Jack and More Jacks

Back in the day the name Jack stood for everyman and he was everywhere. There was the boy who went up the hill with Jill. And the kid who climbed the beanstalk, not to mention Jack Horner who sat in a corner and Jack Sprat who ate no fat. Indeed he was ubiquitous until he wasn't so hit the road, Jack. 

The other day I received a letter marked personal and confidential. Anything not offering a large pizza for $8.99 was enough to catch my attention. It came from a law office in Toronto representing the estate of Jack Lasky. The first sentence identified them as executors. Right away I flashed back on all the Jacks I hadn’t made friends with over the past 93 years. 

The letter went on to explain they were looking for the certain Norm Levine who was living in Southern California in 2002 and a friend of the dear-departed Jack. I checked my driver’s license and sure enough I was Norm Levine and I have no memory of being anywhere else that year. 

So far, so good. I then googled, Jack Lasky. The first six hits had to do with a Jack from Long Island who is a Trumper. I presume he is still alive and well, even if his politics locate him beyond my threshold of endurance.

The second Jack L. was my man. Born in Toronto, died in Honolulu with a plaque on a kibbutz in Israel. Sounds like Jack got around, especially posthumously. I wrote back as requested, regretting my lapse in never having made Jack’s acquaintance. Already I felt close enough to be on a first name basis. Had I been afforded the opportunity I'm sure I would have been a loyal friend. I can imagine us in animated conversation over Chinese chicken salad and iced tea or better yet a Guinness. No doubt he was a helluva guy. Almost knowing Jack Lasky has made me a better person. 

I told the law office that I did have a friend named Jack and I remember a Lasky in my college days. Does this count for nothing? I never met a Jack I didn’t like.  

I suggested to the lawyer that should they fail to contact the worthy Norm Levine I'd be happy to serve as a surrogate. I have a particularly warm feeling for Canada, now more than ever as they stand up to their bully neighbor to the south. 

Going back to the generic Jack, I see that his name in folklore was regarded as an average guy ranging from resourceful person to a clever trickster, from playing card to jackhammer to jackass.

Research reveals that there was a Horner who tried to bribe Henry VIII when he pulled out some plum deed to a manor house. Not such a good idea, Jack. Beware of nursery rhymes. One can lose one's head over the ditty.

The Jack and Jill who climbed the hill were codes words for a half pint (Jack) and a quarter pint (Gill) which King Charles I tried to reduce as part of his tax plan.

It now occurs to me that maybe the real Norm Levine owed the late Jack Lasky some money in which case I'm glad not to be him. Or as my friend Fred put it on his answering machine, If you owe us money please leave a message after the tone; if we owe you money leave a message before the tone.