JOSH YORK - making a difference, one hat at a time

 

JOSH YORK, another young man making a difference in our world, started by making a difference to his community.  And if ever a community needs people committed to making a difference, it's Detroit.  

The Michigan State junior connected with the opportunity through serendipity touched with a bit of business savvy (he studies supply side management).  Josh's parents instilled in him a belief in giving back, helping others in need.  So when the hats he started selling on a whim started bringing in more than chump change, Josh wanted to do more with his profits than just bank them.  Knowing about  TOMS' mission - give a pair of shoes for each one sold - he thought,  “Why don’t I do something with it to give back to Detroit?”  

Following the Tom’s shoes model, Josh donates a hat to the homeless for each one he sells.  Josh's outreach now extends far beyond Detroit, reaching across the USA to include cities like Chicago, Los Angeles, New York City, Nashville and Washington D.C..  Since his start 2+ years ago, Josh has sold more than 2,000 products in 28 states and five countries, including Malaysia & Australia (ah, the power of the internet).  

Josh is doing his best to change the company's name from York Apparel to York Project, which he feels better conveys his goal to make the world a better place.  

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What is it about kids today?  First, Jacob Kramer sets out to help elderly feel visible, appreciated.  Now, Josh York spends his spare time & energies doing what he can to reach his "long-term goal to fix homelessness."   And friends think my goal of turning around our current abysmal culture around aging is cockeyed!  Way to go, Josh!

Josh's long-range plan:  set up a manufacturing plant in Detroit, employ homeless people, pay them, and provide lodging in the plant.  He envisions it as a two-year program, with graduating participants better able to stand on their own.  

For now, Josh takes hats with him wherever he goes.  When he hit the Big Apple on spring break, he took fifty hats to donate.  

While hats are Josh's #1 product, he's branching out into hoodies, crew necks, tank tops and T-shirts.

It might seem to others that Josh's head is in the clouds, but those feet are firmly on the ground.  He knows his goal - "The whole message and mission I’m trying to get across is: doing good deeds for your community. Like we send so much money overseas, as the U.S., but there’s also people that live a mile away that need help just as much as anyone else in the world.”

  

While it's tempting for Josh to think about dropping out of MSU to put more focus on the York Project.  Mom & Dad were NOT amused.

 

Josh, heed your parents.  Stick to your studies.  Get the most out of your college years.  There are opportunities there - like The Hatch & The Runway - you won't find out in the less hospitable world.  Don't underestimate the relationships you're developing within the Phi Delta Theta fraternity - seems that you embody their motto, "Become the greatest version of yourself."   Keep doing what you can to make your cockeyed dream a reality.  You never know who it might touch.  Could be a homeless person shivering in the cold, could be a fellow student or teacher seeing someone looking past the next kegger to doing something worthwhile with his life.

Could be a 60+ dreamer out to overthrow & turn around our culture's views on aging.  

TOMS touched your life, you are touching others.  Oh, the power of shoes & hats & whatever is next, given from the heart! 

newest unexpected angel

A second unexpected angel showed up life the other day.  The newest is Geneva Crockett Pitcairn, who would have turned 93 yesterday, but instead is surely being reunited with her O! Best Beloved.  A woman who was an angel in so many lives here on the good old Earth. 

Mrs. Pitcairn embodied the teaching that heaven is a place of delight, of order, of use.  Her greatest accomplishments - family & friends of all ages, from littles to significantly aged - filled the church.  All touched by a woman whose life’s work was being a good daughter sister, good wife & friend, a good mother who helped raise a lot of children, her own eight and so many others. 

Meg Whitman, Sheryl Sandberg & Anne Sweeney – to me, their successful careers pale next to Mrs. Pitcairn’s.  To raise a terrific, loving family, provide a welcoming home-away-from home for so many people of so many ages, whose pool was always open for elderly swimmers & whose heart was always open for everyone – that seems to me the highest level of success. 

Mrs. Pitcairn  - courtesy of Kurt Hy. Asplundh's memorial address – is a forever reminder of the three core components of a fabulous earthly & heavenly life:  delight, order & (unmentioned, but all through KHyA’s talk) use.

Thanks to my first unexpected angel, Cheryl Giobetti Hoffman, I now get to bed seriously earlier than a month back, in order to rise & shine at 5:30 a.m., a hour I've long known to be my best time to get up, but resisted because it's not my comfy norm.  Now, Mrs. Pitcairn guides me to another longtime recognized & resisted step - recognizing, accepting & following next-best-actions. 

Mrs. Hoffman – every day, I do my best to “get over your self.”  Mrs. Pitcairn – every day, will do my best to express a life of delight, order & use.  When I find myself getting distracted, side tracked, goofing off, will just reach up, pull out my lower lip, and get on with living wisely & well. 

Two unexpected angels, one on each shoulder, join one longtime angel forever in my heart. 

Hands, eyes & heart - dream reweaving

Last night, John & I took a feast of Chinese food over to where my brother lives, about forty minutes from Squirrel Haven.  It was the first time that we’d connected in at least six years.  If ever there was a dream rewoven, fresh fabric from many old, frayed strands, it was my experience last night.

Considering all the health problems Peter has faced over the past years, particularly over this last year, he looked good.  Not his dashing old self, but pretty close.  The confident bearing was still there, the sense of this being someone you’d like to get to know, with a keen mind & interesting history.

My three surviving siblings have always been challenged by their baby sister.  They share a common history, a common generation, and a common communication pattern.  The very things that connect them distance us.  Perhaps no one more than Peter.

This isn’t the time to go into our complicated history, but suffice it to say he seems to feel that while he was Paul Newman’s twin brother, tragically separated at birth, I’m on par with Walter Cunningham.  

Someday I’ll write more about my funky relationship with my older sibs, but not now.  Am too darn happy to spend time looking backward.  Last night, I got to wrap myself in a rewoven dream.  Pretty darn special.

Driving down Easton Road - containers of Chinese food carefully double-bagged with a towel draped over to keep it as warm as possible - it dawned that I’d followed my own advice.  That felt great!

For all my life, Mom never asked Mim or Peter to do anything.  Me?  Oh, sure.  Them?  Never.  Her reasoning was simple – she didn’t bother because she knew their response.  I was stunned.  My mother – the key grown-up in my life – hadn’t a clue that you ask a question in order to put it out there, because the asking changes energy, opens up possibilities.  To me, the answer is less important that the asking. Until last night, I didn't see any parallel between my feelings about asking questions & taking supper to Peter.

It was just a few weeks ago, on Peter’s birthday, that John & I surprised him by bringing over Chicken Szechuan from his favorite place.  We played it safe, dropping it off at the front desk, letting staff get it to him.   

By the time we got home, the light was flashing on our answering machine, with a burbling with happiness message from my brother.  Later, we got a note in the mail, along with an invitation to come over & pick up Christmas presents. 

Hmmm…  It was easy to drop something off, then hightail it out of there, but actually connecting?  It seems to make sense, but only if you don’t know our history.  In my experience, the only time I am visible to my brother is when he needs something.  Did I risk the uncertainty of fully reconnecting, or play it safe?

What a dumb worry.  If this opportunity hadn’t been what I’d hoped for back when I kicked off my “one book, one family” experiment five years ago, then what was? 

Connecting, but only sort of, just part way? 

Which was when it hit me, driving down the PA Turnpike toward the Norristown exit – not going would have been like not asking a question, protecting myself against the possibility of whatever rather than taking the grand risk of something different. 

The evening was a lot of fun.  Peter hasn’t changed – we talked about people he knew, events he experienced, matters that were dear to his heart.  But I had, because it all - all - felt good. 

It helped that I’ve learned to recognize my limits, the places NOT to go, that could stir up pain. 

Peter responded with understanding when I explained it would be wiser to skip looking at the precious albums of pictures he has of his granddaughters, currently living in Australia.  It is a great sadness that, for reasons that make sense to her, his daughter has unfriended me on Facebook, has no contact with me. 

Whitney was my maid of honor, someone I admire immensely & respect even more.  There were two ways I could have responded to the opportunity to get updated on her daughters.  Hopefully, the time will come when I can bear the inevitable sadness of what isn’t, but this visit was about establishing a positive benchmark experience.  Sadness would have been out of place.  I took the safer route. 

Praise be, there wasn't a hint of sadness last night.  If anything, it felt brushed with otherworldly joy.  As it might have been.

As I write this, am thinking about my brother, Ian.  He has been on my mind more than usual since this past Saturday & the memorial service for the mother of a classmate.  Geneva was a rare, truly epic woman, gifted at friendship, parenting, and life.  It was one of the opening hymns – When He Cometh -  that first reminded me of B-Boy.  He’d replace “All His jewels…” with “All His Julies, precious Julies…” because he’d lost his heart to Miss Julie de Maine (his 4^th grade teacher?). 

Ian was Peter’s boy.  When I was born, 14-year old Peter very seriously informed our mother that she would have to take care of this baby, that 4-year old Ian was his.  It’s impossible to imagine how devastated our oldest brother was when 11-year old Ian was killed, while Peter was out in California.  Even as a fairly young child, I’d wonder if Peter would look at his irksome baby sister & think the wrong sibling had died.

That tragic time & sad thought were far from my mind two days ago.  Sitting there in the church, the music all around me, thoughts of Geneva filling my mind & heart, the inspiration of her children & grandchildren & great-grands & so many other loved ones – and especially singing “All His Julies…” - brought Ian close in thought & heart presence.

For the first time, I had the sense that while Ian has been gone for over half a century, I can be his hands in this here & now life, with all my siblings, but especially Peter.  I can be Ian's eyes, his feet, his heart.   

That sense was with me when we drove down Germantown Avenue toward Peter.  It felt more than good – it felt right.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve cherished those times when things feel like they’ve come full circle.  Last night was such an experience.  Five years ago, I set out to reestablish connection with my USA-based sibs.  Last night, Peter & John & I had a high old time, over plates of General Tso Chicken, pork lo mein, nuggets of sweet & sour chicken.  

Peter had people with whom he could share stories of “Uncle” Harold & “Aunt” Clara, about times & people who meant so much to him.  He got to be the brash young man – with looks like a Main Line patrician, the dry wit of a William F. Buckley, the confident swagger of an any-age Paul Newman – that strode through my life. 

Last night went beyond things coming full circle. Last night, we got to experience a dream rewoven, fresh fabric from many old, frayed strands.  So far beyond special wonderful unforgettable.  Oh, what can happen when energies are set loose, when possibilities are opened & life is lived without a safety net!