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Bill Mouskondis is always smiling. He is the son of a Greek immigrant who started a food service company with an old truck and cases of dented cans scavenged from railroad cars. Bill remembers long days riding his bicycle as a kid, delivering restaurant supplies to local cafes. Before semi-retiring, he worked six days a week, making sure his customers got the food they needed to keep their diners and cafes open during the Depression, World War II, another recession and a pandemic.
Now, at 89 years old, Bill checks in with the office daily to ensure things are running right. Every morning at 2 a.m., over 100 semi-trucks are loaded and shipped out. Six hundred deliveries a day to fast-food chains, high-end hotels and restaurants, and the state penitentiary. This last account is one Bill has been taking care of for 70 years.
“My parents had a lot of faith,” he recounts. “They believed God takes care of us if we take care of others.”
The Greek Orthodox Church is a tight community. Its members are living proof that hard work and faith deliver you to a better place, and they believe in lifting those around them. So, when the penitentiary needed a new supplier, Bill was willing to go through all the red tape it took to provide it. He started by visiting with the logistics people, the guards and the prisoners.
“I wanted to know what kind of food they liked,” Bill says with a laugh. “And they told me everything they didn’t like.” Bill’s smile tells you he enjoyed bucking the system a little bit. “There was this attitude that prisoners didn’t deserve to eat well,” he says. “But my father taught me that everybody deserves to be treated with respect.”
Bill developed a healthy menu. He brought in chefs to train the prison cooks, and he cut into his profits to provide fresh ingredients. Little did Bill know at the time that major studies in prison systems would prove that his approach would improve the community. When inmates are treated with respect, when they eat better food and are given time to exercise, recidivism rates go down.
For Bill, he just knew that it was the right thing to do. He carried that same attitude with employees. His expectations are only exceeded by his expressions of appreciation for his people.
“He treats people the way he expects to be treated,” says Dan, a warehouse foreman. Dan would know. When his own father came home from the Vietnam War, work was hard to find. Bill Mouskondis made sure he had a job and was treated fairly. “He gave my dad a chance when nobody else would,” remembers Dan. “When it came time for me to work, I only had one place in mind.”
Dan, the prisoners, the restaurateurs, the mom-and-pop diners and the managers of hotel chains are all treated with the same respect.
“People gave my father a chance to feed his family,” Bill says. “I thank the Lord for those people every day. Our business is built on that heritage of giving back.”
Respect... PassItOn.com®
Soccer is a passionate game. It’s one of the few sports where players are free to follow the flow as they play, being less constrained by a game plan and more dependent on their ability to communicate and create opportunities.
It’s also a worldwide sport, and fans are often just as impassioned as the players. At the World Cup, it is country against country. Emotions run high. National pride is on the line. And sportsmanship often gets lost amid the victors’ celebration and the disappointment of the not-so-fortunate. The 2022 World Cup was no different.
The Japanese national team has often seemed like outsiders looking in, as the European and South American teams have dominated world soccer for decades. So when Japan stepped on the field in the first round against powerhouse Germany, there wasn’t a lot of hope for the underdog.
Germany scored first on a penalty kick and fired several near-misses that would convince most fans that the Japanese just couldn’t keep pace with the Germans. But they did. Heroic saves and a relentless attack saw the Japanese team knot the score at one goal apiece. Then, late in the match, a pinpoint pass from midfield set up a two-touch strike, and Japan took the lead. They hung on for a historic win that had the whole world cheering.
With such an improbable and gutsy win, you’d think there would be pandemonium in the stands and in the locker room. Certainly, there were celebrations. But when the cheering died down and the stands were nearly empty, the Japanese team was tidying up the locker room. They swept and mopped the floors, folded towels and left thank-you notes to the host country. In the stadium, Japanese fans stayed behind to collect garbage and clean up the stands. While the win was totally unexpected, the show of respect and gratitude was even more so.
In sports, as in life, wins come and go. Triumphs and tragedies will always be part of our journey. But as the Japanese soccer team demonstrated, no matter the outcome, it is how we treat others that will be remembered most.
Respect... PassItOn.com®
Running cross-country track is not a casual sport. Training takes a lot of dedication, and come race day, you push yourself to your body’s limits. Most races are roughly 5 kilometers or 3.2 miles. The course is over rough ground, grass, gravel, dirt and mud. Maintaining cadence and pace can be challenging. The first race of the season is the most difficult. Runners who are not quite race-ready often push themselves too hard. It is, after all, a competition.
On a bright fall day, when sunlit afternoons can be deceivingly brisk, Cooper Erickson and Ethan Olds were striding toward the finish line. A runner from a different team had passed them earlier in the race, bolting toward the finish. But about 10 meters from the line, the runner collapsed. His muscles were overcome with lactic acid, a chemical that builds up in muscles during a run.
At first, Cooper went by him, focused on finishing the race in fourth place. And then something clicked. Runners talk about gliding along in the zone, unaware of anything but their own breath and the rhythm of their stride. It takes a lot to break that kind of concentration. Seeing a fellow runner on the ground caused Cooper to step out of the zone and go back to help. He was aided quickly by his teammate Ethan Olds. Together, they helped their fellow competitor across the finish line.
“I know our team has great respect for people that give their best efforts, and that’s what we did,” Cooper said.
A 5K race is a run, not a sprint like the 100 meters. It requires pacing and patience. It’s easy to let your mind dwell on pains in your feet or legs, or the burning in your lungs. Like life, there are obstacles along the way. It rains. Your shoes get wet. There’s the jostling at the beginning and around corners and the distraction of the crowd.
Trusting in your training is what pulls the best athletes to the front of the pack. Every phase of the race has been visualized and trained for, each second accounted for. And then the unexpected happens: Somebody needs help. At this point, there is a decision to be made. Is the race more important than the human being beside me?
Neither Cooper nor Ethan hesitated to stop. “When you start to take running very seriously, you build a community, and that community is so wide, and you just have a respect because they are giving it their all,” Cooper said. “That was more important than finishing in second or third place.”
Running through life is a joy. But sometimes, taking the time to help someone out is the real victory.
Respect... PassItOn.com®
Wrestling is the ultimate sport: One-on-one, you win or lose; it’s up to you. Which sounds a bit harsh to gangly high school boys trying to fit in socially as well as win a little respect on the mat. They look more like flying monkeys than athletes, and only a few have grown into their singlets. Michael stands in a circle with the other boys. At the center of it all is Coach Dave, a former college wrestler, now history teacher, who doesn’t miss a moment to inspire this gawky clan with tales of Spartan warfare. Sometimes he talks about his heritage: the strength of his Hispanic mother and the determination of his Dutch father. It all melds into a philosophy of believing in yourself.
“I honestly believe each kid can win every match,” Coach Dave says. “And I tell them that.”
The mental strength gained from a coach is as important as physical strength. And Michael soaked it up, the same way blood was sopped up in old socks pinched on bloody noses. As a freshman, Michael lost half his matches, but the next year the practice began to pay off.
“It finally just clicks,” Michael says. “You walk onto the mat, and you know you’re going to win. All the hours practicing and visualizing suddenly align, and when Coach Dave tells you how you are going to beat an opponent, you just go out and do it.”
At a tournament in Reno, Michael was ranked nationally and faced a wrestler from the Midwest ranked a few spots above him. In the final seconds of the match, ahead by one point, Michael clung to the lead while his opponent clung to his ankle, trying to get a takedown. Michael was hopping his way out of the circle to gain a restart. It’s the easy way out, like a boxer ducking out of the ring to get a breather and preserve a lead. With his back to his opponent, he took one more step. The opponent grabbed the other ankle, and Michael went down. Two points. Match over.
It’s hard to know who was more disappointed, Michael or Coach Dave. They sat in a corner, and Dave asked one question: “Are you going to run away from challenges in life or turn and face them?” Michael knew exactly what he’d done wrong---and that it could become a lifelong flaw if he didn’t correct it. All he had to do was turn into his opponent and counterattack. “You’ll beat him next time,” Coach Dave said.
That tournament was a double-elimination tournament, and Michael would go through the losers bracket all the way to the finals and win the tournament. That’s the comeback part, but not the most important part of the story. He would win a lot of matches that year. But the encouragement from that folding chair sanctuary is where he learned the most.
“When someone believes in you like that, you know you can do it,” Michael says. “I often hear Coach Dave when I’m in tough situations. ‘No excuses, just do it.’ That encouragement has been my guide.”
This is not the story of an extraordinary young man making his way to the Olympics or the top echelons of NASA. It is the story of a young man who worked his way through law school---twelve-hour days and a shift each night as a cook at a BBQ joint. “I changed my habits because of his belief in me,” recalls Michael, now a volunteer coach at the high school. “I try and be that person to these young men. You need people in your life who believe in you. They become part of who you are.”
When someone believes in us, we gain the strength to do the work we have to do.
Believe in Others... PassItOn.com®
We don’t always realize it, but our upbringing can be our biggest advantage later on in life. What we learn from parents, friends and the community we grow up in can teach us things that make a difference at the right time.
Guy Gabaldon was born in 1926 in Los Angeles. He started shining shoes to help his family when he was 10 years old but quickly joined a gang. At age 12, he was fostered by the Nakano family. He attended language school with their children, where he learned Japanese, along with their culture of respect and ancestral traditions.
But at the outset of WWll, the Nakano family was sent to an internment camp. Guy moved to Alaska at 16 years old to work in a cannery until he was old enough to join the military.
A year after his training, the U.S. was fighting from one Pacific island to the next until they reached Saipan, an island in the Northern Mariana Islands. Guy arrived as U.S. forces were being reinforced and Japanese commanders were shouting orders to fight to the last man.
Civilians were caught in the chaos, and many Japanese troops were holed up in caves. It would be a bloody ending for all Japanese on the island.
Remembering his adopted family, the Nakanos, Guy left his post one night and shouted to the Japanese soldiers, guaranteeing their peace. He brought two prisoners back that first night and was sorely reprimanded by his commander. The next night, he went back out — against orders — and negotiated with a Japanese officer. Over 800 Japanese soldiers and civilians surrendered.
The U.S. commander then gave Guy permission to act as a “lone wolf,” convincing civilians and soldiers to give up the fight. This unabashed and cocksure 18-year-old kid is credited with the surrender of over 1,300 Japanese soldiers and civilians and was later awarded the Navy Cross.
War is a messy business. It hardens men and women and calls on them to make choices most of the rest of us will never have to make. Yet, in the fog of uncertainty, we can still follow our moral compass, respect human life and honor our heritage and those who raised us. We don’t have to be perfect in our efforts, but we can stand up for what’s right in any situation. Peace... PassItOn.com®
Nelda was 23 years old and pregnant with her third daughter during the Great Depression, living in a hardscrabble western town with hard-packed dirt roads lined with desert flowers that somehow managed to push up through the cracked clay. Her husband found work on the Hoover Dam dangling from ropes with a hundred-pound drill. He died on the job. Nelda got the news two days later and sunk into a deep melancholy that would resurface throughout her life. With three small girls to take care of she worked as a postmaster at the small-town office that doubled as a general store. Neighbors dropped off bits of their harvest, widow’s mite offerings in those lean times. There wasn’t a lot of time to offer support and condolences; everybody was working sunup to sundown. But one friend suggested Nelda ease her pain by writing to servicemen injured in the war. It was a pen pal program begun by the Red Cross. So, Nelda introduced herself, not sure what to say.
Ross had been in the Merchant Marines in Canada. While working on a boiler, the thing exploded and injured his leg. He’d walk with a limp the rest of his life. He received Nelda’s letter while convalescing in Vancouver. And that’s how it began.
A year’s worth of letters made their way from the Western desert to the temperate coastal clime and back. She sent photographs of little girls in pinafores with sun-dried faces beside a young mother who smiled shyly at the camera. He wrote poetically of the rainsqualls that roll in from the Northern Pacific. Conversations took months to complete. Here were two people, each with a piece missing trying to fill each other’s spaces. There was time to respect each other’s scars, to embrace without the physical contact that can sometimes hurt if you’re not careful. They began to understand each other, to find love between lines. And so Ross wrote the letter that would change everything: Will you marry me? Love longs for answers. Love endures the wide spaces between hearts. Finally, a scented letter came. Ross hurriedly packed a few bags, including his tools and his best shirt, and drove down the coast; somewhere at the top of California he turned inland and ended up between Nevada and New Mexico.
There was a small wedding inside a clay brick church. Hand cut doilies and music from a Victrola. He would lead as they danced, supporting her thin body and fragile emotions. She would be patient with his slow left leg.
Ross opened a service station and thrilled Nelda with daring speed on long dirt roads in his automobile. He raised the girls and they called him daddy. He patted their soft heads with his big hands and walked the floors with Nelda when her darkness returned and anguish turned her breaths into sobs. Like the desert flowers, they always seemed to push through, enough love between them to bring on the beauty of another new day.
Love... PassItOn.com®
James (not his real name; he prefers not to be known for his work off the field) is a college football coach. He knows that in football, you are judged by winning and losing. But in life, character endures. So James focuses on teaching players about their past so they can improve the future.
Football brings kids from all different backgrounds together and requires them to sacrifice for each other, be selfless and do the job they are asked to do. Creating a team from players with disparate racial, socioeconomic, religious and geographical backgrounds and different styles of upbringing can be quite challenging.
James has found that most kids coming out of high school don’t know much about their history, the history of the country they live in, the history of their teammates. So, one night a week, he leads a class that focuses on Black history, Hispanic history, Polynesian history, American history, world history and religious history — and how those lessons inform the decisions we all make today.
What emerges is not a discussion on diversity but rather on unity. Turns out that every one of us is different in some way, and our shared experience grows out of our ability to take those differences and turn them into advantages. Respect grows with understanding.
This past year, James’ team had its best year ever in the program's history. The team is one of the most diverse in the nation. Yet the two words most often heard uttered by the players describing the program are “love” and “family.” One alumnus returning to the team, now as a coach, said: “It’s like coming home. This is where I learned to change who I was, to become a man. I want to help other kids do the same.”
Each of us has a history, good or bad, that can teach us something about ourselves. But most importantly, when we learn the history of others, we discover a world that makes room for all.
Unity... PassItOn.com®
Although Enzo held several free-diving records — his deepest dive without the aid of breathing apparatus was 101 meters — it was the lives of sea creatures that concerned him most. Enzo dedicated his life to educating the world about the link between healthy seas and healthy humans. He often quoted Vangelis: “Until a man learns to respect and speak to the animal world, he can never know his true role on Earth.”
While diving in the Mediterranean with his daughters Rossana and Patrizia, Enzo was in the water preparing to dive. He felt a nudge on his back and turned to see a male dolphin beckoning to him. The dolphin dove, and Enzo followed.
About 12 meters down, Enzo was led to the dolphin’s mate, who had become entangled in a fishing net and would soon drown. Enzo quickly surfaced and returned with his daughters and a couple of diving knives. They freed the dolphin and helped her to the surface. He recalls: “As soon as she was on the surface, after breathing out foam and blood, she gave birth to a dolphin calf under the watchful eyes of her mate.”
Enzo and his daughters marveled at the miracle they had just witnessed. While they were still in the water, the male dolphin circled around and touched its beak to Enzo’s cheek, like a kiss of gratitude.
The world is full of opportunities that lead to miracles if we only follow those nudges. Next door is a neighbor who needs a smile and a conversation, a child who needs a little reassurance, or a young mom who just witnessed her own miracle and would love to share it with you. Or perhaps even one of our wild siblings, ready to share its world.
Be Present... PassItOn.com®
In a quiet Northern California neighborhood, Michael seemed like a typical 11-year-old boy. His family made use of the California sunshine to grow citrus trees and roses. All seemed well from the outside, but Michael was troubled.
Since his adoption at 3 years old, Michael never really connected with his parents. There was a sternness about them that his sensitive nature couldn’t comprehend, and he was left to himself to sort out confusing emotions and the need for connection.
“I could have ended up making a lot of terrible choices,” Michael remembers.
Without the bond a young boy needs at home, Michael often found himself down the street at his best friend’s house. Of course, the two boys laughed, looked at comic books and ate junk food. But the real reason Michael liked his pal’s home was because of Mr. Christensen. He was the kind of father who understands boys.
With Mr. Christensen, the boys spent hours in the garage tinkering on an old roadster. They roared up the California coast with the top down, feeling the salt breeze wash over them, the engine too loud to allow for any conversation, which was fine with Michael. He didn’t yet know how to express his emotions; for the time being, just being able to feel them was enough.
“To know someone cares enough about you to not talk means the world to a boy who doesn’t have the words yet,” Michael says.
They rumbled over dirt roads and explored secret canyons. When the car was in the garage, there were conversations about how things work mechanically, about being patient, doing things right. Most summer evenings ended with a game of King of the Hill in the front yard. The boys charged at the stout Mr. Christensen. He laughed when they bounced off his grand belly and picked them up by their ankles. They wriggled loose and came at him again.
For many young boys, the language of bonding is writ in the wrenches they turn, the wrestling matches, the hours of watching clouds race by overhead. Mr. Christensen understood that boys need time to learn this language. He knew a boy learns respect and responsibility by being loved in an unspoken way.
Some 50 years later, Michael remembers his time with Mr. Christensen. “My own father couldn’t raise me, so I was adopted out. My adoptive father did his best but never allowed a relationship to form between us. Luckily for me, I had Mr. Christensen. I have tried to be the kind of father he was, teaching, having fun and spending time.” Love... PassItOn.com®
The Vigiano family has served New York City for four generations: Grandfather, father, two sons, daughter-in-law and grandson. Two of them were lost on 9/11. This is their story, from the StoryCorps collection commemorating heroes from that day.
New York’s finest maintain a tradition of service and sacrifice, often bridging generations of police officers and firefighters in a brotherhood you must be part of to truly understand. It’s no wonder so many first-responder families are like the Vigianos, four generations deep and reaching into siblings and spouses.
Joseph Vigiano — among the latest generation of Vigianos to serve the city — is a member of the same unit his father was, wears the same uniform his mother did, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather. What drew him to the force was more than a sense of duty; it was a sense of unfinished business. Both his father and uncle died on 9/11.
Joseph Vigiano first dreamed of becoming a paleontologist, but “after my father’s passing when I was 8 years old, that set me on the course where I am now.” He traded childhood dreams for adult responsibilities and the mission to serve and protect. In the long shadow of death from that day — nearly 3,000 died in the towers, and almost as many first responders have died because of illnesses related to their rescue efforts in the toxic environment — Joseph would stand and pledge his life the way his father had and become one of New York City’s 36,000 police officers.
At the swearing-in ceremony, new recruits are encouraged to let the experience of veteran police officers guide the way forward. It is emotional advice for Joseph Vigiano as he contemplates the service of family members who rushed into the choking clouds of dust and debris when so many were rushing out. Today, he wears his father’s police shield, and his brother, who works in the same precinct, wears their mother’s.
To be a police officer in the most visible city on earth is more than to protect its many citizens from harm. The responsibility is to protect them from the debilitation of fear. Everyone deserves to live with the promise of fairness in a system that is no respecter of individuals. It is a commission Joseph bears with honor. His paternal grandfather, John Senior, a retired firefighter, remembers the fateful day he lost his two sons. Joseph’s father Joe was a police officer, and John — also a young father — was a firefighter like their dad.
John Senior talked to each of his sons every day at the beginning of their shifts. That day, “Joe told me to turn on the television, that a plane just hit the Trade Center. ‘I’m heading south on West Street. This is a big one.’ I said, ‘Be careful. I love you.’ ‘I love you, too,’ he said. That was it.”
Thoughts of his father’s and uncle’s service accompany Joseph every day. Similarly, the fortitude of family can carry us all through the most difficult times in our lives. When they are no longer with us, the legacy of the decisions they’ve made becomes the compass of our actions.
We all carry the weight of expectations. Some are heavier than others. As we walk the beat of our lives, we can ease the burdens of others by sharing in the responsibility of making them feel safe. We can serve in our own ways. We can use the example of those who have gone before us as a cautionary tale — and the stuff of heroes.
Respect... PassItOn.com®
Ta’u Pupu’a grew up in Tonga playing football and singing in the school choir. His massive size and athletic drive propelled him to a career with the Baltimore Ravens. When an injury ended his playing time, he switched to his other passion: opera.
The Kingdom of Tonga is the Pacific’s last ruling monarchy. The pageantry and paternalism provide a rich background for a young boy. The culture, the honor in family, the respect for tradition, were not lost on Ta’u Pupu’a. Even after moving away at a young age, his heritage and cultural legacy will always be a part of him — as will the duality of the artist and the warrior.
Growing up, “I would go to choir practice every day, and then off to football practice,” Pupu’a says. “I love the passion of physical competition and the passion of performance that brings people to tears.”
Playing for legendary coach Bill Belichick, who initially drafted him, brought enormous expectations and prepared Pupu’a for the big stage. And he has earned accolades. After a performance in Italy, the Italian Tribune wrote: “Everyone took notice at his brilliant tone, breath-control and ravishing, powerful tenor. Ta’u Papu’a brought reserves of stentorian power and heroic strength.”
“Both football and opera take a lot of discipline,” Pupu’a says. “They are both physical, and both have their moments of truth. You sack the quarterback, or you hit the notes so perfectly every member of the audience feels it in their bones.”
It all comes down to having a passion for what you do, no matter what you put your talents toward. Sport and theater both capture and magnify the deepest human emotions: love, hate, fear, tragedy, life and death, redemption.
“Each emotion has a separate energy. I want the audience to feel that energy. I want to be part of that energy in every play, every aria.”
Getting to that level takes an enormous amount of practice and discipline. Habits formed on the football field helped Pupu’a make the transition to his training at Juilliard.
He was blessed with a booming voice, but that was only the beginning. Learning a piece takes time, especially if the words are in Italian or German. There are language nuances, character background stories, historical context, and bringing your own voice and personality to the role. What is too much? What needs a little more emphasis?
“It takes me three months to learn an opera,” Pupu’a says. But the payback is worth it. Pupu’a loves introducing his art to children. “They come in restless, can’t sit still. But the music starts, and they go silent; the reaction on their faces is priceless.”
Singing opera in a venue is done without microphones. The voice has to carry all the way to the back row, touching every person as if they were the only one hearing the music.
That’s the magic of the best performers. They make us feel like we are the only person alive in that moment. We experience a personal connection, the notes of a live performance resonating in our bones and the human story sweeping us up into the plot, that makes us a hero for a day.
Sing Your Song… PassItOn.com®
Adam Sandler is more than a goofy face. Although he makes us laugh, he is quite serious about doing good.
Adam Sandler knew he had a talent for breaking people up when he was a kid. He was always trying out jokes and gags at the dinner table, and if his larger-than-life father burst into laughter, young Adam knew he had something.
At 17 years old, he went to a comedy club and jumped on stage during open mic. People laughed. Sandler decided he had to take humor seriously, so he enrolled in acting school at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts. On the weekends, he worked comedy clubs, singing hilarious songs about lunch ladies, Chanukah and the lonely field-goal kicker. His ability to be both a doofus and a brilliant observer of everyday people endeared him to fans. And that fan base began to grow — first with his appearance on “The Cosby Show” and later as a regular on “Saturday Night Live.”
After appearing in several shows with his fellow SNL performers, Sandler starred in “Billy Madison,” a movie about a grown man who has to repeat grades one through 12 in order to inherit his father’s multi-million-dollar fortune. It is Sandler’s ability to play the everyman that makes him so appealing. No glitz and no pretense, Sandler finds the humor in the average guy just trying to make it through another workday. After failure after failure, the triumph comes, not so much in money or fame, but in self-respect.
After appearing in over 60 films and 15 television series and establishing his own production company, Sandler was honored with the highest dramatic award: The Mark Twain Prize for American Humor.
The guests roasted Sandler with funny tales of working with him on movies and in nightclubs, but one thread passed through all their monologues: Sandler is a kind person who is generous with his time and money. He takes care of his mother, he prioritizes time with his wife and two daughters, and he shares his wealth with others.
Often seen in baggy clothes and dirty sneakers, Sandler worries little about his personal style and a lot about what others need. He has donated millions of dollars to Boys & Girls Clubs of America, Animal Rescue Foundation, Ante Up for Africa, Children’s Cancer Association, the Chris Farley Foundation, Medical Research Foundation, Make-A-Wish, Toys for Tots and many others. He’s known for buying cars for his costars and mentoring young actors.
Deep down, Sandler is an average guy who gets to help other people and make us all laugh away our own troubles by not taking ourselves too seriously. And that’s some good we can all do to make the world a little bit better.
Laugh at Yourself… PassItOn.com®
Longtime friends Alex Lewis and Matt Koch hiked into the Colorado backcountry in December of 2016, planning to spend four days in the wilderness, miles away from the nearest town.
The first leg of the trip was a three-mile ski into a hut at base camp. The uphill climb was an arduous journey that had its reward of solitude and beauty. The friends were making a pilgrimage of sorts to the wonder and awe the winterscape provided. A year earlier, Matt had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma. He was now cancer-free, and the trip was a ritual celebration of life.
“This trip was kind of an opportunity for me to prove to myself that I could do things that required a physical fitness level I thought maybe I’d never have if I was a cancer survivor,” Matt says. “This was my message to the universe of like, ‘You didn’t get me. I’m still here.’”
Backcountry skiing has its challenges, and this seemed perfect for Matt and his new lease on life. But the physical demands began to take their toll. Heavy snow weighed down every step as they herringboned their way forward. Matt became painfully aware that his recovery from cancer had taken a toll on his physical health beyond what he had realized. He was not in the physical shape he needed to be.
Night quickly approached. Temperatures were dropping, and the wind picked up. The two seasoned outdoorsmen decided to burrow into the snow and make a shelter in the trees. They could rest for a few hours, regain some energy and push on to the hut in the morning. But the wind kicked up, and the shelter collapsed.
After a cold night, the two were happy to see there wasn’t much farther to go. But there was a lot of fresh snow. “Our progress was pretty slow because of the steep terrain. And I just remember taking this step, and, all of a sudden, hearing this rushing water sound,” Alex recounts. “And being knocked off my feet onto my hip and starting to slide. And I realized that I had triggered an avalanche right underneath me.”
The avalanche left Matt stranded up higher and surrounded by heavy snow that was very difficult to traverse. Alex hiked his way back to Matt. The young man who had courageously fought cancer was exhausted from his struggle to overcome the elements.
“I had nothing left,” Matt recalls. He didn’t have the strength to go up or down. He made the difficult decision to stay and send Alex for help. It was extremely hard for Alex to leave, but he knew it was the only chance to save his friend. He skied the treacherous canyon toward the road until he could get cell reception and called the sheriff.
It would be six hours before Matt was pulled from the mountain. He would spend weeks recovering from hypothermia and frostbite.
“I was so weak and demoralized and just frustrated and angry with myself for allowing this to happen. I just completely did not respect Mother Nature and her power,” Matt says.
The ordeal left Alex guilt-ridden. It was difficult for him to face his friend. Ten years later, they came together to tell their story on StoryCorps, and that’s when forgiveness and understanding finally came.
Matt had no idea his friend blamed himself for the near-death experience. When they were finally able to talk about it, the feelings poured out of each of them, and all blame and pain dissipated.
“You did everything within your power,” Matt says tearfully to his friend. “You did everything right. You rescued me, you saved my life.”
Forgiveness… PassItOn.com®
In 1992, the country of Yugoslavia was being torn apart. Warring factions created chaos in this otherwise beautiful city. On May 27, an explosion rocked a bakery in the city, killing 22 people and wounding 108 more who were in line to buy bread. The horrors of war were suddenly made manifest.
The following morning, as images of the war poured into living rooms around the world, Vedran Smailović put on his tuxedo, carried his cello and a chair outside, and sat in the midst of the rubble to play Albinoni’s “Adagio in G Minor” for those who had been massacred. He would return every day for 22 days. Some days, he was ducking sniper fire. But each day, each victim deserved a tribute to the life they lived and the unbearable way in which they died.
Modern war is a complex tangle of ideologies, power seizures and political maneuverings. It rarely respects the lives of the innocent. Smailović sensed that each individual in a society is worthy of respect and that, by seeking beauty through the arts, we find the language of peace. Throughout the war, he played in graveyards and at funerals, delivering hope to those caught in the machinations of power.
Artists have a unique role in our world, offering up their talents on the altars of civilization. They seek the beautiful and the honest, the truth of our souls and the courage of our hearts. In the turmoil of the American Revolution and its bloody birth, John Adams wrote to his wife Abigail: “I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy … geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music ….”
And lest we forget what we have freed ourselves from, we should remember the image of the single musician playing a mournful tribute to each of us from the rubble of smoldering city, a reminder that there is hope, and it is embodied in each of us, carrying it forward like a banner promoting peace to all nations.
The Peace of Music… PassItOn.com®
At a young age, all Lakota children are taught to braid their hair. Braids are deeply sacred and symbolize the connection between body, spirit and the matriarch.
Men wear braids to honor women, who are revered as the life givers, the next best thing next to God. Each braid consists of three strands representing the body, the spirit and the higher power that governs all of us. Women weave two separate braids, hair parted in the middle. This distinctive style is representative of the cultural value of balance and equality, the middle part representing equilibrium.
As modern culture moves away from meaning and focuses only on appearance and social status, the enduring culture of the Lakota reminds us that the best guide into the future is the traditional values of the past. They believe that hair in braids holds strength and memories, the kind of memories that make us grateful for the sacrifices of our ancestors who made it possible for us to be here. This is powerfully taught when the first braid a child receives is performed by an elder in the community. Imagine the strength of character a young boy or girl would receive if the first social ritual welcoming them into a world of responsibility was performed by the oldest member of their community.
Rituals give our lives meaning. They teach us that life is bigger than the individual. That honor is for those who sacrifice for the good of all, and that selfishness is self-isolating. As the Lakota child grows, the ritual of braiding hair is repeated often, with specific patterns holding different meanings, a physical reminder of a lesson learned and a value gained.
Whatever our own traditions, we can teach children to make note of special occasions, adopt specific behaviors of respect and selfless service, and remind them of their obligation to make their ancestors proud. We all can carry symbols to remind us of the person we want to become. One father gave each of his children a coin that was minted the day they were born to remind them that a price was paid for them to come into the world and that their life would endure forever if they spent their time wisely.
We can learn from the Lakota way. We can learn from all those around us and make room for others to do the same.
Build Character… PassItOn.com®
Sanna Marin led Finland during one of the most uncertain times in world history. Many doubted her ability to lead at the young age of 34. But her poise and dedication to the working people of her country earned respect.
As a child, Marin remembers waiting at the train station for her estranged father to pick her up for a visit. He never showed. The country was in an economic boom, and social policies like subsidized daycare and free-market protections made opportunities possible, but what Marin didn’t have was a stable family life. Marin watched firsthand the struggles it took for her working-class mother to put bread on the table.
She also remembers her first foray into politics. As a schoolgirl, she protested the razing of a forest where she used to pick blueberries. “We had the idea to block off the street – not that there was anyone there to see it,” she recalls. Her sensitivities reached out to the underprivileged and the underrepresented. Yet she sees her economic disadvantages as formative to her political commitments.
“I have always considered all work valuable, as long as the conditions are fair,” she writes. “We should work toward better salaries instead.”
At 20 years old and working various part-time jobs to pay for college, Marin walked into the Workers’ Party organization and was immediately underwhelmed. The highbrow and banal conversations got her fired up. She wanted to make a difference, not make small talk. There were real issues in the country that needed to be addressed: expanded paternity leave, workers’ rights, environmental concerns. She made her own posters and hit the streets, handing out tens of thousands of flyers. She was appointed leader of the city council at 27, the youngest person to ever hold that position.
She became famous for her support of a tram system that made it possible for citizens to move about cheaply for work. A video of the attractive young councilwoman with the icy blue eyes, staring down venerable members of the council as they tried to stall, went viral. She called them out and called for a vote. And the people loved it.
Marin was elected as Prime Minister based on her ability to get things done. She was immediately thrown into the global pandemic and negotiations with NATO over the Russian invasion of Ukraine. She handled herself with great confidence while insisting that there be a balance to life, including spending time with her own husband and young daughter.
The Finns survived the pandemic, the economy is bouncing back, and that tram she fought for is now the lifeblood of the city. After coping with all the difficulties of governing a small country in a turbulent world, Marin finally had the opportunity relax with her family, but she only took a brief respite. She has continued her commitment to service and now works as an advisor to governments working to improve the lives of their citizens.
Serve Well… PassItOn.com®
The best material for a comedian starts at home. Funny observations of life and relationships are often the comic’s way of coping with stress or nervousness. Insecurities and vulnerabilities disappear when you can make somebody laugh. All that’s needed is an audience.
As a boy, Adam Sandler shared a bedroom with his older brother. That’s where the schtick began. It was there that he gained confidence.
“My older brother was always nice to me. He would tell me I’m funny all the time and that I was great on the guitar and that I could sing as good as Steven Tyler,” Adam Sandler said in his acceptance speech for the 2023 Mark Twain Prize for American Humor at the Kennedy Center. “When it came time to pick my college major, my brother was the one who said I should be an actor. ‘You're as funny as Rodney Dangerfield and Eddie Murphy.’ I never thought of that, but he just made me feel like I was. He's the one who brought me to Boston when I was 17 years old. I was a senior in high school, and he brought me to do stand-up comedy at Stitches Comedy Club. I went up there and I was terrible. I don't even know what I said. I was like in a fog, I was just babbling. I remember one guy's screaming out ‘He still has a retainer!’ On the way home my brother made me feel like I had the best set of any comedian that night. ‘They loved you.’”
Sandler’s confidence began to grow. He showed up at more amateur nights. He brought his guitar to help focus his nervousness and he sang those iconic silly songs. And people loved it. When this goofy boy in a man’s body who made us all laugh at our own imperfections and foibles was discovered by the producers of Saturday Night Live, he jumped in with both feet, writing and acting in skits, always treating others the way his brother treated him: collaborative, encouraging, and above all else, kind.
“My parents did everything they could to give me crazy confidence,” Sandler says. That confidence led him to his own style of funny. He created and starred in quirky movies like “Billy Madison,” “The Wedding Singer,” “Happy Gilmore” and “The Waterboy.” Through it all, he maintained his kindness and respect for others. His reputation is one of collaboration, not ego. He makes friends for life and is famous for delivering elaborate gifts to co-actors.
Sandler has been in 27 films, most of which he helped write and create, and most of which make us laugh. But perhaps even more impressive are his dramatic roles, like switching from a loveable comedy role in “50 First Dates” to the deeply flawed yet charismatic New York City jeweler who is spiraling out of control in “Uncut Gems.”
Doing comedy relies on finding something inside yourself that can be observed and expressed in a funny way. Drama requires stepping outside yourself, even becoming the opposite of who you are. It’s this range that makes Sandler so impressive. To reach that acclaim and still be the nice guy on set is wonderful to see. It all began with an older brother who believed in him.
Confidence… PassItOn.com®