The Collected Words of JPR

I'm interviewing for jobs now, and last week, a prospective boss described the job he was filling as "mostly 'management by walking around.'" It made me laugh inside. Dad loved to collect phrases and use them in appropriate -- or inappropriate -- moments. He'd had a fling with participatory management in the early nineties, and I'm sure he had recognized his own management style in the jargon of the day: "management by walking around." Except when he said it, it came out as "walking around with your hands in your pockets." You gotta appreciate the translation. "Hands in your pockets" means "not operating the tools yourself." That had a very specific meaning for Dad.

Similarly, he'd absconded the Marty Feldman line from "Young Frankenstein": the one where Marty's Igor leads Doctor Frankenstein from the train station. I'm sure you've laughed many times at the sight of Igor, hunched over, urging the Doctor to "walk this way," and Gene Wilder follows him, and imitates his hunch-backed lurch, as well. But when Dad said it, it came out as "Walk like this!" which was actually funnier, because it added a third comic actor to the skit: the limping John Ruszel.

We had a little debate during our funeral preparations, wondering whether to include Dad's signature dinner statement in our public remembrances of him. He'd sit at the head of the table, crowded with family, guests, plates, dishes, and glasses, and remark loudly, as if to himself, "I wonder what the poor people are doing!" The comment always made Mom cringe, and the assembled family groan, and some of our dinner company undoubtedly found his words insensitive. But we knew what he meant: he was content, and grateful.

We realized as adults that one of Dad's favorite ways to express his displeasure was by attributing it to Mom. "Your mother is unhappy about..." or "Your mother is upset that...." was usually a mirror of Dad's feelings. After a couple of confusing conversations with Mom which ended up with "I never said that..." and "But Dad said...", we figured it out. Dad had his own communication style, which, while unorthodox, was very effective.

I'm enjoying the way Dad is appearing in my life these days. In fact, I'm thinking about his advice constantly as I wait for the job possibilities to align themselves into my future. "All you can do," he'd say, "is go until you hit a brick wall." And seriously. What else can you do?