Howard Robinson, the longtime president and CEO of Entrepôt (a company with offices in sixteen countries on four continents), not to mention a scholar (in his youth he had dedicated himself to the study of moral luck in Baldwin, and he still read the journals), a crackerjack athlete (college basketball first, a little tennis in his thirties, now learning golf and progressing more quickly than anyone imagined he might), a devoted husband (Tessa) and father (Brianna and Oliver, the former about to deliver him his first grandchild), a gifted musician (an electric guitar on which he fantasized that he was forging an alloy between Sonny Sharrock and B.B. King), a snappy dresser (tailored suits, puckish socks), and a beloved teacher (once a month, he led a seminar at the university he had attended, in fact in a building not too far from where he had cut down the net after leading the team to a tournament championship, and he was known for handing out business cards that contained not his name, but rather therapeutic commonplaces such as “If You Find Yourself Doing Nothing, Ask Yourself What Needs To Be Done”), woke up, took a look at the news, and sighed.
©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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