THE FACE OF GOD II.

Turning left out of the men’s room   in Lakeland Hospital

Not feeling well, but coherent I looked up to see

Blonde hair flying in the hallway- no breeze- just pure power.

She wore a green hospital coat and shoes that pounded  the hallway like

hunting boots.

And no smile – it was that unspoken  glare “come with me mister – you are

not going to pass out in my hallway” .

 Want sensitivity? attention,? warm fuzzy care – forget it:

 On the gurney, take shirt off: take a deep breath and suddenly the

mash medical corps  leaps into action: needles, IV’s monitors, grim whispers.

They poked and prodded asked me over and over again about blood thinner

and smoking and drinking and pain .

Sure, turn the Badger game  on – that will mollify this short chubby 70

year old.

Not a chance.  Blood pressure too high—another tube, more sideways glances.

Monitors beeping: red lights flashing:

 I knew this was not going to be a walk in the park.

In he walked, no sauntered: tall, somewhat slovenly, kinda unshaven with that

“ I take no prisoners approach”. Pushing here, squeezing legs there, he learned

his bedside manner in the military.  Approaching  the front of the bed: face to

face: my 1^st encounter in a long time with “ The Face of God” or was this

the Face of Death”? 

Then he said it, those dreaded words – you are not going home.  The words

were simple, direct. tone declarative – forget the debate, discussion, upcoming

 client meeting – we have a room for you upstairs.

The night time was = well you may have been there: nighttime is probing, and

IV’s and medicine,

Every hour a new “ HI, my name is Sally and I am your RN for the night etc etc.

No rest, no food, a continuing monitoring and prepping for the next day’s tests.

Just let me sleep and take the chest pain away, away away.

Ultrasound, Imaging machines, stress tests, doctor’s from India, and the

Ukraine, and Poland.

All this in tiny Elkhorn.

They  smiled, and made nonsense conversation about their cats, kids, freezing

plants..

Except for the stress test technician–  soft as pudding on the inside- tough on

the outside.

Aside the tread mill was a stress  chart. I quickly calculated why all the

attention was coming my way,why all the pseudo smiling staff – they were

sincere but also very concerned. High risk is a code phrase for big time trouble.

Another imaging exam.. Then Face of God, Face of Death 2 settled into the

chair beside my bed.  I knew the family name  from our time in Poland; his age t

elegraphed that his grandparents probably escaped the death mills of Aushwitz

and Birkenbau.

Trying to engage him in conversation about Warsaw he literally turned his

back.  God, how stupid can I be? This somewhat crippled 60 plus doctor is

trying to save my life – and I just ran a scimitar into the

depths of his soul.

 Really, really clever.. shut up and listen!

Answers? No, the human body is a mystery.  A new testing procedure is

available at St Lukes,  No options,  Get on Rte 43 and head north.  Out he walked

 to save other smart ass souls.

Forms, diet sheets, flu shot, pneumonia shot and it’s time to go.  The chirpy,

nurse’s aide who is  about to complete her  academics to become an RN

brought the wheelchair for a ride to the parking lot.

Smiling she looked me in the eyes and said – “they saved you didn’t they? You

are going to be ok.”

The Face of God comes to us in wonderfully unexpected packages.

Thanks Lakeland Medical Hospital for your care and expertise.

BASEBALL TRADITION – A TREASURE TO ENJOY

Baseball lives from generation to generation

Watching MLB.com as my beloved Phillies scratched and clawed to a season ending victory  last evening the memory tape rewound again and again as to how  fortunate we are to be a nation of traditional baseball fans. In the mid 194o’s my grandfather  sat next to me as the Phillies announcer  read the ticker tape account of the games from Shibe Park in Philadelphia..  Legends were born with  Robin Roberts, Richie Ashburn, later Mike Schmidt.  TRADITION , honoring those who went before.  Sixty five years later  we locker room jocks originally  from Central Pennsylvania are now feverishly tweeting about the upcoming playoffs. Amazing the continuity of loyalty which was planted in our psyches as a child.

45,000 screaming  Brewer fans watched their long maligned heroes capture home field advantage in the playoffs  yesterday..  A new TRADITION  for a team playing in a 21^st century park with Fielder and Braun potential Hall of Famers.  Fans remember 20 years ago when the legacy  let by Robin Yount brought home the bacon. The beat continues in brew city. Loyalty runs deep in Milwaukee and West Allis and on the banks of the Fox River.

Then there is the collapse of the Red Sox – What are Yastremzki and Ted Williams thinking?  How could decades of pride and TRADITION crumble in September?  Tears are streaming from the shadows  of the Green Monster. Alas,  Fenway park will shake again with cheering fans when spring comes in April.

The grainy pictures of Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth hitting balls into the seats in New York.  Sandy Koufax and Bob Feller throwing hard strikes barely i to the naked eye.  No matter where your loyalties lie, what your station in life, baseball binds us all together since the 1800’s.

And now it is October ( remember Reggie Jackson).  Face book and Twitter are humming with  good natured partisan discussions.  We are joined together by the social media as never before.  It used to be 4-5 guys at the local bar discussing who would win what.  Now there are thousands joining in the chat.

We are reminded of that song from “  Fiddler on the Roof”.  TRADITION.  The game is now international. Players from Dominican Republic, South Korea, Japan, Venezuela ,  etc.  Politics is a non factor –can he hit? 

Anyone checking the  nationality of the great Manny Rivera? – nah, the question is can anyone get a hit off him in the 9^th with the bases loaded.    It’s about wins and losses: Home Town Pride: and for Brewer fans – Bob Uecker and Uzinger Sausage. 

The leaves are falling here in the Midwest.. and cases of Miller Lite are being consumed as we lustily cheer for our October heroes.  While the politicians pontificate, procrastinate, and pander, the rest of us sit back and enjoy a true American  treasure – Baseball TRADITION.

 

 

TWO REFLECTIONS ABOUT 9/11

Tom Brokaw poignantly observed yesterday that music speaks to us in a way that words can’t.  Guess I never considered that truism.  As a nation, a peoples, a culture, certain musical pieces become lodged in our psyche.

The sounds and tears of 9/11 brings with it at least 3 classics :

          The mournful wailing of bag pipes played at funeral after funeral

          The prayerful WORDS of Amazing Grace.

          Sounds of Silence written by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkle – with Paul Simon singing

          this moving ode at Ground Zero on the 10^th anniversary of 9/11,

THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE

Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

“Fools”, said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls”
And whispered in the sounds of silence

 

Have a moment to reflect?  Macy’s posted the following in the New York Times:

          HUG YOUR CHILDREN

          SPEND THE DAY WITH FAMILY

          THINK OF AN OLD FRIEND

          WAVE TO YOUR NEIGHBOR

          GO FOR A LONG WALK

          LIGHT A CANDLE

          SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS

          TAKE A MOMENT FOR YOURSELF

          BE THERE FOR SOMEONE ELSE

          WATCH THE SUNSET

          LOOK FORWARD TO SUNRISE

Today, in your own way, remember and reflect. September 11,2001.

We Remember

DON’T PUSH YOUR LUCK

A bit of detective juices running through your veins?

The phrase “ don’t push your luck” resounded, stuck,

stroked my curiosity.  A challenge if you will…

Such a pedestrian phrase .. but…  what are the origins

of this common retort, a throw away line?

So much of our techno orientation leaves us with the impression that

language is  new, modern, recently discovered.

Amazingly, the word luck, as quoted below in a Yahoo search, is 600 years old!

Imagine – will the phrase “internet technology” be in use 600 years from now?

luck

15c. from M.Du. luc, shortening of gheluc “happiness, good fortune,” of

unknown origin. Related to M.H.G. g(e)lücke, Ger. Glück “fortune, good

luck.” Perhaps first borrowed in English as a gambling term. To luck out

“succeed through.

Our “ phrase of the day “, refers to happiness and good fortune.  A pleading of

not taking these positive events for granted.  Enhance, cherish, and protect

that which makes life worth while. Be glad, thankful for the good things the

Creator has granted you.

Consider this.. the geneology of luck, a word we use everyday, has a family

 history of 600 years.A history which we have shared with our Dutch, English,

and Irish brethren for all of that time.

Reflecting on how the world has changed since the 15^th century, it is amazing

that a simple word like luck has survived and, more significantly, is in common

use. 

When posed with the question on day 1 of teaching World Teaching “ Why study

 history”, it is boring?”.  Examples such as the living history, yes   the living h

history of language and cultures brings to the frontal lobes, an explanation of

who we are as a people, a culture, a nation, a civilization. For example: did the

founding fathers write the Constitution purely from their imaginations? Or was i

t based on premise which were honed and codified over centuries?

 We are constantly bombarded with news referring to globalization and the g

lobal economy. How the world is becoming smaller. A seeming immediacy,  all

news, all the time.  

All that is true.

However, I believe many pundits have a narrow sense of history.  Of how our

language, tradition, and cultures have evolved.  Our  simplistic  example

regarding the word “luck”

illustrates that “ globalization has been with us for at least 600 years.  Perhaps

our Princeton and Harvard Grads who occupy the think tanks in Georgetown c

ould benefit bytaking note of the long view of history.

Leave you with :

An Irish Blessing

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

All luck, all the time

THE PRICE OF WAR AS TOLD BY A HERO

A tribute well deserved

 

People back home told him war is hell..

What is hell on the battlefields?

Seventeen years old (lied about his age) he found

himself resting against a tree on an island in the South Pacific.

The scent of mortars  filled the air. Small arms fired crackled.

Blood, guts, cries for “mother” laid all around.

Victory, what a price was being  paid.

 

One day after landing, several days out of boot camp, he

came face to face with death, screaming buddies, the smoke, sound and fury

of both sides fighting for their very lives.

The sheer terror caused his body to shake, his eyes always searching the brush

for his Japanese killers.

 

Physically exhausted, he rested against a tree: helmet by his side.

What were the marks ? Either side of the helmet bore the creases of

bullets: he survived  by inches the fate of the Gods.

With others, he charged up hills to confront  Japanese caves and nests: life hanging in the

balance: kill or be killed.. Firing into huts: hearing screams: watching others die.

 

The seemingly endless nightmare returns to this day.. now we call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

 

Proud of his service: wondering WHY  he survived when those around him died,

This 80 something patriot talks wistfully of the war.  Tough, wizened,  laughter on

The outside, years of pain on the inside.

 Rubbing his nose, eyes glistening from tears, part of the past comes rushing  back. He looks away,

paces the floor, grapples for the right words.  Shoulders bow, one sees the memory tapes

passing before his eyes: the smells, sounds , and consequences of the war and life since are

evident..  he tries to hold back – but there is a need for him to share, to talk, to again relieve

the pain of life’s journey. To share his story so that those who follow benefit from history.

 

Three marriages,   businesses created, relationships moving on:

It took 30 years to begin the recovery from being .

“Always the need for excitement, the desire to be in control , to survive”,

The ghosts of the cries of buddies dying  on the battlefields  –

Those for  whom he really cared– true men friends for the 1^st time in his life.

 

The fear lingers deep in his soul fear that  in life there is no permanency, or trust, or faith.

Seventy years have passed into the annals of history.

Why me he asks, why did I survive and others beside me die?

 

He carries his military exploits close to his chest

Not a chest pounding hero

A small Semper Fidelis  sticker on his vehicle

 

Marriages unraveled , children without a family

Money squandered: Johnny Walker consumed by the gallons.

Fear, like a low grade fever, is always present. Trust whom?

The ripple effects of combat inexorably, silently pass from generation to generation.

One , just one of the unspoken prices paid by the “ Greatest Generation”.

 

 

Acting On Our Beliefs and Values – A MessageFramed in History

The keeper of memories at Brandywine

Hidden away near the Brandywine Battlefield

A rugged stone mill stands sentry .

Two hundred years of water tracing

24/7 turning the paddles and buckets

Which give force to the tiny grinding mill again and again.

 

Steady, throughout the harsh Penns Woods winters.

Steady, when the stream turns to a trickle.

Steady, when its primary purpose is replaced  by gas powered machines.

 

There is an aura about this place. A mirror, a memory tape.

Like other places of history and locales of human events

The mill has heard the generational stories  of its neighbors

Its warriors, its heroes, its common folk who worked the land.

Its neighbors in the apartment blocks and IT parks nearby

Its yet unborn .

 

What is “it” about places throughout the world where people

Have sacrificed for their beliefs and values?

What is “it” about the international need to respect and revere

These places of honor ?

 

By the same token, what is it about Civil War battlefields which are

now home to parking lots and the Golden Arches?

Or  the Warsaw Ghetto where one searches for the markers of that WWII tragedy?

The killing forests of Eastern Europe – hidden from view, not disclosed.

Or the  catacombs in Paris.

 

What single iridescent   thread runs through these places remembered and those forgotten/destroyed?

Is there a common theme ?

 

From the common mill at Brandywine, to the catacombs, we remember that the treatment of each

Is a continuing reflection of our values.  What Is important? What is sacred? What is meaningful

to each and every culture, nation, and political demarcation line?  Herein lies the back story for what is

preserved or abandoned.

 

No matter our station in life, we have a commonality with the mill at Brandywine. 

Steady as life goes, we all have our memories, our life changing events.

We celebrate life’s victories like the Colonials at Brandywine. 

We keep on keeping on. 

 

The values we place on our beliefs  act are a platform  for our life changing decisions.  Do we value the

past such as the sacred ground at Brandywine? Or do we alternatively dismiss our personal

history as just another day to be endured on this earth?

 

Choices come to us sometimes quietly. In the small private moments of our inner soul.  A whisper.

A dream.  A premonition.  Our interpretation of a look from someone we know.

Forming  our values, our beliefs, our creed. 

 

Our interpretation of even fleeting moments  may be profound.  The permutations permanent.

 Reflecting our values, a whispered  yes or no  becomes the hallmark  of who we are

 and the continued, repetitive  voice in our inner being.

 

 Our acknowledgement of the goodness of others..the Harold Johnsons and Mother Theresas

 of this word reflect what we value as important: what is life sustaining. Do we pick up the

challenge and continue their missions?

.

Our rejection of those who take advantage of the poor, the humble, those with lesser abilities:

a reflection of our values – do we act or walk on the other side of the road?

 

Can you identify your values, beliefs, and creed?  Enjoy….

A TRIBUTE TO THE GREATEST GENERATION

The unmistakable gutteral  roar of propeller driven  airplane engines

Grew louder, as these workhorses flew closer.

Not a movie, nor a dream, the sound, the roar is part of America’s DNA.

 

Cloudy, overcast, a replication of the long ago skies of Northern Europe.

Hidden, protected, the planes approach – somewhere above the cloud bank..

 

Clouds cast a grey blanket, then open for a few moments.

We can hear them, but where are they? Who goes there?

 Who breaks the silence of rural America?

 

The clouds answer the query and part for a  few moments.

Majestic and proud, these gladiators of the sky trundle  on

 carrying the memories of daring young heroes who would give the ultimate sacrifice.

Seven decades and counting – how the pages of history inexorably  turn.

 

We stand in the yard remembering the leather head coverings, the A on the jacket,

 and watch humble with crooked neck and searching eyes in silence . Whence they fly?

Our fathers generation  flew in these cockpits over Dresden  with flack left and right.

They helped make the  Furher hide in this death  bunker.

The flyboys who risked it all.. and made their country proud.

As Tom Brokaw named them “ The Greatest Generation”.

 

Humbled, respectful we are as these patriotic air travelers  cross overhead.

A seamless transition from air borne machines to living reminders  of victory

 sacrifice, and the saviors of western civilization.

 

One more time – “ God Bless America”.

A Friend Dies – Another Vietnam War Hero is Laid to Rest

Reserved, introverted, a smile for a friend here or there.

Intellectually astute, few knew him .

Hi Jim, we would say, as he passed by

head down, was he thinking or avoiding eye contact?

 

Over a beer at Blackwelders  in Salisbury he’d talk a bit about his home town,

 A farming village tucked away in Southern PA.

Nothing much happened there , which suited Jim just fine.

Jim wanted to be a numbers cruncher, an accountant.

A quiet contributor in  an honest firm .

The 1^st in his family to graduate from college, he would succeed.

 

Graduation came, followed by a “ Uncle Sam wants you” letter.

Stoic, resigned, no flight to Canada for this young patriot.

Off to Fort Knox, just tell me what to do made him ideal for the ARMY.

A follower rather than a leader, Jim was assigned to a rifle company.

An expert marksman, he became a man, a real man.

Fighting for what was right in South East Asia.

 

The rice fields of Vietnam claimed the future of this brave American.

Jim later said he was not a  hero.  His Company was overrun by the Viet Cong.

Death everywhere. He was flown out by helicopter.

He lost most of his eyesight.  Skin was raw and ravaged. Legs weakened.

 

 I saw Jim in a vocational rehab program several years after the war.

Struggling to walk, straining to see in the sunlight, Jim offered his

hand, we exchanged hugs.  How are you doing I awkwardly asked?

I’m ok – getting along he muttered..

 

A purple heart winner – Jim wanted to remain anonymous.. Didn’t want  to

talk about the lives he saved. 

He returned to the village from whence he was raised.  There were rumors of his heroism.

But Jim remained  silent. Home bound and separated from most of the community he didn’t

want others to see his scarred and maimed body.  A high school athlete reduced to an invalid.

Dependent on medical pain killers, crutches, darkened  glasses, his dream of being

an accountant faded and disappeared as the Grim Reaper stood and smirked in the doorway.

 

His story revealed posthumously.  One of those heroes whose names will not appear on the

Vietnam War Memorial.  One of thousands  who died quietly in the service of our country.

 

A tiny church yard in an out of the way town .

 Military honors.

Jim slowly and humbly laid to rest .  No reporters or TV.  No articles in the Baltimore papers.  Dust to

dust in the simplest of terms.

No listing on the nightly news. 

An intelligent young man, a product of the best this country has to offer.  Laid to rest without notice, or

acclaim.  His parents long since passed, a few neighbors stoically watched Jim enter hallowed  ground.

 

Vietnam?  The scars of this war are open and reeking pus to this day.  When I asked Jim how he was

doing, his dark, vacant, weary eyes said it all – he knew what could have been, how he could have raised

a family and given back to the Lord he revered and honored .  All denied, who would have this crippled

body? Incapable of making a living: denied the right to father children.

 

 Denied the future of making his immigrant parents proud.  They fled Europe and became American

citizens for what – for their eldest son  to be sacrificed on the altar of lies told about the Gulf of Tonkin .

The ultimate sacrifice – may we all be honest about our past and our future.

 

 

The ultimate sacrifice

ROCKY AND THE PHILADELPHIA MUSEUM OF ART

A keeper of historical culture

The larger than life onyx colored statue of Rocky  stands at the end of a small pathway

A striking presence near the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

The elderly spacious museum houses Rubens, Monet, Moorish Art, the masters over time

Unpretentious, but somehow awe inspiring as one travels the cavernous exhibit halls.

 

Outside there is Rocky.

 

Men young and old: athletic and rotund  clamber onto Rocky’s  statue.  They flex their

muscles for the cameras of friends and relatives:  Mugging for the cameras, hugging Rocky

as if he was a long lost friend, or national hero.

Watching these giggling self indulged macho types there is a sense of incongruity. Once the

pictures are taken these cerebral types wander off down the parkway.  The Museum  was treated

as just another building on a hillside in Philadelphia while the celluloid hero gathers their adulation.

Centuries of  man’s artistic and imaginative best is a secondary concern  to this non appreciative  public.

Ben Franklin, the architect of this vibrant city must wonder  what has he wrought?

 

Oh yes, there is a place for diversity of opinion and interest  creating venues.

And there is no negative judgment being posited on those Rocky worshipers .

 

Eric Weiner in “ The Geography of Bliss”,  describes Qatar as a country without culture “ They have no

cuisine, no literature, and no arts” .  The exhibits at the Museum are described as pathetic… “ a glass

case that houses a collection of what looks like camel toenail clippings”.  The point is the absence of

cultural /historical/artistic renderings.  Are we headed in the same direction?

 

As we lead our children, literally and figuratively  away from “ Rocky” to another photo op,,

or a McDonald’s, or an immediate gratification pleasure event,  do we thoughtfully consider

 the importance of culture in the foundation and continuation of Western Civilization?  If our children

know about Rocky,but not Rubens, Chagall, Kahil Gibran, then what is their legacy going forward?

Great thinkers and leaders make decisions based on their knowledge of the world and the consequences

of actions taken by others gone before.  Culture is a stimulus, a reflection of how people at a certain

point in time saw their world.  Art in all its forms, provides a platform for reflection, intellectual

curiosity, and civic development. 

 

Let’s preserve our past and encourage future generations to appreciate the values of their ancestors.

 

 

 

 

HUBRIS,KNOWLEDGE AND TRANSPARENCY – DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO BE A LEADER?

Broadly smiling, engagingly confident, you motivate audiences.
Stories of family triumphs, business victories, successful negotiations.
The ability to mesmerize audiences is legendary.
Week after week you shared more and more of your life story.
Growing up in the leafy suburbs of north shore Chicago
Privilege, wealth, highly educated in private schools.

Behind the closed doors there was the specter of alcoholism, An enabling father who provided cover for your mother to drink. Jameson on the rocks in crystal tumblers began at noon each day.

All the while the legendary mercantile business prospers on Michigan Avenue.
High end jewelry: a travel service to Europe: leased airplanes at O’Hare.

All business and personal hurdles were brushed aside as you became the
revered CEO at Hartsfield, Inc. A major player in the design and sales of u
upscale women’s fashion. Your loyal employees shared in the profits, the fame, and the riches.

Presiding over meetings in the cavernous auditorium, you shared a bit of history.
And motivated employees with tips recommendations, and self help suggestions as to how to become bigger than life, how to see the goodness in their soul.

Slowly and deliberately over months and years you tell of your mother’s failing health. Her struggle with dementia.Not a word about the dreaded illness known as “ the drink”
This family history was in the past, a harsh memory, but one consigned to the closet.

So dear reader, want to be a charismatic leader? A role model for your employees?
Someone to whom the public gravitates towards and looks to for strength and inspiration?

A New York Yankee fan, our CEO subject, remembers her mother talking about Lou Gehrig.
The slugger who stood on the grounds that Ruth built and said goodbye on July 4, 1939.
Knowing that he was succumbing to the death of what is now known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.
An iconic hero, he is remembered for generations. Known as the Iron Horse for his durability, physically weak but staunchly resolute his courageous farewell speech before more than 61,000 follows.
“Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about the bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans.
Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day? Sure, I’m lucky. Who wouldn’t consider it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert? Also, the builder of baseball’s greatest empire, Ed Barrow? To have spent six years with that wonderful little fellow, Miller Huggins? Then to have spent the next nine years with that outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today, Joe McCarthy? Sure, I’m lucky.
When the New York Giants, a team you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, sends you a gift — that’s something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats remember you with trophies — that’s something. When you have a wonderful mother-in-law who takes sides with you in squabbles with her own daughter — that’s something. When you have a father and a mother who work all their lives so that you can have an education and build your body — it’s a blessing. When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed — that’s the finest I know.
So I close in saying that I might have been given a bad break, but I’ve got an awful lot to live for. Thank you.”
— Lou Gehrig at Yankee Stadium, July 4, 1939[49]

Imagine the strength it took to deliver this farewell address!
Like Lou Gehrig, others follow you – almost a cult. They come to you with their secrets, their stories of success and personal distress. After all, you are perceived to have an endless capacity for empathy, and heartfelt understanding: two characteristics of successful leaders.
They look to you as the perfect leader: One whose speeches and writings are internalized, discussed, chatted about in high society and by the Red Hat ladies.

Through it all, you have been able to keep a bit aloof while protecting yourself. Maintaining that necessary tiny bit of space between you and the public, you and employees,.

Vulnerability has been part of what you shared. That openness which others see as trust. That incalculable chemical molecule with which most identify.
Your son, yes you have discussed the travails of your son from time to time. His autism. His struggles with other children. How you strive to keep him comfortable and happy. But his decline – only a hint here and there.

There is a rumor that his health is rapidly deteriorating to the point of no return. That his continuing illness is causing a rift in your “perfect” marriage. But you have been stalwart, and strong, and just led the board of directors through the sterling financials for the last quarter. Profits are up 18%.
The Wall Street Journal sings your praises. Stockholders are in awe. To the world life is perfect.
So you want to be a charismatic leader? Leadership requires “ speaking to the truth as Neale Walsch writes in “ Conversations with God”.

Here they sit. Three Hundred Fifty expectant men and women. Eager for your quarterly message
of hope, inspiration, and life-sustaining theories. Knowing you have brought the firm through the recession. Knowing you will provide for them in many ways, large and small.
Be strong , you say to yourself. You got where you are through hubris, knowledge, and superior self
control. Strong on the outside: stronger on the inside.
You’ve spoken with Elizabeth Edwards. Hilary Clinton, Geraldine Ferraro. All who overcame the impossible – and retained their public integrity. Here you are – with an expectant audience.
Lou Gehrig walked away.. so weak he could not hold the goodbye gift presented by fans and teammates..
Where is my inner strength whispers the voice inside of your head.
The introductions are over: the crowd comes to their feet as one large wave. Cheering as you reach the
podium. Waiting for good news. Waiting for that magic they have seen in you for 15 years.
Deep breath: knees knocking: shoulders back: eyes focused on your loyal assistant in the front row- only she has seen the struggle behind the curtain and knows something is rotten in Denmark.

You thank the team for their loyalty: how they have made the Company great and then share Power
Point graphs illustrating the successful 1st quarter. You have stalled, procrastinated, bobbed and weaved. It is time to tell them. Alex, your son died last night, Timothy your husband left town on a
business trip – and was seen in West Palm Beach with another woman, and yes you have cervical cancer.

The imperfect tri fact a. A leave of absence- yes you are leaving for an indefinite period of time.
There is an audible gasp: Silence: Tears: employees reluctant to look at each other – so uncomfortable.
You have gone where many have failed. You stayed faithful to your implicit promise to employees which is to tell the truth .. always. To trust them .. and for them to trust you.
Leadership is about raising expectations. This includes the honesty of transparency and the risk of being vulnerable.
Hubris and knowledge catapulted you to the corner office. Do you have that something extra of transparency and vulnerability which sets you apart.? Leadership has its rewards and risks.

My question to all of you leaders – are you willing to walk the walk ? To share who you are, what you value, and embrace employees when they care about you and your life?