The Grandfather I Never Had
"They'll all give me a verbal smack as soon as they read their names and the word 'grandfather' in the same paragraph. But they’ll also get it: It’s about the relationship, the wisdom and the laughs."
Mickey Resnick was born in Louisville, Kentucky in 1931. His family was part of a tiny Jewish community there, and most of his childhood was spent during the Great Depression. He’d seen plenty of stuff growing up, long before he got drafted in the late 50s.
After graduating from the Wharton School at Penn and earning a law degree, Mickey passed the bar. The next day, the U.S. Military called him in and sent him straight to training. This was right after the Korean War but before Vietnam had become a hot conflict.
After looking at Mickey’s background, the military immediately saw the need he could fill. Next thing he knew, he was on a flight to Stuttgart, Germany to work in military intelligence. He’s got stories.
For the first 80 years of Mickey’s life and the first 45 of mine, we knew nothing of each other. Even with our common endeavors in Chicago’s Jewish community. Ships passing on different boards.
In 2012, I cofounded a journalism tech startup called Newsbound, the brainchild of our CEO, Josh Kalven. I raised just over $1 million of investment in two rounds. Most of the folks who backed it were borne out of personal relationships. Mickey was one of just a few that I’d networked to cold; we were introduced by our mutual friend and Chicago Jewish Federation President, Lonnie Nasatir. And thank God.
After Mickey’s service in the Army ended, he entered the working world. A job at Allstate would turn into a 40-year career there — the last decade of which he would serve at Chief Investment Officer for the entire company. Heady stuff.
Over the seven years that Josh and I worked on Newsbound, Mickey became far more than an investor. He was an advisor, cheerleader, cold-eyed questioner, and, eventually, he became my close friend. Our ages may have been 35 years apart, but it mattered not. In fact, if anything, it may have drawn us closer.
My own grandparents sucked. I know, it sounds pretty harsh. Actually, three of them sucked. My grandmother on my mother’s side, Ruth, died when I was still a child. She’s the one I had a nice memory with one rainy day at the Lincoln Park Zoo. But the other three just weren’t interested. They were very much into themselves.
I think that because of that lack of grandparental relationship, and the checkered course of my own nuclear family growing up — I always sought out a connection with older folks. For many years, I didn’t realize it. Hindsight offers plenty of clarity.
When I was 25 and had moved to Bettendorf, Iowa to work as a reporter for the CBS-TV affiliate there, I met one of the most colorful characters I’d ever seen. Denny Witt was a news photographer with a white handlebar mustache who wore cowboy boots and shirts to work every day. He knew every dirty limerick and joke in the book, and somehow made them sound charming even when he told them to the female reporters. Denny smoked two packs of filterless Pall Malls a day. My friend Paul and I were endlessly entertained by the guy I nicknamed “Silky D” — while we were simultaneously worried that he and his camera unit were destined to face plant one day.
Denny was the first “grandfather I never had.” A few others would follow, Don, Bud, Jack. Those three, all much younger than Mickey, will give me a verbal smack as soon as they read their names and the word “grandfather” in the same paragraph. But they’ll also get it: It’s about the relationship, the wisdom I sought and the laughs we still share.
The most ironic part of my own grandparents’ absence is that I just might have been the most grandparent-friendly kid on the planet. I know old movies better than most people over 80. I was a Sinatra-file and listening to the Rat Pack when I was 21. I’ve written books about American government, history and Israel that took a lot of research — mostly from people and knowledge bases that precede my own life!
Mickey and I had lunch last week in Chicago. He still drives and he’s as sharp as ever. His voice is more faint now, so I lean in to grab every word. I probably talk less during a conversation with Mick than I do with anyone else; I want to soak up his observations about a world that so many of us are struggling to make sense of. During our lunch, he said that what he’s watching in American politics hearkens back to what various leaders were leveraging to horrifying consequence in his youth: fear.
What’s Mickey been up to as he approaches his 94th birthday? The guy who served on the boards of DePaul University, Aurora University, the Anti-Defamation League and others is as busy as ever. After years of service on the national finance committee of the ADL, he still works with local leaders in Chicago. And the Jewish man who’s been happily married for more than 50 years to his Catholic wife, Alicia, is now taking a course on the Bible. He could probably teach it himself.
Mickey and Alicia have supported One Million Degrees and attended our events. He also reads every word I write — and often sends me feedback that I learn from.
I don’t get back to Chicago as much these days. But when I do, Mickey is one of the first people on the itinerary. Whether it’s a corned beef sandwich at iconic Manny’s Deli downtown or a Cobb Salad at Prairie Grass, I know I’m going to learn something new.
I also know what he’s going to say to his 58-year-old friend as we say goodbye in the parking lot: “Now be a good boy.”
My grandfather says it with a gleam and his eye and an impish grin on his face. He says it with the familiarity of family.
MICHAEL GOLDEN is the cofounder of One Million Degrees, a national award-winning journalist and bestselling author. The Golden Mean is where he works to convert ‘hidden lessons’ into active wisdom.
I am amazed every time I read your stuff. You connect in so many ways most people do, or cannot, or wish to. You are the voice for all of us.
Great post, Michael!