Stanley, my 96-year-old mentor and friend, passed away recently. In a world where genuine connection often takes a backseat to superficial interaction, Stanley stood as a rare exception – a true “relationship savant” as he was so aptly described by one speaker at his funeral.
What made Stanley extraordinary wasn’t just his ability to listen, but how he listened – with his entire being. When engaged in conversation, his eyes would lock with yours, a warm gleam signaling his undivided attention. You’d walk away feeling as though, for those moments, you were the most important person in his world.
This intense presence created a disarming safety. You might mistake his attentiveness for agreement until he thoughtfully responded with “I see your point, but I disagree” – and the beauty was in how he did it. Stanley had mastered the delicate art of honoring your perspective while candidly offering his own. He disagreed in a way that deepened respect rather than diminishing it.
Stanley never left people guessing where they stood with him, especially those he cherished. His affection wasn’t quietly harbored but openly expressed. Beyond his personal relationships, he championed others publicly, effusively sharing their value with anyone who would listen.
My connection to Stanley spans generations – he stood as best man in my grandparents’ wedding, a testament to the enduring bonds he cultivated. Later in life, I had the privilege of serving alongside him on community boards, witnessing firsthand how his relationship genius extended to his civic contributions. His input was invaluable, his support unwavering, and his championship empowering.
Stanley gave freely of his time, talent, and treasure. As we bid him farewell, we’re reminded that his greatest legacy wasn’t in grand achievements but in how thoroughly he mastered what matters most – authentic human connection. In a society increasingly distracted and divided, Stanley showed us what it means to truly see one another, to listen with intention, and to love without reservation.
For the gift of that lesson, we remain eternally grateful. May his memory be a blessing.
Thanks for sharing his story.
Ron