The real Yogi

After you live long enough, and if you're lucky enough, you get to relish recalling a remarkable thing or two you witnessed. Today, some poignant recollections surfaced from my heart after I learned of the sad passing of a New Jersey friend. We met in the men's locker room at the Montclair Golf Club, where we were both members, and where he often napped unhurriedly in the afternoons after playing 18, stretched out on the leather couch. A man of no airs, ever. Just Yogi. WYSIWYG. Period.

I enjoyed relaxed conversations with him, and an adult beverage now and then at some of the club's gala black tie evening events. He enjoyed fun, being with people having fun. Always with his famous grinning expression -- eyes ever twinkling.

At 5' 7", his height seemed to understate his stature: a globally-recognized, unpretentious, admired, larger-than-life personality. A Star.

My lifelong fascination with the origins of iconic idioms meant I couldn't resist asking him to explain how some of his most oft-quoted expressions had arisen? Prejudging, I suspected his gift had been that he could feel comedic situations unfolding before him in slow motion giving rise to enough forethought that he could produce the witticisms and wisdom in the swing of the moment that he made so very famous? He assured me without window dressing, "No, it's just what came out of my mouth."

Attempting to demonstrate, he explained, "One time when Joe Garagiolo and his wife came out from the City to our house for dinner Carmen had set for them, I gave Joe directions over the phone. You see, our house set on a cul-de-sac, one with trees and stuff in the middle of the circle so you couldn't see when you got close, and I told him, "... when you come to the fork, take it." He explained to me how it was a simple instruction -- not meant with any humor. Few things sweeten the mind like hearing a firsthand account of something historic and how it came to be. An unforgettable moment I cherish.

After 9/11, New York's tourism, as foundational to New York City's humming economy as the financial markets, went from full throttle to dead stopped in just one tragic day. Broadway, the museums, the cultural performance arts, shopping, all crashed. Silence. No tourists. The hotels and restaurants empty. Urgently, the Mayor, on advice from the city's best creative minds, commanded the production of a video extending an invitation from the people of New York to the world's die hard cultural aficionados to come back -- his attempt to revive tourism. That 1-minute video displayed the sounds of thrilling classical music quickly culminated -- the maestro (shown from the back) signaling his baton for the orchestra to conclude, and then he turned from over his shoulder with a wry smile into the lens. Unexpectedly, the camera revealed an impostor in black tie ... and Yogi said, "Who is that guy -- Phil Harmonic?" The light hearted commercial delighted viewers playing as a public service message for months in almost every major TV market in the world. Tourist the world over got the trusted message and came back -- boosting the city back to life.

I explained my curiosity to Yogi wanting to know how much work it must have been to make such an important video message, how many re-takes to get it perfect, and asked, "How many takes did the director make you do to produce that?" He looked at me a moment, revealing a quizzical expression wondering why I wanted to know the obvious, and then answered in flat affect, "Once." I realized, "Wow," when you are the greatest clutch hitter who ever played the game, no matter what's thrown, you can just grand slam, when that's what's needed.

Thanks, Yogi, for my memories and our friendship, and for being an authentic, honest character in my life. You were so kind to me, and I miss you.