Alan Swyer

Alan Swyer is an award-winning filmmaker whose recent documentaries have dealt with Eastern spirituality in the Western world, the criminal justice system, diabetes, boxing, and singer Billy Vera. In the realm of music, among his productions is an album of Ray Charles love songs. His novel 'The Beard' was recently published by Harvard Square Editions. His newest film is called "When Houston Had The Blues."

Cousins

Gazing out at the ocean on a Tuesday morning as he strolled along the beach near his Malibu home, Jeff Ross found himself searching for the appropriate word to describe his feelings. Was he surprised that his cousin Stanley wanted to fly out to see him? Pleased? Or possibly amused?

What seemed certain was that Stanley – never, ever Stan –was not simply searching for either a reunion with a favorite relative or a respite from hot and humid Washington, D.C.

Growing up in industrial New Jersey, Jeff had initially admired Stanley in the special way that young boys revere older cousins. But in that, he was far from alone. Even at an early age it was clear to Jeff that Stanley was viewed by virtually everyone as striking, precocious, and above all destined for greatness.

Though Jeff dreamed of being like his cousin, he quickly came to understand that he could never follow in the footsteps of someone so seemingly perfect. There was no way he would ever be as good-looking, athletic, or self-assured as Stanley. Nor, though it would be a decade or so before he became familiar with such words, could he ever possess his cousin’s magnetism, confidence, or charisma. If success was in store for one of them, it seemed all but certain it wouldn’t be Jeff.

Even worse, since Jeff belonged to what was deemed the poor side of the family, he could never even aspire to be as dapper or stylish as his dashing cousin. Instead of being taken to buy new clothes for school each September, Jeff’s wardrobe consisted primarily of hand-me-downs – shirts, pants, sweaters, and jackets outgrown or discarded by Stanley.

Worse still, since unlike his go-getter cousin, Jeff was a dreamer with minimal affection for school, and far more interest in watching sports than in participating, he was lectured incessantly about Stanley’s myriad accomplishments. The message, often implicit but far too often explicit, never failed to make him cringe: Why can’t you be like Stanley?

Had Stanley been four, or six, or maybe ten years older than Jeff, the shadow he cast would likely not have been so punishing. But because they were only roughly a year -- and one grade in school – apart, the differences between them increased with the passage of time.

By his senior year in high school, Stanley was class president, captain of the football team, and the focal point of the local

in-crowd, culminating with his being voted Most Likely To Succeed. By then, interactions between the two cousins varied according to the situation. At family gatherings:: perfunctory. At school: begrudging. After hours: almost nonexistent. Instead of being dismissive or condescending, Stanley seemed largely oblivious to his cousin’s existence. Then came the moment when, on his path to greatness, off went the local hero to Yale. With no such expectations, Jeff slogged through his own senior year. Not a candidate for a scholarship in either sports or academics, he continued what passed for an education at a commuter college, repeatedly using homework he didn’t intend to do as an excuse to skip family get-togethers, primarily so as not be subjected to tales of the wondrous Ivy Leaguer.

Three years later, after learning that Stanley, who was eyeing a career in politics, was headed to Harvard Law, Jeff was asked by an aunt about his own future plans.

“Good question,” Jeff responded evasively.

Armed with a college diploma, but still living under the same roof as his mother and an uncle known as Fred the Bachelor, Jeff stumbled through a series of what he termed McJobs – construction worker (three weeks), waiter (a month-and-a-half), substitute teacher (onagain-off-again) – before landing a position as a social worker.

With a weekly paycheck for the first time in his life, Jeff finally moved out of the house to share a dingy apartment above a liquor store with a college buddy. Seemingly consigned to a nondescript career and a dreary New Jersey life – sports on TV, a Thursday night poker game, short-lived relationships with women, plus occasional trips to the track or the Shore – Jeff was stunned when life – or more specifically, death – provided him with a second chance. When Uncle Fred the Bachelor dropped dead of a heart attack while playing handball at the local Y, Jeff inherited a sum of money he never expected, or even knew existed. Suddenly he had the impetus – and wherewithal – to take charge of his life.

Jeff’s newfound desire to follow his cousin into a prestige law school hit a wall when he was rejected not just by Harvard, Yale, Columbia, NYU, Rutgers, and Seton Hall, but also by places he’d never before heard of.

Not for the first time, Jeff’s path became a fun-house mirror version of his cousin’s. Whereas Stanley had been Most Like To Succeed while Jeff, figuratively, became Most Likely To Be Forgotten, instead of Harvard, he had to settle for an unaccredited law school.

During three years of classes in a small town in Delaware, Jeff tried to allay his fears of about his future. After graduating, he signed up for a prep course for the State Bar Exam, then surprised himself by outdoing most of his classmates and passing easily on his first try.

Buoyed by that success, Jeff decided to try his luck at something brand new in the world of law: the first offering of the Multi-State Bar Exam.

Jeff’s attempt to sign up for a prep course was thwarted by a discovery: no one had yet created a book, program, or lecture series to help prepare for the exam.

Though hardly entrepreneurial by nature, Jeff made an uncharacteristic leap into the unknown. Since no prep course existed, he would create one. To do so, he signed up to take the exam in three different venues over three successive weeks. Armed by his newly acquired familiarity with the exam’s questions, procedures, and quirks, he then made a leap into the unknown.

Proud of the resulting book that took him over four months to write rewrite, and edit, Jeff printed and bound several copies, then launched a campaign to find an appropriate buyer. Determined, he reached out to multiple publishing houses, plus every entity he could find that advertised prep courses for the SATs, LSATs, and other key exams.

The result was deafening silence. One week went by. Then a second. Then a third. Only midway through the fifth week did Jeff get a modest expression of interest from a New York publishing house. When a date was set for a meeting, he headed hopefully toward Manhattan, praying for a momentous day. The rendezvous went quite well until the editor, silver-haired Jon Schechter, handed Jeff a contract.

“Shouldn’t you have an attorney look at it?” Schechter asked when Jeff began to peruse the document.

“I am an attorney,” Jeff replied, frowning as he read on. “5 Percent?” he then asked. “5 percent is all I get?”

“Industry standard for new authors,” the editor answered.

“After break-even? That’s nuts.”

“What’s the alternative?” sneered Schechter, “driving cross country peddling copies out of your trunk?”

“If need be,” stated Jeff with no hesitation. If getting hundreds of copies of his new book, with cover art by a graphic artist, printed and bound was onerous and costly, it was nothing compared to Jeff’s first extended sales trip. For four weeks in late Fall the fledgling author/salesman slept in cheap motels and ate fast food while circumnavigating the Northeast, hawking his prep course at every bookstore that was affiliated with, or in close proximity to, a law school, no matter how tiny or unheralded.

Pleased that beyond surviving, he had learned a lot from his experiences, Jeff returned to New Jersey and promptly ordered more books, all the while planning his next extended trip, which would take him through the South.

Having found what seemed like a calling, Jeff went with his mother to a Thanksgiving dinner for the extended family, where more than ever Stanley, who was clerking for a Supreme Court Justice, was the center of attention. What disturbed Jeff was not so much the reverence his cousin received, or even his pomposity while pontificating endlessly about politics, capitalism, free speech, and even the weather. More distressing was the confrontation the two of them had at the dessert table.

“I heard about your little venture,” Stanley said.

“My little what?” replied Jeff, not masking his defensiveness.

“Your little foray. If it survives and starts to gather some steam, I might be willing to give an endorsement.”

Stunned by his cousin’s patronizing attitude, Jeff took a breath before speaking. “Must be my lucky day,” he uttered before walking away.

After the first of the year, Jeff made another extended sales trip, yielding his first encounter with Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana. The result, in addition to providing an introduction to catfish, grits, plus red beans & rice, was even more books sold

Convinced that competitors for an expanding market would likely soon emerge, Jeff the proceeds from his two journeys to hire a video crew. That meant a DVD –later to be updated into a video link – to accompany his book.

Then came another family get-together, where Jeff grew nauseous as he heard talk about his cousin Stanley’s wonderful idealism, making him a likely candidate to be the next JFK

Once the worst of winter was over, Jeff headed to the Midwest, where he wore out a set of tires while stopping at law schools and bookstores.

Decompressing in New Jersey, Jeff made a concerted effort to avoid family gatherings, which meant that the only references to a certain cousin came during conversations with his mother, which he ended as quickly as possible.

Finally it was time to plan a trip that Jeff had dreamed about since childhood : to California, which conveniently was home to myriad law schools, both accredited and unaccredited. Shipping cartons of books ahead of him, Jeff boarded a plane in Newark, then rented a car and made the first of several stops at the FedEx office near LAX.

Momentarily putting pleasure ahead business, Jeff drove to the beach town of Venice, where he strolled past the musicians and characters on Ocean Front Walk before romping through the sand to stare at the breakers and dip his feet into the water. There and then he made a vow: as soon as possible, he would make Southern California his home.

“I get the feeling,” Jeff’s mother, Myrna, commented as he was driving her home, “that you don’t appreciate your cousin Stanley.”

“You’ve got a keen eye for detail,” was Jeff’s response.

Thanks to ever-increasing success with his new venture, Jeff’s hope became a reality far faster than expected. That didn’t prevent his mother from being stunned when he broke the news. “Won’t you miss New Jersey?” Myrna Ross exclaimed.

“The snow? The humidity? The crummy air?”

“What about family?”

“You mean Stanley, who’s going to be President and make the world a better place?”

“Actually,” his mother acknowledged, “Stanley’s leaving politics.”

“To end world hunger?”

“Always a comedian. According to your Aunt Paula, to make his fortune in real estate.”

“So much for idealism,” said Jeff/ “I guess he always had the makings of a slum lord.

“Jeffrey!” snapped his mother.

“I’m not allowed to make a joke?”

Myrna Ross frowned. “But if you move,” she moaned, “how will I ever see you again?”

“Somebody getting melodramatic?” Jeff teased. “I’ll be back every so often. And I’ll always be ready, willing, and able to buy you a ticket.”

“To see you? Or to go anywhere I want?”

“Who’s the comedian?” teased Jeff.

Thanks to his hard work, Jeff’s business continued to grow exponentially. No longer working out of his bedroom and the trunk of his car, he took a giant leap by leasing the first floor suite of offices in a small Santa Monica two-story building, then staffing it with sales people, assistants, an administrator, plus someone handling storage and shipments. Six months later, when the building owner mentioned that he was considering selling, Jeff threw caution to the wind and made an offer.

Still determined to stay ahead of the emerging competition, Jeff began teaching weekend seminars at hotels in major cities across the country.

But despite his success, a sinking feeling still came over him whenever his mother, or another family member, happened to mention that, thanks to his burgeoning real estate empire, Cousin Stanley had become part of a world of politicos and celebrities including, Jeff was led to believe, Beyonce, one of the Stones, and supposedly LeBron James.

Eager to shed the memories of hand-me-downs and being the poor relation, Jeff steeled himself for yet another huge reinvention. Together with a realtor he’d met at a funky non-Starbucks coffee shop, a search began for a house to rent in Malibu. Immediately, he and Madeleine, who went by Maddy in non-business situations, stumbled upon a cottage right on the water. Better yet, it had been owned by Sandy Koufax during his Dodger years.

Unable to sleep on his first night there, Jeff found himself listening to the surf and thinking. Instead of being consigned to an identity imposed by circumstance, he had reinvented himself with a career, a spectacular abode, and even a budding relationship with Madeleine, a woman who seemed to appreciate and enjoy his company. No longer simply existing, Jeff Ross was at long felt alive.

As days turned first to weeks, then to months, the slights, indignities, and insecurities of the past continued to recede, especially when Madeleine moved in with him. It was initially a relief, then a joy, to have the weight of the past – the sadness, anguish, and rage –diminish to the point where he could be himself without little fear that one day it prove to have been merely a dream.

Even references to his cousin Stanley’s increasingly vast real estate holdings seemed like vestiges of another time and place, minus the power to disrupt Jeff’s new found equanimity. That was equally true when his mother informed him that Stanley was set to marry a supermodel named Angelina.

The ensuing few years brought changes that would have astonished not merely Jeff’s childhood friends, but also the man he once was. Choosing to get married, he and Maddy decided on a small affair overlooking the Pacific. Despite pleas from his mother, only a handful of people from the East made it to the guest list, which omitted a certain cousin.

“Won’t Stanley’s feelings be hurt?” asked Jeff’s mother.

“Did he invite me to his?”

“Would you have flown to Majorca?”

“I wouldn’t have flown to Jersey City. As for his feelings? He’ll get over it.”

Jeff’s next serious announcement, first to his mother, then to the world, was that Maddy was pregnant. That was followed by news that the couple was buying a house a bit north on Pacific Coast Highway, also overlooking the beach.

A healthy baby named Sarah, named for Jeff’s paternal grandmother, was the subsequent newsflash. A yearand-a-half later, she was joined by another family member, a boy named for both of Jeff’s grandfathers, known familiarly as Jake.

Even more amazing for Jeff than the possibility that his two Southern California kids might one day grow up to be surfers were the updates that trickled in from time to time about his once high-achieving older cousin. Overextended at a time when his properties were being pounded with unprecedented vacancies and mounting interest rates, – and blindsided by a divorce from supermodel Angelina that would further deplete his holdings – Stanley’s kingdom appeared to be in grave peril.

Taking the high road, Jeff chose neither to comment nor gloat.

“I know we haven’t spoken on the phone in a while,” Stanley began when he reached Jeff by phone on a sunny Thursday morning.

“A while?” Jeff corrected him. “Try never.”

“Y-you sure about that?” wondered Stanley, who Jeff had never before heard stammer.

“I may not be as smart as you, but I’ve got a memory.”

Stanley took a deep breath. “Okay if I fly out there?”

“Why?”

“First, to get out of Dodge. But also to talk to you.”

“Want to give me a hint?” asked Jeff.

“How about if I get on a plane tomorrow?”

After picking Stanley up at the airport, then introducing him to Maddy and his kids, Jeff took the new arrival for a walk on the beach.

“Nice life you’ve got for yourself,” Stanley said with none of his customary self-assurance.

“But we both know you didn’t come all this way to tell me that,” Jeff answered.

Stanley stopped, took a deep breath, then faced his cousin. “I’m in trouble,” he announced, explaining that in real estate terms his properties were underwater. Coupled with bills from lawyers and forensic accountants owing to his soon-to-be ex-, plus the looming settlement, his financial kingdom was crumbling.

“So what exactly do you need.?

“Bucks,” Stanley stated painfully, “A swing loan until some stuff coalesces.”

“Is it true you’ve been running with movers and shakers – celebs, power-brokers, star athletes?”

Stanley nodded.

“So why me?” asked Jeff.

Stanley looked out at the ocean before facing Jeff. “You’re family.”

“And wasn’t I family all the time we were growing up?”

Suddenly Stanley looked crestfallen. “I guess I’ve been kind of a shithead,” he mustered.

“Kind of?” asked Jeff.

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” mumbled Stanley, looking beaten. “I’m not asking. I’m begging.”

Jeff studied his cousin for an extended moment before responding. “And if you lose?”

Stanley sighed. “I become a nobody.”

“Welcome to the club,” said Jeff.

“W-what’s that mean?” stammered Stanley.

“What was I all those years in Jersey?”

“And then you got lucky.”

Jeff glared. “You think I got where I am through luck?”

Stanley forced himself to take three deep breaths. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

Jeff watched Stanley struggle for an answer before speaking again. “So tell me, how much do you need? “

“Ideally a million,” Stanley admitted sheepishly. “But half that would be a start.”

Jeff winced. “Do you actually think I’d have that kind of cash sitting around in case a cousin I rarely see happens to ask?”

Stanley winced. “Maybe you could, umm, sell some stuff. Or maybe take a second mortgage.”

Jeff fought hard to control himself. “Haven’t you noticed I’ve got a wife and two kids?”

“But you and me,” pressed Stanley. “Aren’t we family?”

“No, Stan,” countered Jeff, deliberately using a frownedupon nickname. “They’re my family.”

Jeff found it ironic that not quite three months after turning his cousin down, two overtures from testing companies eager to acquire his company.

Those potential windfalls were never mentioned to Stanley, with whom Jeff had no interest in seeing, or talking to, ever again.

Yet on evenings when he, rather than Maddy, read to Sarah and Jake as their bedtime neared, Jeff never failed to get a special pleasure when reaching for a favorite Aesop’s fable, “The Tortoise And The Hare.”