Friends.

I lost my best friend almost three years ago.

Just after Thanksgiving in 2021.

Fred was on the cusp of turning 64. As was I.

Since then, I'm not sure if I've had a heart-to-heart with anyone. A real heart-to-heart.

I'm not sure I'll ever have a heart-to-heart ever again. There's no one left who I let in. Who knew me when I was being formed. There's no one left.

Fred and I had been friends since we met in the hallowed halls of an elite private school in leafy Westchester county. Though our upbringings weren't, perhaps, as fecund as the suburban trees all around us.

There wasn't one thing in particular that made us close. It's oblique to say it was our "world view." But it was. And let me explain.

Fred and I both liked old movies. 

Gangster movies like "White Heat," "Public Enemy," and "Angels with Dirty Faces." We also liked sports movies like "Pride of the Yankees" and "I Am Third." 

But most of all, we liked Jimmy Stewart movies. Particularly, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," and "It's a Wonderful Life."

One day, when we were approaching 60, I realized why we liked those movies. 

Fred and I rooted for underdogs. 

For the little guy, fighting titanic forces. We rooted for Tom Joad, not the bosses. "Wherever there's a cop, beatin' on a kid; I'll be there."

I remember saying to Fred as I had this realization, "Fred, I think no one roots for the underdog anymore. It's ok to slug people. It's ok to buy the best team. It's ok to squash people if they don't agree with you."

We talked about bullies and bully-ism, which we both despised. 

Maybe the apotheosis of non-bullyhood we learned from Frank Capra's "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," particularly the words I've quoted above. Particularly particularly "a little bit of plain, ordinary, everyday kindness and a little looking out for the other fella, too."

Capra knew about being beaten. You couldn't create this from a dilettante's point of view.

That notion seems as cornball today as expecting the rich to pay their fair share. Or any similarly hoary idea, like "one-person, one vote."

I think about this today because one of the trade magazines is once again (devoid of real ideas) publishing yet another 40 under 40 list.

This in an industry which if there were any over-sight and regulation would be sued for massive age discrimination while they bang their own self-inflated drums and bellow about how diverse they are. 

Or if anyone was watched, an industry that would be scorned for banging on about Agency of the Year or Network of the Year awards while they have shed over the last decade or so about two out of every three employees.

Ogilvy had 2000 people when I rejoined in 2014. They probably have 300 today. You do the ciphering.

It's sick.

And I'm sick of it all. 

And I'm sick of the sycophants who gallop along and applaud the bullyizing, the lies, the unctuosity and the hyprocricy. I'm sick of being owed by giant clients who Net120 you--and then proclaim how they support small businesses.

Oh, and the complete absence of "plain, ordinary, everyday kindness and a little looking out for the other fella, too."