Spiritual Common Sense

Do the ends justify the means?

I have lived in Washington for more than 50 years.  I have never seen a time like this.  The question of ends and means comes up daily:

Do we increase the safety of Americans by banning the entry of people from Muslim countries?

Do we enforce immigration policy by separating mothers from their children?

Do we boost the economy by eliminating environmental protections?

Do we advance our political positions by demonizing those in the other party?

Nicolo Machiavelli was the first to raise the issue of ends and means in a political context in his treatise, The Prince, published in 1513.  Machiavelli said a good leader – The Prince – should choose the most effective means to his ends, be they harmless or cruel and violent.   For him, the only thing that mattered was the outcome.

“In judging policies,” he wrote, “we should consider the results that have been achieved through them, rather than the means by which they have been executed.”

The opposing view was best expressed and embodied by Ghandi and Martin Luther King.  They felt the means and ends must be consistent.  “Darkness cannot drive out darkness,” King said, “Only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

In this context, John McCain’s legacy looms large.  He is being remembered for his humor, humility, and courage.  But he represents more than that.

John McCain knew who he was.  He stood on principle, even when it did not advance his political position; and openly admitted and regretted the times he strayed from principal for political expediency.

McCain’s values were hardened in the crucible of a Vietnamese prisoner of war camp.  There he was tested like few others.   He had ample time – much of it in solitary confinement – to consider what he was living for, what he would die for, who he was, and who he wanted to be.

McCain came to understand that the end that matters most is not so much the goal we want to achieve but how we achieve what we achieve, and what we become in the process.

That’s how John McCain will likely be remembered.  Not so much for what he said, but what he did and how he lived.  He knew the means are the ends.

You cannot lie without become a liar.  You cannot steal without becoming a thief.  You cannot cheat without becoming a cheater.  You cannot live with honor and not be honored.

McCain crossed over.   He chose to be a statesman rather than a politician by devoting his life to a cause greater than himself.  History will remember – as I have told my son – “That’s what a hero looks like.”

Charles Carroll was the last surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence, outliving Jefferson and Adams by 6 years.  He was also the only Roman Catholic to sign the Declaration, and, perhaps, the man who had the most to lose by doing so.

Carroll was the wealthiest man in the colonies at the beginning of the Revolution with a fortune estimated at $2 million dollars.  He lived to see the fiftieth year of American independence and died shortly thereafter, leaving us with these words:

“I do now here recommend to the present and future generations the principles of that important document as the best earthly inheritance their ancestors could bequeath to them, and pray that the civil and religious liberties they have secured in my country may be perpetuated to the remotest posterity and extend to the whole family of man!”

Our Founders promise and Carroll’s bequest have materialized in the greatest nation the world has ever seen.  The principles they established have brought us from thirteen obscure colonies to the world’s only superpower.  They have established new standards of life, liberty, and happiness.

Free men and those yearning to be free still look to the United States as the light of the world and the best hope for liberty.  Our place in the world is unrivaled and unquestioned.

What makes America great?  What is our most valuable asset?  Is it our wealth, our natural resources, or our military might?  Or is our most precious asset the character of our people?

President Eisenhower said, “Whatever America hopes to bring to pass in the world must first happen in the heart of America.”  It follows that whatever change is to come to pass in America must first happen in the heart of its people.

Values are not hereditary.  Great ideals do not live in the hearts and minds of men simply because they are right.  They must be taught.  They must be learned and lived.

At the birth of our nation, a citizen approached Benjamin Franklin and asked, “What kind of government have you given us?”

“A republic,” Franklin replied, “if you can keep it.”

The Republic will endure as long as we continue to cherish the ideals of the men who created it.  From Bunker Hill to Berlin, the best of our blood have fought to defend democracy.  But that is not enough.

The battle for freedom is not reserved for the few or the brave on a distant shore.  The battle for democracy must be fought here, as well as there, day by day, with the knowledge that liberty won today may be lost tomorrow.

“There is a new America every morning when we wake,” Adlai Stevenson said, “and that new America is the sum of many small changes.”  Our task is to guide these changes and decide what kind of America we want it to be.

“We the people.”  The story of America is our story.  America will be whatever we are.

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.