Honoring Paul Farmer

Today we celebrated the life of a great man. Paul Farmer was a patriot, a public servant, a coach, a husband, a father, and a grandfather. A graduate of the US Naval Academy, where he was a multi-sport athlete, he spent his military career as an aviator in the US Marine Corps. During a training exercise in the 1970s, he was forced to eject from his aircraft. Despite his parachute failing to open, he managed to land on his feet, breaking his back but saving his life.

During his hospital recovery, he began courting one of the nurses, Kathy, who soon became Mrs. Farmer. They were married 46 years before Paul died, and during the last 26 of those years, they played a very significant role in my life. I learned a great deal from him about sports, food, wine, and life.

Paul was laid to rest this morning with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. It was a very moving ceremony with scores of troops, a full Marine Corps band, and, of course, a 21-gun salute. The reception at the Navy Officers Club on base was a real joy. A plurality of Paul's Academy company-mates joined us, as did many of his colleagues, and the stories shared were truly worthy of the exceptional life we were celebrating.

Following is a transcript of the remarks I made at the reception:

I'm Bryan Guido Hassin, and I'm Paul Farmer's other son. Those of you with astute powers of observation may note that my last name is not Farmer and that I don't resemble Paul or Kathy or Nick or Jocelyn. Well spotted! No, I wasn't born into the Farmer family. I met Nick in 7th grade, joined his baseball team - coached by Paul, of course - and we began spending a lot of time together. Throughout middle and high school, Nick’s and my friendship grew into a true brotherhood, I played out the rest of my baseball career on teams coached by Paul, and I spent so much time at the Farmers’ house that they began calling me “Son II” while I called them “Mom and Dad II.”

So I’ve spent the vast majority of my life calling Paul Farmer “Dad II” but, when I first met him, I called him "Coach." To paraphrase a movie from around that time that Nick and I both loved, Coach is the name for God in the lips and hearts of young boys. Indeed, as most of us didn’t have a shot at playing professional baseball, our coach’s primary responsibility wasn’t to develop us into top prospects; it was to help us develop into young men.

Coach Farmer took to that responsibility like a fish to water - not by sitting us down and saying, "Here's how to be a man," but rather by example - and what an example he was: a world-traveled, meat-eating, wine connoisseur, fighter pilot, athlete - what a man!

But you never would have known most of that as he didn't wear much on his sleeve. Mr. Farmer conducted himself with a quiet, determined humility, which is what he taught us on the field: keep your head down, work hard, do your best, and you will achieve your goals.

This applied doubly so in the classroom as it did to the baseball field for Mr. Farmer was one of the smartest, most learned men I've ever known. I have fond memories of sitting around his table playing Trivial Pursuit. It wouldn’t have been much fun for him because he knew all the answers. Instead, he relegated himself to asking the questions and giving us clues that were so clever, they could only really be appreciated once the answer was known.

And yes, I include in my list of examples of Mr. Farmer’s intellectual prowess another of my favorite memories: the time he was summarily ejected from one of our baseball games he was coaching for arguing with the umpire. As soon as we returned home, we looked up the rules and, of course, Coach Farmer was right - he was always right. 

While that memory stands out to me because it may be the only time I ever witnessed Mr. Farmer, the consummate officer and gentleman, really get riled up, he wasn't arguing with the umpire because he wanted to win; he was doing so because had strong convictions about what is right. You don't do something to gain some reward or to avoid some penalty; you do it because it is right.

That strong sense of conviction and duty made Dad II one of the most gallant men I have ever known - a true modern day knight. When my Mom I was seriously ill in the hospital, Paul and Kathy visited her regularly and helped her get better. When my wife and I suffered a devastating pregnancy loss, Dad II was among the first to send us the sweetest, most heartfelt note of condolences.

On the surface he could be stoic and reserved, but underneath was a tender heart and a man who was incredibly thoughtful. They say with icebergs you only see the 10% that's above water but the 90% below is what’s really powerful. I find that describes Dad II very well - all the more so because his aviator call sign was Penguin!

You were one of a kind, Paul Farmer, the best of the best. The Force was strong with you in life and it is even stronger with you in death. You leave behind a legacy of a country that thanks you, friends and colleagues who respect you, and a family that loves you. You live on in all of us who remember you and through your lessons which we are now passing on to the next generation.

I'd like to send him off with a slightly adapted poem, the subject of which was near and dear to Paul's heart since practically the day he was born.

Oh somewhere in this favored land, the sun is shining bright.
A band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
Somewhere men are laughing, somewhere children roam.
But there is no joy in Mudville, for Paul Farmer has gone home.

Semper Fi, Penguin.
Semper Fi, Coach Farmer.
Semper Fi, Dad II

Death, Remembrance, and Notre Dame

January 23rd is always a day of celebration in my family. It is not only the day that my wife entered this world but also the day my father did - many years earlier. On some January 23rds, however, the feelings of joy are tempered by feelings of loss - the conspicuous absence of a father's birthday party and a father's age that no longer increases by one every year. He would have turned 70 this January 23rd and I, nearing 36 years of age, would have known him for more than half his life and all of mine. Instead I knew him for 11 years before he died, nearly 1/4 of his life and a little more than 1/3 now of mine.

Perhaps due to the milestone birthday or perhaps because we spent January 23rd this year at a funeral, this was one of those January 23rds that carried more mixed emotions.

Katie and I spent the end of this week in South Bend, Indiana, where her father grew up, celebrating the long life of Katie's recently departed grandmother. Thursday we flew into Chicago, where we met up with the rest of Katie's immediate family, and carpooled down to South Bend. The weather was cold, but not nearly as bad as it could have been in this part of the country this time of the year. Because Katie's grandfather had been a professor at the University of Notre Dame, the funeral service and burial would take place on campus. As such, we stayed in a hotel near campus for easy access.

One thing was immediately evident in South Bend: this was a Notre Dame town. Fighting Irish logos were everywhere: on buildings, on jackets, on cars . . . everywhere. Even our hotel was decked out with pictures of Notre Dame sports legends. This was fine by by me as it included many life size likenesses of Joe Montana, my favorite QB of all time. Seriously, though, I thought Chapel Hill was a UNC town or Austin a UT town but they don't come even close to the single-team mentality of South Bend.

Friday we spent much of the day on the Notre Dame campus, where I had never been before. If I had had my druthers, my first trip to Notre Dame would have been for a football game, not for a funeral, but sometimes life has other plans. Katie's father, Chris, was an excellent tour guide on the Notre Dame campus, having spent much of his youth there. If the weather had been nicer I might have taken more time to walk around and explore but we still got plenty of its flavor from inside the heated car.

The funeral mass was held in Notre Dame's basilica, which . . . is . . . BEAUTIFUL! I have been to some of the most spectacular churches in the world and this is definitely one of my new favorites. The deep blue ceilings with starry motifs were really quite beautiful and it struck a good balance between impressive and intimate - a nice combination for ushering someone into the next world.

After the burial, Katie's family was kind enough to indulge me in a brief stop at the Grotto. I had heard of the Grotto when Rice football played at Notre Dame last year and I saw this story about a Rice football player seeking it out after the game. It's a quiet little enclave just below the basilica with candles and prayer benches. Just as the Rice football player had sought it out, it now turned out to be exactly what I was seeking as well on this day of mourning.

I lit a candle for Dad and spent a little time on the prayer bench (which would have made my Nonna happy!) wishing him a happy birthday, letting him know that we still miss him, and encouraging him to seek out the recently arrived grandmother of another January 23rd baby who now brings me so much joy. It was a very nice moment that was really facilitated by the quiet, spiritual nature of the Grotto. A great deal about Notre Dame's campus impressed me: the basilica, the golden dome, the football stadium . . . but the Grotto was my favorite.

At the wake, most of Chris's siblings and extended family joined him in celebrating Katie's grandmother's life. They told stories for hours on end. Some stories evoked laughter, some evoked tears, many evoked both, but all were helpful for the grieving process.

Later that night we went out for Katie's birthday - not necessarily the one we would have planned but a good one all the same. At the end of the day it doesn't really matter which kind of cake you eat or which presents you get; being with those you love and who love you is the best gift of all. And that, of course, is a lesson that transcends birthdays and is even relevant to funerals:

"... The ones that love us never really leave us. And you can always find them in here [heart]."
- Sirius Black, the Harry Potter series

My father continues to live on in the hearts and minds of those whose lives he touched. This includes several friends from his youth who continue to keep his memory alive by sharing stories about him with me, much like the stories that Chris's family shared about their mother.

On this January 23rd I am thankful for so many things: the 11 years I did have with Dad, the friends and family who help me continue to get to know him through their stories, Katie's family for unwittingly helping me work through my grief even as they were mourning their own loss, Notre Dame for having just the right place that I needed when I needed it, and most of all for Katie - we've celebrated 13 birthdays together now and I hope to celebrate many, many more. January 23rd is indeed a day of celebration!

Is There an Afterlife?

I just had a great discussion with a Rice freshman about whether or not there is an afterlife. As somewhat of an empirical pragmatist, I reasoned through it as follows:

People I know who have died continue to have an effect on me. I think about them, I make decisions based on ways they have influenced me, and sometimes they even show up in my dreams. So, from my perspective (and from the perspective of the many other people whose lives they touched), they all have afterlives.

The only afterlife of which I am not certain is my own. From a practical perspective, though, that point is essentially moot. After my death I will either A. have a conscious afterlife and know it or B. not have a conscious afterlife and not even be able to contemplate the question.

As such, I conclude that there is effectively an afterlife. What do you think?

Beginnings and Endings

Last Wednesday Katie and I went to dinner with an old friend and classmate, Nate, and his lovely wife. Nate and I were two of three Rice computer science 2001 graduates who started up companies at about the same time so we shared a special bond of cutting our teeth together. He is founder and CEO of Entrance Software, a top notch custom software company that is one of Houston's fastest growing. It was bootstrapped since the beginning and has grown organically based on smart talent and fastidious attention to customer satisfaction. As I know most of the team, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend the company to anyone looking for IT solutions.

Dinner was at Sorrento, less than a mile from my house. I pass it every day and every day I say to myself, "Hmm, that looks good; we should give it a try." At last we did give it a try and it was well worth the wait. From the anchovy-cheese bread to the risotto served from a parmigiano wheel, from the tender, succulent fillet with foie gras to the delicious salads, the experience was sublime. By the time we ordered dessert it was too late to order the chocolate-Gran Marnier souffle', which bummed us out a bit. But our waiter surprised us by bringing us a snifter of Gran Marnier with gorgeous chocolate truffles. Well played, sir, well played.

Friday Katie and I celebrated a special date at Capital Grille uptown. It has plenty of redeeming qualities--many of which we tasted--but number one hands down is LOBSTER MACARONI & CHEESE. Words can't describe how rich and delicious this is so I won't even try. The citrus-glazed salmon, green salad, parmesan truffle fries, and everything else merit praise but the lobster mac & cheese clearly takes the cake. Mmmm!

Last week I was also pleased to host Angela, a Ugandan woman in search of a US university. Due to discriminatory practices in her own country she has been forced to look elsewhere for higher education. She found me through an Irish IMD classmate of mine, who had worked for several years in Rwanda--now that's a global network! When she expressed an interest in Rice University, I offered to put her up at my house and do whatever I could to facilitate her application. Although I didn't have as much time to spend with her as I would have liked, it was a real pleasure getting to know her. She is smart, capable, and would be a real asset to the next Rice class; I really hope she gains admission!

The week wasn't all sunshine and roses, though. I dropped my tablet (laptop) in a parking garage and it understandably began behaving very unreliably. It turns out that my hard drive was damaged and needs to be replaced. The computer itself is pretty worn but can be salvaged. In the meantime, I bought a new tablet, the HP TouchSmart tx2z. It is about the same size as my previous one but the mult-touch screen is much more functional: I can control everything with my fingers instead of just the attached stylus. It also runs Windows 7, with which I am very impressed. It is fast, clean, and quite functional.

Last week I also caught up with two friends with dying fathers. Obviously the subject is a pretty poignant one for me and I'm sad that others are having to deal with it. However, I'm glad to be a resource for them. If I can ease their burden at all or help out in any way, then at least there is some silver lining to my own experience. I remind myself that death is just as natural as life and that none of us are getting any younger. The best we can do is live life to the fullest and enjoy the blessing of the time we do have with those we love.

While I'm on morose topics, what a terrible, terrible football season to be a fan of the Rice Owls or the Washington Redskins--not to mention being a fan of both! My Owls are winless on the season, giving up 46 points per game! The Skins aren't doing much better with two wins and a dramariffic front office. Oh well, at least the Texans are doing well, as are Peyton Manning and Brett Favre, my two favorite active QBs.

It was a busy week for Enistic too. We have almost finalized the deal with our UK partners and will soon be ready to raise some money and get started. As many of you know, I'm not a patient person so I'm very, very eager to move this venture forward!

The Circle of Life

Sorry for the cheesy title to this post but I'm not in a very creative mood. I arrived home this evening to learn that the daughter of one of my good friends had died. She had been in and out of the hospital all her life so perhaps this wasn't a surprise, but it still hurts. Figuring that my friends probably needed some grieving time to themselves, I forewent a phone call and spent a long time crafting an email to express my heartfelt condolences.

Of course it is terrible whenever a loved one dies, but there is something so . . . unnatural . . . about parents outliving their children; it adds another dimension of grief to the mourning. Although I have never experienced it myself, I saw the anguish it caused my grandparents when my father died; years later they still cried and cried about it. These friends of mine were no more deserving of such a tragedy than were my grandparents, but I suppose these things happen; death is as natural a part of life as birth.

Then, no sooner had I hit the send button than a new email arrived in my inbox. It was from another friend of mine who was in the same circle of friends as those who had just lost their daughter. However this email was to announce the birth of his son, who entered this world just as the other was leaving.

I feel both sorrow and joy; I feel conflicted. I suppose this is akin to (albeit much, MUCH milder) the mixture of grief and joy felt by a new father when the mother dies in childbirth. Every end is a new beginning, every time a door closes another is opened, etc. This pointed coincidence of timing illustrates something so simple about the natural cycle of birth and death, yet so profound that I can't possibly articulate it in this entry.