In skating, going last holds an advantage. Back when I competed, it was especially true. Scoring was based on the 6.0 points system, which meant that judges would withhold giving a skater early in the competition a perfect 6.0 in order to give remaining skaters a chance to win. I quickly learned that going last was always ideal.
Even today, with the scoring system now based on accumulated points earned by a skater’s performance of various elements, there is an advantage to going last. If you go last, you know how many points you will need to win and can adjust your program accordingly. If the points show that landing a triple perfectly still won’t give you a win, you know that you can go for a quad. You can pull off a win on difficulty of spins alone. By going later, after all the other skaters, you know what it will take to win and can use the system to your advantage.
In life, we need to remember that the same holds true. Yet our culture has become all about me first. Going last—whether it’s being the last one on your block to have an SUV or the last one to sign up your kids for Little League—is viewed as a character flaw. Of course, not every culture is as obsessed with having to do everything first. In most American boardrooms, the CEO will speak first, will address his team first, and is expected to lead by being out in front of the pack. Whereas in Japan, often the most powerful person in the boardroom is the person who speaks the least and who speaks last. I bet we could learn a lot from this example of leadership.
THE REWARDS OF PUTTING OTHERS FIRST
Becoming a parent puts you on the fast track to the rewards of putting others first. Before Aidan was born, I had always considered myself a pretty caring, compassionate guy who took time out for others. I was involved in a lot of charities, trying to be generous with my time, whether helping young skaters or giving back to the skating community. I guess I considered myself a fairly selfless guy.But when I had kids, I soon realized how selfish I really was. My golf outings went from several times a week to maybe once every other month. Relaxing in front of the TV became the exception rather than the rule.
All that free time I had enjoyed before was now filled with putting Aidan down for naps, catching up on my own sleep, changing diapers, feedings, shopping—basically, being a domesticated dad.While fathering is a glorious and beautiful job, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that sometimes I just wanted to get away and have some me time. It’s a common reaction for a lot of new parents, and I was not immune to it.
By focusing so much energy on someone else, I spent less time worrying about things that, in the big picture, don’t matter so much in the moment.
Once I got through the initial “shock and awe” that the world no longer revolved around moi , I discovered that caring and sacrificing myself for this little creature made me a better, happier person. Being responsible for this tiny, helpless person’s well-being and survival made all my selfish obsessions and problems seem petty and unimportant. By focusing so much energy on someone else, I spent less time worrying about things that, in the big picture, don’t matter so much in the moment. Sure, I had to keep my career moving forward so that I could provide for my family, but I no longer spent several hours a day plotting, overanalyzing, and strategizing. I realized much of it was unnecessary.
On top of that, I found that I spent far less time worrying about my health and appearance. Should I take that speaking gig or not?Did I inject just the right amount of testosterone today? Does my hair need a buzz? Finding these answers became less urgent concerns.Instead, Aidan’s health and well-being became my primary concern. I would like to think that my parents raised me so well that I didn’t need to have kids in order to become a more generous, selfless person, but I can’t. I’m only human, after all.
SEEING THINGS FROM ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE
As I began putting myself in the backseat, I started to reassess everything in my life, all the choices I was making. I used to travel a lot, delivering speeches all around the country, with half my time spent on the road. After I became a father, I only wanted to travel if it was a must. Soon, the whole idea of living in Los Angeles began not to make sense either. Don’t get me wrong. I love LA. The weather is perfect, I have many great, interesting friends there, and there is so much entertainment and recreation that you can never be borePlus, there are plenty of ice rinks with very skilled coaches. As a single guy, and even as a married guy without kids, Southern California is hard to beat.
As I began putting myself in the backseat, I started to reassess everything in my life, all the choices I was making.
Yet for Tracie and me, the Southern California lifestyle began to make less sense—not so much for us, but for our growing family.Tracie had grown up in Jackson, Tennessee, and, of course, I was raised in Bowling Green, Ohio. We both felt that growing up in small towns, surrounded by family, away from the distractions and bustle of an urban center, instilled us with great values. We enjoyed the year-round tennis and golf, the endless sunny days, and all the fun of LA, but after talking and praying about it, we both concluded it was time for our family to leave California. Not so much for us, but for Aidan and the other children we hoped to have in the future.
Nashville made the most sense for us. My parents are deceased, and I no longer have family in Ohio, but Tracie’s entire family remains in Tennessee. We wanted Aidan to have the same network of family love and support that we enjoyed as children, and Nashville was the perfect place to find that. We also went from having a tiny patch of grass for a backyard to living on more than four acres of land where our kids could play and the dogs could go crazy.
Plus, Nashville is geographically central in the United States. I could still hop on a flight to LA or New York with relative ease. So in May 2006, we sold our house, packed up everything, and moved to Nashville.
Even though we sometimes miss our friends or some of the professional opportunities in LA, we are so much happier for moving. The reason can be seen on the faces of our sons, Aidan and Maxx, when they get to see their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins as much as they do, and when I get to spend the kind of quality time with them that LA makes difficult due to traffic, hectic schedules, and all the distractions of big-city life.
Recently, it was a gorgeous spring day in Nashville, and I told Aidan we could do whatever he wanted for the afternoon. He said he wanted to go for a bike ride. So we went out and did that for a while until, as five-year-olds are apt to do, he got bored. Then we rode scooters. But when we got back to the garage, I noticed his red Radio Flyer wagon sitting in the corner, covered in spider webs and dust, untouched since our arrival in Nashville. We had bought the wagon when we lived in LA but rarely ever used it, because there was a lot of traffic around our home and there wasn’t a convenient, safe place for him to ride it.
So I go, “Aidan, do you want to clean up your wagon?” I knew this was going to be a hit. Something new!
Predictably, he said, “Yeah!”
We got out all the car wash stuff—buckets, soap, sponges, towels. Aidan filled up his toy spray gun with water and started spraying down the wagon while I hosed it off. We filled up buckets, made the suds, and scrubbed down the wagon. Then I accidentally sprayed him with the hose, and he shot me this mischievous look and splashed me back. I sprayed him back and, suddenly, we were having a huge water fight in our driveway. All Aidan wanted to do was get wet and get me wet. So I would give him the hose, and he would try to squirt me before I grabbed it back and chased him down. We were both drenched. And he was laughing so hard with an expression of absolute joy. It was so much fun.
Eventually, he got exhausted and cold, so I wrapped him in a blanket and let him relax the rest of the day. Around that time, I had begun having some doubts about whether the move from LA had been entirely the right one for me. Away from managers and agents and my friends in the entertainment industry, I had been feeling a little out of the loop professionally. And I was right. I was out of the loop, and it wasn’t the best thing for me as a performer.
But that day with Aidan was all I needed to convince me that we had made the right decision to move to Tennessee. Seeing the pure joy on his face of getting into a water fight with his dad was priceless. And you know what? So was the look on mine, I’d imagine. By putting my family first and my own needs second, I was in fact winning the game of life. I had put myself into a new loop that made me happier and more fulfilled. And it has made me a better husband and father.
LEARNING FROM POSITIVE
EXAMPLES OF OTHERS
As a skater, I have long known the advantage of watching others make mistakes before you. But even before all my skating success, my mom taught me by example the virtue of letting others go before you.
My mother was selfless. She put her family first, behind her own needs. She led by going last. She would do without so that we could have. My mother would never buy new clothes for herself. She always felt that the money spent on her was better spent on her kids or saved. She was a true leader.
But my mom truly inspired me in a way that no one ever has.In fact, it was the season after her death that my skating career took off. Why? Because I wanted to do it for her so badly that I worked harder than ever. She had sacrificed so much to get me to a place where I could be a world-class skater, and because she had put me first all her life, I was determined to give everything I had to honor her. She never got to see me win Nationals or Worlds or a Gold Medal at the Olympics, and to this day, I regret that more than anything.
Mother gave up nearly everything to keep me in skating, yet she never got to enjoy my highest achievements. She certainly enjoyed her children, but she never really got to feel special and be pampered. I always sensed that she struggled with self-esteem, yet she was so brave in her battle with cancer, and she was so amazing for the students she counseled while she was obtaining her associate professorship at Bowling Green State University. If she were alive today, after giving her the biggest hug and kissing her a thousand times and telling her how much I love her, I would take her shopping in the nicest mall and buy her anything she wanted because she never had the money to splurge on herself.
I was blessed to have a mother and father who were so loving and unselfish.
She faced the challenge of my illnesses and of keeping me in skating. All those things really took its toll on her. And after all that personal sacrifice, she died of cancer. I have always felt that I had to honor her sacrifices and her suffering. And I did that by trying to work as hard as I could in skating.
When I look back, up until the point of her death—except for the US Junior Championship—I underachieved consistently. It wasn’t until after she died that I really took on the challenge and did well as an amateur competitor and later professionally. From that time forward, my ability to train and compete and be what she thought I could be continued to improve.
I was blessed to have a mother and father who were so loving and unselfish. And, amazingly, I also had the great fortune of having another set of parental figures in my life who also taught me the rewards of putting other people before yourself.
LIVES WORTH WATCHING
Frank and Helen McLoraine, an older couple from Chicago, were my financial sponsors throughout my teen years and into my twenties. Carlo Fassi connected us in 1976. They were so very generous to me. They funded my skating so I could have the chance to compete at a world-class level. My parents had taken me as high as they could, but they were going broke doing it. Frank and Helen were like angels, and they also became like parents to me.
After my mother died, I went to spend some time with Frank and Helen at their house. Frank said, “You know, Helen and I would love to help fill the void left by the loss of your mother as best we can. We’d like to be in your life in that way.” I was so touched that he would say that, especially since I had only known them for a little over a year at that point. “We’re here for you in every capacity,” he said. And they were!
Frank and Helen understood everything I’d been through and wanted to support me no matter what. Frank died from a rare blood disease in May 1979, and it was devastating to lose him two years after losing my mom. But because he was so giving, I learned so much from this man in such a short period of time.
Frank was one of the most charming, wonderful, giving people I’d ever met in my life. He and Helen were partners. Frank was a wealthy family and estate attorney and practiced law in downtown Chicago. His offices were in the giant Temple Building across from the Daley Center. He was wise and well spoken, tall and handsome, and his personality was very charismatic. I learned so much from him just by spending time around him. He always told the same jokes, which I loved. Things like, when we’d go to a restaurant, he’d ask the maitre d’ for a table “overlooking the bill.” And he had no problem with laughing at his own corny jokes. He had such a great sense of humor that you always wanted to be in his company.
Helen, on the other hand, was more reserved in public. But she was fiercely intelligent. While Frank took the social lead, Helen did a lot of the heavy lifting when it came to business decisions because she was so sharp. They were a great team and traveled everywhere together. They had gotten into the business of sponsoring skaters because they both loved the sport and wanted to help other people live their dreams. It was that pure for them. They didn’t want anybody to ever have to give up on something because of a lack of money when they had more than enough.
Helen’s whole philosophy was to give. She and Frank didn’t have their own children, so they focused their love and attention on skaters and other philanthropic efforts. Throughout Helen’s life, she gave away half of everything she and Frank made to charity every year, and the rest of it accumulated to where it was given to charity on her passing.
When she and Frank were together, you could see that she always had a sparkle in her eye because he was so charming and fun to be around, and everybody loved him. Frank often said that life would feel empty if he didn’t give back and share it with others.
One example of Frank giving back to others is the way he took care of an elderly gentleman who had helped him when he was younger. When I would be in a show or a competition in Chicago, he would usually come, along with this elderly gentleman. Frank would take his elderly friend everywhere: to my competitions, to my exhibitions, to dinners. It was touching to see how much Frank cared for his friend. He was always so thoughtful, and it set such a good example for me. He was dedicated to creating an atmosphere of comfort and levity around him, and there was, more often than not, a little bit of a lesson in everything that he said.
One time when I was visiting Frank and Helen, I got a speeding ticket near their house. Frank was very connected politically in his neighborhood; he knew all the people in the police department and the legal profession. I was at the age when I had all the excuses. “I’m sure I wasn’t speeding,” I protested. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Frank listened to my immature excuse and just shook his head.He said, “Okay. I’ll take care of this. Don’t worry about it.” Frank went to the traffic court judge and managed to get me off. Afterward, he called me and said, “I got you out of the ticket by pleading non compos mentis.”
Being totally naive of legal mumbo jumbo, I asked, “What’s that?”
“It means that you’re mentally incapable of standing trial,” he said, laughing.
Frank’s lesson was clear: I love you. I got you off, but don’t be stupid.
Many times I saw people being rude or dishonest to Frank, but he never took the bait and went to their level. He also showed me how important it was to keep things simple.
We once went to a very fancy restaurant in Colorado Springs at the Broadmoor hotel. It was the kind of place where well-dressed servers are coming up to your table constantly. Though wealthy, Frank wasn’t comfortable with such fuss and formality. We ordered our dishes and then got into a deep, private conversation. Since some of the food had to be prepared at the table, every minute someone on the staff would come by and have to touch the food, check and make sure we were okay. Well, it started to annoy him after a while because we were trying to have a conversation and enjoy our dinner, but the wait staff kept interrupting by messing with the dinner. So after about a dozen interruptions, the maitre d’ came back and started stirring and fussing with the food. Frank asked, “Does everybody get to touch this piece of food?” And the maitre d’ replied, “Well, we just want it to be perfect.” He looked at me and said, “I told you we should have gone to Wendy’s.”
Although he has been gone for thirty years, Frank’s legacy is alive and well—especially in the pages of this book.
Frank also impressed upon me how important it is to be truthful. If he ever sensed I wasn’t being entirely honest, he would say with a little sparkle in his blue eyes, “You know, if you never lie, you’ll never have to remember what you said.”
To this day, I find myself saying things Frank would say.Although he has been gone for thirty years, Frank’s legacy is alive and well—especially in the pages of this book. In fact, if I thought the publisher would let me, I could easily title this book, What Would Frank Do?
Frank and Helen possessed a secret to being happy that too few people grasp. They knew that giving—passing on wisdom, donating to charity, funding skaters, helping the elderly—was a key to finding happiness. But they didn’t teach me this valuable lesson by simply telling me; they did it through example, which is a far more powerful way to send a message.
WINNING AS A “NUMBER TWO”
Another man who was responsible for shaping my positive attitude was a European-born show skater named Fritz Dietl. He was a rink owner, skating coach, inventor, entrepreneur, and former star of Sonia Henie’s ice shows. But, mostly, he was a very smart man who gave so much to those around him.
I was in a pro competition in South Africa and was having a great time after the event was over. Fritz pulled me aside to give me a life lesson that would change my perspective forever.
He said, “Do you want a long career?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Then always be a number two,” he said. “Always put someone above you. Never put yourself first.”
Now this is a man who performed with the greatest diva in the history of pro skating. Sonia Henie was a huge star and always put herself first and made a fortune doing just that. But here was a man telling me to put others first.
Seeing that I was captured by his advice, he continued, “Number ones come and go, but a number two can last forever.”
“Number ones come and go, but a number two can last forever.”
It was an amazing nugget of wisdom. There is an Olympics every four years with new stars and new excitement. How am I going to survive that in a long career? I decided that he was probably right and started my long journey as a self-proclaimed “number two.”
I applied this mentality in the early days of Stars on Ice. I knew that building this company was going to take time, and I was in it for the long haul. How was I going to convince skaters to tour with me when they had their own brands to build? The answer was to make sure that they knew they were going to be presented as a star.Not a costar.
When we were on our first five-city tour as a prototype show, even though I was the spokesperson for the show, I made sure that all the skaters had their star moments. I worked feverishly to make sure the show was as good as it could be without being burdened with the image as the be-all and end-all.
The show went together smoothly, but the tour was a bumpy ride technically. We didn’t really know how to do it. As we traveled to various cities, we were without a local crew, and our road crew was getting burned out. Our permanent traveling road crew consisted of five guys living in a Winnebago and going from small town to small town setting up the show with no help. No local crew meant that these guys had to work harder and start earlier after driving all night to get to the next city. We were coming into Morristown, New Jersey, and I got the news that for the fourth day in a row we had no local crew at the building for the load-in. Our guys had hit the wall and couldn’t take another step forward.
I was at the Newark Airport when I heard the bad news and jumped into a cab with our lighting director Paul Thibert. We arrived at the rink, and our crew was apologetic, saying that we would have to do the show without lights and they were really sorry that they had nothing left in the tank to make another show happen without a crew.
I said that I understood but that I would be happy to throw on some gloves and help unload the trucks. That sent a message to them that this was more than a gig to me. I was exhausted too. We just had done all these shows in a row with no time off to catch up on rest, getting up at 5 a.m. every day to get to the next small city for the next performance.
They thought, If he is willing to help, we can do this. And they did it. That show was a huge one. Torvill and Dean, along with many other skaters, came in from New York City to see this new start-up company. So did Dick Button and many executives from ABC Sports, including Doug Wilson and Dennis Lewin. The show went great, and our reputation started to grow.
Another way of leading by putting myself last was to let every star of the show know that this was their vehicle to build a long career. At first, I’m sure that Brian Orser wasn’t sure about being in “my” show. But I convinced him that this was an opportunity for him to come in and make this opportunity his and then take it to Canada after the US tour.
This philosophy was genuine and worked for everyone who came into our Stars on Ice family. Debi Thomas came in as our new star. So did Peter and Kitty Carruthers, Gordeeva and Grinkov, Tracy Wilson and Rob McCall, Torvill and Dean, Katarina Witt, Kurt Browning, Paul Wylie, Tara Lipinski, Ilia Kulik, Sale and Pelletier, Alexei Yagudin, and many, many more.
My favorite contribution to the tour was done behind the scenes, communicating our needs to the powers-that-be without making anyone feel like I was the boss.
There were so many great stars, but I don’t think anyone exemplified the impact of the new star quite like Kristi Yamaguchi. She led purely by example. No one worked harder and skated more consistently. I would happily and gratefully be a “number two” to her for the rest of my career. Change is a test of our strength that, if we pass, gives us the opportunity to move on and be more productive, more satisfied and happier.
I do think, however, that my favorite contribution to the tour was done behind the scenes, communicating our needs to the powers-that-be without making anyone feel like I was the boss. I would skate hard every night for the audience, make sure the skaters were happy, make sure the crew knew they were appreciated, and keep the marquee strong by presenting new champion talent as the new “number ones.”
How long would the tour last if my name was on it above the title? Probably not very long. Stars on Ice fans love to be acquainted with the skaters they are going to see, but longevity depends on a fresh product and new stars and ideas. That’s why Stars on Ice has been so successful, I believe—we continually add skaters to the tour and feature new “number one” stars.
And my inspiration for running the show in this unselfish way was the sage advice from Fritz Dietl.
LEARNING FROM OTHERS’ MISTAKES
I learned so much from people in my life who went out of their way to show me, teach me, and sacrifice for me. But I also learned a lot from people who had no idea that they were teaching me: those I watched make mistakes.
A big part of my success in skating was seeing what other people did well then trying to do that. But I also learned from seeing how people would completely mess themselves up, and then I would try not to do that. There are a couple of ways to learn that a stove is hot.You can touch it and burn your finger, or you can see that someone else who touched it burned himself. I prefer learning from the latter.But I see so many times in life when people insist on making the mistake themselves and get burned. I don’t know if it is ego or pride or what it is, but it’s just not necessary. Has anyone ever seen a happy criminal in jail? No. But that doesn’t stop people from stealing every day. I would see skaters try jumps they had no business attempting. Either they didn’t have the skill level, or the ice surface was bad and made the jump dangerous, but even if others before them tried and failed, they would go for it anyway and bite it. So going last only holds an advantage if you use it as an opportunity to learn from others. If you don’t, then the only thing going last gets you is home later than everyone else.
There’s no question that putting others first is a recipe for success in many things in life. Take the example of the workplace.Perhaps you want to be the supervisor, the top manager. All too often, people mistakenly think that putting down others is the way to get ahead. But the opposite is true. Start by giving compliments to your staff, being considerate. Stand them up, build up their shoulder strength, and on their shoulders they will carry you to your destination.
You can try this out in everyday life. Tell your wife she looks beautiful today. Compliment your friends on their achievements.Write thank-you notes to people who have helped you. Call your grandmother and tell her how much she means to you. Focus on building up others, and your own sense of self-worth will improve.Some call these random acts of human kindness. But the truth is, acting unselfishly is not random at all. Instead, it is a conscious, concerted effort to make the world better by making someone else’s life better. The bonus: you will be happier by doing it.