“Mieux est de ris que de larmes écrire pour ce que le rire est the propre de l’homme.” (“It is better to laugh than to write about tears because laughter is the right of man.” ) -François Rabelais, 15th century French humanist
Dear friends,
I recently lost a dear friend of 22 years, also my former boss and mentor, Bruce. In the first few minutes of his wife, BJ, breaking the news to me over the phone, I burst into tears with a singular thought racing through my mind—why in the world was I not in touch with him more regularly over the past 5 months since we last met?
Swami Tejomayananda once said, “Between the urgent and the routine, one must not forget the important.” I did. And I regret that.
Bruce and his lovely wife, BJ at the gorgeous Bavarian Inn in West Virginia.
But the regret soon took a back seat when BJ shared that Bruce wanted to be remembered with laughs at his Memorial service, coming soon. We switched—we exchanged stories of laughter and fun that invariably punctuated our 12 years of working together running a publishing program in Washington, DC. Bruce called Washington, DC the “center of the empire” glancing at the statue of Nike on top of the U.S. Capitol Hill that we’d pass every day on our walk to Union Station to catch our commuter trains back home after work.
This laughter, err…post is therefore dedicated to Bruce. I hope these anecdotes pull a few laughs from you too, so you can honor one of the most humble and gentle of human beings there can be.
India versus Sweden
When I asked Bruce shortly after we started working together in 2002 as to why everyone in the office was so serious, he said in his quiet voice: “I am Swedish.” Like that explained it all. Well, it did to him! “And you are like the 4th of July here. Give us some time.”
On one of our jaunts over lunch to watch the famous cherry blossoms in the Tidal Basin area of Washington, DC. I was pregnant with Sahil at the time, and sick lo and behold, and complaining nonstop about it the whole way. But we managed a laugh, nonetheless. The cherry trees always make visitors smile in awe and appreciation.
Tea anyone? No!
Bruce loved tea—as much as me, well maybe a little more. He had the idea of launching a monthly meeting at work where we’d invite staff from the other departments to sip a cuppa over the state of publishing news. Sadly—for all but him—he decided to choose the strangest Chinese tea (no offense) that tasted like hard water gone stale (seriously). One sip made our gutsy CEO exclaim after almost choking, “You are trying to kill us or what, Bruce?!” <smile> Sorry, Doreen, I had to share!
Eyes (not) wide open
Bruce had a unique habit of sometimes closing his eyes momentarily while speaking at meetings. <smile>. Maybe he was reflecting on his thoughts as he spoke. He was always thoughtful and meditative in an often thoughtless world. It just did not serve him well that morning when he declared with his eyes closed, “I have an exciting vision for our publishing program” making everyone in the room smile—except for me, the what-you-see-is-what-you-get who burst out laughing, much to his embarrassment, sorry!
Slots of a prank
My husband, normally a soft-spoken and serious guy, once pulled off a prank on Bruce as we drove to his home in West Virginia for our annual Christmas meet. I whole heartedly supported it, of course. We called him from our car, and after his usual polite greeting, “Hello, this is Bruce” Sri yelled in a fake southern accent, “Charlestown races and slots!!!” mimicking a radio ad that played those days to advertise the newly-minted slot machines in Bruce’s hometown, much to his consternation. We did that a few times, I might have chimed in. We hung up exploding with laughter, almost driving the car off the road.
Of eclectic Christmases
Sahil, our son, has mostly only known one Christmas since birth —chez Bruce and his most endearing, artistic, and wise wife, BJ. It was an eclectic mix—a former Swede Lutheran turned Sufi, a former Jewish faith lady of the household turned Shaman, and us Hindus eating matzo ball soup, spicy cholé and pulav, hard tack or knäckebröd, lingonberry jam, and gulping some potent glögg. Lasagna would be thrown in (Ina Garten style—Bruce loved her cooking!). All vegetarian. And celebrated on Christmas Eve Swedish style with a ton of presents to open with clues that we had hearty laughs deciphering.
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Of many Christmas memories over the years—one with what we called a very “fat tree” (did it reflect someone unknown’s paunch? Maybe <wink>). Christmases were always laughter galore!
Dinner chatter
Bruce and I felt morally obligated to discuss our daily dinner menu every evening before we left work or on our way to Union Station in Washington, DC where I’d board the Baltimore local and he’d make the long trek up to Harper’s Ferry, WV (yes, he did that tenaciously for at least 15 years). He usually cooked meat for dinner, moi always vegetarian, but we felt obligated to share our recipes. And he heartily devoured Indian snacks and goodies my mom—who lived with us at the time—packed for me every day—upma, poha, vadas, and such.
Advice for a lifetime
Some advice that stuck— it’s not being the first that counts always, it’s being the best and better than the last that matters in publishing. Bruce was a magazine publisher in Chicago before he moved to the scientific publishing field. Apart from my dad, Bruce believed in me as a writer and told me to stick with it. He’d be a gentle editor to all things I wrote, especially a monthly e-newsletter we both published for years. He edited just enough to make things sound right.
In fact, he was living proof of, “Be tender towards the fault of others, be strict towards your own.” He’d beat himself down to a point of fault but made sure his staff was well-cared and advocated for, which typically brought out the best in all.
“All else becomes beautiful with humility,” said Swami Tejomayananda. That’s Bruce. I wish I could pull a laugh at that one, but no, I can’t. Instead, I’ll nod in affirmation for now, and we will smile or laugh about it together when we meet on the other side.
A skilled scolder
No, not Bruce, me. “Anu,” Bruce would say. “If you are ever out of ideas for what to do in life, start a skilled scolding business.” He contended that I had a unique way of cutting right through the crap (sorry!) and putting things in place. It sounds horrendous, but I am hoping he was referring to my fearlessness at calling out situations—a direct inheritance from my late father—than a mean streak in me. <wink>
My mom just sent me annual mango pickles from India, and I wish I could take Bruce some again this year—he was a huge fan! I’ll definitely carry some with me when we meet on the other side. Unless of course, I’d miss meeting him because he’d be out taking a walk on a “perfect” day—cold, grim, a bit blustery. That was the Scandinavian in him.
But either way, with his big smile, huge blue eyes, and kind demeanor, he’d be sure to warm up the heavens like a bright Indian summer! With a cup of that unforgettable concoction he called tea.
Until then, so long, and thank you for having faith in me, teaching me so much, and affirming my faith in humanity—yes, good people do exist, no matter what anyone says.
Meaningfully yours,
Anu Prabhala
Bruce and I distributed free books and I provided free demonstration lessons for teachers at a number of Head Starts and elementary schools where Bruce had contacts. Hoopoe Books https://hoopoebooks.com/
gently provide children with opportunities to use analogical thinking and develop empathy. Bruce loved these beautiful teaching stories as much as I do. I got to stay with BJ and Bruce in their beautiful home and spend time with them when we had schools to visit. Bruce was dedicated to our work with The Institue for the Study of Human Knowledge as well. May his memory forever be a blessing.
That's a very touching tribute. What a wonderful person, what a wonderful friendship