Published: Sep 24, 2012
My friend Lorenzo Weisman was sick, then better, then, unknown to most of us, sick again. And now, way too soon, dead. He was only a couple of years ahead of me at college, but it seems like I have spent my entire life looking up to him. In Cambridge, he was the epitome of a sophistication that had no snobbery in it. The way he carried himself — in a crowd of strivers and wannabes, he already was who he was going to be. In his work, I admired his steadiness. So many are seduced by the glittering promise of novelty. Lorenzo was never fooled. He made smart choices, was loyal to his friends, wasn’t sharp in his practices, stayed the course. And as a husband and father — well, this is what it was all about for him. He married his trophy wife first, and as far as I can tell, there wasn’t a single day when he did not honor her. And their kids — behind his smiles and laughter, there was no doubt that he had expectations and that they weren’t low. I don’t really care about men, don’t have many male friends. But I’m going to miss Lolo so very, very much.