[An Aspen Community School staffer] was describing an interview with some parents and their child who wanted to come to the Community School. The family lived on a ranch on Capital Creek, and Dad really looked like a rancher. [Someone] asked the parents, “And what do you want for your son?” Dad thought a second and answered, “To have a good life.” To have a good life seems to mean looking back at the ¬whole of a life, and that includes the death part, too. I got to thinking about what would be said at the funeral of someone who had “a good life.”

Eulogy for Someone Who Made a Difference:

Her life was precious to her and had meaning.
He loved his family so much that they knew it.
There was a certain grace, particularly in adversity.
He trusted, even unwisely.
You never doubted her passion and knew what it was about.
He cared for and took care of his community.
She asked many questions, a surprising number of them were the right questions.
He never lost his child-like curiosity.
She fought oppression at every opportunity.
He often challenged authority, always with high moral principle.
She what she was feeling, and you knew it too; she was authentic and genuine.
He was always honest yet never hurtful, gentle and tolerant.
With a calm, reflective deliberateness, she came up with decisions that worked well.
She had many friends and knew how to be a good friend.
He seemed to make sense out of his life.
She loved children and children loved her in return.
He could be hilariously funny yet in a way that preserved his own and everybody else’s dignity.

My sister Samantha just emailed me two stories (one much harsher than the other) about my ex-boss, the one from the Internet start-up in San Francisco and the brother of my best male friend from high school. I wonder what an honest eulogy would read like for this kind of guy. He is on his third start-up now and it seems he is finally getting caught. He is an entrepreneurial thief who raises $5 for every $1 the company makes, and sells his own shares without informing a main investor right before launching a new product; the best used-car salesman-type I have ever witnessed in person: you can think you’re buying a Mercedes when it’s really a Yugo. As the articles reported, the CEO and his sidekick (the only person who has followed this guy in all three ventures – the two actually speak in babytalk when in meetings together) care solely for themselves and not for the company or shareholders. This is probably the case in most companies, but not as obviously or pervasively. Or as stupidly. His strategy, at least since I’ve known him, is to make some money quick and get out as quick (one article refers to it as “pump and dump”), constructing organizations out of popsicle sticks forged together by elementary school glue. And yet here is the most pathological part that the articles do not mention or consider, he convinces family members to come on board of his shyster train, his only full-blooded brother among them, who eventually squirm in their front-row seats and have to beg for debarkation.

I wonder if a guy like this moves again, creating a fourth scheme in a fourth city (what’s left: Chicago? Miami? Austin?), spinning his web for his next prey? Or are communications so swift now that he could actually be done – could this be possible for a Yalie and Harvard Business School graduate with a slick tongue and matching accoutrements? Does he have any deeper conscience now that he is married with a little girl and another child on the way? I don’t know how his story continues, if the world is really changing, or if it will always be so dumb, or at least dumb and greedy enough to keep falling for false prophets.

Immediately after quitting my job at his second start-up in April 2000 I began writing a story about this period in my life and he is, of course, a main character. I wrote in a small red canvas-wrapped journal, a gift from a Parisian friend I stayed with while on my first and last European trip for the start-up. This friend subsequently committed suicide.

Nine years later, and this loosely camouflaged tale probably could’ve been written today by one of his current employees, just change the location (from SF to LA) and the sub-industry (internet services to advertising). It begins:

These days San Francisco begged for artists – absurdity lived in every café, subway ride and dialogue. The city no longer relied on the stability of making money the old- fashioned way and the young (and lately also the middle-aged) discussed how many millions they would need to be happy for the rest of their lives forever and ever amen.

Would 5, 10, 15 million, considering healthy returns of 7 to 10% every year? Would this suffice – after taxes, of course? Could you buy a big enough house, drive a fancy enough car, send the kids to the most elite schools forever and ever until there was no more ever to these times of multi-billion companies (as per their valuations) without the necessary guts to execute well enough to deliver their “value proposition.” Branding became the core competency: image, commercialization. Highway 101 ads validated your perceived worth when everything ended with a dot and a c-o-m. I remember when those three letters would’ve made any high school kid burst into laughter because if its sexual innuendo – these days it only elicited giant pictures of dollar signs.

A product of the biggest money making machine on earth, Manhattan – Upper East Side, Park Avenue (doesn’t get much better than that!) – say it slowly so it fills your mouth like Lolita: Man-hat-tan, I targeted one of the most promising start-ups in the Bay Area. Best branded funding, best connections, best vision – visionary: slightly behind and ahead of its time simultaneously. We were all going in this direction, headed for the big break (how could you blame us?) and the desire to be part of a revolution. The children of the 60s and 70s wanted to participate in a revolution and this was it – the democratization of technology.

I had recently been graduated from business school back East, an accomplishment many friends raised a weary eyebrow to – I had justified that this graduate program was for those bordering on socialism that wholeheartedly believed that the private sector had something to offer the public sector in terms of productivity and efficiency. Looking back, I am not convinced that these goals can be met without eradicating the beautiful human element that makes us divine creatures.

I was on the West Coast now, at the end of a consulting stint where I floundered and fizzled and left before I could be discovered, searching for another challenge. A childhood friend’s brother was starting a new venture, one that promised success beyond one’s wildest dreams and I was determined to get on board – terrified that I would miss an opportunity to experience such an historical event.

Jules Goode was a nerdy fellow with a walk that leaned to the left. He chewed at his nails and cuticles often and appeared to roll little pieces of paper between his fingers. He gained weight in his neck and shared his goofy smile and baby voice persona often enough to charm. But he was also a salesman – and the best damn one I had ever seen. He could sell anything, most sinfully his soul, and to anyone. He sold to the biggest corporations and chief executives; he sold to states, countries, governments – Clinton’s White House welcomed him several times over. The passion for his idea (and for the possibilities) overwhelmed most and lifted them from their seats, pen in hand to sign on the bottom line. Lifted them from their homes, their families, to work nights, weekends, to realize the dream, which was his but which others incorporated as their own. Few knew, however, that his dream was to be on stage, emoting and sharing his story with all those willing to listen and that the shameless pursuit of money was his mother’s. (To be continued…)

Suppose that we believe that the Community School has some power that helps our students to live a good life, what does that translate into with our day-to-day activities here with the children – and with ourselves, who may also wish to lead a good life.

Would it make any difference if the eulogy included:

She struggled to get by financially but was cheerful and generous.
His spelling never was very good and he usually forgot to run his spell-checker.
Waitresses loved her because she never figured out 15% and tipped instead according to her mood, almost always cheerful.

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