Letter from Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Doug Jamison, my friend, and successor to me as Chairman and CEO of Harris & Harris Group, Inc., passed along to me what I pass along to you below.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, famous writer from Colombia (Love in a time of Cholera), and Nobel Peace Prize winner for literature, has retired from public life for reasons of health. He has a form of cancer, which is terminal. He has sent a farewell letter to his friends.  It is recommended reading because it is moving to see how one of the best and most brilliant of writers expresses himself in sorrow.  He says:


If God, for a second, forgot what I have become and granted me a little bit more of life, I would use it to the best of my ability.

I wouldn't, possibly, say everything that is in my mind, but I would be more thoughtful of all I say. I would give merit to things not for what they are worth, but for what they mean to express.


I would sleep little, I would dream more, because I know that for every minute that we close our eyes, we waste 60 seconds of light.

I would walk while others stop; I would awake while others sleep.

If God would give me a little bit more of life, I would dress in a simple manner, I would place myself in front of the sun, leaving not only my body, but my soul naked at its mercy.

To all men, I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love.

I would give wings to children, but I would leave it to them to learn how to fly by themselves.

To old people I would say that death doesn't arrive when they grow old, but with forgetfulness.

I have learned so much with you all, I have learned that everybody wants to live on top of the mountain, without knowing that true happiness is obtained in the journey taken & the form used to reach the top of the hill.

I have learned that when a newborn baby holds, with its little hand, his father's finger, it has trapped him for the rest of his life.

I have learned that a man has the right and obligation to look down at another man, only when that man needs help to get up from the ground.


Say always what you feel, not what you think. If I knew that today is the last time that I am going to see you asleep, I would hug you with all my strength and I would pray to the Lord to let me be the guardian angel of your soul.

If I knew that these are the last moments to see you, I would say 'I love you'.

There is always tomorrow, and life gives us another opportunity to do things right, but in case I am wrong, and today is all that is left to me, I would love to tell you how much I love you & that I will never forget you.

Tomorrow is never guaranteed to anyone, young or old.


Today could be the last time to see your loved ones, which is why you mustn't wait; do it today, in case tomorrow never arrives. I am sure you will be sorry you wasted the opportunity today to give a smile, a hug, a kiss, and that you were too busy to grant them their last wish.


Keep your loved ones near you; tell them in their ears and to their faces how much you need them and love them.  Love them and treat them well; take your time to tell them 'I am sorry';' forgive me',' please' 'thank you', and all those loving words you know.

Nobody will know you for your secret thought. Ask the Lord for wisdom and strength to express them.

Show your friends and loved ones how important they are to you.

Send this letter to those you love. If you don't do it today... tomorrow will be like yesterday, and if you never do it, it doesn't matter either, the moment to do it is now.

For you,
With much love,
Your Friend,

Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Date: Sunday, November 9, 2008, 11:26 AM

The Spirit of Scientific Inquiry

Upon finishing the previous post on my blog today, I realized that I had worked myself into a real hunger for oysters. My chemotherapy session had ended on time, I was feeling well, and the lunch hour was approaching. So I called a friend who appreciates good food and wine to see if he would be up for an impromptu lunch at the venerable Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station. He came to mind not just because he is great company, but also because he is a medical doctor and research scientist who, unfortunately, has lived through the terminal cancer of a spouse and has a great deal to teach me. Moreover, I certainly didn't have to worry that he might be put off that, however surreptitiously, I am hooked to a bottle of 5-FU for the next couple of days.

What had started out as a cool, damp morning had turned into a lovely spring day. I thoroughly enjoyed the mile stroll to Grand Central, walking most of the way along a colorful stretch of Second Avenue.  As I contemplated the wine list at the Oyster Bar, out of respect for my company, I thought that I should observe the spirit of scientific inquiry and determine if a decent chablis still tastes to me like chablis and still works with oysters. I am happy to report that, as of lunchtime today, the answer to both questions is still, "Yes."

Oatmeal and Oysters

My blood counts were high enough to receive chemotherapy today. Moreover, my red blood cell count was close to normal. As a result, I will not have to be infused with iron sucrose during this chemotherapy cycle. Presumably, the improvement in my anemia is primarily owing to the efficacy of the chemotherapy. But I have also been assiduously incorporating iron-rich foods in my diet, especially oatmeal and shellfish. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that the folks at MSK do not object to patients eating raw food, including clams and oysters. They also do not object to patients drinking wine, and I find that sauvignon blanc still tastes like to me like sauvignon blanc and still works well with oysters. (I've never tried sauvignon blanc with oatmeal.)

Swine Flu

Ninety years ago, one of my grandmothers-- my father's mother--  died in the influenza pandemic of 1918. I have long wondered if my father's ability to recover from his contraction of that influenza is related to his longevity. As you would expect, I have always paid attention to potential pandemics, such as the current swine flu.

My impression is that most people assume that, because of advances in knowledge and medicine, something like the 1918 pandemic could not happen today. Although the number of its victims is unknowable--  India did not keep good statistics, for example-- it certainly killed far more people than died in World War I. One rough estimate that I have seen is that about a third of the world's 1.5 billion population contracted that influenza, and 50 million died. Because of advances in knowledge and financial engineering, up until several months ago, most people were similarly complacent that we could never suffer the sort of  collapse of the banking system and financial markets that the world experienced in the 1930s.

Reawakening to a Nightmare

On the morning of March 2, while sitting in the waiting room of a doctor, I received  a telephone call on my cell phone from another doctor, who informed me that an MRI showed that I had cancerous lesions throughout both lobes of my liver. Within five minutes, the doctor for whom I had been waiting had examined me and told me that he thought that I had a tumor in my colon. I realized instantly that the combination of cancers meant death. 

My first thought and action was to call my wife, Susan. We had just returned from South America, from which I had arranged tests and doctors' appointments in New York. My next appointment was in half an hour, to see a periodontist. On the one hand, in light of what I had just learned, it seemed stupid to tend to such a mundane task as my first order of business. On the other hand, I had a troublesome dental problem that was going to need attention at some point.  What was to be gained from putting it off? I walked through the snow to the periodontist's office. On the way, while observing the cityscapes with a heightened sense of awareness, I focused intensely on the existential questions that had come immediately to mind when I learned that I had what was surely incurable cancer: what to do with the remainder of my life, how to find meaning in what remained of my life? How should I conduct myself? I felt in great need of guidance, of a framework for thinking. I decided that as soon as I got home, I would look in my library for a copy of Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning and begin rereading it.

After a day or so of considering whether my best course of action would be simply to enter hospice care, I decided to investigate whether treatment would make any sense and began to contact a few friends in the clinical and research science communities who could connect me with oncologists who could help Susan and me decide. 

The week after I received the initial news of cancer was consumed by medical consultations, tests, and procedures, contacting family members, and beginning to contact friends, as well as carefully and painstakingly rereading Man's Search for Meaning. It seemed as if all of this were happening in a nightmare.  Whenever I  awoke from sleep, I had the sense that I was reawakening to that nightmare. I never had a conscious moment of denial (unless I am still in denial, which I suppose is possible). I never once thought, "Why me?"  After about a week, the nightmare ceased to be a nightmare: It became my reality. 

From the moment that I realized that I had terminal cancer, I sensed that such a diagnosis is inherently isolating and depressing, as death is the ultimate loneliness. Although I accepted that my body had fought and lost its battle with cancer before my mind knew about the cancer, I felt strongly the need to fight against isolation and against depression. Gradually, instinct crystalized into thought, and I articulated to myself that there would be no point in enduring the suffering of chemotherapy if I were to allow myself to lose control of my mind to depression, having already lost control of my body to cancer. If I were to allow myself to become depressed, not only would I be incapable of finding joy in at least some part of each remaining day, but also it would make my plight and decline that much more difficult for loved ones, especially family. I concluded that depression was simply a luxury that I could not afford. These are brave words, from a person who is not brave. I do not know how I will handle what is coming.

Having always been a private person, it is very unlike me to be writing this blog. (Throughout my life, whenever someone asked me, "How are you?," my response was always simply, "Fine," regardless of the actual situation.) Nevertheless, when the notion of writing a blog to keep family and friends informed was suggested to me, I immediately grasped the merits of the idea-- not only because it would go far towards solving an inherently difficult communications problem, but also because it could be a potent weapon in the fight I was determined to wage against desolation. 

I have been deeply touched by your kindness, the kindness of my friends and family. Because of you, your interactions, your communications, and your prayers and positive thoughts, I am less isolated than I have ever been in my life. I have heard from people from whom I had not heard in over fifty years! Far from being depressed, since the first week after my diagnosis, no day has gone by in which I have not found at least some moments of joy (although I must confess that one day came close). I no longer reawaken to a nightmare, but rather to the reality of my life, for which there has been, and remains, much to be grateful.

Ball Parks, New and Old

The temperature in New York City reached 90 degrees today, a record for this date. But the humidity was low-- perfect weather for a baseball game! We went to the new Citi Field to watch the mighty Mets lose, 8 to 1, to the lowly Nationals. The new stadium is an impressive facility, presenting baseball in an environment so pristine that, from what I could observe, even New York baseball fans are moved to behave with decorum. The food is amazingly good, and there are polite, well trained, neatly attired, service people at every turn. Because everything else seems so well thought out and fan friendly, I was flabbergasted to discover that even the expensive seats behind home plate are pitched at such a flat angle that the views to the field are obscured from every seat not on the front row. If that problem exists throughout the ball park, one would have to assume that this faulty design will become a major issue between the Mets and their fans, analogous to the endemic acoustics problems at Avery Fisher Hall in Lincoln Center.

Next, we want to get tickets to a game in the new Yankee Stadium. In 1994, I ceased being an active baseball fan when the players chose to strike rather than play the World Series. If the players don't really care, why should I? But it is fun to go to a game.  Like most New Yorkers, I have wonderful memories of baseball and football games at the old Yankee Stadium and Shea Stadium, R.I.P.

Derby Dreams

With the Kentucky Derby only one week away, everyone involved in Thoroughbred horse racing is focused on the latest updates about the horses eligible to run-- their health, appearance, final workouts, changes in equipment and jockeys, etc. To be eligible to run, a horse must be a registered three-year-old Thoroughbred that was nominated by certain deadlines.

A dramatic sub-plot has developed around which horses will actually get to run in the Derby. Traditionally, for business, social, and sporting reasons, an owner did not enter a horse in the Derby unless he or she thought that it had a reasonable chance to win. It costs money to enter, and it doesn't make economic sense to use one of a valuable horse's limited number of career starts in a futile effort in an especially exacting race. Moreover, it was considered both a disgrace to have your horse exposed as outclassed and a disservice to the horse to ask it to make an all-out effort in a demanding race against superior competition. Few owners wanted to look like fools or as if they were putting their own desire to be part of a Derby ahead of their horses' welfare.

Gradually, owners have come into the sport/business of racing for whom the glamor and excitement of running a horse in the Derby supersedes all other considerations. Some owners now regard owning a horse that ran in the Derby as an achievement in itself. As a result, Churchill Downs has had to limit the number of starters in the race to 20, as determined by earnings in graded stakes races, the highest quality races. Naturally, now that there is a competitive basis for qualifying to run, any remaining stigma attached to running a long shot in the Derby has faded, and most owners who have sound three-year-olds with top-twenty graded stakes earnings feel that their horses have earned the right to run. Thus, the twenty-horse ceiling has also become a twenty-horse floor. Each year, it seems that at least one talented, but late-developing, horse that would be one of the favorites to win the Derby is in danger of being excluded on the basis of qualified earnings. This year, that horse is Dunkirk, which has only made three career starts, but will be one of the betting favorites in the Derby-- if he gets to run.

An irony of this twenty-horse syndrome is that it enhances the chances of a long shot winning the Derby. With that many horses jostling for position to save ground on the turns, racing luck tends to play more of a role in Derbys than in most races. There has always been a lot of uncertainty in picking a Derby winner anyway, partly because the race is over a distance-- a mile and a quarter-- that, in most years, none of the horses have ever run in their young lives. I haven't checked lately, but at one time it was true that if someone had bet the same amount on every starter in every Kentucky Derby, he or she would be showing a profit.

"Forty Years' War"

When I first typed the title of this blog (I'm a lousy typist), I mistyped it, "Forty Tears' War."

Starting with an article on the front page, and another article on page A17, of today's New York Times, both by Gina Kolata, the New York Times will publish a series of articles about "the struggle to defeat cancer." Today's articles are at 

     http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/24/health/policy/24cancer.html?_r=1&ref=health

(To access this article, you will need to copy this address and paste it into your browser, as I do not have the ability to create a link.)

In today's articles, Ms. Kolata documents that the death rate from cancer has barely declined since 1950. She states that patients with colorectal cancer that has metastasized-- and mine has metastasized significantly-- have a five-year survival rate of less than 10 percent. (Elsewhere, I have read that patients with my diagnosis have a mean survival rate of one to two years, with a two percent chance of surviving for five years if they are 55 years old.) The first article also quotes Dr. Leonard Saltz, the colon cancer specialist at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center (MSK), who is treating me. 

Dr. Saltz does not get drawn into statistical discussions with me about how long I may live, pointing out that no patient is a statistical average, that the data are not very good, and that the bell-shaped curve that would apply is very flat. (I might already be a data point if my cracked tooth and abscessed gum of last week had coincided with my chemotherapy-depressed white blood cell count of 1.9 of a few days earlier.)

Not So Busy, After All

By 10 a.m. this morning, my four doctors' appointments had been reduced to one, after my medical oncologist made a tactical decision, and I made a strategic decision. With suddenly free time, Susan, David, and I were able to meet my sister, Katie, for lunch at a local, quite good, new, Lebanese restaurant. Katie was here from California for a few days and, among other things, helped Susan put away the contents of our car. Our car just arrived from Florida, courtesy of our trainer, Christophe Clement, who shipped it up along with a group of other cars belonging to his stable employees.

A high-end racing stable, like Christophe's, comprised of  valuable stakes and allowance-class runners, is a complex operation. Not only does the trainer have to have perfect pitch for animals that enables him or her to anticipate and react to the individual needs of these high-strung, explosively powerful, sensitive, fragile, sometimes dangerous athletes, but also the trainer has to deal with a myriad of business, strategic, logistical, legal, regulatory, financial, and veterinary problems. Moreover, I can think of no other occupation that requires dealing so routinely with the full spectrum of the human condition: owners ranging from kings and queens to brash entrepreneurs; employees ranging from people with options in life who simply love working with horses, to people with sad, endless personal problems and no other options in life. What makes all this worthwhile for the trainer and everyone else involved? A good horse. The dream and occasional reality of a top horse keep it all going.

The ultimate dream for an American involved in racing is to win the Kentucky Derby. Next Saturday, May 2, is this year's Kentucky Derby, to be run as always at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky. Once again, I won't be running a horse in the Derby. But I am excited about the prospect of running Hot Money that day in a race at Belmont Park on Long Island!

A Busy Day

At 3:00 p.m. today, I had no medical appointments scheduled for tomorrow. As of 5:30 p.m., I have one with a medical oncologist, one with a dermatologist, one with a radiologist, and one with a liver surgeon. It will be a busy day.

Fiscal Responsibility

Seven friends and I attended a luncheon today at the University Club to hear Pete Peterson introduce David Walker of the Peter G.Peterson Foundation, who spoke about our nation's indebtedness. It is hard to refute their arguments, which Peterson has been making for decades, about the magnitude of the our national indebtedness and the inexorable inflation and devaluation of the U.S. dollar that this accelerating indebtedness will generate if not addressed. Mr. Walker expressed faith that our country will address the problem, but failed to advance any arguments that were supportive of his faith.

So I can't say that I learned much new about our nation's fiscal responsibility or that I called my broker to sell my gold. But I enjoyed myself. The food was reasonably good for that sort of luncheon (salmon, not rubber chicken), and it was a pleasure to be with friends.

Rash

Last evening, I developed a rash. The cancer patient's standard list of phenomena requiring an immediate call to his or her oncologist includes observation of a rash. My medical oncologist's covering physician listened by telephone to my description of the rash and decided that, unless it worsened, I could treat it with Benadryl until my previously scheduled appointment for infusion of iron sucrose at MSK's chemotherapy center at 9 a.m. this morning. The registered nurse who examined the rash this morning could not determine its cause or predict its likely course. Per recommendation, I have continued to take Benadryl, which has combined with last Friday's chemotherapy to make me very tired. For the first time since my diagnosis, I spent time in bed in the middle of the day.

I am very apprehensive about the side effects of chemotherapy. My experience so far is that they manifest themselves suddenly and develop unpredictably. Although my primary worry about them is that they will limit my treatment, I also worry about how sick they will make me and to what extent they will limit my ability to socialize.

Sunday Chores

Three minor procedures were scheduled for me today-- unhooking of the 48-hour infusion of 5- FU, an injection of Neulasta, and removal of the PICC in my left arm. Because today is Sunday, these procedures were performed in the emergency room of MSK, which, not surprisingly, entailed two-and-a-half hours of waiting. If all goes well, I will not report back to MSK , at the chemotherapy facility for infusion of iron sucrose, until 9 a.m. tomorrow. Once again, how do patients and their families cope with long commutes to their treatment facilities?

Hitting the Trifecta

Because I hit a treatment trifecta yesterday, I decided to post on this blog for a second time today. Yesterday, the area around the Mediport looked increasingly healthy, not only to Susan's and my eyes, but also to the doctors' and nurses'. My white blood cell count was in the normal range, so my chemotherapy proceeded as scheduled. And the medical oncologists agreed to delay the infusion of iron sucrose, which is meant to address my anemia, until two days after the infusion of my chemotherapy. 

Last time I had chemotherapy, there was a similar two-day delay, because they had forgotten to order the iron sucrose. Because I subsequently had fewer and less severe side effects from the chemotherapy, I asked them to repeat the delay in the infusion of the iron sucrose once again. They very kindly agreed to try it again, even though they think that the better experience was probably just a coincidence. But they accepted my theory that if I do get the more adverse side effects this time, it will be easier for me to accept them with equanimity, knowing that at least we tried to capitalize on serendipity.

Less and More

It has become obvious that this blog has drifted away from the "Latest News," so it is time to change the title to something  else. Although I keep a diary of all of the changes in my condition, symptoms, side effects of chemotherapy, etc., for the doctors, such detailed information seems inappropriate for a blog for family and friends. Also, I think that most people have a pretty good idea of what chemotherapy entails. Thus, unless some facet of my treatment or regimen seems particularly noteworthy, I haven't been including it in my blog. 

I have less of an excuse for the other topics I have been addressing in this blog. So far, I have found that writing something in it each day has been therapeutic for me. I suppose the exercise is both a form of talking cure and a little job for me to do each day. Talking cures are always good. And, having worked all my life until retiring last December 31, maybe I don't feel quite right unless I do a little work each day.

Yesterday Ended This Morning

Yesterday ended this morning at about 1:30 a.m. Just before dinner, at about 7:00 p.m., I noticed that the skin around the area where the Mediport is installed had turned red. The elapsed time to first symptom and the area and degree of redness were roughly similar to those I had noticed when the first Mediport was installed and ultimately had to be removed. If this second Mediport were to be removed, I am not sure that the doctors would want to try again. Among other things, the interventional radiologist who installed the latest one did so on the left side of my chest after viewing the still-healing site of the first installation on the right side of my chest. (By the way, before I signed the consent for this latest procedure, I was told that the chances of infection were less than one percent, as opposed to infinitesimal.) 

So I went to the emergency room at MSK where, upon being seen, the interventional radiologist on call drew lines with a Sharpie around the area of reddened skin so that changes could be noted in the morning. I went home, where I was greeted with the message that I had to call the emergency room immediately, which I of course did. The emergency room nurse who had performed my triage informed me that my blood pressure was 220 over 90 and that I had to come back to be evaluated by another doctor. As I have had "perfect" to "borderline low" blood pressure all of my life, I was somewhat incredulous; but realizing that I now have to be open-minded to any possibility, I reported back to the emergency room, where I was seen instantly. The nurse rechecked my blood pressure and got a similarly high reading. Both times, the nurse had taken the reading from a cuff around my leg, as I have a PICC in my left arm and phlebitis in my right arm from the prior installation and removal of a PICC. Faced with the prospect of having to be treated for high blood pressure on top of everything else, it occurred to me to request that, phlebitis or no phlebitis, the nurse take my blood pressure from a cuff around my right arm. That blood pressure reading was 135 0ver 79-- high for me historically, perhaps because of the stress of the day's intervention and events, but no cause for alarm. (This morning, when I went for chemotherapy, my blood pressure was down to 107 over 69.) After a short wait, I was seen by a physician and discharged.

As you might expect, I remained quite apprehensive about the progression of the redness around the site of the Mediport. I slept fitfully, then reexamined the site around 1:30 this morning. The redness was receding! I went to the kitchen, raided the refrigerator, and went back to bed.

Belt and Suspenders

Susan and I arrived at the main campus of MSK today at 7:40 a.m. and left at 1:45 p.m. Once again, I am equipped with a Mediport. This time, the surgeon left the PICC in my left arm. Thus, if my white blood cell count is high enough tomorrow for me to receive chemotherapy as scheduled, the oncologists will probably utilize the PICC, but could in principle utilize the Mediport, for the infusion. If no problems develop this time with the Mediport, the plan is to remove the PICC on Sunday, when I am scheduled to be unhooked from the 46-hour infusion of 5 FU and to be injected with Neulasta.

$24,303.80

My March bill for hospital charges from MSK arrived today, in the amount of $24,303.80. This bill does not cover a full month, as I had not yet been diagnosed with cancer at the beginning of March (although it seems to me that I received that news a very long time ago).  Nor does this bill cover doctors' charges or prescriptions. Moreover, I was not receiving Neupogen and Neulasta in March. My current regimen includes fortnightly shots of Neulasta at $5,000.00 a shot. Given how low my white blood cell count dropped after my first chemotherapy, I wonder if my treatment could have continued without Neupogen and/or Neulasta? Given the infection that was generated by the fractured molar that I had removed yesterday, I wonder what would have happened if my white blood cell count had still been 1.9, as it was before I received my first shot of Neupogen? 

Because I am 66 years old, the lion's share of the cost of my treatment will be reimbursed by Medicare, which is good for me, but quite a burden on other current and future taxpayers. As medical science succeeds in making more expensive new treatments like Neulasta available, it will be increasingly difficult for us as a society to put off facing the excruciating ethical questions posed by the costs of someone like me with an incurable, fatal illness who has passed his years of peak productivity.  Our society's recent massive loss of wealth is going to make it that much more difficult to avoid dealing with the ethical questions that must be resolved in order to ration healthcare in a world of finite resources.

The Tooth Fairy

Following what I had envisioned as a routine 10:45 a.m. periodontist's appointment, I had scheduled lunch around the corner at Petrossian (which offers a superb three-course luncheon special) with a friend at 12:00 noon. I made my periodontist's appointment, but not my luncheon date. After the periodontist discovered that I had a tooth with two cracked roots, I settled for a tooth extraction at noon instead of the smoked salmon at Petrossian.  

It seems that normally routine procedures become complicated and have to be coordinated with one's medical oncologist when one is undergoing chemotherapy. But if all goes well, I am still on track, on Thursday, to undergo for the second time a procedure to have a Mediport installed (see "An Infinitesimal Chance," posted on March 26); and, on Friday, to undergo a third round of chemotherapy. With all of these medical things to think about, I forgot to bring the tooth home to put under my pillow tonight.

Young Horses in Springtime

Easter, to me, has always been the real beginning of spring.  Young horses blossom in the spring as they begin to acquire their summer coats. For many years, we have shipped our young horses to Florida (and, for a few years, to South Carolina) for the winter, to prepare for their spring campaigns in New York.

Hot Money, the three-year-old chestnut gelding pictured above, should be ready to run in New York in a few weeks. Mustang Island, the three-year-old bay ridgling pictured below, is two or three weeks behind Hot Money in his preparation.

Easter Sunday

In New York City, the weather was perfect for Easter paraders and for those, like us, who had a quiet Easter dinner at home with friends, then watched an epic Masters on television.  In recent years, Susan and I have joined the Candee family at The Creek club on the north shore of Long Island for Easter dinner. This year,  we thought the trip might be too ambitious. Though I was tired just before sitting down to write this blog entry,  my spirits were lifted upon learning the stirring news of the rescue of the American sea captain from the pirates! 

Good Friday

Yesterday was Good Friday. And I did have a good day. I felt better than I have in a while and was able to enjoy a leisurely lunch with a friend at a superb, Greek, seafood restaurant that offers a year-round, "Restaurant Week," three-course, specially priced lunch menu. 

A friend, who has had to endure a lot of physical pain, recently included in an e-mail to me the expression, "Every day is good." Having found lots of references to "Every day is a good day," but none to his favorite expression, I asked him if he originated it? He replied that it is too profound to be original-- it is simply his favorite expression.

Today's Mail

In today's mail, in additon to a card from a well-wisher, which I greatly appreciated, and the usual bills, catalogs, and magazines, were two of the several health-care newsletters to which I subscribe. Whenever such newsletters arrived, I tended to read them before anything else. In fact, until a couple of months ago, it was probably fair to describe me as a bit of a health nut. I followed a Mediterranean-type diet, worked to maintain a stable weight, and, when I wasn't traveling, spent two hours at the gym almost every morning and walked around town during the day for about an hour. I visited my primary-care physician, a gastroenterologist, regularly.

One of the newsletters that arrived today was the Men's Health Advisor  from the Cleveland Clinic (Volume 11/Number 5, May 2009) (www.menshealthadvisor.com). Starting on page six is a short article entitled, "Take Steps to Reduce Your Risk of Colorectal Cancer." It is the best of its type I have seen, encompassing lifestyle practices and guidelines for colon cancer screening. The content of the article seems equally applicable to men and women. 

Location, Location, Location

When we bought our current apartment in 2003, like anyone else choosing a new residence, we put a lot of emphasis on location. We are located across from an entrance ramp to the Queensboro Bridge, which means that we can travel to the Long Island airports, golf courses, and racetracks without having to deal with Manhattan traffic. I had a twenty-minute walk to my mid-town office, and we have similar walks to Carnegie Hall, Central Park, and the rest of midtown Manhattan. A crosstown bus stops almost in front of our building, and two subways have stops within less than ten-minute walks. There is a kaleidoscope of ethnic restaurants within a ten-minute walk. 

What we failed to appreciate is that we are located only 12 blocks from the main campus, and a mere six blocks from the outpatient chemotherapy facility, of Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center (MSKCC). We (either Susan or our son usually goes with me) have probably been averaging three or four trips a week to the MSKCC facilities. Today, I had a scheduled visit to one of the facilities; last night, I had an unscheduled visit to the other. I really feel for the patients and their families who have to add difficult commutes to their burdens of disease and treatment.

On the Beach

One of the books I've been thinking about lately is Nevil Shute's On the Beach. (Because I read it, and saw the movie based on it, around 1960, I just checked Wikipedia to make sure that I had remembered the thrust of the work reasonably accurately.) What struck me when I originally read it, and what has stuck in my mind ever since, is the behavior of the characters in this fictional work as they await in Australia the inexorable approach of fatal radiation poisoning from atomic warfare in the Northern Hemisphere. They go about their lives and mundane activities, planting gardens, etc., as if they have all the time in the world. "Surely," I thought as a young man, "people would not behave that way-- I certainly would not behave that way in the face of certain doom! I would devote myself to profound thoughts and extraordinary actions!"

Now, I think Shute had it right. Starting tomorrow, I'm hoping to watch all of the televised portions of The Masters golf tournament. Because of work, I never watched all of the broadcast on Thursday and Friday; and out of a feeling that I really ought to be doing something more physically or mentally active, I don't know if I ever watched all of it on Saturday and Sunday. I feel no such scruples this year!

July in April

Susan and I just returned from a much-anticipated dinner with five other friends, a.k.a. the "Gang of Seven," hosted by one of the other couples at their apartment. Most years, we get together as a group for the Fourth of July weekend, at the country place in Connecticut of one of the other couples. We discuss books and foreign policy, gossip a bit, and just enjoy each other's company. Good food and wine stimulate our conversation; long walks and rowing a boat on the lake stimulate our appetite and thirst. Upon parting tonight, we began formulating plans for our next get-together.

More Perfect Pitch

Former colleagues in various ventures have commented about Randy Jones's concept of perfect pitch. During my years at Harris & Harris Group alone, we invested in 84 ventures. In the successful ventures, the venture capitalists like Harris & Harris Group play a role, but the requisite perfect pitch for the business has to be within the management of the companies.

In my earliest venture-capital deals, not only would we start a company with our limited capital, but also I would serve as the CEO of that startup until I could recruit someone to run it who had what Randy might term perfect pitch for the business. Sometimes, the recruits came from non-obvious backgrounds: they were in the process of finding their perfect pitch.

Over a quarter of a century ago, prior to my days at Harris & Harris Group, my first venture-capital deal was Thoroughbred Equity Company (TECO). I started TECO as a joint venture with Fasig-Tipton, one of the two major thoroughbred-horse auction houses. We formed TECO to enable breeders of thoroughbreds to use their bloodstock as financial collateral. Up until the time I sold my interest to Fasig-Tipton for a high percentage return on my modest investment, TECO never had a loan loss. This impeccable record partially reflected my simple bonus policy: if there were any loss on a loan during the year, no one in the company would get a bonus at year end. But the people that I recruited to run the business were responsible for its success. First, I recruited Michael Lischin, a young lawyer from a small bank, with no horse-industry background, to run the business. Today, he is a successful thoroughbred breeder in New York.

Valuation of the collateral was a critical input into TECO's lending business. Rob Whiteley, a professor of psychology at Rutgers University who was passionate about thoroughbreds, a few of which he bred on his small New Jersey farm, was a friend of mine. In as radical a career gamble as I can recall, Rob started appraising thoroughbreds for Fasig-Tipton and TECO. Later, Carl Icahn wanted to enter the thoroughbred business and asked me to recommend someone to run the business for him. I recommended Rob, who was still relatively new to the thoroughbred business, on the basis of his brains and his unquestionable integrity. Rob built a successful breeding operation for Carl Icahn. Today, Rob has his own farm in Kentucky, where he is a prominent breeder respected not only for his business prowess, but also for his sterling character and universal kindness to others. Rob has perfect pitch for his business and for life.

Sacred Music Fifth in Debut

According to trainer Nicolas Clement's description of Sacred Music's race, she ran about as expected. (We will receive a video of the race later, but we were not able to view it on the internet.) Apparently, she broke somewhat slowly, was a bit shy with the other horses, then finished fairly well, beaten about four lengths by the winner, which had about a tw0-length margin over the second-place finisher. Assuming she comes back in good order, Nicolas expects her to benefit from the race.

Happy 99th Birthday, Dad!

As we were not able to travel to Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, to celebrate my father's 99th birthday, I just wished him a happy birthday by telephone. Both he and my mother, who will turn 95 in July, are as sharp as ever-- which, believe me, is plenty sharp!

Sacred Music

Sacred Music is entered to make her debut this Sunday, April 5, in the 2nd race at the Parilly racecourse in Lyon. The race is called the Prix Louis Saulnier, with a purse of 14,000 Euros. It will be contested at 2,200 metres (1 3/8 miles) on turf and restricted to three-year-old fillies which have never won a race. Sacred Music drew the outside post position, number 11, and will be ridden by Jean-Michel Breaux. As nine of the other fillies have run previously, Sacred Music will be conceding experience to most of the field, and we should probably be happy if she shows promise and comes back sound. The French do a marvelous job of presenting their racing on the internet, and Susan and I are trying to figure out if we can watch the race live.

I walked about five miles today, mainly running errands, at a somewhat slower pace than I hope Sacred Music maintains on Sunday. One of my errands was to bring in for servicing the watch my mother gave me for my college graduation in 1964 (I skipped the ceremony to attend the Belmont Stakes). The Rolex representative reminded me somewhat sternly that I had not had it serviced since 1999. What really hurt my feelings was that he informed me that the servicing would take longer because the watch is now considered to be an antique. Does that say anything about the owner?

Neupogen and Neulasta

Biotechnology is a wonderful thing!  After two shots of Neupogen, in 48 hours, my white blood cell count went from 1.9 to 10.  So, after the six-day delay for various things, I get to have chemotherapy again today.  Henceforth, part of my regular protocol will be shots of Neulasta (at $5,000 a pop), a longer acting form of Neupogen.  Bone pain is a common side effect of Neupogen and Neulasta.  I did experience the bone pain, but it responded amazingly to Tylenol.

Perfect Pitch

Last Monday, Susan and I were dinner guests of neighbors, Connie and Randy Jones. Among other things, we discussed Randy's new book, The Richest Man in Town (published by Business Plus, a division of Hachette Publishing Company), which should be in the bookstores in a couple of weeks and, I think, can be ordered from Amazon now. In order to write this book, Randy interviewed the richest self-made person in each of the 100 largest cities and towns in the United States. Naturally, we asked whether Randy could discern any common traits in these people? One of the qualities that Randy noted was that these people all seem to have, like musicians for music, perfect pitch for their enterprises.

In thinking about it, my father has perfect pitch for architecture. He started practicing architecture in 1932, started his own practice in 1935, and retired in 1997. He certainly has other interests (for example, he played golf or hit golf balls practically every day), but he was content to go to his office on weekends to work on a project.

I'm not sure that I ever had perfect pitch for any of my businesses. I tended to see an opportunity, figure out what would be required to capitalize on the opportunity, and assemble the requisite people, capital, and other resources. These were not businesses for which I was particularly qualified or, in several instances, in which I was particularly interested. For example, Rick Childress and I started and managed a fund to invest in undervalued, publicly traded, industrial companies, and, later, a fund to invest in regional banks just before it became legal for banks to operate across state lines. Both funds were highly successful, and Rick and I had a lot of fun creating and managing them. But Rick had the perfect pitch for the research underlying these funds that made them special. When I saw that there was a shortage of property-and-casualty reinsurance capacity, I decided to start a new reinsurance company. ReCapital Corporation was successful, but I had no interest in the insurance industry, even though I served as chairman of the company. The people that I brought in to run the company, led by the late Don Chisolm and Jim Roberts, were the consummate professionals who had perfect pitch for reinsurance. As I noted in a recent post on BioVex, even though I am quite interested in nanotechnology, I regard the people that I brought into Harris & Harris Group as the ones with perfect pitch for venture capital based on deep scientific and technological understanding.

As for myself, I think the best that I could say is that I created opportunities for others who had perfect pitch for particular businesses. I'm not sure that counts!