I was a Shabbos goy.

A Jewish Shabbos goy.

How did we get here? Was it a Supreme Being or an intelligence which created the universe with all of its rules?

Maybe both?

The massive Gothic structure appeared behind the trees as they drove up the quarter mile private roadway. Five stories tall and taking up half of the three acre property just south of the park, the mansion was an imposing sight.

Blind adherence to tradition does not help one make new friends. Faith in the goodness of people may stem that tide.

The ringing of the phone reverberated throughout the office. You can tell who’s calling by the ring, whether it’s a good call or one which foretells disaster. The phone knows. Its voice sends you a message. You have to be smart enough, open enough, to understand its language.

At the race tracks, my job was pretty simple, but potentially dangerous. A flat-bed truck delivered large heating and air-conditioning units to the site. A crane with a large boom was brought in, a big hook attached. The hook had to be put in the eye bolt which was fastened to the top of the unit.

As a young hospital administrator at Rush Medical Center, one of the things I was encouraged to do is to make rounds on the various patient care units and support areas. These visits helped me build and reinforce relationships with the medical and nursing staff and drop in on some of the recently hospitalized patients.

9:30 am. It was already 95 degrees with a 1000% humidity. And it was only mid-June.

When I moved to St. Louis from Chicago in 1990 to take my first CEO job at The Jewish Hospital of St. Louis, I traded a lousy winter for an unbearable summer. 3 dress shirts a day to go with my suit. One more when I had an evening function to attend.

“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Carton replied. “No one likes to be held hostage, but the size of your donation and the good it will do for the University, faculty and students is just too overwhelming.”