A biography’s days are numbered: Go back too far and its history or an obituary or boring; start with last year and you sound thin.
Allow me, Paul McLoughlin, to observe then that in 61 years I have seen a lot: Brooklyn-born youngest of five, Jesuit-educated, lost a sister to a drunk driver and a childhood friend to an accident at sea, English major in the class with the 42nd president that was the fulcrum for societal upheaval, US Army engineer officer and decorated Vietnam veteran, Corinthian global sailor crossing the Atlantic twice 25-years apart, management dean at two ivy-league university medical centers, senior manager in old-line investment bank that lost its raison d’être to a financial services behemoth after being racked by bond-auction scandal, advisor to boards, presidents and CEO’s as head of management advisory service, Internet radio show host for three and a half-years and counting, watched my mother die at 96 and my two remarkable millennial children be born, walked one home from grammar school through Central Park at 11am on 9.11 knowing his world had just changed in ways unforeseen, and marveled at the other spending 10 years at the barre to become a Balanchine-trained ballet dancer with a national company, married to a remarkable woman who had a career, had children, and returned to the workforce more accomplished than ever, researched my ancestors so I know and value who came before me and contributed to where and who I am today.
Life is work and work is life; both are better for enjoying them.
