You can read the following excerpt from the book, or listen to author Carld David's reading of it.

 Better Yet; Read along with Carl!

A few days before my dad died, I had an uncomfortable feeling that continued to grow silently. Arlyn and I received a surprise phone call early that morning. My parents were flying down to see a client and wanted to know if we could meet them at noon at the Bader Field, the Atlantic City airport. My eyes lighted with joy and my response was an eager, “Look for us; Arlyn and I will be waiting for you.”

Bader Field was named in honor of a deceased mayor of Atlantic City. One of the oldest airfields in America, it was perched about one-half mile west of the boardwalk so commuters and visitors could easily disembark from single and twin engine airplanes and walk into the pulse of the historic seaside resort.

Our game plan was for a brief visit to the client followed by lunch and then we'd take my parents back to Bader Field so they could get back by late afternoon. The thought of spending those few random hours sounded very inviting for some odd reason. It was always fun to be with my folks but this meeting seemed to hold more importance to me. I didn't know why and didn't question it.

Arlyn and I had a quick breakfast and got dressed for a typical Sunday at the shore. We took a quick walk on the boardwalk to quench our senses with the pungent aroma of the salt-laden atmosphere which was mingling with the soft wafting warm breezes coming off the beach. We looked at one another and smiled in anticipation of the coming hours.

Without hesitation, we bounded together toward the ocean as a barefooted ensemble and splashed in the surf as we held hands. The water was pleasantly tepid as the foaming lather splashed over our ankles. Though time seemed to have lost its direction, the hour was growing late so we headed back to the car, brushed off the layers of sand and aimed for the airport.

It was only a five-minute ride and it was right on the main highway that brought the traffic into Atlantic City. Barely across the causeway, over the canal and we were there. Not a very impressive airport—only a few private hangars, a cement landing strip, a small snack bar building which housed the ground control facility and bathrooms, and a couple of rows of chocked aircrafts to the left and right sides. The absence of the sea breezes was quite noticeable as we were beginning to sweat from the midday sun. As I peered into the distance toward the west, there appeared a glittering shimmer which had to be them. In another minute or so, that incredibly beautiful red and white twin engine bird that I knew so well would be touching down. I stared into space and watched her grow larger by the second as it closed the distance between us. Suddenly, she was fully recognizable. The wing and belly strobes were flashing discordantly, but rhythmically. They were just over the threshold with a nose up attitude and gear down. They seemed to just float to the ground. A slight screech as the tires kissed the runway, and they were here.

The Aztec made a sweet symphonic sound as she approached. It was a harmonious purr which exuded the metallic smell of power. The strobes turned off and the engines leaned out to a sputtering halt which ended in silence. The latch on the door released and the door opened as we ran up to them in an exchange of warm embraces. Suddenly, life was an encrusted jewel which glittered with every turn of its facets. There was an outpouring of blue-white light which warmed everyone in its path as it created an almost euphoric energy. I didn't just hold Pop; I clutched him and wished this moment never to finish. There was an immediate bond that stretched beyond our embrace throughout the afternoon. I hadn't seen Pop for several days since he'd been to Chicago to close on some serious negotiations involving some very rare and important nineteenth century paintings. It had been a smashing success.

Pop was beaming about the Winslow Homer and the Thomas Eakins as he retold his story. It was a certainty that when he set out on a mission he would return the victor.

“It was a real coup! It was a tough deal, but I managed to outwit the competition and throw them off balance by feigning disinterest in the real meat of the deal,” he explained. “The other dealers would discreetly follow me around and watch closely if I showed interest in something. If I passed over it without so much as a glance they would assume something was wrong with it.” It thrilled me to watch him devour his competition who would have stabbed him in the back if given the chance. “If it were a treasure, they surmised, Sam David would be after it like a herd of elephants.”

I had watched with admiration all my life as he so skillfully performed with deadly accuracy. Pop knew how to deal and when to overpay, for when the potential was there, the excess tens of thousands of dollars invested in the front end of the deal were inconsequential.

Pop was the most positive thinking and acting super achiever I'd ever known. He was a stunning force of one; a dynamo of individual power. He never set the guns down. Not for a minute! He was a master of situation alteration. If something didn't suit him, or failed to meet with his approval, he would tailor it until it conformed to his design. He was never tolerant of the tail wagging the dog as it were, and reminded me of that more than once. I was still a bit green around the edges, slightly cocky, and more than a touch skeptical of this seemingly overpowering style, but as time passed his methods grew on me even though his manner didn't seem quite my size yet. I marveled at his grace and immense wealth of knowledge about human behavior but I wasn't feeling the sufficient degree of adequacy to assume the role just yet. After all, how could anyone match such a perpetual show of strength. The one thing which I would never do would be to hurt him. I would have focused the pain in any other direction, even inward. At the naive age of twenty-four, the thought of practicing his ideology was tantamount to usurping his power. Indeed, he would have been delighted in seeing me employ his ways and play out life's roles in his well-calculated fashion, and in accordance with his directions which unbeknownst to me were already perfectly etched in my unconscious. But since I was convinced I knew all about life's screenplay, I felt no compunction about refusing his influence.

I was also bound by emotional conflict and distorted the perspective sufficiently away from the limits of proper to further confuse myself. Had I been more in touch with my feelings, I might have seen the meaning of the old saw, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” Instead, I chose to believe that copying someone's style thwarted one's individuality, too blinded by the passions of youth to have seen beyond those infantile interpretations, only time would remedy my misconceptions.

We placed the splintery chocks under the wheels of the airplane that day and went into the office to fill out the landing forms. We left Bader Field Atlantic City Airport and went to the appointment at the home of a private client who had some fantastic paintings to sell. Instead of being fantastic, they were dreadful, so we stayed the polite amount of time and left at the first appropriate moment. We grabbed a leisurely lunch which included the mandatory buckets of steamers followed by lobsters which had been steamed in seaweed.

“Hey Tad.” I hated when he called me that. I looked up from the menu to his impish smirk.

“Yeah, Pop. What?”

“Aren't these steamers the best?

“Yep, they're good all right.”

“Don't forget the broth. It's the best part.”

“I know, I know. Don't worry; I'll get to it.”

Tad was such a diminutive word, I couldn't even look at Arlyn. But I got over it as I slurped the butter-laden clam broth and nodded in agreement. He was so right. This was a real taste treat; a feast for the senses, too short, but very sweet. It was time to head back to the airport; something I didn't want to do in the worst way. The conversation turned to business and how the upcoming year would be a challenge, but would stand us well in the long run. Even though the art markets looked deceptively optimistic, Pop warned of impending reversal.

“We need to be ready for the changing economic tide. We're at the end of an up cycle and 1974 is gonna crash.” No one else shared his thinking, but I knew better than to challenge him. He'd been right too many times and I knew he'd be right this time too.

“Okay Pop, not to worry, we'll brace for the worst and get in position to quickly pick up the pieces of the others as they fall around us. We'll secure our cash position and sell off the lower end stuff fast and hold pat on the other.” They would be surprised, we would be prepared.

It was growing a trifle sultry as the strong afternoon sun dissipated the remaining shade. Pop and I walked to the plane as Mom and Arlyn trailed behind. He put his arm around me as we walked.
“I’ll be leaving for London in the morning.”

“What?” I was taken aback. I would have known this days before. “When did this happen?”

“The deal just came across yesterday. No time to elaborate; I wanted to tell you in person. I'll be staying with Julius in London for a couple of days and then we're off to Switzerland to look at a jewel of a Renoir, a first rate Pissarro, and a couple of textbook Monets. It's all in a very private collection which is being sold quickly and with the utmost of discretion. If we get there by Tuesday, we can walk away with the whole deal!”

“Oh, okay, I get it.” I understood his excitement as he divulged more of the details.

“Call the bank in the morning and make certain they arrange the necessary funding. There can be no delays or screw-ups, so stay on them and move fast.”

“I'll call first thing tomorrow morning and get it done; no worries, Pop.” I knew the limits of our credit and I also knew which way to go if we needed to reach beyond them, but it wouldn't be necessary for this deal.

We walked around the plane and did the standard checks before startup. We looked for prop nicks, dents or breaks along wing and aileron surfaces, both forward and aft, oil leaks, tire tread wear, and any other abnormal things we could find. Pop had filed a 3:50 flight plan so there was precious little time to waste. We hugged and kissed as they got on board.

“See you in the city, Mom,” I said in a rather somber tone as I kissed her goodbye. Arlyn watched with pride as Pop and I hugged tightly and kissed one another goodbye.

“Thanks for lunch, Pop; the clams were incredible. Glad you came down. We had a great time. Be safe getting home and I'll see you when you get back from London. I love you!”

Time was short as they disappeared behind the tinted windshield. With the glaring sun, all that was visible was the eerie silhouette of Pop's face which was highlighted by the dark glasses and aura-like band of light around his head. I thought I saw him mouth the words, “I love you, too” just as the left engine began to crank.

A delicate puff of smoke and she kicked over, revving smoothly and waiting impatiently for number two to follow suit. A few twists, the belch of another white wisp and both engines were humming the tune of synchronization. The visual testing protocol would follow and the Aztec would be on her way to distant skies. A quick but affectionate wave of the hand, a thrown kiss, and they taxied toward the runway. I watched as the wings nodded left and right on their stroll down the concrete taxiway. They held briefly at the end, just short of the runway, to run up the engines. After all signs indicated the go ahead, they lined up on the asphalt path and the twin Lycomings roared at full throttle pulling them quickly to the point where they gracefully lifted off the ground, retracted the gear and climbed steeply into the brilliant but hazy blue sky.

I was overcome by an uneasy feeling which instantly enveloped me. I felt a terrible sadness, a total loneliness. Suddenly, I was filled with a queasy sense of being really alone for the first time in my life. It was more than uncomfortable—I couldn't shake it. I knew that the beads of sweat on my skin and the slight lightheadedness I was experiencing were not at all attributable to the oppressive heat, but to a much more powerful force. I was intuitive enough to know that something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't have predicted what the next few days would bring. I only felt a dreaded vacancy which hadn't been there before today. I never expected to realize my worst fear; that I had seen my father for the very last time.