Thursday, November 30, 0002
Dear Susan, Robert and Linda: I’m sorry that Carole and I can’t be with you tomorrow night. Carole explained our conflict to Susan. I first met your dad about 15 years ago when I spoke at his Rotary Club about Social Security. I spoke a few months later about investments and Owen made an appointment to come see me. He transferred his investments to me and thus began one of the more interesting professional/client relationships I’ve had. Our conversations tended to be about three things he loved: Rotary, the Redskins and his money. All three disappointed him from time to time. Fortunately I could only be held responsible for the last one - - his investments. He loved to rattle my cage when a stock went down. He showed his love for you three to me by his perpetual concern that he leave you as much as he could without leaving anything to Uncle Sam. I’m sure he’s smiling down on us because he died in the one year without any estate taxes. In our regular phone calls and some dinners, Owen and I shared many laughs. The phone would ring and I’d hear, “It’s Owen.” (He had such a distinctive voice that he didn’t really need to identify himself.) Then he’d start in rattling my cage over a $5 charge on his statement. By the end of the conversation we’d both be laughing. I could tell other stories, but you get the idea. I’ll miss very much hearing, “It’s Owen.”
