This last month, in the middle of all the craziness, I was cleaning some emails and papers and came across a file called “Mickey.” A few months ago, in a panic, I thought I lost the pictures of Mickey and me that had meant so much. Once found, and especially considering the timing, I believe this was a message sent from Hashem.
Mickey Kairy and I had a special relationship. I miss him, and all that he was about. There are people who will never be forgotten, because their legacy is timeless—Mickey was one of those people.
Recently, Mickey was being honored in Magen David Yeshivah, and I was asked to write a few words as if they were written by Mickey. I was happy to do so; this is what I wrote:
My name is Mickey. On my passport it says Meyer, but it’s Mickey. Everyone knows me by that name.
Sometimes I hear people saying, “I love Mickey, he’s the greatest,” and that’s swell, but I bet they didn’t know certain things about me, like I love jazz. Stan Kenton was the greatest. I never can get enough of listening to “Artistry in Rhythm.”
How many people remember John Garfield, or Jimmy Cagney? How about Paul Muni? Did anyone know that John Garfield was Jewish? How about Edward G Robinson?
One more guy I need to tell you about—Ted Williams. He was a war hero, a tremendous ball player, the best left handed hitter ever (sorry Babe), and did I mention he was a war hero? But he was a quiet guy, never liked to show off. He never really liked the attention. Do you know even when he hit his last home run at Fenway, when the fans all stood up and begged him to tip his hat, to acknowledge the cheers, well, he just quietly trotted into the dugout—and that was all there was to it.
All these people I’ve mentioned, they are kind of like me. I appreciate this attention, but it’s hard to accept it. It’s so much easier to give than to take—and so much more gratifying.
You know what was rewarding? Teaching boys their bar mitzvah parts, especially because I had attended their brit milahs. Then, I watched these same boys grow into men, and then I’d teach their sons. Wow, can you buy that with money? I don’t think so. My greatest joys have been teaching the children in our community, and I think you’d understand when I say, they were kinda like my own children. I have so many children, they would fill Yankee Stadium, and the cheering, instead of coming from the crowd, would come from me—the coach. You all make me so proud, you really do.
And what would this world be without the women? Nothing! Another movie I love is called City Lights. At the end, the tramp (Charlie Chaplin), finds the flower girl, who can now see. She feels sorry for him, but once she places her hand on his, she realizes who he is—the very man who loved her so much he would do anything possible to cure her blindness. And he did it—without expecting or asking for anything in return. Pat, just like that guy in the movie, I’d have walked the world ten times over to make you happy, and you made it so easy for me.
So today, if there is anyone to thank for years of service, or hesed, or whatever it is—don’t look at Mickey Kairey—it’s the woman behind the man
