Matters Ceremonial
I have had the privilege to offer words at ceremonial occasions... some events joyous, some not so...
An Epistle Upon the Retirement of John Smet from the Capital Group
So John Smet leaves us now; he has fought the good fight,
The fight for a fair return to those who entrust their lives to us,
The fight for excellence, for tools, for knowledge, that we may serve best.
He has finished a course that began for him as a callow youth,
Learning from elders, learning from peers, learning from bitter mistakes,
The course that saw him flower as a man of action, responsibility, and gravity.
With the finish line in sight, he became teacher, mentor, sage, and a vessel,
A vessel carrying what is good here, with warnings of what was not.
John kept the faith; "why" mattered to him, "how" mattered to him.
A loyal steward serves his master joyfully, with all skill and fidelity;
A trust given and accepted is a contract of highest duty and honor.
“A Man of Honor” is John’s departing epithet.
Many here missed the bearded John, the barking John, the bashful John
More have met the ’08 John (that’s Eeyore John, Woe-is-Me John, and OMG John)
Most know the eminence grise, the man of wisdom and remembrance, the Yiddishe Kop.
The lucky ones have known his charity of heart, of soul and of treasure;
Advice and Counsel grounded in truth the greatest riches he bestowed.
None but a few know the truest John; Cindy, who knew a good thing when she saw it,
Who has shared his life as his Alexander, cutting the Gordian Knots of a bond buyer’s disquiet.
His sons, Andrew, Peter and Jack know him: Father, provider, exemplar of faith, encourager,
And when called for, judge, jury and executioner.
No matter the scope of our encounters, or the time of that engagement, all have known
The Pleasure of his Company.
To speak for Mr. Smet seems presumptuous yet still I assume the task.
His parting words would advise: “keep your head in all situations, endure hardship,
do the work of a CG professional, and discharge all the duties of your calling.”
He’d close with this valediction: “As always, Your Humble and Faithful Servant.”
BOBB
"Haaga in the Breach"
In Praise of Men of Commerce
Upon the Retirement of Paul Haaga from the Capital Group
To sing of Arms and the Man,
to praise the deeds of martial glory...
...of Horatius at the Bridge,
of the ride of the six hundred -
tales told by blinded Greeks
or enervated English Lords -
is kinderspiel, child's play,
the oft-told story...
But to call upon the muse
that inspires men to rise in praise...
...of deeds prosaic,
of rules of commerce,
of contracts red-lined,
of balance sheets perused,
of conference calls and too-long meetings,
would seem to test the tale-teller's ways...
For what electronically addled teen
or jaded sharp of Hollywood salon...
...would hear that a clean-shaven,
suited, tie-constricted man
(a lawyer no less, a fine print reader,
a picker of nits)
made a life heroic, made a life of honor,
that a host of souls relied upon...
Not all men can be heroes as heroes are defined.
But all men can have honor, all can choose...
...There's honor in a fair exchange;
two strangers agree, clasp hands,
and act upon their word.
There is honor in a set of rules
that those of station low or high
have not leave to abuse...
There is honor in standing firm and saying
a thing should not be done, even though it could be done...
...the structured deal designed to fail;
pious declamations "to the best of our knowledge"
made moot by willful ignorance;
the Monte dealer's option call sold as benefit, not bane;
the spielman's stock in trade -
the client softly spun...
So it was Haaga in the breach, then,
to draw the line, "No Pasaran..."
...a conference table his Little Round Top.
Like Chamberlain aghast the cost of failure.
The Cause?
A liberty of sorts, a fair return,
a union of customer and counselor,
a contract between free men drawn...
And not for him to just hold the line,
like Ike, a general of peers...
...of peers at Capital, strong women and men,
leaders to be led by nudge and push.
A general too, of allies of a sort,
of other firms at odds yet aligned in fundamental ways,
foes yet partners in an industry he led
with gravitas and cheer...
A pause now to speak of Heather...
... a Spartan wife, Leonidas' wife.
Fierce as any warrior, guardian of home and hearth.
No doubt Paul was handed shield with instruction,
"with, or on it."
So he leaves us - like Waverly - to his own Columbia Inn,
a retirement fairly won...
... the conn is passed but duties borne remain.
To epaulettes are added a weight not just symbolic;
the stars a sign that others navigate by a leader's words and deeds.
Will we bear the weight and lead?
Will we stand and fight for those that pay our wage?
Will we defend the right to trade, to lend, to decide
as our lodestars demand,
peer to peer in trust and not coerced?
Will they say of us, like Haaga, that we stepped into the breach,
when our Capital days are done?
BOBB
A Valediction
Upon the Retirement of Abner Goldstine from the Capital Group
The Pantheon of the Capital Group is a living thing…
no committee,
no appreciation,
no favor,
no smile,
no phrase well-crafted…
can reserve one’s place.
Insight, courage, loyalty, service over decades, gives invitation…
to join the roll, the line of men and women who built Capital,
who shepherded Capital,
who founded new ways,
who shed old ways.
The history of the Capital Group is not a weight of bureaucracy.
Its way is not described in rule-encrusted manuals.
Its spirit is not a hackneyed mission statement.
It is a personal thing, this history, a Res Privata.
To join this thing that is Capital…
is to do,
to create,
to lead,
to follow,
to stand the test of time,
to bear the judgment of time.
Some stand out,
Some are pointed to...
exemplars by way of explaining:
“This is who we are.”
It is a personal thing, this Capital thing.
To this line, then…
Lovelace, Morton, Schimpff,
Fisher, Bishop, Fullerton,
Conlan, Shanahan, Rothenberg…
We add Goldstine:
Fixed Income’s man,
Fixed Income’s champion.
Nearly half a century (half a century!)
Building a bond investment business,
inventing a bond investment business…
A personal thing, a living thing.
Abner did not just join this thing,
he helped create this thing.
How then, to measure such a man, Abner Goldstine…
Against an Index?
An Index, the average of the mass of faceless managers at a thousand firms?
An Index derived from the sum of the fear of being wrong?
Hardly!
We measure by what he has done,
by what he has taught us to do.
To invest in bonds, lend money, to extend credit…
is to have faith, to say I believe…
Credo…
That a borrower can and will fulfill his obligations.
This thing, this transaction, is a personal thing…
An active management, not passive…
The application of the accumulated knowledge
of all the Abners that have made, and do make…
this Capital Group.
Not a submission to the fatal conceit that capital allocation…
Is best a product of public policy.
Nor an abdication to a concatenation…
of code that purports to a passionless certainty…
While harboring in its bits a hubris that denies the unknown unknown.
The greatest leap of faith
requiring the keenest judgment…
Is to choose a partner in life.
There is no doubt that Abner’s greatest total return…
has been the blessings accrued by joining with Roslyn… Roz.
A formidable mind, a leader, a clarion voice in the community.
In this most personal partnership…
We see a model for our own.
Abner, as a man of commerce…
Has kept the faith entrusted to him.
As a man of faith…
He has poured his treasures into the world around him.
To his neighbors he has given service, lending his financial skill.
To those in need he has shared a large portion of his just recompense.
To God, he has given faith…
Indeed a personal thing.
Abner has modelled for all how to work hard,
How to act in prosperity, as well as in difficulty,
How to share ourselves with family and community,
How to treat others with respect.
We will keep the faith.
Many work for faceless entities, serving time as a sentence…
Until retirement.
Some cynically accrue outsized reward until assured…
That bridges can be burned,
Then slip into the dark with a vulgar…
“I got mine.”
But to leave this thing, this Capital Group…
Is to leave a part of oneself…
It is personal.
But leave we all must…
It is only for us remaining to praise Abner,
To praise his commitment,
To praise his loyalty,
To praise his example…
And to say farewell.
Farewell Abner and Roz,
Farewell Ethan and Lirona.
Praise and Farewell…
Ave Atque Vale
BOBB
My Brother Brian... A Eulogy
Good Morning
I am Bob Baggott Jr., son of Bob and Helen Baggott, Brian, Bill and Dave’s brother, husband of Susan and father of Lorna, Bob, Sarah, Mary, and Jacqueline. Thank you for joining us in remembering Brian.
In the wake of Brian’s passing many have shared with me their loving thoughts about Brian’s qualities; his athleticism, his fierceness, his fundamental willingness… and the stories abound… the 3yr-old getting into the car and rolling it down the hill to crash into a house… the failed balcony leap from the third floor of the rented chalet… careening his tricycle full speed into a brick wall… skateboard, bicycles (really anything with wheels) and hills were a volatile mix with Brian… and ramps, ramps of any kind, things you could jump off… ouch.
My he was athletic – a joy to watch run… agile and aggressive, a hall-of-famer. A missile on the football field with hostile intent. But he was natural at everything: Little League, pickup basketball, pickle, 3 flies up, horse, tossing the rolled-up sock into the basket, flicking folded paper footballs, throwing little David in “farthest” contests… name it, he’d compete.
And Brian was generous… when his playing days were done he took joy in sharing his knowledge and passion for sports… very generous in sharing his thoughts with refs, umps, opposing coaches… but truly generous in coaching kids. He loved coaching freshman football – a true indoctrinator. One of my most fond recent memories was watching Brian coach the Mater Dei freshman DBs as they jacked up the cocky Bosco receivers… nice. Black uniforms, red uniforms, powder blue, whatever… teammates are teammates.
Brian was handsome like his father, humorous, charming, and, oh, just a touch naughty. How many times would my friends tell me they loved meeting Brian… his character voices, his wild stories, his cleverness. And of course he got the girl – Peggy – a beautiful one, a brilliant one, a loyal one, a pearl of great price. And sones Jack and Kevin are blessed with his humor and charm and good looks… and some roguishness. Not too much though guys, we’ll be watching.
Many shared that Brian was solid, real, loyal, devoted, and authentic… my goodness authentic. He was a soul shaped by the ancestral mix of a Scots grandmother shipped to Canada as a servant… a German coalminer grandfather who died young, digging to provide for his family… a grandmother who left a too full Irish home at 14 to come to the US to try and make a life… and a grandfather who fought the Depression in a tribal South Side Chicago. All an inheritance of perseverance, of bending but not breaking, of getting up again and again… a nature to say a thing is so if it so and an unwillingness to say a thing is so if it is not so.
Brian’s quality of authenticity cost him in his life; more than once I thought it better had he just gone along, kept his mouth shut. But today, right now, I feel inadequate, foolish for those thoughts. Daily we are asked to say that lies are truth, daily our comfort is threatened if we do not surrender fraction after fraction of our birthright. Our deepest faith will be tested in the coming years. Do I have the courage not to yield? Brian did.
But the quality of Brian that I’d most like to share with you is the one I came to discover in his last years… his tenderness. It was a quality that reminded me so much of our mother, Helen. It was a deep well of tenderness that I did not expect. I lay on his bed with him, my hand on his, in the quiet. I kissed him in greeting and parting… he kissed me. I saw him easily forgive that slights that in the past might have angered him and he humbly apologized when he felt he was in the wrong. That tenderness was a joyful revelation to me.
I will miss Brian. I miss him now. But in sure and certain hope of the resurrection by the grace of Christ’s sacrifice I know that we will be united again. I love you all.
June 24th, 2016