I first got to know Robert Cleary at his home in D.C. My brother-in-law is one of those unforgettable characters you meet in life. He’s loud, passionate and funny with a dry wit. We were in our late 20s sharing some outstanding Japanese plum wine when all of a sudden he began reciting poetry in an Irish brogue. Maybe it was a sonnet by a Victorian poet. Thinking back to that moment, I like to imagine Bobby these days as a stout highlander with good hair in retirement with my sister Deb in Florida. He’s dressed in a kilt and sending up lazy rings of smoke from a Meerschaum pipe, all the while reciting memorized verse.