One Last Motorcade
Sending off our dear friend, the only appropriate way…
On Friday, September 25th, my phone rang at 11:28 am. It was a close friend. I answered with my usual chipper “ What’s up dude?”
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. I’m not sure how or why, but in moments like that you just know, or rather physically,
feel in your core, that something is horribly wrong.
I am not sure if Grady and I were on the phone for 10 minutes, 30 minutes, or even longer. But as the unimaginable news was shared, time felt still.
Our dear friend Noah Reisman was gone.
For those who did not have the privilege of meeting Noah, this will risk sounding cliché, but his friends and family will understand this bold truth: there will never be another person on this planet as nice, as sharp, as kind-spirited, or as genuinely brilliant as Noah. “Significant” does not even come close to describing his presence in a room. From his eye contact, to his gentle, warm greetings, Noah always made you feel like you were the only person in the room (this was even more striking when you and him were notably NOT the only two people in the room). His inability to whisper quietly was one of his best “Noah-isms.”
Friday night, still numb from the news, I booked a rental car to drive from DC to New York having learned the funeral was going to be held on Long Island Sunday.
Noah was the original points & travel status expert. He often scoffed at how the rest of us plebes booked flights and cars, because he could always ‘find a better deal’ or get us upgraded. If the Serengeti is the best place to see a Cheetah hunt in the wild, then the Avis counter was the best place to see Noah Reisman in his natural habitat (and yes, he somehow always got an upgrade to an exotic car that we certainly never needed). I can’t count the amount of times I begged Noah “Let’s just take the Camry and go” — but it was never that simple.
In an ode to my dear friend, I booked with his favorite car rental company: Avis.
During the drive up to New York, I tried to distract myself by listening to music. What I hadn’t painfully realized until that moment, was that Noah was the reason for my taste in music. The songs I listen to the most are artists that I saw in person with Noah, or albums that he sent me over the last few years. It became impossible to find a song on my phone that didn’t remind me of Noah in some way.
Noah and I met working on the advance team for Hillary for America in 2016 — or to be more accurate, that’s when I met Noah.
Our job was to help make sure the candidate’s time on the campaign trail — whether at a rally, roundtable, or press conference went smoothly. An advancers job is to make sure that every detail, every minute, every movement of the candidate’s day is thought through — from the camera shots and press positions to the hotel stays, and perhaps most importantly: the motorcades.
Noah was our motorcade advance lead — in short, his job was to coordinate with local law enforcement, the traveling press, staff, and fellow advance personnel make every movement with Secretary Clinton or President Clinton smooth and easy. If you were assigned to a trip with Noah, it generally meant you were on an important trip: a debate, a primary night, a major policy speech, or complex trip with multiple stops — because Noah was the best motorcade person in the business. The sheer number of vehicles involved in a presidential candidate’s operation required one highly competent person to focus on obtaining & tracking rental vehicles, securing and training volunteer drivers to assist with the press and staff vans, and being the point person with Secret Service.
As I called and talked to our mutual friends, one question kept coming up: how could we figure out a way to honor the person who would literally do anything for us?
If there is one evergreen truth about advance people — it’s that we are not good at doing nothing. Okay, we are horrible at it. I pulled over somewhere on the highway in Maryland, and sent a text to a few friends:
“Let’s give our boy one last motorcade. Who’s in?”
I can’t think of a better representation of how universally loved and revered Noah was — because within minutes, the responses to the text were overwhelming. So many people wanted to make this a reality. Some of whom did not even know Noah personally , but worked with someone who knew him, or heard about his random acts of kindness.
Even under normal circumstances, getting a police escort is challenging.
I thought back to the last time I rode in a motorcade with Noah — it was November 8, 2016 — election day. There was a last minute issue with two of Noah’s drivers — and someone needed to drive the 2 traveling press vehicles in the motorcade — for an historic moment: Secretary Clinton and President Clinton casting their ballots in Chappaqua.
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I was scrolling through people in my phone to call in New York City who might be able to help drive, when I heard Noah said “catch!” As I looked up, a set of van keys hit me in the chest. Noah had already decided that he and I would drive the vans personally. When we pulled into the voting site, there were dozens of reporters and members of the public hoping to catch a glimpse of Secretary Clinton casting her ballot.
A sweet poll worker attempted to nicely ask us to stand in the corner and stay out of the way, so folks could vote without the circus that surrounded the candidate. About five seconds went by before Noah had respectfully declined that guidance — and was talking to someone who just cast their ballot, to make sure they voted for Hillary.
He just couldn’t help himself.
After some back and forth with some of our advance friends, some notes to law enforcement officials, county elected officials, and friends in Long Island and New York City, a plan to honor Noah started to firm up. We wanted to make sure Noah got from the funeral home to his final resting place at Mt. Ararat Cemetery 29.7 miles apart, safely, and in Noah style.
A police official told me they were going to try their best to get more to come, but at least we had at one officer confirmed. So when I drove to the funeral home Sunday morning, I was expecting to meet one officer and maybe one or two motorcycles. Noah would have been so excited about that — so it was a huge win.
When I pulled into the funeral home, I don’t think I have ever been so emotional in my life. There were six squad cars and four highway patrol motorcycles to make sure Noah got to the cemetery safely. His last motorcade was going to happen.
I think one of the reasons Noah was such a great motorcade advance staffer was because he treated advance problems the same way he approached living life — taking the job at hand seriously, but never himself.
He made every single person — whether you were a famous singer, a Member of Congress, or a volunteer driving a press van — feel like they were the most important person in the world. He genuinely treated them all the same way: with love, kindness, and respect.
Noah and I shared a birthday — or it always seemed like we did. He never let me forget that he was my elder by two whole days, having been born May 22nd, 1994. Don’t try to do the math — he was taken from us way too early, at the young age of 26.
We planned to have a joint birthday next year — just the two of us, either in Washington, D.C. or Tokyo, Japan — the latter scenario if Donald Trump wins re-election (which reminds me, Noah would want to make sure you had a plan to vote, and did everything you could to make sure justice wins in November).
Sunday afternoon, at 11:56 am (and we should all take this time to recognize how amazing and notable it was that he was 4 minutes early given his preference for running late), Noah — escorted by his beautiful mother and father Liz and Steve, and his younger sister and brother Rachel and Sam — pulled into Mt. Ararat cemetery — but they were not alone.
Tears rolled down the faces of mourners and onlookers as Suffolk County police officers stood sentry as Noah drove by.
There was no more appropriate ending to Noah’s journey…
One Last Motorcade.
To the Suffolk County District Attorney’s Office, Suffolk County PD, NYPD, the US Secret Service, and the dozens of men and women across Suffolk County who did so much to honor our Noah — to all the folks who made this possible — words will never be able to articulate our gratitude.
In Judaism it is customary to say ‘May his (or her) memory be a blessing.’ For those fortunate enough to have met Noah, the blessing was genuinely ours. Each and every moment we got to share in his presence was joyful, usually an adventure, and to quote Noah had ‘ great vibes only.’
‘You only live once’ — the Noah Reisman mantra. Words we all should live by.
And boy, did Noah know how to live.
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