I just read Michael Winerip's Generation B column in the New York Times about my sister. It will be in the February 8th edition of the paper but it's already online.
I must say I had my misgivings about her going public about the fact that my father, who died on September 7th, was "Madoffed"
But it's hard to keep secrets about something so big.
I've told a lot of people. And not told a lot more people. It's a huge part of my life right now and I spend a good deal of time thinking about it, discussing it with family members, going to see our lawyer, and reading about it in the media. (It's the great IT in my life right now).
But it's also the big elephant in the room that I haven't written about on the blog or in my Brooklyn Paper column.
That's because my life has been such a strange and confusing whirlwind since December 11th, the day Bernard Madoff was arrested for running the biggest Ponzi scheme in history.
As soon as it happened I wondered if I should write about it. In a way, I felt too close to the story. And there were so many unknowns. At that point, I decided it was best to take a lot of notes, maybe for a book, and sit tight.
A few weeks ago my sister told me that Winerip, was interested in devoting a column to her story. Frankly, it made me a bit nervous. I may be an open book but my sister tends to keep things closer to her chest. Now she was opening up her life for all to see.
In the New York Times no less.
How would this effect her? How would this effect the family?
I gave her some pointers about talking to a reporter. "Remember, if you don't want him to use some information just say, 'it's off the record.'" I figured there would be pressure to reveal more than she was comfortable revealing.
But I also gave her my blessing. I knew that Winerip was a good writer and that he would probably write with sensitivity and honesty.
Luckily, I was right. I love the piece he wrote about my sister. He really got the specificity of her story, her disappointment, and her resolve to move on. And he wrote it very well.
THERE were some mornings in that awful year of 2008, when she lay half awake in bed, trying to keep track of all the Caroline Jacobsons she would need to be that day: mother to her 4-year-old, Sonya; wife to her architect husband, Jeff; daughter to her 79-year-old dad, dying of cancer; stepdaughter to his distraught second wife; set decorator for whatever TV commercial was being shot that week — Mr. Clean, Verizon Wireless, Bayer aspirin, Giant Eagle supermarkets.
And that was before she’d been Madoffed.
Some days, the 50-year-old Ms. Jacobson handed off her daughter to the baby sitter at 7:30 a.m., raced from their Brooklyn co-op to a production studio in Queens, put in a 12-hour day, then headed to the hospital in Manhattan to see her father.
No matter how fast she ran, she worried she was neglecting someone.
Her father had been a highly successful Madison Avenue ad executive. He had lived well — he loved opera, museums, the racetrack — but had also saved and invested his money and was generous with his two daughters, Ms. Jacobson and her twin sister, Louise Crawford, as well as their families.
Still, like many of his generation, her father had a prudent streak, preferred the subway to car services. When he grew thin from colon cancer, Ms. Jacobson tried to persuade him to hire a food-delivery service. When he wouldn’t, she and her sister would stop by his apartment with the minestrone or tongue sandwiches he loved.
She tried getting him to take a car service to his chemo sessions, but he was stubborn. And then, in mid-August, he called her saying he’d collapsed on the subway and two big men had to carry him up to the street.
Not long after, on Sept. 7, 2008, he died.
It's painful and poignant to read Winerip's opening. My grief over my dad's death trumps my feelings about our Madoff situation. But it's all braided together now. And it's all very public. Last week his name along with 13,000 other names on a list of Madoff clients was released; the list is easily accessible on the web.
Sometime I wonder what my dad would say about all this if he was alive. Sometimes I feel relieved that he didn't live to see this happen. I know it would have made him sick and sad. It was his intention to take care of us after he died, especially my stepmother.
But it also makes me feel his loss more keenly. I sure could use some of his insight and guidance at a time like this. But most of all I miss his sense of humor. He probably would have made me laugh about some aspect of this.
Of that I'm sure.
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