Friends First
David Yellen and I became unlikely friends in college despite our differences: stocky vs. lanky, Jersey vs. California, Jewish vs. Catholic, smart and sober vs. less so. (FYI, I’m the latter.)
David has a knack for connecting across divides. He married an African American woman from South Dakota. He’s still close with his family’s Italian foreign exchange student from his youth. He’s got friendships with people of all types from all over because he says what he means—and no more—and he does it with a twinkle in his eye and a delighted laugh.
A decade ago, he told me a story that I couldn’t get out of my mind. I won’t rehash it here because it appears on page 38, marking the anniversary of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s death. But it’s about his friendships with Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia, and the two justices’ unlikely bond with each other.
The two legal combatants not only were opposed politically but were on different planets personally—ginsburg impeccably dignified,
Scalia gruffly acerbic. Yet for decades they were inseparable. After Ginsburg’s husband, Marty, died of cancer, Scalia could barely talk about it without tearing up.
If you’ve been reading this note during the last five years, you know it’s no accident that my final one as editor-in-chief is about how human connection can trump any divide. It’s one of my favorite topics, and David’s too. But if the truth be known, it’s as much your theme as it is ours.
In fact, readers include millions of Ginsburg liberals, millions of Scalia conservatives, and every ideological flavor in between. Yet you’ve made this magazine into a rare place in America where people with sharply different views are friends first.
Thank you for that example and for the chance to deliver stories like David’s. I will miss you all. I’ve so enjoyed us laughing together at each other’s jokes, crying over the same stories, and not letting
anything get in the way.