In our family, credentials (as in doctor, lawyer, Indian chief) were (too) important. Life began ... after medical school.  Showing up at family events in the 1950s forward was like being on American Idol, surrounded by Simon Cowells dressed as uncles, aunts, cousins, extended family and friends, who peppered you with the Jewish cross examination: What are you studying (already)? Where will you go to school (already, why not Harvard)?  When will you graduate (already)? What will you be (already)?  When will you marry (rich, already)?  

A lot of pressure combined with love and salty, fatty foods.  As the youngest cousin, coming up was a tall ladder to climb, not to mention painful challenges in my immediate family that made it even harder. Despite the odds, I persevered and completed my Ph.D. at Columbia University (aka, I finally arrived).  I never knew how other people reacted until one day, many years later, Allan told me something sweet and powerful:  1) I was a hero because it was a miracle that I did it under the circumstances that I did, and 2) that his dad, darling Uncle Abie, harrassed dear lifelong family friend and neighbor, Willie Prezant, about it.  He harangued him and cornered him at the pool, saying, "Willie!  You know what?!  You know my niece, Laurie?  She got her doctorate! You hear?!  Listen, Willie!  Laurie, she's a doctor!!!!"  So sweet.  Thanks, Al.  Thanks Uncle Abe. 

One summer's day in the 1960s, our neighbor's daughter, Pauline Alpert, a typical brainy, liberal child of the '60s, engaged in a long political debate with my father, Harry.  The two sat outside on lawn chairs under the sun for what seemed an endless amount of time, when Pauline saw Allan approach.  

Exhausted, she got up and asked Allan to please take over the debate.  "Sure," Allan said, and sat down next to my dad, as Pauline lumbered away, spent.
Allan, who knew my father well, simply asked, "Uncle Harry, is there anything I could possibly say that could change your mind?"  "Nothing," my father replied. So Allan said, "Good, then let's eat." and off they went, laughing together, to grab a bite, while Pauline, bewildered, shouted back, "That's how you took over the fight?!"

One summer, I was in a group share house in Belmar at the Jersey shore with my close friend, Joyce Parseghian, who was also my roommate in the city.  Allan knew her and they got along famously.

Joyce was interested in a guy named Art who ran hot and cold and wasn't giving her the attention she wanted, so Allan came up with a plan.  One weekend, he said that he would take his son Mike, then about 8, deep-sea fishing, and they'd bring us what they caught (blue fish), which they did, in the middle of the night.  Allan told Joyce to invite Art for dinner, saying we had fresh-caught bluefish, and when he was there, to make him jealous by telling him that her date, this great guy named "Mike," caught it the night before for her. Worked like a charm!  We never mentioned that her date, Mike, was my 8-year-old cousin. 

(Meantime, poor little Michael was seasick the whole time, in the middle of the night on a boat, out on the choppy ocean, surrounded by older men and fish.  Sorry, Mike. It was for a good cause.) 

Allan had a way with words.  

Weeks before he died, he was speaking to his life-long friend, Alan "Conway" Farber, about a legal matter.  He didn't want Farber to sign anything or put anything in writing, so what did he tell him?  "Don't be a schmuck with a pen."

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On another occasion, Allan and I were discussing an older person who was being foolish.  I couldn't understand why and asked Allan.  His reply?  "There's no schmuck like an old schmuck." 

On November 7, 1998, my mother called to tell me, "Laurie, I think dad is dead."

What kind of crazy message is that?!  I asked, "Well, what do you mean, you THINK he is dead?  Aren't you sure?"  She said he hadn't moved since she last saw him in bed hours earlier, he was cold to the touch, and wasn't breathing. Sounded dead to me. 

I told her to call 911.  She did. With any quasi-legal situation, she also called Allan, who inherited the family's legal work from Uncle Miltie and lived the closest, so he dutifully went to my parents' home.  When he got there, the police and M.E. were already there and confirmed that my father had died. The officials were doing what they needed to do.

Meanwhile,  amidst the commotion, my mother had a sudden craving for kippers, so she sauteed them with onions and eggs. You can't imagine how that stank up the house.   

Allan called me from outside, gagging, to confirm that the cops and M.E. were almost passing out from the kipper smell, and that it was good a lawyer was there to answer their questions because, suffice it to say, my mother -- who loved my father dearly -- was not exactly acting like an innocent, grieving widow.

Thankfully, my father was 87, so they accepted that he died of natural causes. 

When my parents were old, they and my oldest brother Bernie, were hurt in a car accident.  Allan got them a settlement payment on an expedited basis because they were old.

My mother got the settlement check and immediately called Allan's office, not to thank him, but to tell him that the check was off by 43 cents.   She had kept copious records and was was an ace bookkeeper, so she couldn't understand why there was a discrepancy and it kept her up at night.

Allan, of course, didn't know and nobody else cared.  He offered to give her the missing 43 cents.  "No."  She wanted the numbers to match and she wanted the right party to pay.  She called him non-stop.   She wanted him to confront the insurer.  

He asked his staff not to put her through so he could actually get some work done, but they thought, "Oh, how nice.  It's your aunt Rose," and always put her through to poor Allan.  The conversation was always the same.

He was never short with her, but he was pulling his hair out, so I tried to make her stop harassing Allan and realize how unusualy fast he had gotten her the settlement money.  It took a few rounds, but we finally got through to her. Phew.  

Allan was such a caring and generous person that, whenever he could, he gave my mother, his Aunt Rose, a ride to or from events they both attended.  My mother, may she rest in peace, was quite the talker.  

Once, Allan tried to watch the road as my mother sat beside him and chewed off his ear, reciting her Hawaiian chicken recipe.  She had just made it and loved it.  She didn't spare a detail: "Use canned pineapple rings.  Not the chunks, the rings.  And get Dole. It's better.  For the maraschino cherries, use any brand, but the pineapple, get Dole.  Rings."   Till then, Allan patiently nodded and faked enthusiasm, "Oh, no kidding!"  "Isn't that terrific?!"

But when she got to adding the pineapple, Allan wasn't responding, so she said accusatively, "Allan!  You aren't listening.  What did I just say?!"
Allan faked an answer, but got it wrong. He was caught.  "You're not listening!"

Finally, Allan said, "Aunt Rose.  I have to pay attention to driving.  I promise I will never make Hawaiian chicken, so how much attention can I pay to the recipe?" From the back seat, I chimed in that it was putting us all at risk to distract him. Thankfully, safety won.  Even she had to laugh at herself because she realized how ridiculous it was to expect Allan to make Hawaiian chicken.  

My wedding day was one of the highlights of both mine and my father's life. He so wanted to be the father of the bride and walk his daughter down the aisle. Lucky for him, I got married outside on a huge grassy lawn, so our walk down the aisle was as long as the ceremony! Each year on that day, he would drive back to the same bucolic spot and call me, so he could relive every detail. The smile on his face says it all for me...

My dad was always thrilled when he attended ASU games with his best buddy, Jumpin' Joe Caldwell. This was a particularly special night for them, since ASU had retired Joe's number. My dad would call me each week to enthusiastically relay all of their adventures together.

This was a great day! Two wonderful families celebrating the first year of Jules' life. My father had such a blast and probably sang louder than anyone else when the birthday cake came out. He loved his little grandson like nothing else in the world...

One day when I was about 7 and Allan was 17, we met up putting out the garbage near our country homes and he casually mentioned to me to "Watch out for the guzza monkeys."  The what? I asked.  "The guzza monkeys. They're wild creatures that are out here in the woods, so don't go there."  He also explained that there are bears in Bear Mountain that sometimes stray.  Yikes!!!

I was terrified and protested that I never heard of them, but trusted Allan as my big cousin, so I took his warning to heart and never strayed too far from home on my own after that.

Many years later, knowing there was no such thing as Guzza monkeys in Lake Mohegan, I felt betrayed that he scared me for no reason and asked him why he did that to me.  

He explained that my father, Uncle Harry, ASKED him to talk to me to make sure I wouldn't wander and get lost in the country, so Allan made that up to protect me.  Who knew it was all for my good after all?  I had no choice but to forgive him and I did.  Not sure I could ever bring myself to thank him for it, though...  

 

Growing up, cousin Allan's family lived right next door to ours in the summer in Mohegan Lake.  Our fathers, brothers, bought the land together.  My dad was Harry and his and Phil's was Abe.  Our moms were both named Rose, so mine was "Big Rose" and his was "Little Rose."  

I was the baby girl cousin and Allan was my big cousin (10 years older than me).  I loved him always and trusted him blindly, so one day, when he explained that he could hit a badminton birdie off the top of my head with a racket without touching a hair and asked if he could show me, I said, "Sure!"  He assured me he never failed.  Okay...

He placed the birdie on my head and WHAM -- swung the racket with full force, right into my head and knocked me down.  Big Rose saw it all from the kitchen window and came running out screaming at him, "What the hell are you doing?!!!"

We both went running and, even though I was stunned, I wasn't hurt, so we both laughed.  

Decades ago, our Uncle Miltie, also a lawyer, had lunch with the same cronies from Court Street, Brooklyn, every day, at the same 1-2 restaurants, ordering the same 1-2 dishes.  Miltie liked the tuna melt.  

Among the usual suspects was a very unattractive looking man, with bad posture and a big nose.  We'll call him "Sam."  He regaled about one conquest after the other with women who weren't his wife.  Miltie, loyal to Aunt Sara as the day was long, enjoyed these stories endlessly, vicariously.  

These lunches were legendary, as different old-timers would tell their "big fish" stories.  If Allan, I or any other nieces or nephews were around, we were invited to join, which was a blast.  That meant that their stories had to be cleaned up "for the kids,"  but Allan and I went so often that we knew about Sam the cheater.

To look at Sam, it was hard to fathom ANY woman spending time with him, and it befuddled Miltie what "special charms" Sam might have to be so lucky with the ladies, so one day, honestly perplexed, he naively asked Allan, "What is it about Sam that attracts women?  What does he have?!" and Allan explained "A credit card. " 

Years ago, when my son Gabe was about 5, we visited Allan and he drove us through the woods with Magic, the dog, sitting up front between Allan and me, with Gabe in the back seat.  For those of you who knew Magic, he was a big, spirited dog.

Without warning, Allan alerted Magic, "Deer, Magic!"  With that, Magic came flying over my lap to get his head out my window, shredding my thighs and freaking me out completely.  He was so excited and Allan was so happy for him.

I begged Allan to get Magic off of me and please not incite him like that, so he helped calm Magic down, and half aplogized profusely and half explained how much Magic loved seeing deer.  

All was well and order was restored, until a little while later, when ... Allan saw more deer, and said, "Look Magic, deer!" ...AGAIN!

You can picture how that went.  He loved Magic that much, and I loved Allan that much, that after screaming at him for being a maniac, I forgave him and we had a great dinner and a good time, as always, and we both continued as if nothing happened.   Just another normal adventure between my beloved and wild 'n crazy cousin Allan and me that I will cherish.

It was obvious to all who knew my dad that he was a bottomless well of love, generosity and friendship. His heart was the biggest I have ever known. But I think we can all agree that, maybe more than anything else, he was an endless source of comedy and kept us laughing for years with his antics. In particular, the odyssey of 'Allan in Israel' had us rolling for decades.

For instance; the Dead Sea. Upon reaching the historic Dead Sea with our modest group of fellow Americans, our tour guide gave us a brief introduction to the site, explaining its famed saline waters as a place of healing, dating as far back as biblical times. He then proceeded to express more importantly the need NOT TO GET THE WATER INTO YOUR EYES. Our guide put more emphasis on this point than the fact that King David bathed in this sea in the bible. "If you should even get a spot of the water on your fingers, do not rub it into your eyes!" Okay, point taken.

After we all filed off the bus, I could see my father standing in awe of his surroundings. He was fully absorbed by the sense of history, a real connection to his people. And as he inched towards the edge of the water, eyes fixed peacefully on the horizon, he managed to find the one boulder sticking out of the sea. He immediately stubbed his foot on the stone and fell face first into the Dead Sea. That's right, face first into the Dead Sea. I think everyone from Israel to Brooklyn heard my father scream "Saaandy!!"

My father certainly knew how to make a splash in life, and this day was no different...

:)

To the family of Mr. Alan Kuslansky:

My thoughts and prayers go out to you.

I met Alan back in the early 1970’s when he stopped at my service station (C&M Sunoco) RT 94, New Windsor to see if I could service his automobile.  Alan’s office was a couple of doors away and from that day on we became very good friends.  When he wasn’t in court he would walk from his office to my gas station and we would get lunch and talk sports.

When I started a softball team Alan was glad to join.  When I asked Alan what number he wanted on his uniform, the Yankee fan said he wanted #44.  From that day forward he was no longer known as Alan, he became number 44.  Whenever any of his team mates  saw him it was always “hey number 44”.  Number 44 was one of the most loved and respected members on our team.

I will never forget how excited he was the day his child was born.   We won our league championship that same day.   Right after we won the game he was notified that his wife was going to the hospital.  He left to be with his wife.  He said he would never forget that day.    What a happy man he was.

I could write for hours but will simply say he was a wonderful person and I was blessed to have known him.

Number 44 Rest in peace my friend.

Number 23 Dave McDermott

The summers our families shared were amazing.  Large parties, endless BBQs, laughter, ease and old friends.  Food of course was a central theme. July 4th was approaching one year and, like many Americans, all Allan really wanted was a traditional hot dog and hamburger.  

His father, Abe, knew my mother ("Big Rose") who lived next door in the country was a great cook and he really loved her beef flanken.  He know that if he told her that Allan really loved her flanken and asked her to make it for him when he came to visit for July 4th, she wouldn't hesitate to do it.  

When Allan arrived at the country house, Abe explained that he should act like he wanted flanken and be excited when he got it, which wasn't easy, while he lamented over missing the all-American fare he had in mind instead. He asked me: Who eats flanken for July 4th?!!!" ... and laughed.

Allan was a child of the 60s and spent time on the west coast, the place for "sex, drugs and rock & roll."  When he returned to NY, his mother ("Little Aunt Rose"), was concerned that he indulged and set Al's father Abe to have a stern talk with Allan to find out if he had done any drugs and to set him straight.

Allan's future talent in criminal defense was already in place.  When Abe cornered him, Allan immediately changed the subject and told Abe, "You know, I found a Kosher deli in California that had mile-high corned beef sandwiches that were terrific!!"  This immediately grabbed Abe's attention.  "No kidding?" 

Then Allan continued, "... and the best kosher pickles..." and explained with epic enthusiasm how great the food was, and before you knew it, the "talk" was over before it began. The two emerged smiling and happy.  

When Rose saw this, she asked Abe, "Did you have the talk?" Abe just said, "Yes." 

In our family, cousins are more like siblings, because we have an incredibly tight family.  Our oldest cousin, Carl, was held out to us as the example to follow.  He was a good student, went to medical school, became an M.D., married a nice Jewish girl, had a lovely family, a beautiful house, and did it all "the right way." And we were supposed to follow suit.

When Allan thought about doing something that might be the least bit "risky," like skiing, his dad (my Uncle Abe) was clever enough not to ban it outright, but instead, to simply say, "Carl would never do that." ... and that was code for, forget about skiing or whatever else it was that Allan had in mind.

 

Growing up, Allan and I and many -- if not all -- our first cousins on the Kuslansky side felt a great deal of pressure to get an education and to succeed. Our grandparents had immigrated from Russia and built a successful family business and wanted their children -- our parents -- to grow up and flourish in America, which they did.  

In turn, our parents made their expectations as clear as day: a doctor, a lawyer... another doctor wouldn't hurt.  Hardly anyone got away with getting "only" a Master's degree and many got doctorates.  Anyone who didn't achieve that type of status felt it.  Even those who achieved it felt inadequate or judged when they were merely on their way, but not there yet.  

8 of the 9 of us have doctorates or master's degrees:

Carl and Phil became doctors and knowledgeable about many things.  
Allan became a lawyer, sports and history buff. 
Teddy got a Master's degree and became a teacher. 
Phyllis got a Master's degree and was a fine artist and pianist
Gerry got a Ph.D. in Geology and is a natural musician 
Bernie was A.B.D. (all but dissertation) for a Ph.D. in Neuro-Physiology
Eli got a BFA from Cooper Union and beat the curve on technology 
I got a Ph.D. in Psychology. 

Most of us went on to win various accolades and awards and our share of success, but there was a price for all that, as well.  Allan and I talked about the stress this caused many times and how unhealthy it was.

One day, I asked Allan, What is the ONE Q our parents never asked us?   And before he could answer, I asked, "Did your parents ever ask you, 'What would you LIKE to be when you grow up?  What makes you HAPPY?' -- because we never heard it.  It was so absurd and outside the realm of reality that it truly made us laugh at how ridiculous that notion was.

The good news?  Allan spent time reflecting and trying to better understand life over the years, to his great credit, and came to a sense of peace about it all. One of the great life lessons he got was, "Just be happy."  He refused to pressure his children or anyone else to "achieve" anything. He was the truest believer in "live and let live."   It made him angry to hear anyone giving their kid a hard time to be or do more, or to live vicariously through their kids, instead of just letting them be.  

Whenever we talked about how his children were doing, all he cared about was that they were happy -- whatever they were doing and whatever they wanted to do.  It was all fine with him.  I hope that what Mike, Susie and Karen can take away from this, and someday, Julius too, is that if you are all fine, Allan is fine, too, and that's all that counts.  Do what makes YOU happy and don't worry.

So liberating and lovely.

Allan and I witnessed a hilarious moment in sports history together.  

Former NY Knicks coach, Pat Riley had moved to the Miami Heat, replaced by Jeff Van Gundy. The teams faced each other in the 1998 NBA playoffs, so you can imagine the intensity of emotions. New York fans felt betrayed by Riley and his Lexus ads and tempers were brewing, and then, Alonzo Mourning of the Heat and Larry Johnon of the Knicks got into a fight.

"Tiny" 5'9" Knicks coach, Jeff Van Gundy raced to break it up, but instead, fell down and held onto Alonzo Mourning's leg for dear life as he was being dragged around on the floor like a rag doll.  

Our seats were way up in the "eyebrow" section of the garden, and Allan asked me who dropped their jacket on the floor in the middle of the fight? He thought they were tripping on something.  I explained that it was no jacket -- it was Van Gundy.  

We were both hysterical. Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoTTCeLhLDA
 

As everyone who knew Allan knows, he was a sports buff.  When my son Gabe was very young, Allan felt responsible for Gabe's proper sports education, so he started with NY's most famous and took Gabe to his first baseball game, at Yankee Stadium.

Unfortunately, the pace of the action was too slow for Gabe at that age and he was confused about the uniforms, so he asked Allan, "Why do the players wear their pajamas?"

Needless to say, poor Allan was  beside himself that someone could think that about our beloved Yankees and he faked devastation.  Thankfully for both of them, they never went to another baseball game together.

One weekend, Allan drove through Harlem en route to NYC.  While stopped at a red light, a young African American woman dressed in a tattered wedding dress and sneakers crossed an empty lot and approached Allan's car.  He thought she seemed odd, but rolled down the window to see what she wanted.

She asked, "How about a job?"  

Allan replied, "Sorry, but I'm not hiring" and continued on his merry way.

Afterwards, he realized that she was making him an offer, which made him laugh at his own naivete, thinking how funny his answer must have been ... to the hooker.

When Allan was single, he thought it would be fun and a great way to make money and meet women if he bartended at the famed West End Bar and Grill near Columbia University.  He didn't know how to mix drinks, but figured that college kids only drank beer, so how hard could it be?

When he was interviewed for the job, he "claimed" that he had experience bartending in California at some made-up places and got the job.  No sooner did he get behind the bar that a patron came in and asked for a mixed drink.  Allan had no idea how to make it and couldn't ask without blowing his cover, so he made it up and ... so ended Allan's career as a bartender.

Allan once attended a professional event of the Bar Association paying tribute to a judge.  Allan took a seat as close to the exit as possible and when everyone stood to give the judge a standing ovation, Allan slipped out and made a bee-line for the buffet, where he carefully sampled everything, but left it appearing undisturbed.

He returned to the audience and then patiently blended with the crowd as they slowly ambled over to the reception with the various distinguished attendees, so pleased with himself appearing not to be in any rush to get to the food. 

Allan highly respected people rightly standing their ground, especially people who did it quietly.  Two of those people are his brother, Phil, and his son, Mike. 

Allan recounted to me how he had explained the option of settling a case to Phil, and LOVING Phil's response, saying with great admiration that Phil replied, "And how 'bout I don't want to settle?"  He was so pleased at Phil's conviction and clarity and supported him all the way.  He always said that Phil was the best brother and didn't deserve anything bad.  Right again.  

Allan also recounted with the utmost pride his son Mike's grit at holding to the selling price he wanted to get for his house and how firmly Mike stuck to it, even though Allan would have been more flexible.  Again, he thought it was terrific that Mike knew what he wanted and wouldn't settle for less. 
 

About  20 years ago, I got home on a Friday night, exhausted from a long week at work.  I ordered in a ridiculous amount of Japanese food and got into my sweats, looking forward to finally relaxing.  The food arrived and all I wanted to do was pig out, tune out, watch TV and go to sleep.  

As I dangled a tempura shrimp over my mouth, my cell phone rang.  It was Allan. I ignored it.  I was tired and hungry and figured I could talk to him later, but I had a pang of guilt.  Persistent as he was, he called right back again. Before I had a second bite, I answered and Allan said he was downtown in night court and wasn't enjoying being there alone.  He said it was going very slowly and he didn't know when it would be his turn and there was nothing to do but wait ... so I asked if he wanted me to meet him and wait together.  He was so happy and promised me dessert in Little Italy, so off with the sweats, goodbye feast, suit and heels back on, and off to night court I dashed in a taxi.

When I arrived at court, I found Allan not clean shaven, wearing a trench coat with safety pins holding up the epaulets on the shoulders, a tweed sports jacket with no buttons, hiking shoes and corduroy pants.  He explained that his client was a young woman arrested for DUI during an accident (who had actually switched w/her boyfriend, the actual driver) and that her parents were referred to Allan and called when he was about to call it a day and go home with Magic, the dog.  He didn't really want to take the case, so he asked for such a high fee, he was sure they would refuse, but, to his surprise, they accepted it, so there he was, dropping off Magic and with no time to change -- heading into NYC.

While waiting our turn, Allan had the time of his life, making fun of people in the courtroom and telling me jokes, not exactly in a stage whisper.  I kept reminding him that the judge was not very tolerant and his client's parents were behind us and it wasn't cool to be yucking it up in that situation.  Instead, he was sure the parents were so shocked they would never remember any of it and they'd say afterwards that he was in a pinstripe suit.  My reminders were useless. He continued to joke about people we saw, so I finally said, 'Yeah, but at least they have buttons!"

When it was his turn, he did a great job for his client, getting an amazing result -- basically saying that sentencing her to jail after keeping her in lock up before sentencing was like double jeopardy and the judge sort of bought it!  Clients were thrilled and we left hastily to go for dessert.  

Allan's attache case looked like what a 5th grader in the 1950s carried -- black faux leather, overstuffed, with rickety clasps.  It flew open in the hallway, dumping all his papers on the floor, not once, but twice, before we made it out of the building.  He was convinced that anyone seeing us would think I was the lawyer and he was my client, the defendant.

After that, whenever we made fun of anyone, it would end with, "Sure, but don't be such a big shot.  At least HE has buttons" and we laughed like the first time.  

One afternoon after a Knicks game, Allan and I walked out the side entrance of MSG where the stars went and we ran into one of my basketball heroes, "Clyde."

Allan stood back and watched on gleaming as I walked right up to Clyde, shook his hand, and thanked him for the years of thrilling b-ball he played. Allan was delighted that I had this moment and recounted Clyde's pearly whites, like a set of "piano keys" with pride and joy, saying: "Remember when Clyde gave you that big smile?!"  

Allan was always so giving. 

For many years, Allan and I went to the Knicks games together at Madison Square Garden and always ate out before or after the game.  One Sunday, before an afternoon game, Allan parked ridiculously far away from my place and called to say he was walking over, but it was taking an unusually long time.  I called again and he said he was almost here.  

He finally arrived and confessed that he'd parked near Zabar's, about 10 blocks away, bought smoked sable that he planned to split half and half with me, ... but along the way... well, he ate my half and didn't know what to say.  Eating while walking had slowed him down.  Of course, I forgave him the same day, but it was a running joke. 

Allan Jay and Barry at Dean's Bar Mitzvah...they always had a good time. going to baseball and basketball games together...another great moment in Alan's life...
I know cousin Barry and Allan were close and always had a great time together... 

This was one of Allan's favorite photos of one of his heroes, our grand-father ("Pop") Sam Kuslansky.

Sam was tough and not everyone's favorite, but Allan admired his way with the ladies.  There are even photos of Sam in South Beach before it had the name, surrounded by palm trees and a lady on each arm which we found very amusing.

Allan and I both found this photo unbelievable and a riot because he was in a boat with a woman ... and he had HER doing the rowing at a time when probably nobody did that.

Just one of many laughs we shared.