On Legacy and Celebration
In an earlier dispatch, I shared the story of how I named my consultancy, Good Name Advisors. I spoke of the “good names” left to me by my late father and late father-in-law — the legacies they built and passed on. They are, of course, among my greatest mentors. There are others, too — family, friends, and professional guides — who helped shape the way I see the world.
I’ve spoken about this before on social media, so forgive me if this sounds familiar.
When my brother graduated from Detroit Country Day School in 1986, I sat rapt in the sanctuary as a larger-than-life commencement speaker took the stage. About five minutes into his speech, a tornado siren began to wail. As the audience glanced nervously around, the speaker simply carried on — telling stories of car races (and crashes), and of new and not-so-new car magazines. His storytelling, confidence, and command of the room kept us in our seats until the warning passed and calm returned.
Fast forward about ten years. My then-boyfriend insisted we have dinner with his boss and mentor — and his mentor’s wife. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was the same man: the speaker who had so captivated me years before.
And then, fast forward again — to last week. My husband had the honor of celebrating and elevating that same man, the late, great David E. Davis, Jr., with his induction into the Automotive Hall of Fame. David E. has been gone for more than a decade, but his legacy — already secure — is now enshrined among the 300 legends of the automotive world.
Eddie’s tribute was moving. He didn’t rely on quotes or anecdotes or stories about David’s Savile Row suits and V-12–powered adventures. Instead, he spoke of legacy — how the young journalists and enthusiasts of today owe David a debt of gratitude. David didn’t invent automotive journalism, but he elevated it to an art and made it matter — championing and critiquing the car industry with equal gusto. In doing so, he secured his Good Name for generations.
We sat with his daughter, Peg, and his stepson, Anthony, sharing stories, laughter, and awe at the size of one person’s impact — on an industry, and on each of us. David’s widow, Jeanne, watched from her home in Montana, and commented with her trademark wit and enthusiasm, and of course, pride.
Of course, it made me think of my work.
What kind of Hall of Fame would you be in?
What legacy — personal and professional — will you leave behind?
And how can I help you capture it?
One last word about the dinner: David would have loved it. And we dressed the part to honor him.
If you are observing the Jewish High Holy Days, I wish you a gmar tov — may you be sealed for a good year.
Fondly,
