FOR THE AGES

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Max M. Fisher, 1908-2005

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his extra-aroknaT leadership math
him a- one-o-a--kind philanthropist,
n'siona-T and tireless actil4st fr
&ars around the wort/
Ada-,v &ane 33herma-n, his da-uOter
andfiend of (C)aylit-hirthriyht
and the rest ofhtsfamilv be comforted
among- the mourners o Aion.

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birthright Israel

www.birthrightisraelcom

946750

Temple cBeih 61 mourns the death

of iis beloved member,

97ax 91. (-Fisher

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97ay his memory be for a blessing.

clue send our condolences to

97arjorie Wisher

and /he entire cicksherfamily.

ebb

3/10
2005

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Always

More to Do

His gifts were abundant, but he never gave enough.

t best, a biographer is an impres-
s ionist. We may illuminate an indi-
A idual's journey, sweep across his
days with a spotlight, study old letters and
pictures, conduct hundreds of interviews
and read through countless rolls of micro-
film, but the essence
of the subject contin-..
ues to remain partially
hidden in shadow.
This is neither the
fault of the biographer
nor the subject, but it
is in the nature of the
work. Lives do not
translate easily into
PETER
words,
and diverse tal-
GOLDEN
ents,
like
those Max
Jewish
Fisher possessed in
Renaissance
abundance, stubbornly
Media
resist easy translation.
This is a lesson I learned during the
almost four years I worked on Quiet
Diplomat: The Biography of Max M. Fisher, I
had unimpeded access to Max, the gener-
ous assistance of his family, friends and col-
leagues, the run of his extensive archives,
and yet, while I was a proud of the book, I
continued to wish I could have summed up
the essence of this remarkable man in a
manner that I felt was complete.
I count myself lucky that at last I did get
that opportunity one day, when I had gone
to visit Max in Palm Beach — years after
his biography had been published.
I had come to talk to Max about another
book I was working on — a history of the
American role in the rescue of Russian
Jewry — a history that began, in spirit, with
Abraham Lincoln. I told Max about the proj-
ect, and he made some helpful observations
about the years when he had worked to
help free Jews from the iron grip of the
Soviet Union. Then he had to take a phone
call, and when he was done, we spoke of
other things. For a moment, Max grew
silent. And then he looked straight at me
and said: "I still can't believe they let some-
one like me go to college."
We had covered this ground in Quiet
Diplomat, his football scholarship to Ohio
State University and how an injury had
made it impossible for him to play and
forced him to work his way through school
— by cleaning up his fraternity house
kitchen to pay for his meals, by taking a job

in the Richman Brothers' clothing store in
downtown Columbus and by delivering ice
in the summers. Still, even with these jobs,
Max had to economize, and on Sunday
evenings, because the fraternity house
kitchen was closed, he went to a diner and
paid 15 cents for a bowl of chili and all the
crackers he could eat, which not only filled
him up, but also gave him a lifelong aver-
sion to chili.
But the intensity of Max's expression now
was different, and I was stunned by it. Here
he was, past the age of 90, having suc-
ceeded beyond his bravest dreams in every
field he had entered, and he continued to
marvel at what today might be considered
by many in our far more affluent society
than the one he grew up in, a small Ohio
town in the opening decades of the 20th
century, to be a modest opportunity — the
chance to work your way through a state
university.

Chance Encounters

Max was measuring that day in Palm
Beach, one eye on Salem, Ohio, the other
on the distance he had traveled. And he
was saying that the fact of opportunity, after
70 years, still reverberated in his memory
as extraordinary. I believe that this feeling
informed much of what he did throughout
his life — his willingness to put his shoul-
der to the wheel for causes great and small.
In essence, his philosophy was simple:
I've been given a chance. Why shouldn't I
extend the same to others?
But that alone doesn't explain the breadth
of his accomplishments and the universal
accolades that have come in the wake of
his passing. Nor does it elucidate what was
another of his gifts: a clear-eyed, enduring
pragmatism, a view that it didn't matter how
one solved a problem or how many times
you failed trying to solve it, the problem had
to be solved. You stayed in the game; you
kept working; you didn't quit; and you never
worried about yesterday.
I heard this from Max and his wife,
Marjorie, on the same day as his comment
about going to college. We were at dinner,
just making conversation. I had interviewed
Marjorie a number of times during the writ-
ing of Quiet Diplomat, and invariably found
that if you asked her a direct question, you
received a direct answer, generally accom-
panied by an amusing anecdote and a