Legal Commentary

Years ago, she emerged from a JFK-Manhattan shuttle bus and excitedly introduced me to a slightly befuddled and definitely disheveled man who had been her seatmate. In the cab, she spent 10 minutes telling me how nice he was ("nice" is her favorite word). I told her that if she sat next to Saddam Hussein, she would have been gushing about him too.

Mom is sharp as a knife, and so enthusiastic and upbeat about everything that it sometimes makes me crave insulin -- but I have always admired her fearlessness. Lillian Bay breathes travel -- she can't go six weeks without being on an airplane (another personality trait I have inherited). But walking more than a block is now difficult for her -- so that presents some definite dilemmas when she visits me in New York City.

Making plans for her visit to celebrate her 82nd birthday required finesse. She flew in from San Francisco, and Friday's agenda included mom's first Red Sox/Yanks matchup. (Like an enthusiastic Mormon, I have converted many people to Yankees Universe.) 

I'm nothing if not well organized, and I thought I had carefully plotted out the day. I made a reservation at NYY Steak for 4:30 p.m., and figured we would grab a cab at 3:45, allowing double the normal amount of time to get to the Stadium via cab. I didn't want to cut it any closer, because NYY Steak is now so popular that if you don't show up within 15 minutes of your reservation, it's cancelled (like the airlines, they give away your seats.)

I completely forgot that on a beautiful fall Friday afternoon, before a major holy day (Yom Kippur), and with the Yankees playing the Red Sox, that  85% of Manhattan residents would be attempting to get on the Deegan (I-78). By 4:15 I was antsy, and said to the cab driver, "We will get there by 4:30, right?" and he looked at me and said, in essence, "Not a chance in Hell."  So much for my plans.

So I had a dilemma -- do we Zen it, stay with the cab, and eat hot dogs for dinner -- or make a run for it via the subway. I didn't want mom's birthday dinner entree to be Nathan's, so I said, "Mom, let's go." We jump outta the cab at 125th, and mom got to experience, for the first time, the 4 train at rush hour. Mom asked if she would be able to get a seat. I said, "Not a chance in hell, we'll be lucky to have room to breathe."

The train arrives, we jam in -- and then, as if scripted by the NYC Visitor's Bureau, a lovely woman took one look at mom and gave up her seat. We made the reservation by literally one minute.

But that wasn't the end of the adventure. After a fantastic dinner and a terrific home-run-filled bashing of the Red Sox, it was time to get back to Manhattan. This was the part of the day I was dreading the most -- there was no way mom could do the subway again, and under the best of circumstances, getting a gypsy cab involves walking eight to 10 blocks to their car.

During the game,  the Jumbo-tron featured an ad for car services at Gate 2. I thought, yes! We'll do that.

It was a mistake. If I had realized how long the walk was, I would have gotten a wheelchair for mom. By the time we finally got to the gate, we were literally some of the last stragglers to leave the stadium. And then I find out that the cars are incredibly expensive and unavailable without an advance reservation.

By now, I'm not just exhausted, but absolutely overwhelmed. I didn't know HOW I was going to get mom back to Manhattan without requiring an ambulance. Mom went to sit down while I figured everything out, when suddenly  a Yankees customer service fellow is helping mom, and a second comes and talks to me. (I think my distress was as visible as my mom's physical discomfort.)

The next thing I know, we are being escorted to the VIP reception area, and the Yankees front desk staff are arranging for a car service for us. As we sit in the small lounge, I start recognizing people. We were sitting with the STEINBRENNER family and their friends!!! (Hal, Hank, Jennifer et al.). COO/attorney Lonn Trost walks by. I was absolutely blown away. Suffice it to say, I did not open my mouth. I do, occasionally, recognize when silence is golden.

And then John Sterling comes off the elevator. Now I had a dilemma -- I doubted seriously that he would remember me, but I had met him on Labor Day when we had an lovely conversation about Jane Heller and her book. I didn't want to be rude, so I said instinctively "Hi John," and he warmly said "Hi, how are you" (but I'm sure he did NOT remember me, because he had that same split-second look that I often get when I can't remember the name of somebody I know I've met during LegalTech).



In the best moment of the day, Mom turns to me, with complete amazement and sez, "HOW do you know these people?"

All I can say is, the Yankees really understand customer service. I thank, from the bottom of my heart, the kind gentleman who noticed us, and took above-the-call-of-duty steps to help an average fan and her mother. I will never, ever forget the day I spent -- getting to and from Yankee Stadium -- and enjoying every minute of mom's first Red Sox game. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Oh yeah: P.S. We won!!!