He Missed the Ring But Got The Call

My father Fred Teller — or as he preferred Shlomo Meir — was unmoved by spiffy sound bites or ornate language. Whenever he sought a rav for the shul he lovingly built (Young Israel of Stamford Connecticut) he was always looking for “a learner.” Notwithstanding his cum laude in classics from an Ivy League institution he was dubious about any candidate whose speech was too polished or overly florid. He was skeptical about those who could talk the talk but were clueless as to the walk; a plainspoken yeshivish “mistama” or “memeila” would put him at ease.

Shlomo Meir Teller walked all walks with refinement and dignity — including corporate America where regard is usually reserved for those who wield power control assets and know how to dominate a trifecta for which he was not even in the running. And yet even there he was deeply respected — indeed revered.

Shlomo Meir managed to escape Vienna after the Anschluss with just his sister. They were two young teenagers — he was barely 13 — in New York City on their own. He made it his first priority to learn accent-free English and got himself admitted to night school at Columbia University. During the day he worked giving a portion of his wage to cover his sister’s accommodations until he was drafted into the United States Army.