Michael Roth was a young Jewish prince. His family owned a line of elite department stores in Texas called Roth/Harris, which for a time, even trumped its other Dallas rival, Neiman/Marcus. In other words, Michael had tasted and seen things I as a kid could only dream about—Europe, skiing, tropical beaches.

Michael was a good kid but he was also a total spaz. In peewee league sports, he was always assigned positions where his spaziness could be reigned in. In baseball, he played catcher: He never could catch a pitch but he wasn’t afraid to charge. In soccer he was a ruthless fullback, taking the scalps of 3rd and 4th grade forwards foolhardy enough to advance the ball beyond midfield. Continue Reading »