My dear friend, Phil Smart, Sr, the sage of Seattle, died
over the weekend. He was 93. When we lose someone close, we are prompted to ask, “How do
we measure the value of a life?” The easy answer would be, “We measure a life by how much
good a person did in the world.” By that measure, Phil’s life had exceptional value. For twenty-six years, he was Santa Claus to the young patients at Seattle Children’s Hospital, to whom
he referred as the “angels among us.” He
gave innumerable speeches to tens of thousands of people exhorting them to use
the “third eight” hours of their day beyond sleep and work to do some good for
others. He gave ridiculous amounts of
money away to right causes. He was an
exemplary automobile dealer, as is his son, Phil, Jr, in a business that does
not boast many exemplars. And, of
course, he was a veteran of WWII who actively continued to honor veterans of
all wars in any way that he could.
These and many other notable accomplishments have been and
will be cited by those who will eulogize him.
I only knew him from 1995 when he was 75, till the present, less than
20% of his life so I am not the most qualified person to list all the good he
did in the world. But it was my
privilege and joy to spend many hours over those eighteen years sitting in his
office at Phil Smart Mercedes-Benz at 600 East Pike Street chatting about
business, family, philanthropy, war, politics and love. His eyes were always bright and engaged and
continued to be as he passed into his nineties.
He was a master storyteller whether sharing something seemingly mundane about home life, a vignette from his childhood, an authentic drama from the war or the miracles he had experienced at Children's Hospital. He loved to talk about his faith, pointing often to the
collection of feathers he had found one at a time and kept as a sign of angels
at work. He loved to walk through the
dealership and check in with the team (he knew everyone’s first name) to see
how they were doing personally and professionally, through good years and
lean. A moment with Phil lifted the
heart. He continued to do this long
after he had sold the business to his son, understanding that he was a key
spiritual force in helping Phil, Jr, to
keep the sense of family, style and commitment to do the right thing as alive
as possible in each person who called 600 East Pike his or her work home.
So I have no doubt that using the usual measure of a life,
Phil’s was both beautiful and very, very good. But I have another measure of life that occurred to me when
I heard that he had left us. I knew he
was well past his ninety-third birthday. I knew he was ailing. I had watched over the
years as frailty gradually settled in him. I knew he had already lived a superb life, a
life to be envied and emulated for its vitality and generosity right to the
end. It shouldn’t have been a shock when
my good friend, Don Stevens, a long-time Smart leader, told me he was
gone. But it was. And it is.
I felt as if I’d taken a punch to the gut. The wind went out of me. My knees felt weak. I had to sit down. It seemed like a large rip had opened in the
fabric of reality and something of rare value had been stolen.
So for me, this is the measure of a life—do people feel like
they’ve had the wind knocked out of them? Does the world tilt and spin as if its sense of true north
has been shaken? I have no doubt that
thousands of people in the city of Seattle know exactly what I’m talking about,
and many others across the country. I
contemplate a world without him with a mixture of visceral sadness and profound
appreciation…and am moved to say, “Thank you, Phil. Thank you for all that you shared, all that
you gave, all that you exemplified.
Thank you for your life.”
We will all reclaim our breath. That’s what he would want. We will walk with more determination in our
stride and when memories of Phil visit us, which they will often, we will
salute or nod or doff our hats and then shift eyes forward to the next opportunity
to do some good.
