So I’m going to rectify that. To refresh your memory, here is some of what I wrote last year:

"Rusty was the chief financial officer at Baptist Hospital of Miami when I joined that organization as a nursing assistant in June of 1969. It seems rather unlikely that a lowly nursing assistant would ever have much contact with, let alone become friends with the CFO, but Rusty wasn’t just any CFO. He was also the coach of the hospital’s softball team – a team which, prior to my arrival, had never won a single game. He was happy to befriend anyone who could hit. Rusty was a short man, but a big human being. He had been a tail gunner on B-17s in World War II and had been shot down over Frankfort. He spent the greater part of the war in a German POW camp.

"Rusty came to Baptist at a time when it was struggling financially and laid the groundwork for what today is arguably the best private not for profit healthcare system in the country."

Now do you remember?

I was introduced to Rusty one day in the Baptist Hospital of Miami cafeteria by Bob Gunter, the hospital’s Lab Director. Bob was on the hospital softball team, and Rusty (Bob called him "Flash," which was short for "Golden Flash") was the coach. I knew he had to be in management because he was wearing a suit, but I had no idea what he did.

It turns out that "what he did" was to manage the hospital’s finances — and he did it exceptionally well. But you’d never have known it from talking to him. I have never known a more humble or self-effacing human being. He never beat his own drum. In fact, if someone were to have given him a drum, Rusty would have found someone who needed it more and would have given it to that person.

The softball team was Rusty’s passion — along with his wife Molly and his family — and playing golf and hunting in the Everglades with Bob Gunter and his buddies. Russ was only 5 feet 4 inches tall, but he had a backswing like John Daly. I swear, sometimes his club did hit the ground on his backswing.

There are so many stories to tell about Rusty that reveal his character, but I’m going to limit myself to a few about softball and one about his reputation in the South Florida healthcare financial management community.

By 1973 our rag-tag softball team had gotten very competitive. At the end of our season we found ourselves in the playoffs for the Suniland Park Summer League championship. After years of disappointment and not-so-close calls, we made it to the championship game — and won!

We planned a big celebration to be held at Rusty’s – also nicknamed Russ – house and secretly took up a collection. We each dropped in $25 (a pretty good sum in ’73) to purchase a pewter mug with a glass bottom with our names and "1973" engraved on it. We also bought a mug rack so that whenever we were at Rusty’s house to drink, we could pull our personal mug off the rack and partake.

Russ had no idea what we were up to, and at the celebration he gave trophies out to all of us, calling each of us up and congratulating us. When we finished, one of our players — Tom Craney — said, "Russ, we have something for you," and he gave Rusty the mug rack and the mug with Rusty’s name on it. For a second, Russ stood there with a confused look on his face. Then, each of us came up with our mugs (including "Mack" McDonald, our 83-year-old score keeper) and gave them to Rusty to put on his rack.

Roland Slay — a man who had stoically survived being shot out of the sky in WWII, internment in a German POW camp, who had been taken prisoner again (twice) by insurrectos in the Philippines (while working for Goodyear after the war), who had survived physical injury and the stresses of being a CFO at a struggling hospital — stood there and bawled like a baby… and so did most of the rest of us.

I last saw Rusty in 1991. He had moved to a small place outside Asheville, NC. I spent a day with him and his wife Molly. We talked about old times — knowing this would probably be the last time we would see each other. Rusty looked pale and wan. I knew something was wrong.

Before I left that day I remember telling Rusty that one of my greatest joys in life was that I got my MBA from Kent State University — the same school that he had attended. Like Russ, I, too am a "Golden Flash."

A year or so later I received a package in the mail. I opened it to find a note and a dented pewter mug with a glass bottom. On the mug was written "Fred Crans 1973." In the note, Molly wrote, "Russ died the day Hurricane Andrew hit Miami. He wanted all of you to have your mugs."

Mine rests proudly in a glass étagère — tear stains and all.

The postscript to this story relates to an experience I had about five years after Russ died. I was working as a consultant at a hospital in South Florida. I was having a really difficult time establishing any rapport with the CFO. He seemed standoffish and bothered by our presence at his organization. At some point he made a comment about the Healthcare Financial Management Association (HFMA) and the South Florida group. I told him that I knew someone who used to be quite influential with the group.

"Who’s that," he asked — almost spitting the words at me.

"Rusty Slay," I replied.

"You knew Rusty?" he replied incredulously. "He was like a father to me. He’s a large reason for how I got where I am."

"Me, too, pal," I replied.