Nicholas

In the second week of work, I was eating lunch and had a flashback when I saw an older Jewish man sitting across from me eating his lunch. I thought back to the first time I ate there and Mr. Whitesburg. It had been twenty years earlier that I met the man who would become a significant influence in my life. Mr. Josiah Whitesburg: a Jewish Italian. His mother was Italian, and his father, Jewish. He had worked for The Bank of America for several years, as an officer and manager. Having received his stockbroker’s license, master’s in business administration, and political science, he now worked for E.F. Hutton on Franklin Street. I was on the corner selling papers one day when he approached me and asked me, “Do you remember me?” he asked, looking at me like I should know him. “No,” I said, looking up at him with a lot of attitudes, “No, I don’t know you,” I replied while raking my mind trying to figure if he was someone I had beat out of some money. The thoughts were flying around my head as I handed a man a paper and turning back around toward him. I was trying to figure a way to run if he tried to get a hold of me. “Yes, you are the kind that used to bring your family house payment to my bank on Ninety-Sixth Avenue and East Fourteenth Street a few years back. Your name is Nick, isn’t it?” he said in an excited voice. “I remember you were always asking questions about banking and how to make money,” he said and smiled. I thought about what he said, and my mind went back to the days when my mother would send me to the bank with the house payment each month. I remembered him, but I was only eight or nine at the time, so my mind was not sharp. We stood there talking for a few minutes, and he told me to come by his office one day when I had the time and handed me his card. After he left, I just stood there thinking about what in the world he wanted me to come by his office. I was to find out later that going by his office would change my entire life in the years to come. He became my mentor and one of the wisest men I’ve ever known.I missed him because he died while I was in prison. I did not get to say goodbye. One day, I would find his wife if she was still alive and let her know how much I cared.