Wabash Magazine Winter 2014 by Wabash College

A Vital Connection

He didn’t realize it at the time, but working at his father’s restaurant taught a man who has argued cases before the Supreme Court how to be a lawyer. —by Greg Castanias ’87

“You Belong to Me” DAD HAD A LOT OF SAYINGS.

“Quit lollygagging.” That was a favorite one, frequently invoked on the practice fields of the Jordan YMCA, where he was my grade-school football coach, intolerant of slowness or standing around idly. “284” was his stock answer to any question when he didn’t know (or want to give) the answer. “Dad, how many years ago did you and Mom get married?” “284.” “How many RBIs did Yaz get last night?” “284.” “How many eggs do we have in the refrigerator?” “284.” His most frequent expression was “Kathíste!” It was an all-purpose Greek word—meaning “Sit!”—adjustable by simple inflection. An esteemed guest in his restaurant would receive the gracious inflection (“Sit, please!”). My mother received the polite inflection (“You sit down; I’ll get that for you.”). The adamant inflection (“Sit down or else!”), by contrast, was reserved for his two sons and one miniature schnauzer. Our hairy, four-legged brother heeded the request far better than we ever did; of course, we had the only dog in Indiana who spoke Greek. Dad died three years ago. So it has been a while since anyone told me to “Kathíste!” in any tone of voice. THESE DAYS, when I find myself thinking about him, I keep coming back to yet another of his favored expressions. It was the alpha and the omega of his approach

| WA BA S H M AGA Z I N E

to customer service in his restaurants: “When you walk into my place, you belong to me.” No, Dad was not asserting ownership over his customers when he said that these men and women “belonged to him.” It was his way of saying that he was going to take care of them. He might not be able to do anything about the lousy day they had at work, or the fight they had with their kids, or any of those daily stresses that are now all too familiar to me. But he could take care of them when they walked across the threshold of his restaurant. Here’s a drink. A comfortable chair. A nice table with a view, or near the pianist. How about a plate of something delicious that you won’t have to cook or clean up after? I did not follow my dad into the restaurant business. However, when I was in college, I did spend an intense summer working side by side with him, seven days a week, 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. or later each day. I’d drive each morning with him on the hour-plus ride from Indianapolis to Bloomington (where his restaurant was then). We’d open the “store” (as he sometimes called it); he’d start a pot of coffee; and, while he went to work on last night’s books, I’d start making luncheon salads, rolling pasta dough, chopping mise en place for the soon-to-arrive chef, and deveining anywhere from 20 to 50 pounds of shrimp. Then I’d wash up and start setting up the dining rooms with linens, silver, and glassware. By the time 11:30 a.m. rolled around, I had changed into a suit and was ready to greet and seat our lunch customers. I did everything but bring them bar drinks, because I was about six

months shy of 21. When lunch ended, around 2:00, we’d grab a quick bite with the rest of the staff, close out the cash register for the books, and start all over to prepare for the dinner crowd. At the end of the night, with hundreds of my dad’s new and old friends fed and watered, we’d head back to Indianapolis, only to start again the next day. After that summer, I coined my own overused expression, the first of many as I made my father’s tendency for pithy sayings my own: “The restaurant business is one of the leading causes of law school.” This was my way of saying that I was going to law school because working in a restaurant, taking care of other people like Dad did, is hard work. Plus, your fingernails smell like shrimp. What I didn’t realize at the time was that Dad was actually teaching me how to be a lawyer. He was also teaching me how to be a husband. A father. A man. And it all hung on those four words: “You belong to me.” Over time, I learned that lawyers aren’t just guys who go to court. As members of one of the three original “learned professions” (divinity, medicine, and law), lawyers are entrusted with the lives and livelihoods of others, much as a priest is entrusted with the spiritual well-being of his parishioners, or a doctor is entrusted with his patients’ physical well-being. “As my client, you belong to me.” It has become my single governing principle of client service, and it has served me well in my almost 25 years of practice. DAD LIVED THE “YOU BELONG TO ME”

principle beyond his working life in restaurants. When one of his YMCA