Last December I got a chance to think about him again, although not in a way I would have wanted. I found out that Charlie had lost a seven-year battle with cancer and it was time to say a final farewell to him. Leading up to, and following, the service I spent a good deal of time thinking back to the 4 or 5 years I actually worked with him. He was one of those people that always seemed to be glad to help out. Always available to lend a hand and kick in where needed. And there was always that “Charlie smile”, and of course that perfectly sculptured head of hair. Hair-boy we called him. But while some nicknames were given as put downs, “hair-boy” was just a description, and it never seemed to bother him at all. As I thought about Charlie, I remembered two moments in particular that, to me, defined Charlie.
The first one was probably some Thursday night during tax season. Back in those days we often worked until 10, or 11:00, putting in 14 or 15-hour days, sometimes longer – but that’s another story. However on most Thursday nights a group of us usually broke a little early and went out to relax and have a few drinks. This one night we all went to a place called Gavin’s. As the night got older, I was beginning to think it was about time for me to go home. Charlie seemed to think that I might have had a little too much to drink. He was probably right, although I do remember that I spent the last hour sticking to soda and coffee. As I started to get ready to leave he somehow got a hold of my keys. He got into my truck, locked the doors and smiled at me while he waived the keys back and forth by the window. What he didn’t know was that the rear side window lock was broken. I slid the window open, unlocked the front door, and yanked Charlie out of the truck. I then convinced him that I was fine to drive and shortly thereafter drove safely home.
The other night I remember was June 28th, 1993. Our firm had a softball team in the Philadelphia area CPA League. We were playing a game at Roxboro High School that night. Now Charlie didn’t play a lot. He almost always came to the games, and played when we needed an extra player, but he didn’t have the fire some of us had. At one point during this game I scored a run, and, after crossing the plate Charlie told me that he thought my beeper might have gone off. Now back in the early 90’s, if you had a beeper it was either because you were a doctor, a drug dealer or an expectant father. (I’ll give you a few minutes to figure this one out). I went over to check and sure enough the number of my wife’s obstetrician was showing. We had beepers back then because cell phones weren’t in use yet. A few people had what were referred to as bag phones. Huge monstrosities that you carried around in a bag and could hook up to your car to use. Charlie was one of the few non-partners that I knew who had one. He offered me the use of it so we ran up to his car and I called the doctors office. They told me that they had sent Michelle to the hospital and that I should meet her there. I ran back down to the field and began to take my spikes off.
Both of these stories highlight one major point: that Charlie Martini did his best to help those around him. I have learned that even his battle with cancer led to some new insights and treatments that will help others now that he has left us. Sometimes we wonder where people go when they have left us in this life. I have no doubts that Charlie is right now looking down on his wife and children, smiling and waiting for that future time when they’ll be together again.
Say a prayer for somebody today.
