RIP Dennis

It’s seems that many people who are asked to pay tribute to the dead use a hauntingly similar opening line, which is to describe the first time the speaker met the deceased. 

I won’t be asked to speak at Dennis Glavin’s funeral, but I do need to pay tribute to him. Dennis, was the founder of Glavin & Associates where I began my career, many many many hairs ago. My first meeting with him was over the phone, which resulted in an impromptu live interview not an hour later. From that moment, until I received word this morning that he passed away in his sleep last evening, he was a looming shadow in my life.

Dennis Glavin was a larger than life figure. He commanded a room like few people I have ever met. There was no client he feared. No pitch too intimidating. No concept too daunting. He was too smart to be a promotions expert. He was too articulate to be writing contest headlines. He was too well read to be reading briefs about product launches. 

His writing was both artistically beautiful and literally masterful.  His written word was only rivalled by his oral performances. His command of written and spoken language was buffeted by a curiosity that made him resemble a human Google, long before that invention changed forever the way world discovers.

Dennis had his warts. While a tribute to him should not be tainted by describing them, it would also be disingenuous of me to pretend to you that they didn’t exist. More appropriately for this tribute they made him part of who he was. Someone you could genuinely follow off the edge of the earth one day and the next minute wish to pummel. He was as fascinating a human as you could ever meet. 

Dennis was my business father. He took a chance on a kid from a tier two Political Science program and put him in front of blue chip marketing clients. He let me grow a dying account into our largest business. He rewarded me handsomely, financially, and emotionally. 

I can’t put a price on that. If that price was the times we struggled, I will take that. We worked together for a decade, over two stints, before I was thirty five. That’s a long time in a young man’s life.

He was a massive Steelers fan. Check.
Loved March Madenes. Check.
Could drink like a fiend. Check.
Had a wicked sense of humour. Check. 
Could out debate Gorbachev. Check. 
Insanely smart. Check. 
Loved nice cars. Check.
Was a neat freak. Check.
Loved his Mom like no one you ever met. Double Check.
Revered the legacy of his father. Check. Check. Check.

Dennis and I had an acrimonious ending to our last business relationship. I say that only for context. I saw him only two times after over the course of fifteen years.  Once we had a drink to see if we could rekindle our working relationship. It didn’t. The last was a unplanned encounter after he had been stricken with cancer. Although he was recovering, he was nothing short of miserable. That brief encounter crushed me. He wasn’t the same imposing man that loomed large in my memory. 

That’s not the man I’m going to remember.

I’m going to remember the man who built a business with his bare hands. I’m going to remember the man who who overcame childhood illness, obesity, being bedridden, and schoolyard persecution to push himself to become the most refined sense of himself he could be. I’m going to remember the man who sold laundry detergent from the trunk of his car in the depth of the Manitoba winter to support his family. I’m going to remember the  man who saw the future of consumer promotions before anyone else and launched his namesake company. I’m going to rember the man who spawned generation after generation of employees who went on to own their own businesses. I’m going to remember the man who bought me a new car for graduation. I’m going to remember the man I promised that I would never tell anyone about that gift. (Sorry!). I’m going to remember the man who told me “I am your MBA”, when I excitedly announced I was accepted to grad school. I’m going to remember the man who could swing a golf club so beautifully, the sun came out on cloudy days just to watch. I’m going to remember the man who lined our office hallways with amazing gift baskets from Oliver’s Bakery for Christmas. I’m going to remember the man who taught us how to concept ideas that no client ever dreamed possible. I’m going to remember the man who would make me take his car keys home when he knew he was in for a crazy night. I’m going to remember the man who overtipped everywhere he went. I’m going to remember the man who found it hard to publicly let people get close to him, yet privately he truly coveted them. I’m going to remember the man who somehow brought smiles to the family of his deceased secretary, who died from a horrific cancer discovered only when she broke her leg, during his spellbinding eulogy of her. I am going to remember the man who teased one of our colleagues on a relentless basis, yet we all knew how much he loved this guy. I’m going to remember the man who cried when I shared my problems with him. I’m going to remember the man who told me not to find my birth parents, because he was convinced the ones who raised me were perfect

I’m going to remember the man I met December 4th, 1987. RIP Dennis “Hondo” Glavin.