Years ago, two men of integrity walked down a San Francisco sidewalk. 

Heading to the Saturday Farmer’s Market in the Ferry building, they made a striking pair. One was tall and lanky with long loping strides, the other short of stature with a quick shuffling gait. The shorter man took two steps for every one the tall man took. On that chilly, foggy Saturday (it was summer in San Francisco, after all), as they strolled along they exchanged ideas about basketball and politics and UCLA (which they had both attend/and or worked for), and the state of the world in 2004.

The daughter of the tall man was dating the son of the shorter man. The men had known each other less than 24 hours, having met the night before at a table tucked into the back of a crowded seafood restaurant on Polk Street. A gigantic bottle of Veve Clicquot champagne sat chilling on the table, a surprise gift provided by one of their children’s high-powered bosses to mark the occasion – two families connecting for the first time. 

The introduction of these two men was significant not only for their son and daughter (who would go on to marry and raise future grandchildren who the two men cherished) but for another important reason. The tall man and the short man were each exceptional in character, in achievement, and most of all, in their roles as world-class reliable, loving fathers. 

It didn’t matter that one of the men believed in God and the other in classical music. That one preferred apple juice, the other vermouth. That one had an absent father, the other a present one. Instead, they leaned on their commonalities— a passion for books, baseball, basketball, and travel ran hot through their collective veins. Both had backpacked through Europe in their early 20s and burned through every last dollar. The two men also shared an ability to view life through a global lens, lifting up the people working toward active peace and reconciliation and calling to task those who stirred war and destruction. Successful careers had challenged and fulfilled them—the tall man as an award-winning writer/journalist and the other a respected professor/Dean at a Big Ten university. 

Unlike so many men of their generation (born in the late 1930s), they viewed women not only as equals but as individuals to be championed, as co-workers to support and mentor. Both had chosen remarkable women as partners to whom they remained committed and loyal for as long as they were able (the tall man’s wife had recently died when the men first met). In fact, one of the reasons the tall man’s daughter knew the shorter man’s son was a keeper was that she noticed the son enjoyed close, easy, respectful friendships with women. She has no doubt he learned from his father’s example. 

Soon after, the shorter man’s son and the taller man’s daughter eloped to San Francisco City Hall (the families managed not to hold it against their children). A year later, the son and daughter left San Francisco for the Midwest. They settled down the street from the son’s family, including the shorter man of integrity. Soon after, grandchildren joined the family, which thrilled the two fathers—now grandfathers—to no end. 

At family gatherings and holidays, the short man and the tall man enjoyed each other’s company, discussing grandchildren and books, movies, and traveling. The tall man, who lived in another city, visited often. The two men adopted the Spanish noun “consuegro” (meaning in-law) to describe their relationship. “Ahoy, Consuegro!” they would say loudly as they thumped each other on the back. To them, the foreign term legitimized and solidified their familial friendship. 

Despite their stellar qualities, I do not mean to imply that these were flawless men. In fact, challenges hunted them throughout their lives. The short man was born prematurely, his tiny body cradled for weeks in a hospital without air conditioning. In his early years, the tall man was plagued by a severe stutter. In childhood, both men were taunted for their differences. Later on, there were tyrannical bosses, an early divorce, a tendency for one of them to drink too much. Yet during their formative years, neither man became bitter or angry and avoided blaming others for their problems. They remained caring and open to the world. They consciously decided to learn from their mistakes and avoid harnessing anger in destructive ways or using loved ones to deflect and/or pay for the sins of others. 

In 2020, the pandemic hit, along with stormy seas for the two men of integrity. The shorter man, having been felled by a massive stroke on Christmas Eve 2019, found himself in a Midwest rehab center no longer able to walk, or even read. There were few visitors, and for the first time in decades, the subscription to his beloved New York Times (a daily fixture of his pre-stroke life) had to be canceled. 

The taller man, facing dual dementia and lymphoma diagnosis, had recently been moved by his daughter to the same Midwest town where she lived with her family, just down the road from her in-laws. Incredibly, the daughter found an apartment for her tall father in the same retirement community where his shorter consuegro was undergoing rehab for his stroke. The tall man, thanks to worsening dementia, was no longer able to spend his days writing and could now be found at the small library in the retirement home reading his beloved New York Times (often the same paragraphs over and over). 

Despite their failing health, the two men of integrity were able to attend a few of their grandson’s baseball games where they sat, socially distanced from each other, watching the action and shaking their heads in collective amazement at the eight-year-old’s impressive pitching skills. 

Back at the retirement community, the tall man discovered that he could walk to the shorter man’s room in the rehab building and began to make his way there for daily visits. Seventeen years after their first sidewalk stroll, neither man could have imagined that this is where they would end up: sharing the same retirement home, in failing health, during a pandemic. Health issues were piling up like rush hour traffic in Los Angeles and both men struggled to accept that they had entered their final chapter(s). Yet, alongside the struggle, their friendship burned bright. During those historically difficult months, while pandemic chaos raged around them, they sat, masked and happy, discussing basketball and baseball and exchanging ideas about the Midwest, politics, and the state of the world in 2020. 

We live in a world desperate for men who lead with integrity, and who contribute through their intellect, not just their muscles. Men who are generous with their talents and lead with open hearts. Who can drive when required, but refuse to steer their own ego’s bus into a crowd of innocent bystanders, forever tainting lives. Men whose loyalty to their spouses and those they love is paramount. Men who champion and mentor women in the workplace, and in academia. Who refuse to look at women through the limited lens of sexuality and don’t allow what is between their legs to lead their lives. We need men who are curious about the way the world works, and who want to make this planet a better functioning place for all of us. 

Sadly, both men are gone now. The tall man died in 2020. The shorter man passed a month and a half ago. In life, few things matter more than integrity and friendship and these two perfected both. May the children and grandchildren of the two men wrap their legacies across our shoulders like a warm blanket and draw from what they poured into us for the rest of our lives. 

Once, at a party celebrating the shorter man’s 8oth birthday a family friend who happened to own a classic blue Thunderbird convertible nudged the two men and remarked, “You’re only going to be 80 once, why don’t you take it for a drive?” Needing no other encouragement, the two jumped in. Quickly fastening their seatbelts, they grinned at each other and then took off into the sunset, waving all the way.

The tall man of integrity was David W. Holmstrom and the shorter man of integrity was Richard E. Stryker. 

Oh, how we will miss them both.