Deceased March 25, 1990

(excerpts from Andy’s graveside farewell 4/1/90)

Leslee was Daddy's little girl, and I am sure she missed him every day of the 35-plus years since his death. I long for someone speak to the years when Leslee was with Seymour, for clearly his passing was a pivotal event in her life. I know little of this period. I am ever so grateful to my father and the rest of my family for accepting Leslee. Security of family was very important to her, the Christmas season her annual fulfillment thereof.

But she would not allow an artificial tree in our living room. She did not like anything synthetic. Silk, not polyester, you know. She never wanted me to put up in 45 seconds the artificial tree I purchased years ago (for 75% off!). Soon thereafter she to my horror had lighted a wood-burning fire in our fireplace just a few feet from our live Christmas tree. So she herself would always purchase a live tree in early December. She wanted all of us to be present to decorate the tree while she played Barbra Streisand on the stereo.

It is said that our family is dominated by strong-willed men. Well, there are pretty wonderful, strong-willed ladies in this family too, including all of those present today. Perhaps today we will finally put that masculine myth to rest.

Leslee also wanted to be my little girl -- and she was sometimes, but she was not little in any way imaginable. She gave unceasingly to, and had great influence on, all those around her - her friends, her children, her husband, her professional colleagues. I assimilated in one day after her death that it is this gift which will be missed most above all. She touched so very many people.

I know not whence her fine taste - not just in food and wine, but in flowers, clothes, cars, jewelry and most importantly, in people. She knew what she liked and nothing less would ever do.

Not only did she have wonderful taste, but she wasn't ashamed to let you know about it. She did acknowledge to me on occasion that an ideal occupational change to cabinet status as the US Secretary of Taste would please her no end. That would take care of the strip mall problem.

Her standards were high -- very high. No compromise here. I don't think anyone who knew her really well will soon forget them. At Cafe Provençal we shall easily persist to live up to them as her spirit lives on inside each of us. We know so very well her honest style of cuisine, her choice of wines vinified for enjoyment with food, her unyielding insistence on genteel, not flashy, dining room service, and above all her love of customer.

Leslee was very special to me. Her love was unconditional and constant. Yet we often were like two stubborn mules pulling a wagon that moved forward only when both were harnessed to the front end.

I remember our first "kiss." I missed -- and I can still feel the vibrations of the screen door on Farm Acres Drive slamming in my face as I re-opened my eyes. But I didn't miss the next time.

I also remember the passion of a college years courtship that had several fascinating aspects:

Freshman year, I was at Yale in Connecticut, she at Rollins in Orlando, Florida. Rollins wasn't demanding enough for her, and she was accepted for transfer to then named Carnegie Tech in Pittsburgh and also to Penn in Philadelphia.

Our romance began to bloom that summer in Cincinnati. She chose Carnegie Tech in Pittsburgh because it was so much closer to Connecticut. She overcame this slight misjudgment of 300 miles by funding her round-trip airline tickets to the East Coast with emergency money from home "for those expensive science books. Mom."

Geography wasn't her thing then nor in 1978 when with the Michelin guide opened to the city map of Toulouse, we spent one hour and fifteen minutes just getting "near" our hotel destination which was marked on the map in the heart of that small, compact city. She was in tears, the map loosened completely from the book binding. Thank God, dinner at Restaurant Vanel was wonderful that evening.

Yet she could do almost anything she put her mind to and in later years became a quite dependable navigatrix on our autumn trips to France, the last of which came off so perfectly for her health and culinary spirit. I cherish the fondest memories of that last visit to our most favored land.

One summer when my parents were in Wyoming, Leslee, against her Victorian mother's wishes, spent a really innocent weekend at my house. Nothing really happened, but as a take-home present I planted a few hickeys high on her neck.

She returned home, slithered to her room shading her vulnerable side and donned a heavy turtleneck sweater to hide these embarrassing marks, but in the heat of midsummer her mother became suspicious of her odd choice of apparel. Approaching to inspect closer and spying one of the fatal red spots, "Don't-try-before-you-buy" Shirley blurted out, "I know what you did!" But unfortunately "that" was still a couple of years off.

Finally, I remember the romance of a September night in Pittsburgh before I drove off in my rattly Simca to start my senior year at Yale. Chateaubriand for two and Cherries Jubilee at Le Mont, a meal she would probably dissect with vicious criticism today. But it wasn't the meal I remember as much as the warmth she radiated throughout and afterwards and for many years.

Leslee had a profound influence on my appreciation of the finer things in life and finally helped me to find and express my inner feelings. These will help me no end in guiding her greatest single accomplishment, Café Provençal, to even greater heights.

And she was a wonderful mother. She knew when to follow up with a teacher and how to figure out what was going on outside her purview. No doubt she still remembered all the tricks of her own rebellious adolescence. Most importantly she knew when her children were in psychological pain. She grieved when they grieved - sometimes more than they did. At her death son Elliot remained a puzzle for her because he never responded to the informational probes as did big brother Win. Fortunately at this juncture Elliot does understand Leslee.

I'm sure I will have many more memories of golden moments that have not yet surfaced as I reflect on 33 years with this great lady that trace to being high school sweethearts. But that is all that have come to mind in the tumultuous 150 hours since her vibrant heart stopped beating.

Leslee dearly wanted to retire to a house in Provence and with Cafe Provençal operating smoothly these past few months, I was just beginning to see how that could come about before the next millennium.

If heaven is anything like we perceive, there surely is a corresponding region up there where we can find Leslee, but be forewarned - she won't be resting. Not this ebullient, talkative, caring, fun-loving grande dame. As I proposed a Mimosa toast to her at breakfast in New Orleans just a few hours after her passing, I offered a poignant "May she rest in peace" to my stunned traveling companions. But I now realize that Leslee hardly ever sat down.

She was quicksilver in chemistry lab, masterfully dexterous later on in the restaurant kitchen and in so many of the things she did. Instantaneous answers were just the thing when at age 8 she was one of the Quiz Kids. Her compulsive impatience just allowed her to get so many more things done than would you or I in the same time span.

No wonder she got to the finish line first.