Editor’s Note: After the tragic death of Michael Rothenberg in Brooklyn, NY, we proudly reprint below the eulogy given by Michael’s best friend, Will Carlin. Michael was not only a wonderful human being, but his dedication to the sport of squash was remarkable. For nearly a decade, Michael served on the U.S. SQUASH Board of Directors; from 1994-2001 he was President of the MSRA in New York; in 2004 the MSRA presented its Board of Governors award to Michael; and in 2007 the MSRA established the Michael Rothenberg given annually to “the junior future star that shows effort, sportsmanship and sportsmanship on and off the court.” Kevin Klipstein, CEO of U.S. SQUASH, commented: “Michael was an incredibly influential figure for many people involved locally and at U.S. SQUASH, myself included. He, along with Will Carlin, deserve a lot of the credit for laying the foundation, and creating the blueprint for the change that has occurred in the last decade. It’s a huge loss to the community.”
Michael Rothenberg
Michael was my best friend for 25 years, but when I first met him, I didn’t much like him. He had called me to play squash, and I had no idea who he was. Take out your programs and look at the back page and check him out in the picture in the lower right corner. That’s what he looked like when he showed up. Well, he wasn’t wearing a silk bathrobe, but he had that long hair and a headband. I am pretty serious when I play squash, but Michael was just a chatterbox— he wouldn’t stop talking. “Who is this guy?” I kept thinking to myself. After the match, I knew we wouldn’t play again.
He later teased me that he couldn’t believe how arrogant I was (he was right), but that he liked me anyway, and as he has done with so many of the people in this room, he drew me in.
Of course, we played again. And again. And over time, I somehow found myself included with his three oldest friends, all amazing men and each very special: John Lewis, Scott Schaefer, and James Klein.
My friendship with Michael has made me into a better man. He showed me the satisfaction of helping people less fortunate, he personified the example of doing the right thing, and more than anything else, he gave me the ability to laugh at myself.
I am guessing that nearly everyone here can tell a story where Michael used his wit, humor and sense of timing to completely defuse a situation. One quick story:
Two years ago, when NYLPI (New York Lawyers for the Public Interest) was a finalist for the New York Times Nonprofit Excellence award, the judges came to NYLPI for a presentation. If you win the award, you get to be a judge the following year. But when the presentation started, the Executive Director of the previous year’s winner was not there. Ten minutes later, he walked in, apologizing for not being on time. Michael paused in his presentation, let the guy start to settle in and said with palpable mirth, “I bet you were on time last year.”
Everyone burst out laughing and the ED immediately took the cue, and said: “Okay, where is my scorecard?” Needless to say, they became friends.
Two nights ago, I was on the phone with David Stern—one of Michael’s close friends who already has become one of mine because of Michael – and we were talking about all the little things we both were missing already. I told him about playing squash almost every week for the past 25 years with Michael, and more often than not, taking a steam bath afterwards. After sitting in there for a while, we would get out and take ice cold showers that would take our breaths away and then run, naked and giggling back into the warmth of the steam room. I am going to miss that giggle.
So many of our best conversations took place in that steam room. One of the reasons we have been so close is that our lives intersected on all three major areas: squash, work and family.
He talked about people most of all. Nearly everyone at NYLPI, including Marnie, Miranda, Isabelle, Tanya and Gavin. He talked about close friends that I barely know in person but feel I know well: John Wright, Paul Lafortezza, Michael Stusser and Saiful Islam. He talked about mentors and friends like David Brodsky, Joan Vermeulen and John Siffert. He talked about people in legal services like Lillian Moy, Harvey Epstein, and Ken Rosenfeld. He talked about people in squash like Beth Rasin, Richard Chin, Tim Wyant and Kevin Klipstein. And of course, he talked about his mother, Ellie, his father, Stanley, his brothers David and Seth. And every single member of the Goodman clan: Jack, Fritzy, Merryl and Monty, Tria and Bill, Kael and Lisi and your children.
He talked about his special relationship with more of you than I can possibly mention here.
But there were four people he talked about most.
Brice: you are his first born, and he regularly bragged to me about your thoughtfulness, your similar slightly offbeat senses of humor, and how proud he was of the woman you still are becoming.
Garon: he saw so much of himself in you, from your love of numbers to the quickness of your mind and the way you think. Take out your programs again and look at the inside picture: that’s Michael, but it might as well be Garon. He loved that you two were so like him.
Zaya: One of his favorite stories about you was when you were about four years old, and you were climbing on some furniture and he said, “Zaya, get down!” You looked at him and said, “I love you, Daddy.” He laughed as he told the story and said that you had him wrapped around your fingers since the day you were born.
And Zerline: he really did regularly tell me how lucky he was that you two met, that you were the mother of his children, that you were his partner. Over 25 years, he regularly told me how surprised he was at how deeply in love the two of you still were.
Michael’s death makes no sense to me. He leaves a hole in my life—and I know in so many of yours—that simply can not and will not ever be filled.
Last year, the day after his birthday, we were talking on the phone late at night, and I knew I had to tell him something. After all the caveats that one straight man would say to another, I told him that I loved him.
His two word response would be the worst two words to hear if you had gotten the nerve to say “I love you” to your boyfriend or girlfriend for the first time, but it was the perfect response.
And I believe that they apply to so many of you who also loved him so intensely; I hope they give you a similar measure of solace that they do me.
He said simply, “I know.”
