Ten Years

Today is ten years since my father, Milt Riback, died. Here is a remembrance from a long-time client who became a close friend, sent a few days after:

I've been remembering the first time he and I met in 1964 (!) when I managed to get [my company] to pay for a return visit to NY (we'd been transferred [to California] the preceding February) to get pictures of its products in use at the NY World's Fair AND to hire a PR rep. Fortunately, I'd been given Milt's name and address by my boss (no idea how he came by them), as I hadn't the vaguest idea of how to interview PR people-or where one found them. After five minutes with Milt in the office at [50 E.] 42nd Street, I knew I needn't bother searching further. It wasn't so much that he exuded professional competence, which he did, but that the professionalism couldn't hide the mentshlikhkayt that permeated his being.