On this date my journal entry recorded yet another threatening voicemail. He would see me in court.
As it turned out I would be there. He would not. Case was dismissed.
Ironically, on this twentieth day of March, the date was set to go toe-to-toe in yet another court battle in which, in terms of paperwork, our defense was outnumbered four-to-one.
We would win.
With one hour to go – the eleventh hour – the phone rang with an admission from the other side that we were right, they were wrong.
And on this day when the phone rang, while couching his words with a respectful nod to our common tendency to take up arms – “we’re fighters aren’t we” – he said he plans to run up a white flag, as it were, initiating a truce of sorts whereby, given the world crisis, he will suggest the long-running skirmishes in which he’s engaged be put on hold.
Right now, there are other priorities.
He wanted to know what I thought.
He’s right. That’s what I think.
The course remains.
The fight will resume.
And for all this he will be remembered.
As one who did not quit; would not deviate; whose colors were still nailed to the mast.
But also, as one who could – in this crisis, even as health officials and faith leaders call for unity amid the coronavirus outbreak – address even his adversaries as allies to fight a bigger battle still.