February 4, 2008
Artful Rules for Work and Life
Sister Corita Kent developed rules for the Art Department at Immaculate Heart College worth contemplating relative to our own work; a few worthy thoughts on the list include:
Rule 4: Consider everything an experiment. . .
Rule 6: Nothing is a mistake. There is no win and no fail. There is only make.
Rule 7: The only rule is work. If you work it will lead to something. It’s the people who do all of the work all the time who eventually catch on to things.
Rule 8: Don’t try to create and analyse at the same time. They’re different processes.
Helpful hints: Always be around. Come or go to everything always. Go to classes. Read anything you can get your hands on. Look at movies carefully often. Save everything, it might come in handy later . . . There should be new rules next week.
[Thanks to iPienso, via Kottke, for the pointer.]
Posted by John at 4:23 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackJanuary 21, 2008
"His Truth is Marching On"
December 2, 2007
Find and Acknowledge the "Steves" in Your Life
As regular readers of Tidbits know, I'm a fan of Thomas P.M. Barnett, whose thoughts on global affairs I regularly point to. His latest column, is much more personal and a valuable reminder to all of us:
. . . Steve led a small life. He created few waves, yet somehow left an enormous wake.
Here's my request: You know who these people are.
Make sure they know who you are.
Find out who Steve is, and the impact Steve had on Barnett and his family, by reading Barnett's essay in full.
We've all got plenty of "Steves" in our lives, those who create a ripple effect in our lives that lasts for years. These people breathe not just in our own souls, but their impact on us is great enough that they influence others in our circle through the impact they've had on us.
Indeed, let's acknowledge and thank our "Steves".
Posted by John at 9:49 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackOctober 29, 2007
An Immigrant Gardener Gives Back
From the San Francisco Chronicle [thanks to TP Wire Service for the pointer]:
Catalino Tapia came to the United States at age 20 with $6 in his pocket. He worked hard, as a baker and a machine operator, and eventually started his own gardening business. He and his wife bought a home in Redwood City and raised their two sons, putting the eldest through college.
Though he never studied beyond sixth grade, Tapia was so inspired to see his son, Noel, graduate from Boalt Hall School of Law at UC Berkeley that he decided to help other young Peninsula people make it to college. Now 63, the Mexican immigrant is giving back to the country he says has given him so much.
With legal help from his son, Tapia established a nonprofit corporation, the Bay Area Gardeners Foundation, and recruited a dozen other immigrant gardeners to join the board. This year, the foundation gave out nine scholarships of $1,500, almost double what it distributed in 2006, its first year.
With his callused hands and burly shoulders, the Michoacán native does not fit the typical image of a philanthropist. When Tapia approached the Silicon Valley Community Foundation for a grant to help strengthen the fledgling organization's capacity, he was told the agency had never seen a foundation started by gardeners before. "Well," he replied, "We'll be the first."
When most people think of a philanthropist, they are likely to think of a society matron or millionaire business mogul, said Manuel Santamaría, a program manager at the community foundation.
"In fact, taking tamales to the church potluck or reading in the classroom - all those little acts are philanthropic," said Santamaría. "Philanthropy means love of humankind. We've got to spin a much better view of what immigrants are contributing. ... And Catalino is taking it to a different level." . . .
Read the complete, inspiring story here.
Posted by John at 4:36 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackMay 29, 2007
A High School Graduate Against the Odds
"If you stay focused, if you really want that thing, you'll do anything in your power to make that happen . . . I wanted my education."
After his parents divorced, Daniel Lazzatti's mom ran off and his father, who had custody, became a crack addict. At age 16, he didn't want anything to do with foster care but wanted his education. He set up house in an old tool shed and found an old kid's bike in a dump he could use to get back and forth to school. Daniel had a learning disability which caused him to have to work twice as hard as most kids; he would sit through geometry classes twice to make sure he understood the material.
Daniel Lazzatti just graduated from Edgewater High School in Orlando with a 3.7 GPA, and is headed to college to study computers. His inspiring story is here.
Posted by John at 4:48 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackMarch 6, 2007
A Graying Dad
I was complimenting my nine year old daughter yesterday on her beautiful hair. She’s proud of her long blonde hair, and when I passed on my compliment the shine of her smile matched her hair.
“Daddy,” she went on to say, “your hair looks really good, too.”
“Come on now,” I responded. “Not nearly as good as yours does.”
“No Daddy, it does,” she told me, “even as it gets grayer it still looks good.”
Posted by John at 10:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackFebruary 22, 2007
The Entrepreneurial George Washington
Today is actually George Washington’s birthday, which is worth a reminder, since there’s an entire generation or more of Americans who no doubt think Washington was actually born on the third Monday of February. (For the record, Washington was actually born on a Tuesday, 275 years ago today.)
The Wall Street Journal’s John Fund reveals a side of George Washington which I never learned about: his career as a whiskey entrepreneur. After he retired from office, Washington invested in what eventually grew to be the largest distillery in colonial America:
"He thought like an American businessman," says Jim Rees, the executive director of Washington's Mount Vernon estate. "He was a true disciple of the free enterprise system, and he sensed that our new system of government would encourage people to think creatively, take chances and invest."
The business went so well, at its peak selling 11,000 gallons a year of corn and rye whiskey and fruit brandy, that it might well have grown into something quite substantial, says Mr. Rees. Unfortunately, Washington died suddenly at age 67:
"If Washington had lived another five or maybe 10 years, I think one of his descendants would be sitting right there, in this audience, right next to the other CEOs of the nation's best distilleries."
Poor succession planning in closely held businesses obviously has a long history.
Read Fund’s engaging article here.
Posted by John at 2:48 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
February 12, 2007
Abraham Lincoln and the Road to Hell
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A friend visited President Lincoln and found him to be in a foul mood. "I’m afraid I have made Senator Wade of Ohio, my enemy for life," Lincoln said. "Wade was here just now trying to convince me that I should dismiss Grant, and, in response to something he said, I remarked that that reminded me of a story."
"What did Wade say?" the friend asked.
"He wasn’t happy," Lincoln answered. ‘Everything with you is story, story, story!’ Senator Wade said. He said I was the father of every military blunder that we’ve made, and that I am on the road to hell and I am not a mile off this minute."
"What did you say to that?" the friend asked.
"I just said to him," the President chuckled, "Senator, that is just about the distance from here to the Capitol, is it not?"
[Source: the excellent Abraham Lincoln Page]
There's probably no been one President or even state Governor since who hasn't repeated the story.
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February 2, 2007
Business Innovation's Essential Role in Promoting Democracy and Equal Rights
Russ Roberts, whose work on the Cafe Hayek blog and EconTalk podcasts I regularly consume, points to an inspiring letter to the editors of Atlantic Monthly. The letter, written by Harold Evans, author of They Made America, is a reply to Atlantic’s list of 100 most influential Americans:
. . . But the most fundamental point your panel missed is how much innovators have enabled America’s dedication to democracy and equal rights. A. P. Giannini opened banking to the common man. Madam C. J. Walker, the orphan daughter of slaves, built the largest black business of its day, liberating millions of African American women through the iconic status she achieved. Gary Kildall and Ken Olson expanded access to the computer beyond a select priesthood. The panel did mention Henry Ford, but failed to stress his singular achievement: giving practical reality to the rhetoric of democracy by fighting for the people’s car. Similarly, Cyrus McCormick’s truly original contribution—as important as his reaper—was his invention of easy credit for the masses of ordinary farmers who otherwise could not have afforded his machine.
Beyond this, it was amazing to see no mention of the new nation’s first notable innovator, Oliver Evans (the high-pressure steam engine), or Charles Goodyear (vulcanized rubber), Philo T. Farnsworth (television), Herbert Boyer (the father of biotechnology), Theodore Judah (the architect of the transcontinental railroad) . . . I could go on!
Rather than depreciating the achievements of our innovators in business and technology, historians should acknowledge how much we need them for making a better America—independent of foreign fossil fuel, ready to cope with the effects of global warming and with competition from low-cost economies. Just as they made yesterday’s America, the innovators are crucial to making tomorrow’s.
This letter reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from Joseph Schumpeter, which we offered as a quote of the day a year ago. The quote is so good is worth repeating:
"Electric lighting is no great boon to anyone who has money enough to buy a sufficient number of candles and to pay servants to attend them. It is the cheap cloth, the cheap cotton and rayon fabric, boots, motorcars and so on that are the typical achievements of capitalist production, and not as a rule improvements that would mean much to a rich man. Queen Elizabeth owned silk stockings. The capitalist achievement does not typically consist in providing more silk stockings for queens but in bringing them within the reach of factory girls in return for steadily decreasing amounts of effort."
By the way, if you don’t know Madam C.J. Walker, read Evans’ book. To get a taste of his book before you head to the bookstore or to Amazon, listen to the interview he gave Tavis Smiley. He discusses Walker specifically, and more generally, the role of African-American innovators, both past and in the future.
Posted by John at 5:24 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackDecember 27, 2006
A Fine Model Indeed
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So spoke Gerald Ford in a short speech he gave after being sworn in as Vice President. This modesty never seemed to leave Ford after he became President, which makes him unique, particularly given our recent experiences.
Maybe "only" a Ford, but a very fine model indeed.
Posted by John at 11:21 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackDecember 21, 2006
Great Job, Commissioner Craig Lesser
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It's strenuous because any head of economic development, whether state or local, is in constant sales mode. Anybody who's sold anything understands as how hard this job can be. There's no time off, in this particular job, to relax and let someone else cater to you for a change. (As there often can be, quite frankly, with elected officials.) In Lesser's case, he's been selling Georgia constantly ever since he got his chair in Midtown Atlanta warm. Such a job is very mentally taxing.
Further, Lesser, to his credit, did a terrific job at turning his job description into one with international requirements. He led the organization of 42 international trips officially conducted by the state last year, four times the number conducted in 2005. Lesser personally visited 15 countries this year and 11 in 2005. The state welcomed 32 trips by foreign dignitaries to Georgia, three times as many incoming missions to the state over the previous year, and countless delegations of business and civic leaders. Lesser and his office had some hand in the vast majority of these visits. Additionally, Lesser opened offices for the state in Brazil and Chile, and has worked tirelessly attempting to secure the headquarters of the Free Trade of the Americas for Atlanta, as well as a new Chinese consular office.
In my opinion, the average Georgian who doesn't work for a foreign company with a location in the state doesn't grasp the importance of an international outreach for the state. Georgia, as attractive as it is, must count on international companies locating here in order to maintain a robust economy. As I mentioned in this post on Savannah and Macon, one-third of the $5.7 billion in investment in Georgia during fiscal 2006 was from foreign companies. The shine on Georgia's current prosperity would be much dingier without this injection of capital and the almost 5,000 new jobs created by this investment.
Lesser's successors will find it hard not to equal the effort he put into spreading Georgia's name internationally. Part of his legacy is making the job a more taxing one than it has ever been.
The citizens of Georgia should be grateful for that, because they're the ultimate beneficiaries.
Posted by John at 4:35 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackNovember 5, 2006
We Need More Galileos
John Kay considers the message of Bertolt Brecht's play, concluding that we need more Galileos:
. . . the most telling incident is when the cardinal inquisitor declines to look through Galileo’s telescope. The church has decreed that what he claims to observe cannot be there. . . .
The inquisitor did not care what Galileo’s observations showed about the motion of earth, sun and stars. He cared only that the authority of the church should not be diminished by any contradiction of its view of the world. The facts must not be allowed to get in the way of the story. All of us have a tendency to see the world in terms of simple, all-embracing narratives – axes of good and evil, the inevitable triumph of lightly regulated capitalism and liberal democracy, the transforming impact of the internet, the inexorable progress of global consolidation in industrial structure.
Organisations and individuals attach their prestige and authority to such accounts of the world. Just as Galileo’s scholarly observations were disparaged, contrary information is discounted. Honest comment and criticism challenge the prestige and authority of those who have embraced a particular narrative.
Read the complete commentary.
Posted by John at 4:36 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackOctober 25, 2006
What You Realize When Cancer Comes
Courtesy of the Writer's Almanac, I ran across "What You Realize When Cancer Comes", a marvelous poem by Larry Smith. The poem strikes me as being as much for those of us who are cancer-free as for those afflicted by this disease:
What You Realize When Cancer Comes
You will not live forever—No
you will not, for a ceiling of clouds
hovers in the sky.You are not as brave
as you once thought.
Sounds of death
echo in your chest.You feel the bite of pain,
the taste of it running
through you.Following the telling to friends
comes a silence of
felt goodbyes. You come to know
the welling of tears.Your children are stronger
than you thought and
closer to your skin.The beauty of animals
birds on telephone lines,
dogs who look into your eyes,
all bring you peace.You want no more confusion
than what already rises
in your head and heart.You watch television less,
will never read all those books,
much less the ones
you have.Songs can move you now, so that
you want to hold onto the words
like the hands of children.Your own hands look good to you.
old and familiar
as water.You read your lover's skin
like a road map
into yourself.All touch is precious now.
There are echoes
in the words thrown
before you.When they take your picture now
you wet your lips, swallow once
and truly smile.Talk of your lost parents
pulls you out, and
brings you home again.You are in a river
flowing in and through you.
Take a breath. Reach out your arms.
You can survive.A river is flowing
flowing in and through you.
Take a breath. Reach out your arms.
If you want to read more, this poem comes from a collection of Smith's work titled A River Remains, and can be ordered directly from Bottom Dog Press.
Posted by John at 7:57 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackOctober 8, 2006
Betrayed by Life? Never!
Leroy Sievers has been in television journalism for 25 years. Sievers is also battling cancer, and he's sharing his fight with all of us on My Cancer, a blog carried on the NPR site, and through regular podcasts.
Sievers recently responded to a question from a reader named Troy about whether he felt betrayed by life. His answer was inspiring to me and I thought you should see it, too:
Posted by John at 10:49 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack. . . Do I feel betrayed? I sometimes say that I feel that I have been betrayed by my body, that it is trying to kill me. But betrayed by life? Never. I'm not angry about my cancer, that may be the one emotion that hasn't come out of this. But I don't blame anyone or anything. I accept what has happened to me, and to so many others. But there are so many other people who are carrying a much heavier burden, who are facing much more difficult challenges.
There are people whose medical conditions make the simplest of actions, the ones we don't even think about, into an ordeal. And they live with that every day. There are people all over the world for whom every day is a struggle just to survive, to find something to eat, to find a way to avoid death at the hands of killers. I've had a good life. No, let me correct that, I have a good life. My cancer is just something bad that's happened, but it's part of my life, and I'll try to deal with it the best I can. After all, I've had plenty of good things happen to me, too.
Is it part of a plan? Is there a reason? I can give the medical reasons, but that's not what Troy is asking. And this is where it all comes down to what we believe. Is there a plan for us? Is that plan something that we can understand? Clearly, those questions can only be answered in terms of faith, or lack thereof. I don't think I'm being punished, I don't think I did anything to deserve my cancer.
There are so many things that we cannot understand. I had the good fortune to be born in this country, where I can worry about my weight, where I have access to the best medical care in the world, where life is pretty easy. There are millions of people in Africa and war-torn areas around the world who were born into a world where life is short and death is swift and brutal. Did they deserve that? Of course not.
So in the end, I fall back on one statement that I repeat to myself pretty often. "We are not given the burdens we deserve, we are given the burdens we can bear." I can bear this burden, this disease, for a while longer. In the meantime, I will try to live the best life, to be the best person I can be. I have made mistakes in my life, I have done things that I'm not very proud of, but the cancer has nothing to do with that. Cancer is just a disease, not judge and jury. Is there a reason? I don't know. But I do know that there is still a reason to get up each morning, take a deep breath, enjoy the sunrise, and then go fight like hell.
October 3, 2006
A Wise and Full Life of Riley
Earlier this year I received one of the best comments I've ever received on Tidbits from Laurie Sparks. Laurie is a legislative assistant at the Georgia State Capitol. At the time she wrote her comment (which I encourage you to read if you haven't already), she was recovering from the removal of a pre-malignant pancreatic tumor.
Laurie recently emailed me an essay she had written on her four year old nephew Riley, who has recently been recovering from his own very serious illness. I asked Laurie if I could share it here, and she kindly agreed. She called her essay "Life Lessons from a Four Year Old"; I'd call Riley's life, although only four years in length so far, quite wise and full:
Most of you know that my nephew Riley was an extremely sick little boy just two months ago. I remember standing next to him in the pediatric ICU at Scottish Rite watching his little body swelling beyond recognition as what they determined later was a MRSA staff infection ran through his blood veins into his bone marrow and his heart. I stood there praying as I stared into his big blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, but now dull and lifeless. I knew he was in a battle for his life. I have experienced that battle in my own body this past year and I knew what he was up against. I was scared. Really scared we were going to lose him.
Posted by John at 7:00 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBackRiley seemed to come to for a brief moment and looked past me over my shoulder and said, "Who’s that man in the corner?" Chills ran up my spine when he said that because I knew we were alone in the room at that moment. My rational mind said, "He’s delirious and seeing things." But in my spirit I knew Riley and I weren’t alone. I fearfully but courageously turned to look, fully prepared to kick the Grim Reaper’s rear if he thought he was taking Riley that night. Instead supernatural peace washed over me. There wasn’t an angel of death standing there. It was an angel of LIFE. God was watching over Riley, sending heavenly warriors to guard him and fight for him in answer to our prayers.
I knew then how powerful and how necessary our prayers for Riley would be. People from all over rallied around Riley and his family, prayed him through three surgeries, two which were on his heart. After a month of fighting off this infection, Riley was finally released to go home to continue healing. He was weak, and in a wheel chair because he couldn’t walk from the surgery on his hip socket and bone, but he was home. And this past month the battle continued as my sister Debra became a full time nurse, having to give shots and IV’s to continue with the antibiotic treatment, and take him back and forth to physical therapy as he basically learned to walk again. It’s been hard, but in the midst of all of this, we all know how blessed we are to have Riley home and to watch him improve day by day.
Well, this past Saturday, Riley came to Grandma’s house for a visit. He wanted to show off his brand new tennis shoes and show us something else. He was out of his wheelchair and using his walker! I was sitting on the couch when he came through the door grinning from ear to ear. I almost cried as I saw that sparkle in his eye and saw him joyfully laboring with that walker right to the couch where he came to sit by me. I could see how proud he was of his new shoes and his accomplishment. That was lesson #1 for Aunt Laurie. His childlike focus wasn’t on what he couldn’t do right now, it was on how far he had come and what he could do in this moment. He had a thankful heart.
So, Riley and I sat on the couch and talked about life. We have always kind of had a bond with one another, but especially this year because this summer while he was having surgeries, I had another major surgery, too. At one point, when I asked him how he was feeling, he showed me his scars and he asked to see mine. He was proud of his scars, seeing them as war wounds and reminders of what he conquered. I, on the other hand, have almost been ashamed of mine, feeling like I must look like I survived the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But somehow, that afternoon, as we compared scars I felt like they were symbols of my trust and faith in God, my courage in the face of critical and life threatening illness. Especially when Riley said, "You have more than me. . . way cool." Lesson #2: Scars aren’t necessarily ugly things. They are reminders of battles fought and conquered. To the discerning eye, like my nephew Riley, they reveal who you are and what you are made of…Riley thought I was way cool, and you know what, I believe him.
We were quiet for a moment, and then Riley said the most amazing thing. "Now that I am alive, I am going to fly helicopters, be a fireman, and a policeman, and drive a dump truck. . . and be a pirate. . . Aunt Laurie, now that you are alive, what are you going to do?" I was stunned. I looked into his eyes, realizing that Riley knows how close he came to dying. His four year old mind comprehends that he has been given an opportunity to live--fully live. Lesson #3: Riley wasn’t dwelling on what he went through or how close he came to dying. He was very matter of fact…embracing the fact that he was ALIVE. Embracing the opportunity to live before him, dreaming of his future and speaking his list of things he wants to do, fully expecting to have every opportunity to do everything he wants to do in this world. And probably the most profound point of it all was to wake up everyday and say, "What are you going to do now that you are alive?"
The question stumped me for a minute. I haven’t really thought about what I want to do in the future because it has been so difficult just surviving the day to day. Riley reminded me that going through stuff means you are going "through" not staying there, and so you better have some idea what you want to do when you get to the other side. So, I let myself think about the future a minute and some things popped into my head. Riley didn’t laugh at me when I told him, "Meet a real cowboy and ride a horse -at a gallop across an open field. . . see a pyramid. . .go on an archeological dig. . . sing at the Grand Ole Opry. . . write a romance novel that gets turned into a movie that makes a gazillion bucks." Then I grinned at him and said, "You can star in the movie." He grinned back and said, "Okay."
I have been thinking about that question all week, "What are you going to do now that you are alive?" And I have felt that these thoughts were important to share with all of you who have prayed for Riley and me this year. There is an old saying, "Every day you wake up on the right side of the grass is a good day." So, what are we going to do now that we are alive today?
I will close with this. As Riley was leaving, he noticed our neighbors Kenny and Pat sitting on their front porch. He asked his Mom, "Did they pray for me?" For second time that day, I was profoundly moved by his questions. Debra answered, "Yes, they did pray for you and they are still praying for you." He waved over at them and said, "Bye Somebody!" He blew them kisses and waved as Debra drove away. Kenny and Pat had tears in their eyes as they waved back.
Riley knows that people prayed for him. You all are somebody to him. And I am sure he would blow you all kisses, too. I just wanted to show you somehow how your prayers are being answered and how Riley has been affected by them. This little guy knows he is not alone, that he is loved, and that he has a lot to accomplish now that he is alive. Next week, I think Debra will be bringing him to his pre-school at the Presbyterian Church across from the Capitol a couple of days while she works from the office. His teachers, his classmates and their parents, who have been so supportive and are willing to work with him as he continues to regain his strength, are excited that he will be back with them all. So please keep praying as life gets closer and closer to normal for them. But, let’s also pray that life doesn’t get so normal that we forget the lessons we all have learned along the way, okay?
August 17, 2006
Seeking Awkward
Seth Godin, in a thoughtful post, explains why we need to seek "awkward":
Posted by John at 9:22 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackThe reason we need to be in search of awkward is that awkward is the barrier between us and excellence, between where we are and the remarkable. If it were easy, everyone would have done it already, and it wouldn't be worth the effort.
June 29, 2006
Disrupting Your Comfort Zone in Order to Grow
I'm a big fan of the NPR series This I Believe. Modeled on a 1950s radio program of the same name, This I Believe is a series of essays by Americans from all stations of life offering short essays on personal credos which have guided their lives.
One particular recent essay stood out for me, written by producer Brian Grazer. Grazer discusses the importance of getting out of your comfort zone, the secure little corner we all have in which we don't have to take chances or court failure and possible ridicule.
Only by pushing out of this corner of our lives can we grow, Grazer says, and I strongly agree with him:
I was 45 years old when I decided to learn how to surf.
Picture this scene: The north shore of Oahu -- the toughest, most competitive surfing spot on the planet. Fourteen-foot swells. Twenty tattooed locals. And me, 5-foot-8-inches of abject terror. What will get me first, I wondered, the next big wave or the guy to my right with the tattoo on his chest that reads "RIP"?
They say that life is tough enough. But I guess I like to make things difficult on myself, because I do that all the time. Every day and on purpose. That's because I believe in disrupting my comfort zone.
Posted by John at 9:39 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackWhen I first started out in the entertainment business, I made a list of people I thought it would be good to meet. Not people who could give me a job or a deal, but people who could shake me up, teach me something, challenge my ideas about myself and the world. So I started calling up experts in all kinds of fields: trial lawyers, neurosurgeons, CIA agents, embryologists, firewalkers, police chiefs, hypnotists, forensic anthropologists and even presidents.
Some of them -- like Carlos Castaneda, Jonas Salk and Fidel Castro -- were world-famous. Of course, I didn't know any of these people and none of them knew me. So when I called these people up to ask for a meeting, the response wasn't always friendly. And even when they agreed to give me some of their time, the results weren't always what one might describe as pleasant.
Take, for example, Edward Teller, the father of the hydrogen bomb. You've heard of him? However, he'd never heard of me. It took me a year of begging, cajoling and more begging to get to him to agree to meet with me. And then what happened? He ridiculed me and insulted me. But that was okay. I was hoping to learn something from him -- and I did, even if it was only that I'm not that interesting to a physicist with no taste for our pop culture.
Over the last 30 years, I've produced more than 50 movies and 20 television series. I'm successful and, in my business, pretty well known. I'm a guy who could retire to the golf course tomorrow where the worst that could happen is that my Bloody Mary is watered-down. So why do I continue to subject myself to this sort of thing? The answer is simple: Disrupting my comfort zone, bombarding myself with challenging people and situations -- this is the best way I know to keep growing. And to paraphrase a biologist I once met, if you're not growing, you're dying.
So maybe I'm not the best surfer on the north shore, but that's okay. The discomfort, the uncertainty, the physical and mental challenge that I get from this -- all the things that too many of us spend our time and energy trying to avoid -- they are precisely the things that keep me in the game.
June 26, 2006
A Legend Worth Knowing: Alonzo Herndon
If I were able to pick a few famous American business leaders from the past and be able to interview them, Alonzo Herndon would be on my shortlist. Herndon was born into slavery, yet rose from poverty and little formal education to become one of Atlanta's top entrepreneurs. One of his many achievements was the founding of Atlanta Life, which just celebrated its centennial last year.
Today is the 148th anniversary of Herndon's birth, and he's the source of today's quote of the day. If you don't already know Herndon's story, follow this link and read more about him.
Posted by John at 3:59 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackInfluential Sam
Congratulations to my partner Sam Zamarripa; once again, Sam has been named one of the 100 Most Influential Atlantans by the Atlanta Business Chronicle. This makes the fourth consecutive year which Sam has been named to this list. I'm biased, of course, but his honor is extremely well-deserved.
Posted by John at 2:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackJune 17, 2006
An Extraordinarily Compatible Couple
I highlighted the tremendous creation of shareholder wealth which makes the careers of Golden West Financial's Herb and Marion Sandler. The San Francisco Chronicle recently offered a touching personal profile of the Sandlers:
"We've almost never not worked together," Marion Sandler said recently week in a joint interview in her husband's office as she pulled out knitting needles and yarn. "It's extraordinarily wonderful. We decided our marriage was the most important thing," and that if working together caused too much strain, they would come to a new work arrangement.
That never happened. "We are extraordinarily compatible," she said. "I just can't describe it."
"Are you going to cry?" Herb Sandler asked.
"Yeah," she said, dabbing at her eyes. . . .
Read the entire article here.
Posted by John at 9:26 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackJune 12, 2006
Being at Peace with What You Can Control . . . and What You Can't
David Maister, whose thoughts I've passed along to you previously, recently offered what he calls the "Disproportionality Principle". While Maister's focus is typically professional service firms, his comments, in this case, are appropriate for what ever line of business you're in:
You are never known by your best, but you are always tarnished by your worst.
Your triumphs are often forgotten by the marketplace - your disasters rarely are.
You'll spend a long time recovering from one job done badly, or one client (or boss) disappointed in you.
People talk, and they criticize and gossip more than they praise.
It can take years to build trust, moments to lose it.
I'm not sure what you can do about this, except try, desperately try, not to mess anything up, and if you still do, try to mend fences (and your reputation) before you move on.
You can determine the effort and the qualities you bring to a job. The integrity and honesty with which you conduct yourself is yours alone. You can't control what people say about you.
The quicker you learn these principles and accept them, the more you'll be at peace.
Posted by John at 5:36 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackJune 9, 2006
Passing on a Lesson from Mom
I received this comment on a recent post I made:
Thanks for publishing my article from the Miami Herald on my Mom living her life to the fullest and not letting her sickness (lung cancer) stop her from traveling. Hope this will help others.
Pamela Edy Schlotter
Pamela, thanks for telling this story so I had the honor of passing it on. It's a important message, a wonderful lesson from your mom, for all of us.
Posted by John at 6:18 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackJune 6, 2006
"Eliminate What's Killing You and Start Living Your Life"
Bernie Siegel, whose wisdom I've pointed you to recently, just delivered his message to a group of cancer survivors in Connecticut. The Journal-Inquirer reports:
Posted by John at 7:58 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackHis personal mantra is WWLD or "What would Lassie do?" he told the laughing crowd.
Dogs aren't weighed down by intellectualizing. They just feel, Siegel said, suggesting that many adults have lost the ability to just "play."
People with dogs in their homes live longer in some situations, Siegel told the crowd, referring to making connections.
Many of his anecdotes involved cancer survivors who had strong ties to family and pets.
"What would you do if you had 15 minutes to live?" he said.
He peppered his talk with reminders that people should live life doing what makes them happy - whether that final 15 minutes is spent gorging on a quart of chocolate ice cream or planting in the garden. . . .
Sunday wasn't the first time Enfield resident Daniel Wright had heard Siegel speak.
He'd first heard of Siegel about 10 years ago, Wright said Sunday, adding that he often attends Siegel's events because he gets to meet up with people he doesn't see very often - referring to Siegel's local fans.
At age 76, Wright has survived colo-rectal cancer for five years.
He was diagnosed shortly after his wife died of cancer, he said.
"I don't ever realize I have cancer," said Wright, who recently ran a half-marathon and who hits the trails to run four miles every day.
He's back on a cycle of chemotherapy but said he just gets a little cancer-related fatigue right after his treatments.
Otherwise, he's virtually unaffected. "I eat like a pig," he said.
Wright's success with handling the cancer is in line with Siegel's message, which is that attitude matters.
"Eliminate what's killing you, and start living your life," Siegel said.
June 5, 2006
A Honor Comes My Way . . . and I Owe it To My Teammates
I was recently honored to be named one of the top 100 professionals in finance by the Atlanta Business Chronicle.
Blogs like mine are commonly used as trumpets for such achievements. One blog I read, by the author of a best-selling popular economics book, seems nothing more than a litany of media mentions and awards, rather than what I suspect most readers would really enjoy: commentary and pointers to stories which further highlight some of the book’s main themes.
Seeing blogs like this one devoted almost entirely to self-promotion, I’m reticent to mention individual awards like the one I was honored with. A few events have occurred recently, however, which changed my mind.
We’ve dealt with several particularly vexing issues at my firm. When you’re a private equity firm which funds start-up ventures, you’re going to get troublesome issues. Sometimes you’re going to get outright failure. It’s part of the terrain.
Further, our firm, for all we’ve accomplished, is still less than five years old. In the grand scheme of things, we’re probably not unlike my son. At his pre-K 4 award ceremony recently, which ended his school year, he received the award for achievement in mathematics. We’re proud of our little guy, mind you, but his award is one which recognizes promise as much as it does actual achievement.
When you have a firm less than five years old, no matter what you’ve accomplished, promise is still a big part of whatever brand equity you might possess. At probably about the ten year mark or more, then it’s time to look at a track record, one that hopefully illustrates demonstrated achievement. In a competitive industry, longevity itself becomes a track record.
So my mind at work recently has been pressed by two different considerations. One is the issues pressed upon us by our young companies. The other is knowing the firm that I and my partners have been building seems to be—as objectively as I can be—on the verge of some tremendous accomplishments, ones which will reduce the size of the typeface on the "promise" label.
The challenges we’ve confronted recently have helped me It’s not that I didn’t appreciate my partners and associates before; in fact, I’ve mentioned my debt to them in Tidbits before (as in this post, for example).
Challenges, though, not only illuminate your own mettle, but the relationships you have with your business partners. In a small professional services firm like ours, the quality of those relationships is a big determinant of enterprise value. Just a scintilla of personal friction, much less a full scale conflict, can lead to the disintegration of a firm like ours.
When you’ve been on Wall Street for any length of time, you’ve experienced, or at the very least witnessed quite closely, such blow ups. So when you have a great group of partners and associates who compliment your weaknesses and help you up after you’ve taken a fall, then you know you’ve got something valuable.
That’s what I’ve got in my current partnership. I’m truly blessed to have the people I work with everyday in my life.
As a group, do we have weaknesses? Of course, doesn’t every firm? Have we made mistakes? Absolutely. Could we be further along, in any number of ways, than we are? Sure. Could a firm like ours, started in the hazy milieu which existed right after 9/11, be out of business right now? You’ll bet we could.
When people get awards they typically give the "I’ve got some many people to thank" and "I couldn’t have done it without such and such" speech. It’s such a convention in such situations that we, as listeners, just brush it off sometimes and something polite to say.
In my case, though, it’s the absolute truth. I wouldn’t be in the top 10,000 of anything without the people I work with today.
So, I felt compelled to write about the award I received. It’s a chance to tell the people I work beside everyday how much they’ve helped me do what I couldn’t do alone. It’s an opportunity to let them know how much I’ve grown as a professional and as a human being by being with them. It gives me a reason to tell the rest of the world that I wouldn’t be worth a flip without my teammates: Henry, Sam, Wesley, Patty, Yin, Carey, Sharon, and Genie.
It’s just that simple.
Posted by John at 2:38 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBackMay 22, 2006
Choosing to Live an Extraordinary Life: John O'Hurley's Commencement Address at Providence College
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His address to the Providence graduates is classic John: funny, insightful, genuine, and yes, extraordinary:
Posted by John at 10:25 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackFather Shanley, Bishop Boland, Father Izzo, Mr Ruane, Honorary Degree Recipients, Honored Guests, Faculty, Parents, Family and Friends of Providence College … and of course the Graduating Class of 2006:
It is truly a singular moment in my life to be standing here before you on such an important morning and to be sharing this stage with all my fellow degree recipients. In view of their tremendous list of accomplishments, I truly feel dwarfed by the presence of greatness.
But I am deeply honored to have the opportunity to address you today and to be the recipient of an Honorary Doctorate Degree, which I regard as the perfect accompaniment to the Honorary Bachelor's Degree I received thirty years ago today.
In truth I will now become the second Doctor in the O'Hurley family. When my father graduated in pre-med in 1948, he became the first of many O'Hurleys to follow. He then went on to medical school, eight years of internship and residency and a distinguished career as an ear nose and throat surgeon. Dad I hope you are as proud today as I am grateful that you led all of us to Providence College.
I was not the best student this College has ever graduated. In truth, I was right there in the meaty part of the Bell Curve. When I graduated in 1976, I was the only Theater major, and so, consequently, I won the Theater Award.
So I find it strangely ironic that I would be selected to be the last person to speak to you before you leave Providence College and you rush off into the civilized world. In this regard, I now know how Elaine felt on SEINFELD when I chose her to head the J Peterman Company after I fled to Burma for my sudden sabbatical of self discovery. I said to her, "Why don't you run the company?" She said "Why me?" And I replied, "Why, indeed."
I will begin this morning by suggesting to you that these last four years have carved within you vivid and irreplaceable memories that will stay with you for the rest of your life. If you and I are anything alike, hardly a day will pass that you won't recall some part of this unique experience of being a Friar.
I remember as crisply as yesterday, the awe that I felt as a freshman, walking into this arena for the first time to watch the Friars play. Those were the days of Marvin Barnes and Ernie D. and the first Final Four. When they played, it seemed that the earth stood still, and I remember thinking that I was standing in the shadow of giants.
I remember a small room with 99 seats called the Friar's Cell. It was the theater in the basement of Stephen's Hall. For four years it was the center of my universe. There were some nights when all 99 seats were actually filled. In my mind it seemed like we were entertaining millions … and they were some of the most important moments of my life.
I remember kneeling alone in the Chapel on a December afternoon. It was a different one than the one you have now. I remember the mid-winter light as it softly spilled through the stained-glass windows. The Chapel was beyond silent, except for the creaking of the wooden pew. I have never forgotten the solemnity of that moment and I remember having truly experienced the presence of God.
I remember that much like Hemingway would frequent the writers' salons of Paris, we had the Bradley Cafe. I remember that no matter how good or how bad things got, that life was always best understood with a 40-cent bottle of Narragansett in one hand and my room key in the other so that I could re-carve my initials on the knotty pine restroom walls and remind the world, once again, that I had been there.
I remember dining at Raymond Hall, where three times a day, seven days a week you got to experience the Miracle of the Fishes and the Loaves. Unless they were serving meat, and then the origin was anybody's guess.
I remember surviving Western Civilization, that five-disciplined, whirlwind tour across the history of man, all for the low, low price of just five credit-hours. And I remember studying for finals thinking to myself -- those are five credit-hours of my life I will never get back.
I learned essential life-lessons by living on campus. I learned that once you place anything into a dormitory refrigerator, the expiration date becomes merely a suggestion.
I learned to pinpoint key differences between men and women. Women are blessed with patience and discipline and will separate laundry into whites and colors. Men are pragmatic and economical and will compress an entire semester of laundry into a single wash cycle.
I learned, quite specifically in fact, the fundamental relationship between physical law and statistical probability -- that if you dump the water from a styrofoam beer cooler out of the eighth floor window of McVinney Hall, invariably it will fall and hit 3 members of the basketball team, who, at the same time, just happen to be exiting out a door below. And with equal predictably, they will then race back up eight flights of stairs for the chance to meet you personally and, in their own special way, thank you for marinating them.
But my most vivid memory was thirty years ago today, sitting exactly where you are today. I was proud of what I had accomplished over the last four years, as I hope you are. As much as I enjoyed the celebration of graduation, inside I was scared to death about what was next. I thought I knew where I wanted to go in life, but I had no idea how I was going to get there. I had confidence in my talent, but the thought of takin' it to the world also filled me with a swirl of self-doubt.
So if you are sitting here today and you have even the slightest feeling of anxiety, then the remainder of my remarks today are for you. Because I understand how you feel. So I want to share something with you that I hope you will consider to help you navigate what may seem like rough waters ahead.
Shortly after I became an actor I met a man who said something to me that changed my life. He was 75 years old, an immigrant from Russia, and a self-made man. He was funny and gregarious, he was prosperous, he was a man who was loved by young and old, and he was one of the most generous men I had ever met.
I asked him one evening why he was a success, and not just a financial success, but successful both in the quality and the spirit of his life. He leaned over to me, grabbed me by the arm, and in a voice that was filled with gravel, and wisdom, and kindness he said, "John, you have only two choices in life -- you can have an ordinary life, or you can have an extraordinary life. That's it. It has nothing to do with money, or power. It has everything to do with the power of your choices."
If you had dumped a styrafoam beer cooler filled with water from an eight floor window, I wouldn't have been more stunned. That was what I wanted, that was the journey I wanted to take. I wanted to have an extraordinary life.
I have digested his words for many years now, and I've made them the theme of my life. So I would like to present to you for your consideration this morning , what we can all call from here on in, THE PETERMAN GUIDE TO THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE.
An extraordinary life, as I've come to understand it, has three simple elements. And these elements are common to everyone who has ever taken that journey. An extraordinary life is a life of Achievement, a life of Meaning, and a life of Reflection.
Achievement begins with imagination. If you only take one thing from this precious time we have together today; remember this -- what you imagine has value. What you imagine has value. It is as tragic as it is true, but the greatest plans on earth still lie in the minds of people who still think that everybody else has a better idea than they do. Dream large, dream small, but trust what you imagine, because what you daydream about is what you are supposed to do. What you imagine is one of the only ways God can talk to you.
When you trust what you imagine amazing things happen. You become willing to make the leap to achieve what you imagine. I say "leap" because nothing worth achieving is ever close at hand. It's always farther away than a comfortable reach. It involves risk. But, believe me, if you leap the net will appear. When you leap, the net will appear.
When you learn to value what you imagine, you will also learn to finish what you start. You will take the ball across the goal line. You will put the ball through the hoop. You will put the puck in the net. As you will soon experience, the world is littered with ideas that were dropped at the five yard line. The world that you are inheriting is too competitive, too uncertain, and too hair-triggered to place any value in half hearted attempts. Choose to be a champion because a champion always closes the deal.
But Achievement alone, does not an extraordinary life make. Achievement, alone, is not enough. Hollywood and the rest of entertainment world are filled with people who seem to accomplish much, but live lives that are otherwise without much value, except for their ability to fill the pages of magazines that seem to dedicate themselves weekly to their confusion.
An extraordinary life has meaning, and meaning comes only from love. Love for another, love for God, and love for yourself. When we learn to love another we experience the joy of selflessness because we extend ourselves for their good. When we love God we experience the gift of humility, and the comfort of knowing that we are never alone. When we love ourselves, and perhaps this is the toughest kind of love, we learn that we are a gift. We protect that gift and avoid destructive behavior. We develop a sense of humor about ourselves and the world around us. As G.K. Chesterton so poignantly wrote, "Angels fly, because they take themselves lightly"
The final aspect of the extraordinary life is what makes it all worthwhile, and that is perspective. You have heard people tell you "Never look back, always look forward." I say, nonsense -- always look back and as often as you can. It is the only way you know how far you have come. Like today. That half-look over your shoulder at the child you were and the person you've become, and all that you have achieved in between is your story, your history. The enjoyment of that progress will make you appreciate all those who were part of your story -- your parents, your family, your friends, your teachers and places like Providence College.
And from your appreciation will come what is perhaps the greatest virtue of the extraordinary life -- and that is generosity. You will give back, because you know you have been given so much.
So there you have it -- the Peterman Guide to the Extraordinary Life. I invite you to consider it and make it your own. But I will share this one thought -- the moment that I realized the choice of an ordinary life or an extraordinary life; the day that I realized what I imagined had value, that if I leapt, the net would appear, that I must finish what I start; the day that I realized that there is only meaning in who we love and how we love; the day that I realized that by looking back over my shoulder was the only way I could ever see how far I've come; that was the day that I began the slow, deliberate walk to this podium, because until then, I had nothin' to tell ya'.
So I will conclude with the words of J. Peterman, a man of adventure, blessed with as much lunacy as wisdom. They are the words I wrote in a note to Jerry Seinfeld and the rest of the gang in a letter that was published at the end of the series. These words are meant as much for you as they were for all of them.
I wrote:
As I write this, I am standing knee-deep in the amber waters of the River Ganges, elbow-to-elbow with the fish-wives of New Delhi, learning the gentle art of river laundering, and putting a last-minute spit-shine on a pair of baby blue boxer shorts.
As I watch the slow parade of boats pass before me at sunset on this never-ending river, I am reminded of how lucky I was to have docked at your port-of-call for as long as I did, how sad I am to set sail again, but grateful that, for me, the horizon is still out of reach.
I wish you all, all, extraordinary lives.
May 21, 2006
A Cancer-Stricken Mom and Her Daughter Share a Few Final Adventures
Pamela Edy Schlotter tells a story--both poignant and inspiring--of her mom, age 78 and diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Not content to wait for death, her mom embraced life, in part by traveling across the West by train:
I am heartbroken over my mother's illness. But I am also swelled with pride at her reaction to it. With the glass of her life nearing empty, she hasn't retreated into inert depression. Instead, she is active and upbeat. With an oxygen backpack slung over one shoulder, she meets her friends for lunch. She drives herself to church and shopping. She smiles. She laughs. She lives.
This trip is testament to that spirit. High altitude makes neither my brother's home in Monument, Colo. (7,800 feet) nor Santa Fe (7,000 feet) the best of places for someone prone to shortness of breath. My mother knows this, but is not deterred.
Mom's doctor applauds her spunk. When I ask if this trip is advisable, he says if she wants to go, she should go. But, he says, she needs to go now.
I encourage you to read the whole story here; it is powerfully life affirming.
(Thanks to the Cancer Blog for the pointer.)
Posted by John at 8:52 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBackMay 18, 2006
On Living Authentically: One of the Best Comments I've Ever Received
Laurie, writing from here in Atlanta, offered one of the best comments I've ever received in the years I've been doing Tidbits. She was writing in response to my recent post on living to give birth to yourself, which featured some life wisdom from an essay by Bernie Siegel. Laurie started her comment with a quote from that essay she was particularly drawn to:
"Remember, we all die eventually and living is not about avoiding that great teacher called death. It is about creating your authentic life, not one lived just for others, but your unique way of contributing love to the world."
I stumbled across this blog while looking up an address for your company. I just recently went through a pancreatic cancer scare. Got through surgery for a possible malignancy with the best possible results and news...that everything had been caught in time. The tumor was premalignant and the surgery considered curative. During my recovery, as grateful as I was, I was restless and feeling like something was missing in my life. After reading what you wrote, I realize what I have been struggling with is the desire to create a more authentic life for myself. I have just been responding to circumstances as they occurred rather than determining what my unique contribution to this world is and then getting out there and doing it. Just wanted you to know I appreciate what you shared and it touched my life today.
Laurie, you made my day, and I appreciate your comments more than I can tell you. I'm glad your medical prognosis is so positive; now, my sincere best wishes for your "rebirth".
Posted by John at 5:46 PM
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May 8, 2006
You Can’t Score a Goal Unless You Get Up
This spring I’ve been coaching my son’s soccer team, which has been an enormously rewarding experience. Because this group is under six, very few had played any organized soccer before this season. Our job as coaches was largely to help them have fun and get a pleasant introduction to the game.
The truth, as you might expect, is that those kids have given me a lot more than I could have ever given them.
During the game this past Saturday, one of our players got knocked down near where I was on the sidelines. As often happens at this age, this young lady lost all her focus on the game while she decided whether she was ok. As it turned out she was just fine, but she sat on the field brushing herself off while play continued up the field.
"Get up," I shouted to her. "Go back after that ball!"
She looked at me, nodded with a determined look I don’t think I’ll ever forget, and ran up the field toward the action. Not before brushing off one more time, however.
My son was not in the game and just happened to be standing right next to me. Witnessing what had happened, he said suddenly, "Daddy, you can’t score a goal unless you get up when you fall down, can you?"
At that point, my own focus on the game was broken. I turned to look at him and said, "No, son, you can’t score unless you get up. You always have to get up."
"That’s right," he said, rising to the subject. He repeated his thought: "You better get up when you fall down or you can’t score."
He’s right. We’ve got to be up and running, in the game, to score. Lying down, brushing ourselves off while focused on the affronts and setbacks, gets you nothing.
And to think I was the one they called "Coach".
Posted by John at 6:09 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBackMay 5, 2006
Living Not to Avoid Dying, But to Give Birth to Yourself
Bernie Siegel is one of my favorite living human beings. Bernie is a doctor who stared Exceptional Cancer Patients, or "ECaP". Through his workshops, lectures, and terrific books and tapes, Bernie has helped further understanding of the importance of the mind-body connection for all of us, and particularly those of us battling cancer.
I came to know of Bernie through my first wife Dolora, who died of pancreatic cancer. Dolora benefitted tremendously from Bernie and his teachings, and I did too. After Dolora passed, I had the priviledge of meeting Bernie after one of the many speeches he gives, shaking his hand, and thanking him for what he did for both of us.
I recently ran across this essay of Bernie's; read it in full and reflect on it:
Posted by John at 6:31 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBackThe truth is your feelings are your chemistry and your beliefs are your biology. I was impressed early on by the benefits of accepting one's mortality. When people learned they had cancer and started living, the benefits were enormous. Many thanked cancer for changing their lives. I don't recommend waiting for a diagnosis of a serious illness to start living. Think about what you would do if you had fifteen minutes to live. Then do it for the rest of your life. I call it finding your chocolate ice cream because one of our children once said, "If I had fifteen minutes to live I'd buy a quart of chocolate ice cream and eat it." For some it means moving to the mountains and for others buying a house at the seashore, taking off their tie, closing the office and picking up a violin, making the world beautiful or spending time with the kids. None of these survivors went home to just avoid dying. They went home to live until they died, loving life so much that every cell in their body responded to their desire to live. They didn't just cope and they didn't let go. They lived life fully and exceeded everyone's expectations. The classic end to a letter I received said, "I felt awful and I thought the doctor was right. I was going to die in two months. So I went home and did all the things I loved to do before I died." The letter ends, "I didn't die and now I am so busy, I'm killing myself. Help! Where do I go from here?" I told her to take a nap. Burning up is not the problem, burning out is.
Remember, we all die eventually and living is not about avoiding that great teacher called death. It is about creating your authentic life, not one lived just for others, but your unique way of contributing love to the world. Life is a labor pain and I want you to decide what you are willing to go through in order to give birth to yourself. . . .
May 4, 2006
Celebrating the Life and Work of Jane Jacobs
Jane Jacobs died last week, just a few days short of her 90th birthday, which would have been today.
Her work, some of it, as in the case of her masterpiece, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, is decades old by the calendar. Her words, however, are as fresh and insightful today as they have ever been.
Jacobs rebelled against central planners of all variety, but particularly those in urban areas who insist on forcing their vision on the rest of us.
Ironicially, as Leonard Gilroy notes in a Wall Street Journal commentary, Jacobs is often wrongly claimed by such central planners as one of their own:
Given urban planners' almost universal reverence for Jacobs, it is ironic that many have largely ignored or misinterpreted the central lesson of "Death and Life"--that cities are vibrant living systems, not the product of grand, utopian schemes concocted by overzealous planners.
Modern planners have contorted Jacobs's beliefs in hopes of imposing their static, end-state vision of a city. They use a set of highly prescriptive policy tools--like urban growth boundaries, smart growth, and high-density development built around light-rail transit systems--to design the city they envision. They try to "create" livable cities from the ground up and micromanage urban form through regulation. We've seen these tools at work in Portland, Ore., for more than three decades. But the results have been dismal and dramatic. The city's "smart growth" policies effectively created a land shortage, constricting the housing supply and artificially inflating prices. By 1999, Portland had become one of the 10 least affordable housing markets in the nation, and its homeownership rate lagged behind the national average. It has also seen one of the nation's largest increases in traffic congestion and boasts a costly, heavily subsidized light-rail system that accounts for just 1% of the city's total travel. Not exactly how they planned it.
That's because these planning trends run completely counter to Jacobs's vision of cities as dynamic economic engines that thrive on private initiative, trial and error, incremental change, and human and economic diversity. Jacobs believed the most organic and healthy communities are diverse, messy and arise out of spontaneous order, not from a scheme that tries to dictate how people should live and how neighborhoods should look.
She felt it was foolish to focus on how cities look rather than how they function as economic laboratories. "The main responsibility of city planning and design should be to develop--insofar as public policy and action can do so--cities that are congenial places for [a] great range of unofficial plans, ideas and opportunities to flourish," Jacobs wrote. . . .
As the quote I selected as today's quote of the day indicates, Jacobs saw stagnation and decay in the established status quo. The new, the spontaneous, the small, growing economic organisms of a city or region, Jacobs repeatedly declared, are its real strength:
Where large organizations are relied upon for economic expansion and development - that is, where small organizations find little opportunity to multiply, to find financing, and to add new work to old - the economy inevitably stagnates.
Indeed, Gilroy says it quite well in closing his essay:
Posted by John at 8:55 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackPoliticians and planners would do well to commemorate Jacobs by revisiting her work. Despite the best efforts of well-intentioned planners, you can't "create" a vibrant city or neighborhood. The best cities and neighborhoods just happen, and the best thing we can do is to step out of the way of innovators and entrepreneurs.
April 29, 2006
Country Music Singers, Entrepreneurs, Failure, and Success
Jeff Cornwall, whose blog The Entrepreneurial Mind we've pointed you toward before, penned a beautiful post on the "highway to success" which is invariably littered with failure:
Posted by John at 5:44 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackI wanna thank everyone who ever told me no, Pack it up and get back home, It kept me going knowin' I would prove them wrong. Yea I knew it all along, Without 'm I might have given up a long time ago, and so, I wanna thank everyone who ever told me no. [Buddy Jewell]
Because we live in Nashville, I am often reminded of how much failure goes into creating success. From the outside, it seems that music stars just suddenly appear on the scene. The truth is that for most of them it took years of hard work and many, many failures to finally find success.
The same is true for entrepreneurs. Most highly successful entrepreneurs will tell you that along the road to success in their businesses they were often on the brink of failure. But they persevered. They found a way to make payroll. They found a way to make that critical sale. They found a way to keep the wolves away from the door just long enough to make it through the tough times. They found a way to pick themselves up from a business that did not succeed and move on to the next one that might. As Thomas Edison once said, "Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." . . .
April 17, 2006
Working to Build Global Business Partnerships for Georgia
The Atlanta Business Chronicle featured a nice profile of our partner Sam Zamarripa, who announced recently he will not stand for re-election to the Georgia State Senate. You can read the complete article by following this link, but a tidbit follows:
When state Sen. Sam Zamarripa won his seat in the Georgia General Assembly in 2002, he went in with an open mind and a commitment to volunteerism.
A successful businessman and managing partner in Heritage Capital Advisors LLC, Zamarripa, D-Atlanta, didn't want to be a lifelong politician, but he did want to bring his own experiences as a businessman, volunteer and Mexican-American to the state's political mix.
On April 12, Zamarripa announced his plans to step down and focus his efforts on his business.
Looking back on his term, Zamarripa views his public service as timely. What became Senate Bill 529, laws to address illegal immigrants working in the state, incited Hispanic rallies 40,000 strong, sit-ins at the Capital and divisive debate statewide.
Among the rhetoric, Zamarripa's voice routinely rose to the surface with a mix of unrelenting conviction and preference for moderate discussion. Despite their legal status, immigrants should be treated with humanity and given social services, he said. Immigration is a federal, not a state issue, he said. Hard work should be respected, he added.
The words come from his own history. Zamarripa's father was of Mexican descent, but also a decorated patriot and career military man; he's now buried at Arlington National Cemetery.
"I felt very lucky to be a part of the discussion," Zamarripa said. "I think one of the most dangerous things about the immigration debate is that it became extreme on all sides, and I have never felt that was constructive, especially when it relates to taking away from the humanity of people that come here to work. I wanted to moderate that."
Zamarripa now says he wants to concentrate on building partnerships between China and Georgia businesses.