Barry's Blog

The late journalist Joseph Bayly was once flying from Chicago to Los Angeles, and found himself seated beside an attractive, middle-aged woman, and struck up a conversation with her: "Where are you from?" he asked. "Palm Springs," she replied. Knowing Palm Springs to be a city of the rich and famous, he asked, "What's Palm Springs like?" "Palm Springs is a beautiful place filled with unhappy people." Stunned and somewhat curious as to her response, he posed the question, "Are you unhappy?" "Yes, I certainly am." "Why?" "I can answer it in one word: mortality. Until I was forty, I had perfect eyesight. Shortly after, I went to the doctor because I couldn't see as well as I could before. Ever since that time, that experience has been a sign to me that not only are my eyes wearing out, but I'm wearing out. Some day I'm going to die. I really haven't been happy since."

This woman's words capture the prevalent sentiment of many of us as we reflect on our own mortality. We don't like to be reminded of our mortality, and often find ourselves laughing and joking when the issue of death surfaces in conversation. I'm reminded of an interview conducted some years ago with Woody Allen dealing with how he wanted to be remembered: "Someone once asked me if my dream was to live on in the hearts of my friends, and I said I would like to live on in my apartment. And that's really what I would prefer...You drop dead one day, and it means less than nothing if billions of people are singing your praises every day, all day long...I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it through not dying." Perhaps Allen's most memorable quip about death is when he said, "I'm not afraid to die. I just don't want to be there when it happens!"

Eugene O'Kelly, author of Chasing Daylight, took a radically different, and instructive approach, when he realized his days were numbered. O'Kelly, 53, chairman and CEO from 2002 to 2005 of KPMG, had been informed by his doctor that he had an inoperable brain tumor, and barely 100 days to live. Once the news sank in, he recalled, "I was motivated to 'succeed' at death - that is, to try to be constructive about it, to embrace it." A 30-year-veteran of the firm, O'Kelly had stepped down from his leadership role at KPMG in June, 2005, after disclosing his diagnosis of the advanced-stage cancer (he would die September 10th at his home in New York City).  His memoir, Chasing Daylight, was written in the little more than three months between his diagnosis and his death, which one reviewer described as "conversational and cut-to-the-chase in tone."

O'Kelly reveals how he was driven to make his final days his best, focusing on what matters -  family, friends, and saying goodbye. One of his tasks dealt with the closure of many personal relationships with colleagues, family members, and lifetime friends. The book records how he made out a list of people to contact and meet with for a final encounter (there were nearly 1000 people on the list). He stops at each name to recall memorable moments they had enjoyed together. How they met. Lessons he had learned from them. Ways his knowing that person had made him a better person.  Some people tried to prolong the final encounter and schedule a follow-up meeting, but he would decline. "I'd like this to be it, I would say," he writes. "Not a popular answer. Too final. Kind of cold, actually. The other person would often get emotional." But he notes: "I got to make the rules."

As he had learned at KPMG, O'Kelly knew that "accounting is about predictability, about avoiding surprises," he writes. Unexpectedly, he began to appreciate unplanned time with his wife and young daughter. He struggled with acceptance. One of the first lessons came in the radiation clinic when things didn't go according to plan. At KPMG O'Kelly was accustomed to people operating at a very high competency level. When they didn't, he was quick to let them hear about it. But his daily experience at the radiation clinic made him realize that people, and machines, often mess up. A 20-minute procedure often took twice the time, but he had no choice. He had to let go, "I could not control time."

Are you wondering where the title of the book came from?  O'Kelly and his wife, Corrine, loved to play golf together late in the day. It allowed them time together as the course emptied and the shadows of the trees grew longer. "It was as if we weren't just playing golf, but chasing daylight, grabbing as much time as we could," he writes. The closing pages of this short memoir, narrated by his wife, are touching: "By late summer, the unwindings were taking their toll on Gene," she writes. And as August draws to a close, he tells her, "You're going to have to take over now. I've done all I can do." "It took my breath away," she writes.

"Every man dies. Not every man really lives." - William Wallace, from the film Braveheart.

"Teach us to number our days, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom." - Moses' prayer, Psalm 90:12 

For FinishingWell,

Barry Morrow