All that You Can Leave Behind
One of my favorite all-time scenes ever, in a movie, series or books comes courtesy of The Sopranos when Tony (RIP Gandolfini)is talking to Uncle June in the nursing home. Uncle Junior has lost his mind by then and doesn't remember a single thing about the pain he caused the family, or the success he once had.
Tony tells him:
You were the leader once.
Uncle Junior says:
Oh, that's nice.
The scene is powerful to me because in the end, all the "important" things we chase around mean very little. As busy as we get, as crazed as we feel, none of it really matters. I'm fond of telling guys who are caught in a tough moment:
Next year you won't even remember the angst you feel now. What were you even doing a year ago?
The guy can't even remember.
I walked into a job on Thursday in an old office building in Buffalo. The building is being cleaned out. Look at those huge columns...we don't build them like that anymore.
Yet the people who occupied the building left everything behind. The place was a treasure-trove of a once important industrial setting:
That piece of equipment is called a panel resistor. The panels were set in between the two huge circular sections to ensure that it wasn't bent. (Or that is what the guy who was giving me my tour of the demolition area said).
"It was once state-of-the-art," he said.
And I imagine it was. We have probably replaced that old antique with a new state-of-the-art panel tester.
I kept looking around. I found a yellowed newspaper (Courier-Express) and I read an old letter to Dear Abby. It was from a woman with a straying husband. The newspaper was from the 70's. I wonder how that woman made out.
I found another old piece of equipment that looked interesting to me.
All old antiques.
Everything just left behind.
And then I hit the jackpot.
Some guy's desk drawer.
His handwritten notes.
Birthday cards sent to him from a possible girlfriend.
One from his niece.
I hope you have a great 60th birthday! You deserve it, Uncle Larry!!!
The date was 1984.
Larry would be 90 now.
"This guy didn't pay his bills," I said.
Larry had shut-off notices, letters from collection agents, bill after bill after bill. They were all mixed in with his birthday cards.
Yet his card said that he was the manager of his department. A big-shot of sorts in a now defunct business.
What are you doing? the guy who was walking with me asked.
He had startled me and halted my research.
I find this fascinating, I said. Seeing the life left behind, and trying to piece it all together.
Not me, the guy said. What's gone is gone.
But is it?
Larry had left his mark.
Good or bad or indifferent.
Perhaps I could run into Larry now somewhere and tell him:
You were the manager. You were the mover and shaker of a huge business.
And Larry, if he's still alive just might say:
Oh, that's nice.
Tony tells him:
You were the leader once.
Uncle Junior says:
Oh, that's nice.
The scene is powerful to me because in the end, all the "important" things we chase around mean very little. As busy as we get, as crazed as we feel, none of it really matters. I'm fond of telling guys who are caught in a tough moment:
Next year you won't even remember the angst you feel now. What were you even doing a year ago?
The guy can't even remember.
I walked into a job on Thursday in an old office building in Buffalo. The building is being cleaned out. Look at those huge columns...we don't build them like that anymore.
Yet the people who occupied the building left everything behind. The place was a treasure-trove of a once important industrial setting:
That piece of equipment is called a panel resistor. The panels were set in between the two huge circular sections to ensure that it wasn't bent. (Or that is what the guy who was giving me my tour of the demolition area said).
"It was once state-of-the-art," he said.
And I imagine it was. We have probably replaced that old antique with a new state-of-the-art panel tester.
I kept looking around. I found a yellowed newspaper (Courier-Express) and I read an old letter to Dear Abby. It was from a woman with a straying husband. The newspaper was from the 70's. I wonder how that woman made out.
I found another old piece of equipment that looked interesting to me.
All old antiques.
Everything just left behind.
And then I hit the jackpot.
Some guy's desk drawer.
His handwritten notes.
Birthday cards sent to him from a possible girlfriend.
One from his niece.
I hope you have a great 60th birthday! You deserve it, Uncle Larry!!!
The date was 1984.
Larry would be 90 now.
"This guy didn't pay his bills," I said.
Larry had shut-off notices, letters from collection agents, bill after bill after bill. They were all mixed in with his birthday cards.
Yet his card said that he was the manager of his department. A big-shot of sorts in a now defunct business.
What are you doing? the guy who was walking with me asked.
He had startled me and halted my research.
I find this fascinating, I said. Seeing the life left behind, and trying to piece it all together.
Not me, the guy said. What's gone is gone.
But is it?
Larry had left his mark.
Good or bad or indifferent.
Perhaps I could run into Larry now somewhere and tell him:
You were the manager. You were the mover and shaker of a huge business.
And Larry, if he's still alive just might say:
Oh, that's nice.
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