One of the great lions of the business sector passed last week. He is survived by Charles R. and Cristina F. Cordova, Andrew J. and Roberta V. Cordova, Sara Cordova Pujols, Maria del Carmen Cordova, and Flora Serrano.
With Chuck’s blessing, I have reprinted the eulogy he read for his dad. Via con dios, Carlos. Thank for taking such great care of Chuck and Andrew. Welcome to the honor roll. Enjoy the skiing in Heaven.
<!– /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:””; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family:”Times New Roman”;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} –>
First and foremost, my father taught my brother and me how to love, and how to be loved. There is no greater lesson learned, or more important quality to possess in this season of what we consider life. I tell Andrew now, and continue to remind myself that dad’s love, a father’s love, is a love that transcends this place and time.
He also showed Andrew and I how to enjoy all aspects of life not covered by my Mom, and trust me folks, she covered a lot. However, there were things that only the province of a father the stature of Carlos could indelibly engrave into our growing minds.
These things include:
How to hunt. No, not just how to kill an animal, as those who are opposed to such an activity may describe one of my father’s favorite activities, but rather understanding the responsibility, challenge and analysis necessary that he employed. First one had to learn how to respect a firearm. How to take it apart; recognize each working part and its purpose. How to clean it, reassemble and maintain a pistol or rifle. Dad was meticulous in his organization and training of others, one of the fundamental principles of his success. Once we had proven to him that we were ready, then he showed us how to fire the weapon and again appreciate the responsibility of a loaded weapon, and proficiency in its use. then he taught us of the prey. How to track, recognize and identify various species of fauna and fowl. How to be in the woods, and see things that would not be noticed by the untrained eye, to hear things that one would not normally be attentive to. To be patient, efficient and purposeful. It was not just the thrill of the chase, but what one did with the spoils. Just as important, was how to skin/pluck or otherwise prep the kill. To use each part of the animal and not be wasteful. I may not have enjoyed this guilty pleasure as much as my father, but I marveled in his obsession and in retrospect, understand and appreciate how he used hunting as a vehicle to mold us in his image.
There was a purpose to him bestowing his fascination with the great outdoors and big game. He wanted us to learn how to be free, to pursue what compelled us. To understand the game and excel. So many life lessons were learned in those cold winter mornings waking up with our boots sticking out the back of the station wagon waiting for morning light while creatures stirred about. As a child, I was nervous on more than one occasion, but he would not relent to my whimpering and wanting to go home; he would give me that great big bear hug with his belly jiggling from laughing at my meekness, tell me I was protected by him and told me it was ok and to be brave. The sun would be up soon and we would be off in search of more big game. You know what? He was absolutely right. It was and is all ok and I am a better man for it. In a way, I feel bad for those who were not able to share these bonds that Andrew and I will cherish forever.
As I already mentioned, I did not share the same passion of hunting as Dad and Andrew harbored, this eulogy is certainly not an endorsement of the NRA or the right to bear arms, I am just fascinated how Papi taught us about life in a rather controversial way. The three of us also enjoyed fishing, bowling, paddle ball, tennis and golf because we were together even though Andrew was always beating us. He may the youngest, but the most physically gifted which made our father very proud.
I would include skiing, but although he liked to be out in thermals and in the cold, not on the ski mountain. Again, to placate his kids, he learned to ski at 35, but had the presence of mind to convince an orthopedist in Canada to place a cast on his leg to get him off the hook for further skiing. We were there for 10 days, and mysteriously Dad had “injured” himself the second day. I saw the notice at the ski lift for the Cordova family to report immediately to the infirmary without any further information, having already gotten on the lift, I had to wait an insufferable amount of time to get off the lift and then tucked the whole way down the mountain, popped out of my bindings as I clomped into the slope side trauma center, only to smell that familiar aromatic cigar. Being the first to get there, the evidence was bare and I saw my father partially blocked by a half open door, but I could see him smiling slyly, shaking the doctor’s hand, cigar in mouth, cane in hand, off to the lodge to regale someone with an ever-changing story he concocted to entertain himself and others. When I asked to see the x-rays because I was concerned and wanted to make sure the fracture was set properly, the belly jiggled and he walked off to the fireplace in the lodge bar with his latest Steven King novel that I got him for Christmas.
Early on he showed us how to spit, throw a baseball, break in a mitt, climb a tree, light a firecracker, ride a sea turtle and watch another as she laid her eggs onshore and back to sea. He always took me to the movies whenever a new Pink Panther or a James Bond picture was released. He built us a palace of a tree house in Tenafly. So good in fact that several squirrel families decided to move in and the landlord Carlos did not kick out the furry squatters, but showed us how nature works. Don’t think he did not enjoy the tree house… he would have the parents of some of our friends go up there as well to get a great view of the Tenafly/Englewood valley, a wonderful spot for a cigar and a “tragito”. How many people can say their father was able to slide down a tree house pole with a cigar in mouth and glass in hand? Andrew and I can.
Later on, he taught us how to drive a stick shift and rather quickly and forcefully before either of us completely shredded the gearbox and transmission. He also taught us how make a strong drink, how to smoke a cigar, appreciate Cuban culture, read the newspaper and how information and knowledge is an essential component of growing as an individual.
When I was in trouble at school, he was there for me. When a woman broke my heart, he visited me. When I had reservations about my future, he helped formulate one with me.
By his example, Carlos was a testament to American opportunity and perseverance. He retained his objectivity and amiable intellect in the most stressful and trying times. On example of Dad’s stoicism occurred after I had crashed, in fact totaled, the car that my parents had just given me as a graduation present from high school that very night after carousing with my fellow graduates. Dad had been selected as the master of ceremonies for the Cuban day parade in New York City that same morning that I was transported to the emergency room of a hospital in Connecticut. Although he was not completely aware of my condition, he marched down Fifth avenue waving the Cuban flag, and smiling to all those who attended because “hay que complir”. Once the parade was over, he was up with me to make sure I was ok. I still have that press release picture of him waiving to the crowd as a reminder of the many times I tested his love, compassion and tolerance, and all he ever did was love me even more.
Even when diagnosed with this dreaded disease, he fought to the last day, the last hour, the last minute, until he knew that we were ready to let him go. That is how generous and selfless a man my father was.
May we all be a little like Carlos, the good and the bad, each and every day. We can all recall many, many stories of the good times and benevolence he provided, and that is what we should remember. You honor my father when you tell others of the way he touched your respective lives. That is what Papi wants and that is what we should do in this very trying time.
We should remember that incorrigible smile and hearty laugh, that tinkling of scotch and ice, that wisp of humo de puro that permeated his offices. We should remember his admiration and collections of antique pistols, rifles, cannons, pocket size spy cameras, cigar boxes and framed labels, and most importantly, where his heart continues to beat, Santiago de Cuba.
Reading a litany of my father’s degrees, citations of merit, associations, honorary proclamations, awards and related accomplishments serves no purpose even though he had many. What Dad would want, and I honestly believe this, is that we all bask in his sweetness and kindness to people of all walks of life. That we honor his never-ending “ayuda” to the many people who were fortunate to be in his journey. Speaking of journeys, Dad is well along his way, but he told me once that when we feel pain, “we must embrace this pain and use it for our journey”. It is exactly what he did and what I will endeavor to do the rest of my life. My father is not here physically, but he lives in each and every one of us that need him, so do not waste the pain.
A better evaluation and testament to the impact he has left comes from those he loved. One such hermano wrote to my father in contemplation of the inevitable:
“You have the knack for doing exactly the right thing to make anyone you come in contact with feel good just to be in your presence. You love to laugh at life and all the people in it – starting with yourself- and that laughter becomes contagious and pokes fun at all our little vanities while sustaining our sense of self worth because we come to realize that even though you see us as we are, you value us for exactly that – who and what we are.
Your furious curiosity is very visible, reflected in your passion for examining and admiring things from the smallest miniature head of a pin painting to the largest greatest architectural creation, with great good taste. You are as “detallista” in the way that you treat people, and we love you for those care-filled considerations.
You have had a remarkable life of adventure and accomplishment while putting a solid foundation of education, experience and values for your kids to stand on. From what I see you have always done the best that you could with what circumstance placed before you and you have kept it all in balance at the best of times and the worst of times. You remind me of Kipling’s line; “If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same.”
Well Carlos, – You can, you did, you always will.
Or yet another loved one who summed it up so succinctly: “Si hubo un cubano que se vestia bién, ese fue Carlos Cordova, el pulcro y elegante banquero cubano.”
Whether he was your father, your brother, your husband and father of your children, your cousin, your uncle, your boyfriend, your friend, your business partner, collectively, we are all better people because Dad was, and remains, a part of our lives forever. He certainly will be one of the first to welcome us when we are ready to move on. In fact, I have it under good authority that Carlos has still not completed the receiving line at the Pearly Gates.
On behalf of my brother, my mother, my aunt, my wife Christine, my sister-in-law Roberta and my father’s companion Flora, Thank you and God bless you Viejo.
