Giving Thanks

Today is Thanksgiving Day. It is my favorite holiday of the year. It is all-inclusive without regard to religious preference. It remains relatively non-commercialized. Most importantly, it allows us to reflect on the blessings we enjoy and sometimes take for granted. Even in these difficult and anxiety-provoking times, there is a sense of peace that comes with being able to take inventory of the pieces and parts of our lives that provide contentment throughout the year.

We tend to realize how much we each have to be grateful for by comparing our own circumstances with those of others. As I write this, the morning newscaster just lead a story with "One in ten Minnesotans have no idea where their next meal is coming from . . ." A "one in ten" statistic should bring pause to all of us and certainly instill thanks in the lucky 90%. We spend billions of dollars a year on lottery tickets where the chance of winning is 1 in 146,107,962. Statistically, we are significantly closer to living in hunger than living in lottery riches. I am thankful that my family and I are hunger free and grateful that my children recognize their good fortune by supporting programs designed to eradicate hunger.

I am thankful that I live in a country that retains its faith in our Founding Fathers' vision of serial executives designed to allow new leadership to address the problems arising during the term of predecessors. Acting on this faith, we allow our system to work; we resist the temptation to panic; we do not resort to military solutions to redirect the policies of our government. This phenomenon manifests itself in the relative calm that our nation embraces as we await the commencement of the Obama Administration. The President-elect's steady, self-assured, focused and honest demeanor has proven to be a source of comfort strong enough to overcome the seemingly hopeless economic circumstances we face today. I am personally thankful that we have elected a leader who understands that his ability to deliver the promise behind "hope" requires a willingness to acknowledge the challenges we face instead of relying on empty slogans and jingoism.

We understandably count our thanks by measuring the well-being of our children. My children are now two young adults. I am proud of their values. I am proud of their ability to set long term goals for themselves and work diligently to achieve those goals. For six years, I ran a chemical dependency treatment center. On many occasions, I would meet a young man or woman whose bad decisions led to the need for treatment at our facility and think "There, but for the grace of God, goes my child." I am thankful that both children have escaped the personal devastation and replacement of dreams with nightmares that results from chemical dependency. My heart goes out to my friends and family, and to parents I have not yet met, who, tragically, are facing struggles with their own children.

My children give me other reasons to be thankful. As a preview to the 2008 Stern Family Holiday letter, I will share that Phil has moved from working with troubled youth in an Americorps program to teaching in a local school district and, consistent with his commitment to the less fortunate, has signed up to participate in the Big Brothers program. Ellie's inner compassion is evidenced by her dedication to continuing her education at the University of Arizona's accelerated R.N. program and the extra effort she makes on behalf of her patients, both in Tucson and previously at the nursing home in Minnesota where she worked after graduating college.

I am incredibly thankful for my wife, Deb. There is universal consensus that I do not deserve her. That's probably true. But until death us do part, I am thankful for her love, support, role modeling, compassion, industriousness and appreciation of a simple lifestyle.

I have the blessings of friends and family, many of which have been discussed in this blog over the past year. I have the the blessings of a career in which I can take pride in assisting others face challenges and pursue opportunities and I am thankful for the many clients and colleagues who continue to support me after my six-year hiatus from the full-time practice of law. I am thankful that I can make subjects happy with whatever skills I bring to a photo session. Their delight with the results encourages me to continue to pursue my artistic avocation. I am thankful for the strokes to my ego when one of my tens of readers comments favorably on my pondering. I am grateful that my blog mentor, Charlie Leck, continued to encourage me to write when I doubted I had anything to say. I am thankful for the relaxation I find when I take the time to write.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Find your own blessings in your life and recognize how they provide a platform from which to address life's challenges. Let the people you care about know that you care. Doing so sends a signal to the recipients that they have something additional to be thankful for.

Sam Thinks He Can . . .Lighten Up

Gongxi facai (gong shee fa tsai)! Or, for my Cantonese-speaking friends, 恭喜发财 (gung hay fat choi)!

I am a sucker for New Year celebrations. I've wanted to spend New Year's Eve in Las Vegas since watching the first Ocean's 11 on television shortly after its release in the early sixties. I love the family traditions of Judaism's Rosh Hashanah in the fall. And, as we enter the Year of the Rat, I am fascinated by the idea that 1.3 billion celebrate their new year on a twelve-year cycle whose elements are used to prophesize health, wealth and marital success (although that might just be the menus).

I was chatting online tonight with my friend Nathaniel Davis, whom regular readers of this blog will remember. He's back in Beijing, where, for the first time, fireworks were allowed as part of the New Year celebration. Although the holiday started on the 7th of February, the fireworks are still being lit. I can only imagine what the Olympics will bring in 6 short months.

This annual focus on Chinese culture inevitably takes me back to my visit to Hong Kong and Macau in October, 2000. Having had the opportunity to experience a small slice of the culture firsthand, and with a number of good friends living among the 1.3 billion, I feel a stronger affinity with the Chinese New Year than towards most other international celebrations. Of course, I regularly relive the experience through my photography.

The photo above was taken on Victoria Peak, overlooking Hong Kong and Kowloon Harbor. It's actually a sandwich of two square images taken on my medium format film camera.Be sure to click on the image to see a larger version. I had dragged two camera systems and a tripod up to the observation area. I was with my law school roommate Robert Cohen and Nathaniel. It was hot, even at dusk. I was looking for my "money shot" for the trip, hence the plethora of equipment. The views were spectacular. Most of the other visitors had ridden the famous tram up the side of the mountain to get there. We had taken a cab to the site. I remember that the sun was setting, I was losing my light, and I couldn't get a decent reading off my light meter to figure out the correct exposure. So, in the tradition of Luke Skywalker, I abandoned my electronic devices and used the "Force". I think that's why I love the shot so much. I was so close not to getting it but did so by relying on myself.

We took the tram down part way to return to the city. We exited at one of the first stops and walked down hill the rest of the way. Because it was HOT, and because I insisted on carrying all of my equipment by myself on the theory that if I personally carried what I brought along, I could sound like a martyr seven years later, we had to stop and rest. Nathaniel brought us to a courtyard in the St. John's Monastery. I was walking around a bit, looking for photo opportunities. Much to my amazement, the second lifetime opportunity of the evening presented itself.

I had spent the week looking for examples of the old juxtaposed against the new. I had expected to find some quaint, centuries old example of Chinese culture set against an icon of the modern Hong Kong. I had not been particularly successful in capturing the image that filled my mind's eye. But during the break on the way down from the Peak, I found myself staring at the modern glass skyscraper of the Bank of China, gleaming at night through the monastery's stone archway leading to the courtyard. I set up my medium format camera, guessed at the exposure, and shot.
I was happy enough with the shot to use give it to one of my hosts during the trip as a gesture of my appreciation. She was apparently thrilled with the gift and reciprocated, unnecessarily, with a set of gold Chinese stamp proofs.

In honor of the Chinese New Year, I'm posting a few additional shots from that trip. I'll resume more serious blogging once the fireworks stop. Again, 恭喜发财 !

Sam Thinks He Can . . . Remember Everything (But He Can't)

Yesterday I posted my blog about friendship. Having survived repeated readings, it still appears below and I'm still willing to stand by my thoughts on friendship. But something bugged me about the post, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Then, this evening, I was chatting online with my friend Tony Diamantidis and it hit me.

Tony's is the friendship that Q.E.D.'s the blog but I had forgotten to mention him or to post his photo. Tony runs a successful, multi-national software company that sells products to monitor hazardous waste handling. He is also the founder of an environmental organization that works with the Olympics to promote environmental awareness as part of the Olympic spirit and planning. A native of Athens, Tony and his family live in Northern California and Athens and outside Junction City, Wisconsin.

Over the years, we have enjoyed life together in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Minneapolis and Junction City. We have outrun the California Highway Patrol in a red Jag convertible. We have fallen asleep exhausted while on the phone to Athens after a night of club hopping. We have fed seagulls in flight on the Bay in Sausalito. We celebrated the end of the millenium at a karaoke New Year's party on his farm. We celebrated the Fourth of July on my farm. We are as close as brothers.

And it all started in Athens in August, 1972 when Tony waited on me, then a backpacking American student, at an outdoor cafe near the Parthenon. I can't remember the exact transition from "I'll have a Coke" to "I'll meet you in Beijing in '08", except that it involved discussing his love of "Micky Moosh" comic books. By evening, my traveling companion (Leonard Banks, another lifelong friend) and I were joining Tony and his brother as we experienced Athens. We hung out at a chess club where everyone was analyzing the day's Bobby Fischer/Boris Spassky match. Tony protected me when I started joking with the armed soldiers on the streets. I acquired a taste for Ouzo.

We had only one night to get to know each other. But by the time I returned to the U.S. in December, Tony had immigrated to New York and we were reunited. 35 years later, I'm "Uncle Sam" to his children and no waiter gets taken for granted.

P.S. Tony leaves for China this week on business. I've already introduced him to Nathaniel. No sense hogging my relationships.

Sam Thinks He Can . . . Befriend (Graphics)

These are samples from my "Friends (snapshots)" album on my computer described in the "Sam Thinks He Can . . . Befriend" blog appearing below.





















Read the blog and see if you can tell which friend(s) match (a.) in-house counsel for the Minnesota Secretary of State, (b.) carnival owner, (c.) enthusiastic health club attendee, (d.) gourmet sausage maker,
(e.) Lallapalooza merchandise purveyor, (f.) eminent domain commissioner, (g.) waitresses at "The Best Bar in America", (h.) "little brother" born 3 hours after me and stuck with me for 52 of 55 years, (i.) Japanese steakhouse developer, (j.) Minneapolis mob boss family member. Leave me comments on the blog with your guesses and I'll let you know how you did.

Sam Thinks He Can . . . Befriend

I spent a couple of hours with Nathaniel Davis this morning. Nathaniel had a three hour layover at the airport on his way back to Beijing. We arranged for me to pick him up and grab lunch at the Mall of America before returning him to board his next flight. He doesn't usually get to travel through MSP during his yearly visits to his family in Pennsylvania. I'm not sure when we'll see one another in person again. Our regular instant messaging is not entirely satisfying. Being able to spend the time with Nathaniel was worth braving the season's first snow storm. After all, we've been friends since 2000 and have spent at least several hours together.

As I was storing today's photo of Nathaniel in the "Friends (snapshots)" folder on my computer, I had the chance to browse through the other snapshots in the folder and it struck me how lucky I am to have shared pieces and parts of my life with so many extraordinary individuals.

I also started thinking that I seem to have more people I consider friends (as opposed to acquaintances) than most of the people I know. In figuring out why that is the case, I decided to blog a lesson worth sharing. Nobody I meet gets taken for granted. Everyone has a life full of stories, experiences, advice, comedy, tragedy and spirit. I have never been self-centered enough to feel that my personal impact on the universe is any more important than anyone else's. Similarly, I don't sell myself short. I have much to offer.

The logical conclusion to be drawn from this "live and let live" attitude is that one can enhance one's own life experiences by paying attention to the experiences of others we meet. In so doing, we become invested in one another. If there is a "click", a perception of similar interests and values that leads one to want to enhance the investment, then why not expend the effort to retain the relationship, continue to share experiences, continue to learn from one another and continue to provide (and receive) the basic human comfort derived from friendship?

Nathaniel is a case in point. We met in October, 2000, in Hong Kong. He was a 25 year old kid (about half my age) working for one of my father's business colleagues, Annie Wu. I was spending a week with my law school roommate, Robert Cohen, who had acquired enough travel points to earn a free stay at the J.W. Marriott. Nathaniel was asked to take Robert and me to dinner at one of my father's favorite restaurants. In some scenarios, we would have had one dinner and forever parted company. In our scenario, Robert and I invited Nathaniel to accompany us as we explored Hong Kong. He became an invaluable English-speaking tour guide. We provided American companionship. We didn't spend a lot of time together during that visit, but the time spent was memorable.

After I left Hong Kong, Nathaniel and I kept in touch. During a subsequent business trip to Minnesota, Nathaniel stayed with our family. We picked up immediately where we had left off in Hong Kong, bonded by the shared experience (me, briefly) of being strangers in strange land. In the years since, Nathaniel has moved to Beijing and become involved in business development and promotion in China from a knowledgeable Westerner's point of view. I have been able to offer counsel from time to time. He has proved to be an invaluable resource for friends traveling to China. I am lucky to have him as a friend and am a better person for the window on the Far East he affords me. I have been rewarded for not taking my dinner host for granted and for taking the time to get to know him.

As I browsed the "Friends (Snapshots)" album, I saw a lot of "Nathaniels". I've posted some photos above. They were selected randomly and quickly out of the hundreds of images in the folder so if you are a non-posted friend reading this blog, please do not take it personally. Each individual pictured has made my presence on Earth a more interesting and happier experience. Some are wealthy; some aren't. Some are healthy, some aren't. One challenged Idi Amin at Entebbe. One helped start one of the country's largest computer sales company. One grew up on Gull Lake next to Grandview Lodge. One has an amazing 8-track collection. One used to tend bar for me in St. Cloud. One ignored my advice and didn't close down the St. Paul Winter Carnival. One named his son after me, much to the chagrin of his father-in-law.

The point is, they ALL have amazing stories to tell. I need only take the time to listen. I am honored by and cherish their willingness to share their lives with me. As noted above, I do not take that willingness for granted and try to live my life in a way that justifies the trust they place in me by including me in their lives. That makes them friends, not just acquaintances.

Sam Thinks He Can . . . Write a Eulogy

It's been about 1-1/2 months since Louis Meyers reneged on his commitment to me to live to be 100. Tomorrow will be the first Veteran's Day Holiday in 25 years that I won't be able to call Louis and thank him for his service to our country in WWII. The illness that finally took him in September progressed so quickly and so unexpectedly that I regularly find myself reaching for the phone to call him before remembering that I cannot do that anymore. I was asked by his family to speak at Louis' memorial service. Because of a non-modifiable prior obligation, I was not going to be at the funeral home long enough to speak. Instead, I wrote a letter to Louis. His step-son filled in for me. The funeral director called it a "love letter". I suppose it was. Louis and I had some amazing times together. As his attorney and as his friend, it was a privilege to share his life. In honor of Louis Meyers on the occasion of Veteran's Day, I'm posting my "love letter".

Dear Louis:
I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for the whole shindig, but I made a commitment a month ago to photograph the incoming class at the synagogue’s religious school tonight. I know you always approved when I was hanging out with the Rabbi and staying out of trouble, so I’m sure you’ll understand.

On the other hand, your beloved Donna asked me to share a few words about the man I knew and loved. For 25 years you’ve been telling me I write a “damn good letter” when I put my mind to it, so here’s the last one. This time, I don’t have to write to convince anyone of anything. Everyone in earshot knows what a truly remarkable life you lived. This time, I have to say goodbye. It’s a good thing you’re off the clock. This letter isn’t coming quickly.

You and I met one Wednesday morning in September, 1982. I had already missed the first 66 years of your life. You had missed the first 30 of mine. We met in a conference room at 8:00 a.m. in St. Paul at the Northwest Bank. It was the morning after my father had lost his bid to become the DFL candidate for State Treasurer, losing in the primary to some guy from Florida. I was not in a good mood. All I had wanted to do the night before was to drink away my disappointment. But I had to be in St. Paul at 8 a.m. to meet with a new client one of my partners had pawned off on me because the case was getting to be too difficult for him to handle. I stayed sober that election night. I like to think that even before we met, you were looking out for my well-being.

Over the next few years, we straightened out the mess that brought us together in 1982. I learned quickly that you were a man of principle. I was practicing a lot of bankruptcy law at the time. You made it clear from day one that you weren’t a bankruptcy client. And you stuck to your guns. I just had to work harder and write those “damn good” letters you admired.

I tell people I represented “Mr. St. Paul”. When we met for lunch in the town you loved, I had to plan on an extra half hour just to get through the skyway with you. There didn’t seem to be a person on your side of the river that you didn’t know. Whether you had lent them money at TCF, worked with them on the St. Paul Chamber, developed projects while on the Port Authority, or represented them on a land deal, everyone knew you and had to stop, chat and share your camaraderie. Even if you told me they were an S.O.B. after they walked away.

You were one of a very few clients I would drink with at lunch. For the most part, I gave up that practice when I left Washington. But it just didn’t seem right drinking iced tea while you were enjoying your Windsor soda cloudy. When I was with you, that’s what I drank, too. It seemed somehow respectful. We had our clubs: Nye’s in Minneapolis and Awada’s in St. Paul. One day you called me from home in St. Paul for lunch and I told you I’d meet you at “the Club”. I drove from Minneapolis to Awada’s, took our usual booth and ordered two Windsor soda cloudy. One for me and one for you. You hadn’t arrived by the time I finished mine, so I started on yours. That was gone and I had ordered my third when I realized you were 30 minutes late, an unheard of occurrence. A light bulb went off in my head. I called Nye’s and asked if you were there. Sure enough, you were waiting for me at the bar at our other club. Johnny gave me a “to go” cup for the rest of my third Windsor soda cloudy and I had a memorable, if stupid, drive to Nye’s.

I’ll always remember you for speaking your mind. When the doctor described hospice care to you last week, and you agreed that it was for the best, your one question: “Where is this joint?” When I called you in April, 1983, to tell you that my firstborn was a boy, you exclaimed, “Congratulations, you hung the handle on him!” You had choice words for all Republicans and even some for disfavored Democrats. You bitched about my “Japanese Cadillac”, having had enough Japanese hospitality in World War II. You had ways of describing a good looking woman that I will not put in writing.

It’s hard to believe that our work and play together has come to an end. The fishing on Lake of the Woods and Lake Vermillion, the gambling in “joints” all over the State, the lunches and dinners at Nye’s and Gulden’s and Awada’s and Gino’s and Mancini’s (never Chinese), the many glasses of Windsor soda cloudy, the family stories, the hopes for the future. It was quite the ride.

Finally, Louis, you need to know I understand that we had much more than the good times together. You had serious lessons to teach and I had the honor of being your student for 25 years.

You taught me to be persistent. We worked on a lot of deals that should have closed, but didn’t. Those were the ones you had me work on a contingency. Always the smart banker. And always sticking with it, hanging on to your real estate license to the end. I’ll miss your long handwritten memos on yellow legal pads that included all the deal points you had me put into contract form. Some people refuse to learn how to use a computer. You had them beat. You refused to learn how to type.

You taught me the beauty of loyalty. You never waivered in your political convictions. You were Hubert Humphrey’s banker and you lived your life as a party-line DFL’er. You loved the fact that you were the first Democratic president of the St. Paul Chamber of Commerce and had the chance to show all those Republicans what money and heart could accomplish. You stood by friends who had fallen on difficult times through the years. You were devoted to your family, even as it became more extended late in life.

You taught me about honor. Honor through reputation. Honor through friendship. Honor through living a righteous life. Those pedestrians in the St. Paul skyway didn’t have to stop. They wanted to stop. They wanted to share more time with Mr. St. Paul, to be in his presence, to reminisce, to gossip, to plot, to be included in his circle. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since. Yours was a magnetic personality that continued to draw in your admirers long after you were in a position to make them a loan or build them a port. (What DOES the Port Authority do?)

In Judaism, we have a concept: In every generation, there are 36 righteous individuals in the world, living simple, humble, anonymous lives. Because of these 36 souls, God preserves the world for all of us. No one knows which individuals are the righteous so we are all instructed to live our lives as if we had been so designated by God and to treat everyone we meet as if we were in the presence of one of these Divine designees. Louis, you lived your life well. You loved. You laughed. You learned. You shared. You provided. You relaxed. As far as I’m concerned, as of last Friday, the world was down to 35.

All my love,
Sam