This cancer that took Stew Becker is a terrible thing. A horrible thing. He
deserved better.
I'm sure for all of us the way Stew's life came to an end
has created grief, reflection,
questions--about the fairness of life,
or why Stew, a man who gave so much to so many
people and asked for so
little in return, why did he have to suffer this way? Why did he
have
to go this way?
The threat of this cancer hung over Stew's head like a black cloud every day
of these last
few years. Today there's a lot of darkness in this room.
I also know that Stew would not
approve of this at all. In the next
few minutes, I want to try and fill in these shadows with
some light with
Stew's help.
I'm sure all of you have had Stew in your thoughts and prayers. I know you
all have
remembrances.
As for me, I met Stew Becker on a hot windy day in August about 25 years
ago in
Happauge, Long Island in a tennis bubble with no air conditioning.
I was a snot-nosed
kid terribly worried about my forehand and backhand.
He was a 27-year-od tennis
teacher who seemed kind of odd to me then.
He didn't say much like the other tennis
teachers. He wasn't quick with
the jokes. He just took my hand and said, "Hi Ron, nice
to meet you.
What can I help you with? I said, probably with a desperate look in my
eyes, "I can't hit an American Twist serve." Stew said, "Sure you can!"
In a free five or
six-minute lesson, different from any other I'd had,
without him saying more than ten
words, moving my elbow here, having
me arch my back there, and toss the ball while
looking at it in a new
way, I hit what seemed like a perfect twist that turned the ball into
an egg as it crossed the net. I dropped my racket to the floor of the
court and said,
"How'd you do that?" Stew smiled and said, "I didn't
do anything, you did it." It was all
very mysterious and magical to me.
I left that day thinking he was kind of a strange guy.
He seemed
genuinely glad to meet me (When I was 15 no one was genuinely glad to
meet me). He was kind, warm, almost tender, and he didn't even know who I
was. He
said almost nothing but did more for me then I believied was
ever possible.
Stew had an amazing combination of a smart head and a huge heart. He's
the only person
I've known who could be so analytical, coming up with
insights most people don't see.
Yet he also had this big warm heart
that cared so deeply for people.
Over the next twenty-five years I came to know Stew as you do. He was
dignified, a
gentleman, always concerned about the comfort of those
around him. A man of honesty
and integrity, who gave his word and
always followed through, who made commitments
and kept them. He had
a wonderful sense of humor that was self-effacing--that could
break
the tension of a difficult time and make me laugh. And he was so loyal
to this family,
his students, and his friends.
But at the core of Stew's character I think he always believed: make the
most of the hand
you're dealt. Out of a speech impediment that caused
him embarrassment as a child, he
grew up to become a man of action and
well-chosen words. A man for whom kindnesses,
large and small,
became his language and currency.
I think because of his own struggles developing his talents, Stew understood
the
importance of finding the potential in other people. When others
saw worthless lumps of
coal, Stew helped people turn into diamonds. He
had a genius, whether as a tennis coach
or friend, for helping us
figure out what would work.
He had no children of his own so he adopted many of us as sons and daughters
who
could call on him anytime, anyplace, about anything. And he was
prouder than any father
could be.
To the end, Stew's dignity and character never wavered. Always concerned
about how
his illness affected those around him. Asking how we were,
whether our latest projects
were going well for us. He retained his
sense of humor, even in the darkest hours at the
end, joking about
things that we all feared the most. Even at times apologetic for the
trouble this all caused.
He was such a strong person in life. If you could have seen him you'd be
so proud of
him. He was so strong in the face of death. Getting out
of bed to stretch his legs up to the
last day. Putting every last
ounce of energy he had into those last few phone calls.
There are so many things I'll remember about Stew.
I'll always remember how excited he was about learning new things. He had
an insatiable
desire to understand, a lifelong curiosity about art,
history, language, and people. I'll
always remember the way he was
tickled silly by the smallest things, like when his worst
beginner
player hit three shots in a row for the first time. I'll always remember the
way
he walked the gounds of the US Open, figuring out the draws,
helping players he didn't
even coach. I'll always remember our
conversations about life, his philosophizing, the
way he'd pause
for what seemed like an eternity only to come back to the conversation
with some gem of wisdom. He always surprised me. He always continued
to amaze me.
It's easy to be angry now--that Stew's own success professionally was cut
short--that he
has been robbed of so many things to come in his life
and career. Stew, being
human, felt this way at times the last few
years. For those of you not as familiar with
Stew's tennis career, by
1994 he had coached more than 70 nationally-ranked players and
more
than 200 ranked in the Eastern Tennis Association. Several of his students
went on
to be ranked in the top 100 in the world and one is a
Wimbledon doubles semi-finalist.
Clearly, Stew was just entering
into his prime as a tennis coach. We will never know
what he would
have accomplished for American tennis in the next 20 or 30 years.
When he first contracted cancer in 1994 and it looked like he would be
gone within a few
months, he told me one night that he had had a very
happy life, and that he had
accomplished everything he set out to do.
We had a long conversation about this because
I was still upset about
the unfairness of it all. But within time I came to understand what
he meant--that so much of our happiness depends upon how we define success
in life.
Because if success means having the love of family and
friends--wanting most to make
a difference and developing individuals
to reach a potential of which they only dreamed--
always acting with
dignity and respect--having the deepest love and admiration of your
family, friends, students, and professional peers--touching more lives
more profoundly
in more ways that should be humanely possible--then
Stew achieved a success in life that
few outside this room will ever
understand.
Today, it really feels like I met Stew only yesterday. I wonder where all
the time went.
And as we grieve today, I hear him say it'll be okay,
how proud he is of all of us. I've heard
so much about all of you
over the years from Stew, and my heart goes out to you all.
In his last week, I was fortunate enough to reminisce with Stew about all
these years.
There were still moments where his eyes, struggling to
see, danced with excitement. One
night, he was recalling advice he
gave me more than twenty hyears ago. He said, "Do you
remember what
I told you?" I said, "What? When?" Stew said, "What good is any of this
going to do you if you don't remember anything." I sat there speechless
while Roberta
laughed.
Well, today, if you're listening my friend, I have a retort that has been
well thought out.
There are so many wonderful things that I will
always cherish about you Stew. There are
so many things to remember.
For me I know this. I will not know a kinder gentler soul, a
more
compassionate human being, a smarter man, or a bigger heart than you Stew
Becker. And I'm so lucky, we are so lucky to have met you and have you
as our good
friend.
I want to thank Roberta and Barry for giving me this opportunity to talk
about our friend.
And I want to thank you for listening.