Though he would be loath to admit it, my friend and colleague Claude Brodesser-Akner is what you would call a mensch, a doer of good deeds. When he used to sit next to me here in the Crain offices in Los Angeles, I'd always hear him on the phone arranging food for the hungry, clothing the poor, comforting the afflicted, etc., etc. You can't help but feel inadequate and selfish around someone like that. Just canonize him already. Except that as a member of the Jewish faith, I don't know if he can be canonized. Somebody write in and correct me on that.
He left the company a while ago, but I got an e-mail from him recently. I was being drawn into one of his schemes.
“Do you know anybody at Goodyear?” he asked.
Uh, where's this leading, Brodesser-Akner?
He had a friend, Dani Kollin, whose mom, Yona, was dying of cancer.
“She has maybe 20 good days left, and she wants a ride in the Goodyear blimp,” he said.
Brodesser-Akner does not beat around the bush. He continued.
“She's also expressed a desire to ride ‘dangerously fast' in a race car. Do you have any clout with [California Speedway president] Gillian Zucker out at Fontana? Was hoping to maybe try and get her into the pace car at the Pepsi 500 on Oct. 11th. If that's impossible, she'd be thrilled with 20 minutes on PCH in something with 12 cylinders. Any thoughts on how I can make any of that happen? And if so, can you ring me to discuss?”
I rang him. We discussed. I made phone calls.
Goodyear was the first company contacted, and the folks there jumped at the chance to do something with that big old airship of theirs. They came through with flying colors. Literally. I was later sent pictures of the entire Kollin family happily circumnavigating the Los Angeles basin in the gondola of the Goodyear blimp.
Brodesser-Akner and I discussed the stock-car ride and decided Yona might be too frail to climb in and out the window of a race car, Duke Boys-style. So we went with the 12-cylinder option. I called Lamborghini. Without hesitation, and I mean none, they set up a Murci�lago. God bless Lamborghini. A BMW 760Li V12 and an Aston Martin DBS were also lined up in short order. God bless those two fine manufacturers, too. They didn't ask any questions, didn't want any assurances of ink, they just came through as soon as they heard there was a real need, just as the people of Bedford Falls did when George Bailey needed help.
The following Tuesday, I drove the DBS up and met Yona and the Kollin family at their house. She looked pretty strong. If truth be told, she looked like a just-barely-older Mary Tyler Moore.
“Yes, I've heard that,” she said with a laugh.
She was a psychotherapist, still seeing patients even as the cancer she was fighting got worse. We got in the car, lowered the convertible top on the DBS and headed out, wandering through suburban streets.
“I do wish I wasn't dying, but I can look back and I know that I've really helped a lot of people,” she said. “And of course, I have my wonderful family. I just love them.”
So she had almost everything covered, satisfying-life-wise. The only thing missing--now that the blimp ride was done--was the supercars. Who'd have suspected this nice lady was a closet European supercar fan? You'd never have guessed it if you met her.
We cruised toward a freeway I knew that might not have too many cars on it and probably wouldn't have too much law-enforcement supervision. When we got to the on-ramp, a long, empty uphill number and the first chance to use all 12 of the DBS's magnificent cylinders, I floored it.
The conversation stopped. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back in the warm sunshine, drank in the tremendous acceleration and smiled the most contented smile I have ever seen in my life.
The DBS was doing what it was built for, howling at full howling wallop, and the three of us--Yona, me and the Aston Martin--were having a splendid time.
The freeway opened up, and I floored it again, the heck with my perfect driving record.
“How fast was that?” she asked.
“About 450 mph,” I said.
She smiled again.
We cruised a little more, going fast where conditions permitted it, really fast where conditions practically insisted on it. Then I took her back home. I called later that afternoon to see whether she wanted to go out in the BMW. She was too tired, Dani said.
But the following Friday was the Lamborghini Murci�lago, and she was ready. Again with the throttle, again with the mighty roar, again the conversation stopped, and the waves of horsepower and speed washed over her, making her forget for just a moment what she was going through. I, too, forgot a lot of things; a V12-powered Italian supercar will do that to you, no matter how old you are or how healthy. The power transports you not just down the road at unreal velocity, but to a place where everything, if only for that short moment, is wonderful.
Dani Kollin e-mailed me recently saying Yona died, surrounded by family, Dani holding her hand.
Though I didn't really know the Kollins, I was glad to have met them and to have been even remotely helpful at this trying time. I have my own perfectly wonderful family, a job that I can't believe they let me have, and even an occasional Italian supercar. I should have 30 or 40 more years to go if I don't screw it up. It makes me wonder what there is that I want to do now with what I have left. Every great mind, from John Lennon to St. Francis of Assisi, has said in one way or another, it's not about what you get for yourself, but what you have given to others that matters in the end. Maybe I'll start giving a little more.
Whatever you may celebrate at this time of year, may that spirit of giving stay with you. And may Santa park a Lamborghini Murci�lago under your tree.
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This article was last updated on: 12/23/09, 12:25 et
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