MR. GINSBURG: Ted Tannenwald in private practice was my boss and then my partner before President Johnson appointed him to the Tax Court in 1965. He served the Court with great distinction nearly 34 years. In everything he undertook, Ted uncommonly combined extraordinary intelligence, personal warmth, and absolute integrity. He was my close and admired friend for more than four decades until his sudden death on January 17 at age 82.

As the Chief Judge mentioned, in 1939 Ted graduated number one in his class from Harvard Law School. He then came to work in New York City as an associate at Weil, Gotshal & Manges. Weil today is a distinguished firm, one of the largest law firms in the country. In 1939, Weil was small and not quite so distinguished. The idea that a young lawyer of Ted's personal qualities and extraordinary record was not snapped up by one of the large, luminous New York City law firms seemed to me, 20 years later when I asked Ted how he had come to Weil, incomprehensible.

"Leo Gottlieb recommended me to Frank Weil", Ted told me. Leo was a great lawyer of the time. Leo did not recommend Ted to one of the large, luminous law firms because in those days, except by accident, they did not hire Jewish lawyers. Ted was Jewish, and he did not court accident.

The Weil firm was greatly advantaged by Ted's coming there, but, long-term, the major beneficiary was me, and the benefit in large measure flowed from Ted's decision to become a tax lawyer. In a small general service firm, one is an everything lawyer, and to the very end of his career in practice, Ted continued to do everything, but predominantly, he was the firm's extremely able tax partner.

Early on, I asked Ted how he had become a tax lawyer. Lots of new tax issues were coming up after the war, he told me. Someone had to deal with them, and as the youngest partner, he seemed a good choice. So nights and weekends, over a period of months, Ted read the Code and regulations, the rulings and cases, and whatever else was then in print and became a tax lawyer. It was like successfully mastering brain surgery through home study.

[Laughter.]

MR. GINSBURG: I arrived at Weil in the fall of 1958, fresh out of law school, to double the size, although hardly the quality, of the tax department. In the 7 years that followed,

until Ted came here, I enjoyed the best one-on-one professional education any young lawyer might hope for.

Ted's teaching method was to involve you in the entire matter-never piecework, never isolated legal questions, everything in the larger context-so that you always learned. You learned law, surely, but much more importantly, you learned how a good lawyer functions in practice.

A couple of weeks ago, I had lunch with Norbert Blechner. Pete, I know, will remember him well. Norbert is a very successful international ore dealer. He is now 89 years old, and he is still going strong. He was Ted's client for many years, right up until the day Ted joined the Court.

I told Norbert I would be speaking at this memorial. Norbert responded-he hoped for you to hear that he had known nearly 70 years of lawyers, and that Ted was without doubt the best lawyer he had ever known, not simply the best tax lawyer, the best lawyer. Because, Norbert said, Ted took the time required to discover the real business motivations of both sides and then invested the effort and great skill needed to craft a transaction or a settlement that enhanced the interests of both sides.

In our practice, Ted would discuss with me issues, objectives, the more significant problems, and then send me off to research, write a memo if need be, draft documents, always to do a little more than I thought I was ready for. Scary and exhilarating. And, after a couple of years, I began to think I was hot stuff.

[Laughter.]

MR. GINSBURG: One time-I was third year then-4 or 5 months after a transaction closed, I stumbled on a relevant but to me previously unknown Investment Company Act regulation. The regulation alerted me that our client, as a result of my good advice, likely was engaged in a continuing violation and incurring a penalty of something like $1,000 a day.

Literally shaking, I spent the next 2 hours parsing the regulation and closely calculating ratios, and discovered that, by a whisker and dumb luck, our client had been in compliance all along.

Recovering from cardiac arrest, I went to Ted's office to make a clean breast of it. When I had gotten no further than to utter the words "Investment Company Act", Ted looked up

and said, "Oh yes. Fortunately, they were in ratio." And then he smiled at my open mouth and added: "You're pretty good, but you're not that good."

[Laughter.]

MR. GINSBURG: Well, that is how I learned that while Ted had always pushed me to take on more, to become as good as I might become, he had never left me, or the clients, alone at the edge of the cliff. It was a great lesson in how to train a younger lawyer.

After Ted and Pete moved to Washington in 1965, we were not in daily contact, but, of course, we were in touch. When Ruth and I were sworn in to the Bar of the United States Supreme Court in 1967, Ted moved our admission. Thirty years later, he mentioned that Ruth seemed to have done more and better with it than I had.

[Laughter.]

MR. GINSBURG: But he was nice enough to say that when only the two of us were at lunch.

More often, Ted and I lunched with others, with one or more of his colleagues, here in the Judges' dining room, although not for its gourmet menu, or a few blocks away at the Dubliner or the Irish Times, most days joined by Jim Halpern.

Jim and I had lunch at the Dubliner with Ted shortly before he died. We argued with verve and humor about the current catalog of crazy tax avoidance schemes and not always coherent judicial responses. Not long before, Ted had undergone hip surgery. He seemed to be recovering wonderfully well, but it had slowed his step. At lunch, it was clear it had not slowed his mind.

In addition to his family, Ted Tannenwald is survived by a host of colleagues and friends who held him in boundless affection and esteem.

CHIEF JUDGE COHEN: Thank you.

Mr. Grigsby.

MR. GRIGSBY: I and almost 40 other people were privileged to be Ted Tannenwald's clerks. For all of us, those clerkships were the beginning of a long and wonderful relationship and friendship with Ted and Pete. Next year, I find it hard to believe, will mark the 30th anniversary of my clerkship with Ted. What surprises me is that there are so many aspects of that experience that are as fresh in my mind as if they hap

pened yesterday, and, if you will bear with me for a couple of minutes, I would like to share two events with you from that clerkship.

One event many of you may have heard about, since it was a story Ted loved to tell. The second event, I doubt Ted remembered the day it happened. The first requires a little background.

When I clerked for Judge Tannenwald, the Tax Court shared quarters with the Internal Revenue Service at 1001 Pennsylvania Avenue. The Tax Court had most of the second floor; the Judges had exterior offices. The clerks shared offices that were separate from the Judges. There was no security. For the clerks, to get to our offices, we came in a side door, walked up a back stairs, went down the corridor a few paces and disappeared into our separate rooms. Most days, you saw almost no one. No one had a clue who you were. It was a quiet existence.

Well, about 2 months after I started clerking for Judge Tannenwald, the clerks in the Tax Court had a softball game with people from Chief Counsel's Office. I went out to play, and in the course of the game I tripped over first base and sprained my ankle. It was the move of a complete klutz. No close play, no diving catches, I just tripped and fell on my you-know-what and sprained my ankle in the process. Luckily for me, since I couldn't walk, there was a nice guy from the Chief Counsel's Office who had a car and gave me a ride home. That was Charlie Casazza.

All this occurred on a Saturday. By Monday, my ankle was the size of a grapefruit. I could not get a shoe on over the swelling. But I discovered two things. First, as long as I made no quick turns, I could walk in a straight line. Second, with the straps fully extended, I could wear a sandal. So on Monday morning, I put on a pair of sandals, walked to the bus stop, rode the bus to work, come in the side door, went up the back stairs and disappeared into the office.

I didn't see Ted on Monday. I didn't see Ted on Tuesday. On Wednesday, sometime about the middle of the day, one of the secretaries called up and said the Judge would like to see me. I walked over to his office, and we had a discussion about one of the cases we were working on. When we were finished and I was leaving, he said: "By the way, I want you

to know it doesn't make the slightest difference to me, but Judge Simpson has complained about your wearing sandals." [Laughter.]

MR. GRIGSBY: I think I probably told about the ankle and that I could not get a shoe on over the swelling, but I am not sure. In any event, I took him at his word and continued to wear the sandals until the swelling subsided. It may have been a bad decision, but it was the best bad decision I ever made, because for the next 30 years, every chance he got, he told the story about the clerk who wore sandals. He loved it.

But to me, actually there was another dimension. Ted told me he did not care, he meant it, and I could rely on it. He was like that in everything he did or said. He told you what he thought. He meant it. You could take it to the bank. He cared intensely about things that mattered, and he did not bother with things that did not. It was a remarkable characteristic, but he was a remarkable man.

The second episode is one I am sure Ted did not remember past the day it happened, but it is one I will never forget. Ted had a case on the New York calendar involving two pro se taxpayers from Brooklyn. The husband and wife were elementary schoolteachers, and the IRS had determined a deficiency of $159.75. The husband appeared in Court to contest the deficiency.

These two schoolteachers were claiming business expense deductions for unreimbursed expenses related to their teaching. The expenses included $300 of classroom supplies, $65 for lunch money allegedly lent to students, and $15 for the cost of repairing the watch of the husband, which was allegedly damaged when he was breaking up a fight in the schoolyard.

At the trial session, Ted had not found the testimony of the husband very convincing. He allowed $50 of the $300 for the school supplies and disallowed the rest. The $15 claim for repairing the watch was dismissed with one sentence and a footnote at the end of the opinion. The footnote was a throwaway and addressed the fact that the damage to the watch might not be a business expense but might instead be a casualty loss. But even if it were a casualty loss, the footnote said, it would not be allowable as a deduction.

I have to say at the time, for me, this case was difficult to find interesting. Here was some schmo from Brooklyn who