Dave chose to caption his Facebook profile picture with the words, “so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” That famous line is how Nick Carraway ends his story about The Great Gatsby – a man who had “something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away.”
Those who knew David experienced that - a one of a kind, larger than life figure, who was to us, his colleagues, apparently the same person he was to his family and friends. David M. Herskovits was David M. Herskovits and he made no excuse about it.
David was enthusiastic about just about everything. Before diving into work, he loudly would mention something that excited him that everyone else had to try, such as, for example, Lululemon pants. They were the best, he would say, supporting his claim with comparables and other market intelligence, noting the seams and quality fabric. Within minutes of his endorsement, everyone in hearing distance was on the Lululemon site, ready to enter a purchase, but not before hearing him say, “tell me what you want. I’ve got a guy who will get you them for half.”
That’s what he said about a lot of things he owned, such as his Yeezy’s, which he loved so much, that on a Friday, when maybe a few in the office were dressed a little too casual, didn’t realize were not within policy. Instead, he modeled them and offered purchasing tips. But, when he noticed a coworker wearing a non-collared shirt, ran to his desk, drew a spare polo from his drawer, and hurried it to his colleague, suggesting a switch before upper management would notice the dress code violation.
David genuinely cared. He would walk into the office and start every day with, “how is everyone doing today?” When he wasn’t using the car he kept parked in the building garage, he would offer the key to his Porsche to anyone who needed to drive it home or even keep it for the weekend. On days he knew he wouldn’t need his garage parking pass, he would take laps around the floor to find someone who could use it, even if he didn’t know the person. After a quick introduction, an exchange of cell phone numbers, he would lend the pass and gladly meet the coworker at any point over the weekend to retrieve it.
It’s hard to imagine how he had time for such generosity. But, as one of his eulogists said, David was a “bottle of renewable energy.” He had a gift for time management, or at least kidded himself that he did. For example, he thought he had airport timing down to a science, and when he recently missed a flight, rather than decide to change his ways, he advised, “if you’re not missing at least one flight a year you’re too early.” I guess he had far too much to do to sit in an airport. And to fit more into his day, Dave famously joined at least two conference calls at a time, always walking the halls or practicing his putting stroke with AirPods in his ears, yet still capable of capturing, and remembering weeks later, key parts of each discussion.
“ABC” was his mantra - Always Be Closing - and in the short time that Dave was at Brookfield, he managed to see the closing of the sale of Otter Creek and Meherrin development sites, the first battery storage project at Millinocket followed by a second battery storage project at the Berlin interconnection, and the purchase of the Goose Prairie solar project, which received key regulatory approval just several days before his passing. Most importantly, Dave was a mentor and friend to his team, both veterans and new hires, to whom he promised professional training and growth opportunities. His positive attitude was contagious, and a source of motivation. Whether negotiating with a difficult counterparty or prospecting a new project, he operated at a higher pace than everyone around him, but also knew when to pause and listen.
He loved Brookfield and expressed subtle allegiance at monthly RMC meetings by sporting his “Brookfield blue” ties, which vastly deviated from his characteristic colorful ties, the ones with tiny patterns that are only visible up-close that, coincidentally - or by design - also sparked discussion. It wasn’t a sign of materialism that those ties were usually Hermes, but instead an example of David’s constant quest for quality, his appreciation for the finer things in life and his living life to the fullest, which brings some solace to his premature death. His passion for cars, golf, and travel destinations coupled with his openness about them with his colleagues, as he offered actual assistance and useful advice, all while working hard toward seeing his professional renewable energy dreams coming true have impacted us all deeply.
Maya Angelou said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Dave hurried through life and left us at an absurdly young age, but he managed to engrave his smile in the memories of everyone who worked with him. As we cope with his loss, we recognize how lucky we were to have known a person with his energy, wisdom, kindness, and unique aura. In many ways, Dave resembles the title character of the book he chose to quote, and we, here, feel a bit like the admiring Nick Carraway.
If we could caption Dave’s Facebook profile, we would borrow the words used to begin the Gatsby tale and say: Dave had an “extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as [many] have never found in any other person and which it is not likely [many] shall ever find again.”
Rosa Pietanza, Berk Gursoy and Mark Scanlan
