Osler's Razor

On Thursday of this week, Bernard Rapoport died at the age of 94. I knew him, though not until I moved to Waco-- we had dinner together three times, and lunch once. Beyond those limited contacts, I got to know many of his closest friends, and their love for him was palpable.

Many of the people who know me have heard of him through a story I often told, of two rich men in Waco in 2002. One lived in a mansion and often seemed to want to impress people with his wealth and power. The other lived in a humble bungalow and seemed very busy giving away what he had. The irony was that the first was Waco's best-known Baptist, and the second was a non-Christian in the midst of the Bible Belt. Or, perhaps, it wasn't ironic at all. Christians don't have a lock (or even, at times, a firm grasp) on moral action.

That second person was Bernard Rapoport. I admired him tremendously, and he gave me many gifts. One was the challenge to see the good hearts of those who don't share my belief in God. Another was his son.

Ronald Rapoport was my mentor and favorite professor at William and Mary. He urged me to go to law school and to pursue law as a vocation, and he wrote the recommendation that got me into the school that fit me. That changed my life, and the traits that informed Ron Rapoport's actions-- a deep respect for education, a passion for connecting people, striking intelligence, and a genuine warmth-- came from his parents.

Last fall, I met Bill Nesbit and another friend for lunch, and B. Rapoport joined us. He was full of life, and we spent much of the lunch laughing. Towards the end, end he looked each of us in the eye and asked a question which cut to the core of our existence. There was, suddenly, a shocking stillness in that room. It is not my place to reveal what that question was, and I will not do so here. Each of us, in turn, answered solemnly, and sometimes with surprising vulnerability. It was a singular moment in my adult life, one I will always remember.

He was, in the end, a man who asked the right, hard questions: Of me, of our leaders, of our society. There is probably no greater use of a lifetime, and no better use for one's fortune.