The Making of a Legendary Life

When I think of legends, my mind automatically goes to quarterbacks, center fielders, and point guards.

Musicians, singers, actors, and directors.

We all think the same way to an extent. Fame equals accomplishment. Extreme accomplishment propels you into legend. The more of a legend you are, the more praise and accolades that you receive. The legend grows.

Babe Ruth is legendary. As is Michael Jordan. They will always be synonymous with their respective trades. Michaelangelo, DaVinci, and Einstein are the ultimate legends, unsurpassed in their works of genius.

But what about you? And me? What can we do to make life “legendary“?

I don’t think I could ever achieve legend status through work or trade. Although I may have thought I was a legend as a bartender in my family’s restaurant so many years ago, that was more or less just youthful exuberance. And a little bit of ego.

When I think legend nowadays, what comes to mind are people that have served or shaped others’ lives in an extraordinary, or even very ordinary, way.

“The quality of a person’s life is in direct proportion of their commitment to excellence, regardless of their chosen field of endeavor.” – Vince Lombardi

Guys like Babe Ruth or Michael Jordan aren’t legends purely because of their numbers, but because of the way they changed the game they played. Their influence on future generations of athletes is something that’s hard to calculate.

That’s what’s legendary about them. The shaping of lives and the future, and the changing of the game.

An athlete like Joe DiMaggio wasn’t held in such high esteem solely because of a 56 game hitting streak or his talent as a gifted defensive player. He was also a legend because he was a boy from a poor family who became an American star, and he had tremendous influence on generations of other Americans. Especially those of Italian descent.

His life was a model of success that even the most ordinary person could draw from. He inspired hope and possibility.

That’s why Einstein, Mother Teresa, Mandela, and John Paul II are the recognizable figures they are. They are and were game changers. With the ability and the drive to influence lives and help others to the best of their ability.

I love the idea of the athlete, and the fascination with their skills. But to compare your potential for greatness to someone with sometimes freakish ability isn’t being fair to yourself. You and I have much more potential to be like the aforementioned game changers.

All were committed to enhancing the lives of those who needed it most and they were unwavering in their commitment. It was 24/7 for them. They did everything in an extraordinary way.

How about the “legends” that live or lived an ordinary life? Those people are the ones we all know. You’ll see some great anecdotes about my grandparents in this blog. They shaped the lives of those around them every single day. When I go through the motions of my life, my actions and my thoughts and words are strongly influenced by my family.

That’s the secret (if there is a secret) to making the ordinary legendary. Always be looking to influence, motivate, educate, and uplift. Whether it be family, friends, or individuals you have yet to know, find out where and when you can make an impact.

In the words of a true legend:

A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.
– Jackie Robinson

“Life Is Precious,” Epilogue

A week ago, my 96 year old grandmother passed away. Featured here in a previous post, she is one of the inspirations I look at to write here on this blog. Although she had such longevity and was in steadily failing health recently, I’m sure the days to come will seem very different without her here.

It was difficult to mourn her death completely, though. To an extent, I was happy for her. As a believer in an afterlife, I’m thinking she just took a trip to another level of her existence, to see the family and friends that passed before her. She had a really big party waiting for her on the other side.

I think when we mourn the death of someone like this, we mourn more for ourselves. Because a little piece of our own lives has been chipped away. Again. And we sooner or later have to look our own mortality square in the face.

Even for someone who has faith, that can be a daunting task.

My grandmother’s funeral was an event, if she could have seen it, that she would have loved. The mass was at the church she was married in. “Ave Maria,” a favorite song, was sung beautifully for her. And she was buried in the cemetery where her husband and son were waiting for her.

As her health declined, I imagined I would have to deliver a eulogy at her funeral, and I had the privilege to do so. It was appropriately positioned by the priest after that stirring version of “Ave Maria,” which provided comfort as I went to the podium.

The following is some of what I said:

‘Life is precious’. When my grandmother said this, with her thick Italian accent, it always came out sounding like ‘Life is pressure’. She was right on both accounts. When I pointed out to her the way it sounded, we had a great laugh about it, and it became a running joke from that point on.

A lot of us here (in the church) today had the privilege of sitting at my Nonna’s kitchen table, to have a cup of coffee or eat something. In some cases, be forced to eat something. Those of you who didn’t eat, heard the words ‘mangia, mangia, mangia’ over and over again until you finally put something in your mouth.

I was lucky enough to not just sit at that table once in a while, but practically grow up sitting there. My parents worked at their restaurant a lot, so I was fortunate to spend many days and weekends at my grandparents’ house.

‘Life is precious’ is just one of the many nuggets of wisdom I learned at that kitchen table. It wasn’t just a place to have coffee or to eat, but also to grow and learn how to live life the right way, and how to enjoy yourself.

At that table, I learned that ‘Food is life’, ‘It’s later than you think’, ‘Life is a-worth living’, and to never trust anyone who doesn’t like music. They’re bad people.

After Gram passed away, I thought a lot about those kitchen sessions, and with the help of food and coffee, how I acquired many of the skills I have today. When I chop garlic, make sauce, roll a meatball, say a prayer with my kids, or sing along with a song on the radio at the top of my lungs, I do it the way she did it. And for all that, I’m very grateful.

I appreciate all of the simple things in my life because that’s what she did. Her life really was simple, but her impact on other peoples’ lives was simply spectacular. She was small in stature, but she was a giant in so many ways.

Following that, I acknowledged my parents for their selfless dedication to her care in her last years, which brought applause from everyone. It was nice to walk from the podium with those sounds echoing throughout the church. I imagine it would have been difficult to walk back to my seat to the sound of silence.

The weather was unusual that day. The morning had started with the last dredges of freezing rain and slop, but at the mass in church, we could see the sun begin to blaze outside as it’s rays filtered through the stained glass windows. As we went to the cemetery, the warmth of the sun seemed even stronger, like it was all those days spent in my grandparents’ back yard. On their patio. On their street.

Riposare in pace, Nonna. And thanks in advance for all the inspiration to come.

Memories Of My Grandfather

During this week of Christmas, in 2009, my grandfather will have been gone for nine years. He often crosses my mind now as his birthday is in October, and he passed away on December 20th.

My “pop”, as I called him, was a tough but gentle man from Calabria, Italy, who didn’t say much—but when he did speak, he did not mince words. He was unintentionally very funny, and made me laugh a lot with some of the things he said and did. Some of his opinions and theories would be seen as politically incorrect these days. That’s one of the reasons I thought he was great.

Pop had a stellar work ethic. He worked in factories during the day, and after he finished his shifts, he would go to the family restaurant to help by getting behind the bar, and working into the evening. He always did his job to the best of his ability, and if he couldn’t do something, he never had any excuses.

Because he always worked so much, he had some disdain for people that he thought were lazy, that had little regard for themselves or providing for their family. He had a way of sarcastically saying “God Bless America!!” when referring to individuals like this. In translation, it actually meant “This is the only country you can get away with acting like a lazy bastard!” I always laughed whenever he said it, because I knew he was getting wound up.

Despite that, Pop could be a very charitable man. To those same people he had a little disdain for, he would also peel off a five or ten dollar bill to them when asked—if he thought they were really down on their luck. He might not have liked laziness, but he also didn’t like to see people hurting either.

That is a lesson that I will remember from Pop: he always gave of himself, and displayed charity to those who did not have it as good as he did. He did it often, and I think he really felt compassion for others who were down on themselves.

He was also a man of simple interests. What my grandfather liked to do, outside of work and family, was watch baseball games, play a lottery ticket here and there, and eat my nonna’s fabulous cooking. He would get into an occasional game of bocce ball, and when someone he knew passed away and he had to attend a wake, for him it was a social event .

I might have given him a ride to the funeral home, but chances were I was leaving without him. He’d get driven home by someone else.

In his later years, well into his 80’s, Pop would still work at the restaurant, and because he didn’t drive a car, I would have the privilege of taking him home every night. In nice weather during the summer, occasionally we would sit on the patio behind my grandparents’ one story brick home, and listen to baseball on the radio.

The back patio would be sparse and uncluttered, with just a table and chairs, and umbrella in the middle of the table for shade during the day. The patio is still surrounded by fruit trees, and often there would be pears and cherries on the ground as there were too many to pick.

We would sit in the chairs, sip our espresso, and listen to a Yankee game on the radio, an old radio that I would perch on the sill of the open kitchen window. On those nights, I would feel like I was ten years old again because we listened to the game instead of watching it on TV.

My best memories with him include working in the same place that he worked, and eating dinner sitting next to him on a regular basis. He was ninety-two when he passed away, but his example on how to live life the right way are still fresh for me almost ten years later.

We can accomplish good, or great, things by paying attention to the lessons of the Old School, the lessons of our fathers and grandfathers. What do you recall fondly about your “Pop”?

Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio?

“Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

What’s that you say, Mrs. Robinson?

Joltin’ Joe has left and gone away.”

More than a decade ago, Paul Simon explained that the above lyric from Mrs. Robinson was, in his words, “meant as a sincere tribute to (Joe) DiMaggio’s unpretentious heroic stature, in a time when popular culture magnifies and distorts how we perceive our heroes.”

DiMaggio was indeed in a class by himself for those who thought of him as a role model, or a “hero”. He was considered by many people as the greatest Italian American athlete ever. I would imagine, with his quiet demeanor and workmanlike approach, he was not at all comfortable with the label of hero.

How could the previous generations not think of DiMaggio in terms of the heroic? Growing up destitute and poor in San Francisco, he was the son of Italian immigrants, his father a fisherman who wanted Joe to follow in his footsteps. He instead became the greatest living baseball player of his era, an athlete so talented and complete he inspired Ernest Hemingway to write in The Old Man and The Sea to “have faith in the great DiMaggio”.

But, counting down to the end of this year, the image of a past hero like DiMaggio may be the absolute best we can do now. In this steroid and drug era of sports, we have seen every type of denial, from the silence of a Mark McGwire, the impassioned defiance of Raphael Palmiero or Roger Clemens, and the embarrassment of a Michael Phelps.

And now we have the most spectacular collapse of all: the Tiger Woods saga. His infidelities and “trangressions”, as he calls them, will probably not have any effect on his chase to become history’s most accomplished golfer, but have we seen the last of Tiger Woods, the role model?

An unfortunate after effect of Tiger’s problems is the fact that no longer should your kids look up to him, but he’s now not a decent model in the life of an adult, either.

Think about it. If you were in the pursuit of excellence in anything related to work or your personal life, didn’t Tiger look like a sterling example?

Golf champion, on his way to being bigger than his sport. The first billion dollar athlete. Beautiful wife, two young children, and a now legendary relationship with his father and how he inspired him with his love of golf.

He looked like a great example to me, and I can only feel extreme disappointment on how it has all unraveled. I would hope he can fix this, stage a comeback. But the damage has been done.

The lesson learned? The one that must always be re-learned, again and again.

Athletes and entertainers are not meant to be role models, period. They, for the most part, no longer deserve the accolades. Take that pedestal we’ve put them on, and tear it down. As far as creating the ideal image on how we should live our lives, they no longer have what it takes. If they ever had it in the first place. And really, isn’t the pressure to be a role model for so many, a little too much?

Our models for life should be the ones closest to us: family members, friends, people that we know who have lived their ordinary lives to the best of their ability, or maybe have overcome an extreme circumstance. When we watch those closest to us, we take away the lessons we need to enjoy life. Today’s celebrity role model has almost no shot at that. After DiMaggio’s death in 1999, Paul Simon also said:

“In these days of…transgressions and apologies and prime-time interviews about private sexual matters, we grieve for Joe DiMaggio and mourn the loss of his grace and dignity, his fierce sense of privacy, his fidelity to the memory of his wife and the power of his silence.”

Looks like that quote could have been written last week. It also looks like that Tiger is now in seclusion, trying to figure out his next move. I think to get some great ideas on how to live his ideal life, he should hunker down with some biographies of sports legends like DiMaggio, Yogi Berra, Vince Lombardi, Joe Montana—hey Tiger, pay no mind to the fact that all of these names end in a vowel, it matters not. Although athletes should not be thought of as role models, they did it right anyway.

Just pay close attention to the way they did things during their careers, Tiger. We could all learn a thing or two.

How To Have The Focus Of A Closer

Your ability to focus may be the one primary factor in your ability to reach a goal, complete a project, or just flat out succeed. An athlete like Mariano Rivera is an example of the possibilities of one’s talent to focus to bring a dream or dreams to fruition. Without an intense ability to focus, Rivera most likely would not have become one of baseball’s most dominant pitchers of this decade, and a marvel of post-season success that has enabled the New York Yankees to win multiple championships.

The more I read about Rivera—and research what he does and how he does it—I don’t think that the majority of us could display the tenacity, mental toughness, and physical endurance that someone like Rivera does to reach the pinnacle of his sport. While growing up in Panama, Rivera substituted a stick for a baseball bat, and played with ragged, damaged baseballs. Then, as he got older, his father put him to work in a very physical job in his fishing business for 12 hours a day. Yup, this type of upbringing and driven focus makes Rivera a member of the old school, so my apologies to the young and ambitious of the new school.

It’s not your fault, though. And there’s really not much you can do about it.

There are far too many distractions in this world now to achieve that extreme sense of focus. When Rivera was a younger man in his native Panama, I’m sure was not much time spent on cable television, internet, cell phones, or texting. These modern “conveniences” of today are not conducive at all to the job of focus. The distractions that Rivera deals with—the rigors of travel, injuries, the constant lure of partying in New York City nightclubs—are minimal in number for him, and prove to be no match for his single minded intensity. He wants to win, more than he wants almost anything else.

Focus for me? I’d like to think I could pay attention to the road when I’m driving, instead of looking to the side to see the turn of the autumn leaves, or that drawn out construction project on the main highway. I marvel at the fact some people can drive, talk, text, and eat a doughnut while applying makeup at the same time. I can be as distracted as anyone, and returning to any task after distraction is difficult, and time consuming. It is starting all over again.

There’s still hope, however. You or I may not be able to attain the focus of a champion pitcher, business tycoon, or an actor in their zone. But there are some things we can do to improve our lot in life, whether the goals are large or small:

Write It Down! A training regimen of a Rivera, or an action plan for your business, does you no good unless it’s on paper. The most successful people in any line of work can tell you that a large goal (winning a World Series game) is accomplished by taking steps and completing subgoals (running, exercising, throwing every day). Don’t leave those steps to your memory…write them down to get them done.

Visualize It! Once Rivera knew the impact his pitching prowess could have, he no doubt saw himself as a champion one day. The rest was just completing the steps to get him there. For those of us that aren’t pitchers, whether the goal is a six figure income, the trip of a lifetime, or an improvement on your home, you have to see it in your mind before it can become reality.

Avoid Excessive Media I think this is a big one. How could I write this post, or concentrate on anything, if the TV’s on, I’m net surfing, or someone’s showing me the latest app on their new phone? Every commercial and show that you watch is so quickly edited, I can barely stand it. No wonder kids exposed to too much TV can’t pay attention. I’m so happy I grew up in an era where the camera was focused for longer than one second!

Hold Yourself Accountable! And if that’s not enough, make others hold you accountable, too! Enlist a couple of friends if you have too. Rivera goes through the same stretching and warm up routine constantly—even when he’s not scheduled to pitch! He holds himself to a training standard that most athletes wouldn’t even touch, giving him a great advantage when he needs it most. You can also hold yourself to a higher standard in anything you do. I’d like to think that each blog post I publish will be to the best of my ability. And hopefully you, the reader, will hold me accountable!

Take Persistent Action! Here’s where Rivera really seperates himself from his peers. No other pitcher of this era has his tunnel vision, his unsurpassed will to win. Even with the bases loaded and a full count standing up against him, he keeps his cool, keeps throwing his best pitches, never waning in the attempt to impose his will on the batter in front of him. Rivera avoided sure defeat in a couple of matches by continually pressing the action, always in constant motion, wearing his opponent down to record that final out.

You, or me, may never be able to focus like Mariano Rivera. But we can always take action, be a little more relentless, and make things happen.