My first impression of Stefan came in Madame Darvash’s ballet studio many years ago. Just before the class ended he exchanged a few foreign words with her, then walked across the studio to the restroom. Apparently whatever he said was funny because Madame laughed and announced to us that Stefan was her husband. Admiring the lean, graceful figure, I wondered what other special qualities he possessed that enabled him to keep up with such a demanding woman.

Over the years we became better acquainted. I have a fondness for immigrants and often enjoy their company because they genuinely appreciate the freedom America offers, which too many natives take completely for granted. Our conversations were less about dance and more about investments and business. But when the discussion turned to the subject of travel, Stefan’s face would invariably light up, especially upon the mention of Budapest. Whenever I visited their home, my taste buds were always delighted by the food he prepared. Madame once promised that after trying some of his spices I’d be able to wake up in the morning and do double tours.

The last time I saw him was at Memorial Sloan-Kettering. Madame had asked me to type up some documents for her and bring them to the hospital. After we finished our business she went in to talk to Stefan, then called me in. This was a surprise because I didn’t expect I’d be allowed to see him. Upon entering the room, my immediate wish was to look that good at his age. He had lost a little bit of weight but his features were still prominent and his eyes were clear. Although his smile held a touch of resignation he still had a firm handshake. While we spoke I gave his legs a brief massage, as I would always do when visiting my father in the hospital, in an attempt to boost the blood circulation. When it was time to go I gave him a kiss on the forehead and said goodbye. My thinking was that if someone could beat cancer, it would be him. Unfortunately, last Friday’s phone call from Madame at the hospital was one of those grim reminders that reality does not always bend to fit our convenience.

It was nice to see some old friends at the wake, but I wished we’d spoken more about Stefan because each of us certainly had fond memories of him that could have been shared. The flowers were truly impressive; they seemed to embrace the coffin with their affection. The funeral was held during a chilly rainfall, which was appropriate. I always thought that that kind of weather was proper for a funeral because then even the sky feels the pain of a lost loved one and blends in with the countless fallen tears.

My wife Blanca was moved by the obvious love Madame had for Stefan. It is admirable to see a couple sustain such a high degree of devotion for more than 40 years. How often do we observe that?

My favorite character trait of Stefan’s was his dignity. There was something honorable about the way he carried himself. In today’s culture, when our leaders and celebrities seem to have no shame for their acts of infidelity, substance abuse, violence and blatant dishonesty, a man like Stefan stands out. I haven’t given up on the human race because people like Stefan remind me that man can still be good.