Insomniactive

Many of us lost a dear friend and role model today.  Lowell Lebermann died in his sleep at 70, mid-nap in his beloved summer Aspen hideaway.

For most of us, that’s the way we hope to go.  For Lowell, I’m not so sure.  I think he might have preferred signing off in the middle of a well-told story at his corner table near the buffet line at the Headliners.  A quick lunch with Lowell could take two hours, so numerous were the well wishers and ring kissers who stopped by.  For a blind guy, nobody knew any better when you were reaching for the check.  And nothing pissed him off more (other than perhaps a dining room dress code infraction or a loss by any Longhorns team).   By god, that was his table.  I have a feeling that it will remain so,  deservedly and forevermore, regardless of who sits there from time to time.

Roughly ten zillion  people knew Lowell better than I did.  That only makes what I found to be his promiscuous generosity and patient, wise counsel even more remarkable.  My wife says that I get crushes on older men rather than on younger women.  She’s right–mostly.  But this was no crush.  I loved Lowell Lebermann very, very much.  And I–along with about ten zillion others–will miss him terribly.