Spiritual Common Sense

There is a lot of talk about how divided our nation is these days.  It seems like that’s all we see on television and in the news.

Are we really that far apart?

Consider the following statistics taken from recent Gallup and Pew research polls:

• 76% of all Americans support allowing undocumented immigrants brought to the country as children (Dreamers) to stay in the country.
• 71% of all Americans support more government spending for education.
• 60% of all Americans support expanding Medicare to provide health insurance to every American.
• 63% of all Americans favor making four-year public colleges and universities tuition-free.
• 76% of all Americans are concerned about climate change.
• 82% of all Americans think economic inequality is a “big” problem.
• 80% of all Americans say corporations don’t pay their fair share of taxes.
• 78% of all Americans say wealthy people don’t pay their fair share of taxes.
• 73% of all Americans support banning assault-style weapons.
• 94% of all Americans support requiring background checks for all gun buyers.

Given this broad consensus on these and other issues, why is it so difficult to get anything done in Washington?

Democrats blame Republicans. Republicans blame Democrats.

…And they are both right.  They are equally responsible for refusing to change a system that benefits them both.

In the dependence movement, they have a principal called “the first problem.” The addict invariably has a host of other problems but you have to deal with his addiction before you can deal with anything else.

In Washington, the “first problem” is Congress.  In 2016, the average Congressional race cost $1.8 million while the average Senate race cost more than $10 million. Most people – including Members of Congress – don’t have that kind of money. So, if they want to get elected, they have to get it from somewhere.  History shows there are always people who will give it to them, but these people are always going to want something in return. It turns politicians into prostitutes.

That’s the bottom line. We are not going to be able to deal with all the other problems our country faces until we deal with Congress’ addiction to easy money and the lobbyist who deal in it. The only way to drain the swamp is to turn off the faucet.

“There is no laughter today. Rob has passed away.”

That notice was posted on Rob’s Facebook page yesterday.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Rob was one of my kids.  When we began The Heart of America Foundation 20 years ago, our explicit purpose was to inspire the development of young people like Rob and the 120 other ambassadors who were his spiritual kin.  He was our Peter – the rock we built the Heart of America on.

Rob was seventeen when we met.  He was in the first class of young adults we honored with a National Caring Award in 1990.  When we asked his high school counselor what he was like, she said, “Rob dares to be different.”   We soon found out she was right.

Rob was the only person I know who stopped every day, wherever he was, to watch the sunset.   Many people talk about smelling the roses. Rob did.

Next to my mom, he was the most positive and joyful person I have ever met.  Rob said it was because he had a near-death experience when he was child.  It gave him a deep appreciation for the gift of life and a determination to live every day to the fullest.

He came to our attention when we learned he had developed a drug prevention program for his high school.  He had also formed a crisis hot line and was credited with successfully intervening in four instances when one of his classmates was considering suicide.  In a world where we often hear what’s wrong with the younger generation, Rob embodied all that was right.

When we met at the Caring Awards, I asked him what he wanted to do.  He said he wanted to be a clown and hoped someday to headline the Big Apple Circus.  Frankly, I had trouble taking seriously until he showed up on my doorstep that summer.  He was on his way to the Ringling Brothers Clown College in Florida.

The next time I saw him he was traveling north.  He had landed a job with the Clyde Beatty Circus.  Each spring and fall thereafter, with this circus or that, traveling north or south, Rob passed through Washington and we spent some time together.

Every fall when he came through, I gave him a coat.  I did so knowing Rob would only wear it until he found someone who needed it more.

That was his nature.  Rob had no interesting material things.   He shopped at thrift stores so that someone would benefit from the things he bought. The clothes he bought were worn for a while and then donated back or passed on – like my coats – to someone he met along the way.

“For me, sharing is just part of living,” Rob said. “We are all pretty much the same.  We all have the same basic core needs.  We all need to be loved and appreciated.  We all want to feel important to someone. It doesn’t matter the race, religion or sex of a person, we all feel the same things.”

Rob went on to work for Disney, here and in Japan, and then started traveling the world with his one-man show.   In 2010, he came through Washington again.   This time it was in fulfillment of one of his of his life-long dreams – he was on his way to New York as a headliner with the Big Apple Circus.

Memories of our time together cascade through my mind.  I remember the quiet times – just sitting and talking – and I remember the silly times, like traveling down the highway with an empty egg carton attached to the roof of the car, smiling and waving at the concerned people we passed; “loosing” a baby carriage on a hill to see how people would react; or teaching our son how to balance a hat or an eight-foot ladder on his chin (Rob swore the principle was the same).

Like every good performer, Rob commanded attention.  Whenever we went out to eat it was only a matter of time before he “owned” the place.  Every child in the restaurant and every waitress under the age of 30 would soon gather around, drawn to him by some magic beyond description.  All of them left with a piece of Rob – a table napkin shaped into a rose, a balloon animal, or some new skill, like how to balance a spinning plate on your finger.

That’s how I like to think of him now.  I know there are pieces of Rob all around the world; owned and treasured by the thousands of people he met.  He loved and wanted nothing more than that.   He just wanted to make people happy.   He was, in the words of one show critic, “The International Man of Mirth.

While there is no laughter today, there will always be joy when I think of Rob.

Henri Landwirth survived five concentration camps to live the American Dream.  He arrived in the United States with $20 in his pocket and went on to make a fortune in the hotel business.  He established six philanthropic organizations, including Give Kids the World in Orlando. He passed away on April 16, 2018.  A celebration of his life was held at Give Kids the World on April 28, 2018.   What follows is the text of my remarks on that occasion.

….

James Dobson said, “No man stands so tall as when he stoops to help a child.

By this measure, Henri Landwirth was a giant.

Arnold Glasgow, said, “The true measure of man is not the number of servants he has, but the number of people he serves.

By this measure, Henri was immeasurable.

Sir Arthur Helps said, “The thing which makes one man greater than another – the quality by which we ought to measure greatness – is a man’s capacity for loving.”

I have never known anyone with a greater capacity for love than Henri Landwirth.

There is no need to repeat Henri’s story. There are no spectators here. If you are here it is because you knew Henri and – if you knew Henri, you know that if there was one thing he was not – it was a spectator.

If Henri was in your life, you knew it…and you undoubtedly have stories of your own.

In my case, the story begins in l988 when Henri was selected to receive a National Caring Award.   We connected immediately and a year or so later decided to adopt each other as brothers.

In 1990, he invited me to a family gathering at his home the night before the Give Kids the World gala. He introduced me by describing our relationship and asked the family to adopt me as well. It was one of the greatest honors of my life.

The following year, Henri introduced me to the woman who was to become my wife. When I expressed interest in Angie, his response was characteristic.

“That’s too bad,” he said.  “She will never have anything to do with you.”

…And then he did everything he could do to bring us together.

The next time I was in Orlando, he asked her to pick me up at the airport, gave her $20, and told her to buy me a drink.  Angie demurred modestly, but – as many of you can attest – you didn’t say ‘no’ to Henri.

He was my coach – evaluating, correcting and encouraging me through every step of our courtship.

When I told him I was ready to propose, he asked me how I planned to do that.  I told him what I had in mind.  He thought about it for a moment and said, “We can do better than that.”

…And then he helped me come up with an alternative plan.

My bachelor party was a fishing trip to Alaska. Greg is the fisherman in the family.  I don’t know if Henri had ever even fished before but he came along for the company.

Some of the best memories of my life are sitting on the deck of a boat we chartered there with Henri and Hugh Jones, watching the lines in the water, and talking about the things that mattered to us.

One of the things we talked about was the honeymoon.  When I told Henri what my plans were, he seemed pleased.

“That sounds great,” he said. “Maybe I could go with you.”

…and I honestly think he would have.

Henri was one of my groomsmen when we married.  At the altar after the photographs were taken, I thanked him and gave him back his $20.  I told him it had been a good investment.

Henri said, “Where is the interest?”

When we were working on his biography, Love and Hate, I asked Henri how he would like to be remembered.

Henri said, “I would like to be remembered as having contributed something in this little world of ours. I would like to be remembered as a good person. I’d like to be remembered as someone who had some influence on some humans around the world.”

Modest goals for a man of such significance. He changed our lives. He changed the world. He took the worst the world had to offer and answered with the best.

He showed us what’s possible. He showed us what it means to be a fully engaged human being.

For Henri, there were no random acts of kindness or small acts of love. Kindness was a way of life.  Love is love.  He often said one seemingly small act of kindness changed the trajectory of his life.

In l954, Henri was making $120 a week as Assistant Manager of the President Madison Hotel in Miami Beach. He was 27 years old.   A guest approached him one evening and asked him where he could by a tie. They wouldn’t let him eat in the Hotel’s dining room without one.

Without hesitation, Henri took off his own tie and gave it to his guest.

That man was B, J. McNabb, General Manager of the ICBM division of General Dynamics. A year later, he was given the task of bringing Cape Canaveral to life.

McNabb knew that among other things he would have to build hotel for the workers who would come to help and he knew the hotel would need a manager who knew how to treat his guests. He told his people to go looking for a skinny guy he had met in Florida.

“I can’t tell you his name,” McNabb said, “but he had a funny accent.

Later, that McNabb would introduce Henri to Holiday Inns and vouch for him there. With that, Henri’s career was established.

Not long ago, in the context of our times, a Rabbi asked his students one of the eternal questions – “How do you know when night has ended and the day has begun?”

“When I can see the face of my children,” one responded. Others were quick to follow:  “When I can see where my property ends and my neighbor’s property begins. When I can see the all the colors of the flowers. When I can see the animals and tell them apart.”

“No, no, no,” the Rabbi said. “None of you understand. You separate. You distinguish and divide. You split the world into pieces. That is not the way. Is the world not fractured enough?

“Night ends when you can look into the face of the man or woman beside you and see that person is your brother or sister.”

Henri learned that the hard way.  He lived in darkness.  He walked through the Valley of the Shadow.  He brought the light with him and illuminated the world.

He touched our lives.  He touched our hearts. He taught us that dreams come true, and nightmares end.   He taught us that what comes from the heart, goes to the heart.

When we met and for many years thereafter, Henri had a poem from Forest Witcraft on the wall of his office. Many of you have seen it or received copies from Henri or Give Kids the World.  It says,

One hundred years from now
It won’t matter
What kind of car I drove
What kind of house I lived in
How much money I had in the bank
Nor what my clothes looked like
BUT
The world may be a little better
Because, I was important
In the life of a child.

Henri was important to more lives than we can count. He leaves this world far better than he found it.

I miss Henri and will always miss him; but my overwhelming sensation at this moment is more gratitude than grief. I am profoundly grateful to have known such man and to be able to call him brother, friend, mentor, role model, and teacher.

Henri often said in defining his purpose here, that – “All we have at the end of life are memories.”

Our memories of Henri – and I suspect yours – are indelible.

He was a man who is the measure of a man. We will not see his like again.

In October 2000, my wife and I were invited to attend a benefit for the international relief organization AmeriCares. Long the largest private relief agency in the world, AmeriCares had just passed a major milestone: the delivery of two billion dollars in life-saving medicines and medical supplies to 110 countries around the globe.

We were seated at the head table along with the guests of honor, George and Barbara Bush.  Through no merit of my own, I was given the honor of sitting next to the former First Lady.

Inevitably and almost immediately the conversation turned to politics.  Her son, Jeb, was running for Governor of Florida.  Her son, George, had just announced that he would run for Governor of Texas.

Jeb had long made his political aspirations known. George’s announcement came as something of a surprise.  I made the mistake of commenting on this, saying it appeared to me that Jeb was a better and more natural politician.

The lioness quickly emerged and I got a glimpse of the strength and fierce devotion that characterized so much of her life.  She gave me a steely look and said, “I wouldn’t underestimate George if I were you.”

Seeking solid ground, I changed the subject.  We started talking about our mutual friends, the Macauleys, and what they have done with AmeriCares.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Bush fixed her steely eyes on me again.  She said, “You know, someone really should tell Bob’s story.”

I knew it wasn’t an idle comment.  She was telling me what she thought I should do.   A year later I sent her the final draft of His Name is Today, seeking her approval.  She graciously agreed to write a forward.

Through the years that followed, we kept in touch. I sent her notes telling her what we had done or hoped to do with The Heart of America Foundation.  She was always quick to respond with kind and encouraging words.

In the coming days, I suspect you will hear similar stories from many others.  There was no reason she should take an interest in me or try to help me.  That was just her nature. That’s who she was.  I feel privileged to have known her.

When I was twelve, I came home from the movies and loaded the .30-30.  It was a Winchester lever action rifle – the gun that won the west. There was one like it in every other house in the community where I grew up.

My friends and I had gone to see The House of Wax with Vincent Price.  He scared the daylights out of me.  I placed the gun by my bed and went to sleep thinking that if Vincent Price stuck his nose through the door I would blow it off.

I got my first gun two years earlier.  It was a .22 rifle my father bought at Sears.  A .410 shotgun followed on my next birthday, then a .20 gauge shotgun.  Only then, after years shooting under my father’s supervision, was I allowed to fire the big gun.

My father grew up on a ranch in Colorado.  He handled guns daily and approached them seriously.  He made sure I knew what I was doing, lectured me on gun safely, taught me how to take care of them, and laid down conditions for their use.  You didn’t shoot a gun in the city, for example – even a BB gun – even if that city was so small it only had one traffic light and was home to less than 5,000 people.

One of my friends, a boy I used to hunt with frequently, was more reckless.  He managed to shoot himself three times in four years.

The first time he was practicing his quick-draw. He put a .22 round through his thigh when his gun fired before he could clear the holster. The second time, he took off part of a thumb while adjusting the choke on his shotgun. The last time he was trying to shoot a tin can balanced on the toe of his boot and managed to shoot himself in the foot.

When my father heard about this, he went ballistic. He asked me how I could be dumb enough to hunt with someone with so little respect for the guns he carried.  I told him I didn’t worry about it too much because he never seemed to shoot anyone other than himself.

My father was not impressed with my logic.  He took my guns away and told me I would only get them back when I demonstrated more maturity.  In our house, gun ownership was not a right; it was a privilege.

When I was drafted, I saw a lot of people who reminded me of my hunting buddy.  They were a nightmare for our drill sergeant and a threat to the unit.  They were more interested in blowing things up than defending themselves and even less interested in fighting for their country or defending their comrades in arms.

Most of these recruits wound up with desk jobs.  If they went to ‘Nam, they didn’t come back.

Nearly every member of my family – male or female – owns or has owned guns; but none of them would agree that anyone who wants a gun is entitled to have one.  Nor would they agree everyone has a right to buy any and every gun they desire.

This just seems like common sense to me and, if you can believe the polls, most people agree.  The only ones who seem to disagree are the gun manufactures and that small minority that always seems to want to be able to do whatever they want whenever they want.

Strange as it may seem, I have seen all this before. I was on Capitol Hill when the first shots were fired in the great tobacco war.  Senator Frank E. Moss, my boss, led the charge, introducing the legislation that required cigarette companies post the surgeon’s general’s warning on their packages.

The cigarette companies fired back. They called the surgeon general’s report fake news, drummed up scientists supporting their views, paid for studies designed to make their case, contributed like relatives, and hired an army of lobbyists.  They found powerful allies in Members of Congress representing the tobacco producing states – but they still lost.

It has taken several decades, but the tobacco culture has changed in ways that were unimaginable when the battle began.  Gone are the days when you could lite up whenever and wherever you want without concern for  the health or well being of others.

Something similar is happening now.  As is often the case, the children are leading the way.

Victor Hugo said, “There is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come.”  The kids are telling us that moment has arrived.  We need to listen to them, check our values, and find the courage to do what needs to be done.

If we don’t, they will.  It’s only a matter of time.