A Lion's Last Roar

Yesterday, on my way to a meeting with another lawyer, I learned that Lewis Hollabaugh had died.  Lewis was one of the name partners at Manier, Herod, Hollabaugh & Smith, the place I worked when I got out of law school in May 1993.

Lewis's daughter, Lela - one of the best commercial litigators in middle Tennessee and an extremely accomplished lawyer - was one of my bests friends at Manier, Herod in the almost five years I worked there before I started my own law firm with Mark Puryear in 1998.  Lela and her husband, Dean, stayed close friends with me after I left and, in fact, became close friends of Jude's, as well.  They were in our wedding.

Lewis Hollabaugh, in my mind, was the personification of "old school" when it came to practicing law.  He was a trial lawyer.  His word and a handshake truly were his bond.  When it came to billing, there were no detailed time entries for Lewis (unlike the way it is with clients today).  When he entered his time for a day as "10.0 - work on file," no one questioned it.  If Lewis said he had worked on the file for 10 hours that day, then by God, that's what he had done.  

Everyone, and I mean everyone, respected Lewis Hollabaugh.  He was a lawyer's lawyer, and that's a high compliment.  He and the remaining name partner when I arrived at Manier, Herod - Don Smith - made me proud to be a lawyer.  More than that, they made me proud to be a lawyer at Manier, Herod.  

To me, Lewis was quiet and taciturn with those he didn't know well - young lawyers at the time, like me.  He didn't waste words, yet he was quick with a joke.  He had a mischievous, sly smile - like he knew something you didn't know - and a great sense of humor.  He was barrel chested and burly, country strong, as they say.  One thing I'll always remember about Lewis is that at parties for summer clerks, after a few drinks, he challenged the male summer clerks to arm wrestle him.  And he always won, easily, every time.  

I didn't know Lewis particularly well when we worked together at Manier, Herod.  He worked on the 22nd floor of what was then the Dominion Bank Building in downtown Nashville, and I worked on the 21st floor.  I probably did some legal research for him, perhaps when I was a summer associate, but I never worked on one of his cases.  I regret that, now, as I would love to have had the opportunity to learn from him, up close and personal, like I did from Steve Cox, Mike Evans, Mark Levan, Randall Ferguson, or Richard Smith.

Several of us who worked at Manier, Herod when Lewis was there have been in contact with each other the last 24 hours, by text or telephone.  We all agree those were special and instructive days for us as lawyers.  Those days and our exposure to Lewis and how he practiced law and ran the law firm informed how we practice law and manage our practices today.  

All of us took the lessons we learned from Lewis Hollabaugh at Manier, Herod and relied on them as we started our own law firms (Mark Levan, Benton Patton, me) or saw our careers flourish at other law firms (Lela Hollabaugh, John Rowland, Ken Weber, Stephanie Edwards). 

As I think about it, that's the professional legacy Lewis Hollabaugh leaves behind.  

First and most importantly, a daughter - Lela - who has succeeded as a commercial litigator and a trial lawyer and earned respect in a field often dominated by men.  Someone who has an unparalleled work ethic and is unflappable, no matter how small or big the case.  Someone who gives back to the community and mentors younger lawyers.  Someone who, during the two darkest periods of my life, was there for me as a friend and supporter in ways I can never repay.    

Second, a cadre of lawyers at law firms all across Middle Tennessee who practice law the right way.  Lawyers that work hard but have fun.  Lawyers whose word means not just something, but everything.  Lawyers that can be trusted.  Lawyers that judges, other lawyers, and clients respect.  

I'm grateful to have had Lewis Hollabaugh in the early, formative years of my career as a lawyer.  I hope I can carry on his legacy.      

Down from the Mountain

 It's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting in my favorite chair in my office at home sipping my first cup of real coffee in a week - thanks Dose! - decompressing after a week on the Mountain in a beautiful cabin in Monteagle.  Uncle Tupelo (Anodyne) is playing in the background - one of my 10 favorite albums all-time  - and one I revisited for the first time in a while in Monteagle.  Jude and the boys are downstairs, watching an NBA game and playing Scrabble.  

Back to real life. 

It was so nice to get away for a week, especially to Monteagle/Sewanee, one of my favorite places in the world.  Truthfully, I think I'd rather go there than the beach and I never thought I'd say that.  Certainly, the trip there and back is easier.  

Jude needed to get away and unplug for a week.  I did, too.  It was good for our family to spend that time together.  We all needed it.  

As I contemplated the end of our time on the Mountain the last couple of days, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was one of the last long vacations where the boys will be content to spend time with us, and each other, as opposed to having a friend or two around.  J.P. is 12 + and I can't help but think by the end of next summer, when he's a teenager, he may be less inclined to want to spend a week away with only his family as companions.  

For the most part, I think, Jude and I still are floating through the age of innocence with our boys.  J.P. doesn't have the slightest concern about girls.  He doesn't have a cell phone and, in truth, isn't fighting too hard to get one.  Neither J.P. nor Joe is into video games to any great extent, which is nice.  Our Xbox hasn't worked in weeks and neither one has complained about not having it much at all. 

My sense, though, is that a lot of that will change in the next year.  School at USN is starting remotely while other schools are starting in person.  Jude and I are trying to figure out how to set up some groups, or pods (I hate that word), for the boys so they interact socially with their classmates and friends at school.  I think that's important for both of them but especially J.P., as there's bound to be some drift between he and Cooper with Cooper entering 7th grade at Montgomery Bell Academy.

All of that is for later, though.  I want to list some of my memories from our week on the Mountain while they're still fresh on my mind.

• Hiking.   A lot of hiking and all of it 15 - 30 minutes away from the cabin. 
• Fiery Gizzard.  One family hike, then Jude and Joe returned two more times.  Yesterday, they hiked the two mile loop together and saw a frighteningly large snake on the trail.  The day before, Joe took his "crawfish net" and I'm still smiling envisioning him poised over the still part of the creek, waiting patiently for a crawfish to crawl out from under a rock so he could "catch" it.  He didn't catch one but Jude marveled at his patience.  Joe decided that the "wild crawfish" in the creek on the Mountain are much faster and harder to catch than the ones in the creek at Camp Whippoorwill.  
• Foster Falls.  We hiked - early one morning - to Foster Falls.  The hike down, over jumbled rocks, actually is harder than the hike back out.  We were the second group to arrive at the large swimming hole, across from which we could see the waterfall cascading down from high above.  J.P. and I swam out to the waterfall, then swam under it.  Pretty cool.  The water was very cold but not too bad, once you were in it for a few minutes. 
• I ran every day while we were at the cabin.  Every day, which was awesome.  J.P. and I had an unforgettable five mile run on the Trail of Tears greenway, which I wrote about earlier.
• Ping pong.  Lots of ping pong on the ping pong table in the garage.  I taught Jude and the boys how to play doubles and they loved it.  It pissed J.P. off royally that he and Jude couldn't beat Joe and me.  Until this morning, that is, when we played a final game before we left.  
• Grilling out.  J.P. loved lighting the charcoal in the grill and helping me manage the fire.  Jude cooked the burgers and I cooked the hot dogs.  A great meal.
• S'mores.  We built a fire in the fire pit outside.  A total team effort.  We sat around the fire, in the dark, as Jude and the boys made and ate their fill of S'mores.  
• Sewanee.  One morning, I went for a run, then met Jude and the boys at the Sewanee football field - always a must visit for us.  Jude and Joe threw the football while J.P. and threw the Aerobie on the football field.  
• Baseball.  J.P. took apart, then assembled the boys' hitting net.  The boys hit off the tee, into the net, facing the bluff, almost every day.  Doing work.
• Tennis.  Two days, we played tennis at the Sewanee tennis courts, adjacent to the golf course.  That was some real fun, actually.  It brought back memories of when Jude and I used to play regularly.  A lifetime ago, we used to play double not he Belmont University courts on Tuesday nights with Cyndi Baines and Kelli McAbee.  Those were the days.  I might see about getting J.P. a lesson or two at Seven Hills (our swim and tennis club), because he enjoyed himself so much.  I also might get my old Prince racquet and Jude's restrung.  
• Deadliest Catch.  We are way, way into Deadliest Catch which, I think, is on its 16th season on the Discovery Channel.  Back in the day, pre-kids, Jude and watched for two or three seasons.  This summer, I watched a few episodes from season 4 with the boys and they were hooked.  We watched a lot of season 6 this week.  
• Papa Ron's.  Up in Smoke.  The Blue Chair.  Gallery 41.  No Shenanigan's this time, because food and service was too poor last time.
• Lots of reading.  Blacktop Wasteland, by S.A. Cosby, followed by A Dangerous Man, Robert Crais's latest Elvis Cole/Joe Pike book.
• Jude napping in the hammock, every afternoon.
• J.P. and Joe playing Golden Tee.  A lot of Golden Tee.
• J.P. and I listening to the epic J.J. Redick podcast - his second to last for the Ringer - featuring Patrick Beverly.  So many good lessons for J.P. (and me) about hard work and what it takes to succeed athletically and, really, in life.  It was my second listen. 

And now we're back home.  Almost time for the boys to start school.  Time to get back after it.  Time to grind.  

All in all, a great vacation.  We'll be back on the Mountain in the not too distance future, I'm sure. 

A Run on the Mountain

Jude, the boys and I are staying at a cabin in Monteagle this week.  On Monteagle Mountain, so to speak. 

I love it up here.  Always have.  Normally, we go to Santa Rosa Beach the first week of August.  This year, though, with COVID-19 raging in Florida, I thought it would be prudent for us to stay closer to home.  

It's been a great week so far, although I've had to stay in touch with the office more than I had hoped.  The weather has been awesome with high's in the low 80's and low's in the low to mid 60's.  

Today, J.P. and I went for an afternoon run on the Trail of Tears greenway.  It's a nice, flat run and, as a bonus, the greenway is covered by a canopy of trees for nearly the entire route.    

Starting out, I suggested to J.P. we could run four or five miles.  His choice.  As we got going, I was leaning toward four miles because my legs were feeling a bit heavy, perhaps because I've run every day this week, including six miles on Tuesday.

As we approached the two mile mark, I sneaked a peak a J.P.  In spite of the fact that we were running at a brisk pace, he was cruising along right beside me.  Effortlessly or so it seemed.  

"Four or five?" I asked.  

"Let's do five," J.P. replied.  

So, five miles it was.  

Now, often when we run, J.P. runs just behind me, off my shoulder.  It's almost like he's a car on the interstate, driving slightly slower than me in the lane beside me, right in my blind spot.  He rarely runs right beside me. 

Today, for some reason, was different.  He ran beside me and continued to do so as we made the turnaround at the 2.5 mile mark.  

I like to run negative splits (second half of a run faster than the first half) and part of me wanted to see what the kid could do, so I picked up the pace.  Well, shit, I thought to myself, as he picked up the pace and continued to run right beside me.  Interesting.

I sneaked another look at him and smiled.  He was just running, lost in thought, not even breathing hard.  This might be trouble, I thought.  Deep water ahead.  

As I began to tire a bit - to feel the run - I could see that he was just fine.  Still, I pushed the pace a little more, just to see how he would react.  He didn't react, though.  The little bastard just ran faster.  Damn, I thought.  

At that point, I knew this was not a run I was going to forget.  

For the first time since we've been running together - hell, for the first time in his life - I realized that he could probably outrun me if he wanted to.  Probably.  I'm not conceding yet.  

As we neared the beginning of the fifth mile, I felt a myriad of emotions.  Pride, for sure.  A little bit sad, too, for my lost youth.  A little jealousy if I'm being honest of his youth and the life he has ahead of him.  Happiness, yes, and pure, unadulterated joy at sharing a run - a damn fine run, at that - with my son.  Admiration.  I felt blessed, too, by the hand of God, to be running down the greenway with J.P. and sharing that experience with him.  Not talking, just running.  I felt a real closeness to him in that moment and I wanted to hold onto to it, always.  I wanted to stay in that moment, almost like the way you try to go back to sleep when wake from a dream, in an often futile effort to drift back into the dream again.

The last half mile was downhill and we ran hard, tougher, until we finished.  

Our average pace was 7:58 per mile.  The last two miles were 7:43 and 7:37, and we could have run faster.  It wasn't race pace but it was a good, hard run.

Afterwards, we sat outside Mooney's Market & Emporium, on a picnic table, and cooled down as we drank the water we brought.   

My favorite run of the year.  Maybe my favorite run in many years.