making people laugh. And boy did we laugh.
David could be totally serious if needed. When I was much older, David helped me get through one of the biggest crises in my life. I shall always remain grateful to him for being there when it counted.
I will miss him dearly.
Rest in peace, dear David.
Harrison & Deborah (Lashley) Snell
May 6, 2008
David was a very special man -- generous and full of life. You always knew that time with him was very precious and full of stimulating conversation. He always seemed to remember birthdays and anniversaries. He will be greatly missed
Gisele McAuliffe
May 6, 2008
My beloved David -- you were like a father to me after the death of my Dad, also your close friend, when I was age 20. Despite my inferior typing skills, you employed me as your typist throughout my college years and greatly relieved my financial stresses at that time. I love and will always miss you beyond measure. I can't bring myself to say goodbye to you, so please save a plain bagel and a black cup of coffee for me, won't you? "Virtually yours" (an old joke between us) - Gisele
Dominik Allemann
May 6, 2008
My mother Hanny spent some time 40 years ago in your family - and enriched my childhood with her stories about this time and about your unique personality. you sent us postcards, the "new yorker", funny presents, and you became a legend for us. It was great to meet you in person back in 2000. Thank you for being there. I'm sad, and my thoughts are with your family and all your friends.
Marty Godel Bustamante
May 6, 2008
My Dad's best friend and such a sense of humor. I remember bikini swim suit for Dad and harem pants for Mom as well as that special time with Sharon. Rest in peace.
Allemann Johanna and Peter
May 6, 2008
Thank you David for all your laughter you spent also to Switzerland! During 40 years you were like a good friend of us and I will never forget the fantastic time I could spend in your house 1968
Hanny Allemann-Bitterli with Peter
Kay Godel Gengenbach
May 6, 2008
"Husband, father, friend, patriot. We loved you." What you said for our father, his friend, is also true for you.
Joyce Jordan
May 6, 2008
Having known "DC" was a privilege for me. He started as Mr. Klein, a co-worker and became "DC" a friend who I valued and will always value for his good nature, his good humor,and the wonderful stories he told. He had a wonderful zest for life that was contagious, and he could see the sunny side of any situation. His spirit will remain with me always in my memories and in my heart.
Allan Hecht
May 6, 2008
What a man! I still unlock his door every morning and change the date
Patricia Godel Gray
May 6, 2008
One by one the lights go out, and this was one of some brilliance. Always Mr. Klein to me, probably my father's best friend, he made us laugh. My God bless his faithfulness and devotion to serve, and may he rest in peace.
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