David Nehamkin

Penny and I found out yesterday that our friend and mentor David Nehamkin passed away.

Our hearts sank for ourselves, because we'll miss him, but especially for his family, whom he loved above all else.

In addition to being kind-hearted, generous and wise, David was the best writer I ever met.

More times than I could count, when the rest of us were stuck and harboring little hope of meeting the deadline without resorting to a mediocre idea, he would effortlessly spout the perfect phrasing or ideal insight that simultaneously saved the day and humbled us all.

"It's okay," Charlie would say to me as I shook my head in amazement. "He's better than me, too."

No one understood how David's brain could work that way. We just felt lucky to have him on our side. So to hear him say -- to me and to others -- that he believed in me, that he saw something there, well, sometimes that was all I had, and it was plenty.

David was my mentor. It was sort of an assignment and sort of a bait-and-switch. He promised Young & Laramore when they hired me for my first job in advertising that he would take me under his wing, oversee my development, nurture my skills... basically, make sure I didn't screw anything up.

Once they'd hired me, though, he smiled his sly smile and told me: "You don't need a mentor. You're smart enough and talented enough. Just go ahead and do the job."

It was a lie, of course. I did need a mentor, and he did take me under his wing. He just told me I didn't need him to, and I very much appreciated this charitable deceit.

I watched him work on Goodwill ads, putting words in the mouth of Marcus, the wholesome, goofy delivery guy, and I watched him work on Steak n Shake, writing placemats and print ads in the voice we described as "Gus Belt meets Bugs Bunny."

One Spring I saw David create a wonderful, thoughtful campaign for an order of nuns who desperately needed some new recruits. With my Irish Catholic background, I was initially given the assignment, but David grumbled (wittily, of course) about being "passed over on Easter." I couldn't be mad when they gave him the job instead, and especially not when he did it better than I possibly could have.

David gave his talents to so many people -- some deserving; others not so much -- from giant corporations to Jewish film festivals to everyday shmoes like me who stand in the drug store aisle and try to pick out a good birthday card.

He wrote for American Greetings for many years, putting language to emotions as only he could. Goodness knows -- heck, maybe David knows, now -- how many hapless clods got to use his words to express their feelings. We should all be so lucky.

Thank you, David. You showed me how to write. You did many, many other things for me, things I won't even realize for years, but that alone -- that was enough. More than enough. Thank you.

And hey, I was thinking ... all that talent and brilliance of yours ... since you're not using it anymore, would you mind letting me borrow it?

I've got a friend I need to say goodbye to.