Month: April 2026

Life in my Early Years


April 7, 2026

I’m unsure of my earliest memory. It may have been at age two or three. What I reall is that we lived in an apartment on the fourth floor, with the building facing a major street. I remember the address: 39 Mester Ucca (Expert Street) in Budapest, Hungary. It’s odd I remember the address but few other details, perhaps my parents ensured I knew it in case I got lost.

An early, clear memory I have is of the windows in the apartment. We covered them at night to darken and hide the building from incoming Russian bombers. As soon as the sirens shrieked, we rushed down into the basement for security. It occurred frequently. It was in 1944, during World War II.

The basement bunker was cold. People from the apartments huddled together, some on mattresses, others on the floor. I was scared as German soldiers and Hungarian Nazis searched for Jews to deport. The bunker was full; some may have been Jewish. At four, I didn’t understand the situation but saw fear. I pretended to sleep and waited for the soldiers to leave. The memory of Nazis searching for Jews in the bunker has stayed with me. I must have heard adults talk about it and seen soldiers question people. At age four I saw what was happening with no understanding of the context.

The Nazis also came upstairs to the apartments searching for Jews. We were warned by messages from each floor as they moved up. We awaited them with fear. My aunt Rose hid behind the china closet, which was placed diagonally across the corner to provide space for her to stand, hide, and wait until the Nazis left.

After these events in Budapest, my father, a medical doctor, was drafted into the Hungarian army, which was aligned with the Germans. We then all moved to an army camp in Szatmarnemeti, which was part of Hungary at the time but is now Romania. Father served on the military trains running in Ukraine. During our time at the camp, we lived in a modest military house, under the watch of a soldier. With the war ongoing, I vividly remember Russian planes swarming over the camp daily. Whenever the sirens alerted us to incoming bombers, the soldier would practically throw my brother and me into a four-foot-deep hole in front of the house, covering it with plywood. We shuddered inside, listening to the planes overhead, until the all-clear siren sounded, when the soldier pulled us out.

I cannot recall how long we stayed at the camp in Szatmarnemeti before returning to Budapest. After our return, Mother took my older brother and me out to a park a few blocks away on most days. This park had some play equipment: a sandbox, swings, and a rotating plaything. We walked there, an open, green space surrounded by concrete. The area where we lived had apartment buildings up to six stories high along the major streets, and two-story buildings on the local streets.

Our building had an elevator that never worked. It was in a cage-like structure with the staircase winding around it. We raced up four floors with my brother, always trying to beat each other to the apartment. The building was L-shaped. The entrance to the apartments on each floor was via an open balcony running along the inside of the building, facing a courtyard.

In terms of the neighborhood where we lived, I remember that gypsies lived in a large housing block, which my parents advised us to avoid. The housing block was doughnut-shaped with an entrance from the street. Inside was a courtyard surrounded by two-story buildings, occupied by gypsies who, I understood, lived communally.

The first level of apartment buildings along major roads housed commercial businesses, typical of European cities. A tramway ran on Mester Ucca. The neighborhood was noisy, and we rarely ventured far except when we moved to Szatmarnemeti.

I cannot remember where I went to school. No friends or images of a school building come to mind. Still, I must have attended school because we stayed in Budapest until I was eight years old, when my father became the director of the local hospital in Sopron, and we moved there.

Overall, I cannot say that I had a good time in my early life. But I did not have a bad time either. We never went without food. And I do not recall having friends or playmates who came to our apartment or whom I visited.

Beyond these hazy memories, I can’t recall anything unique. I can’t picture the room I slept in, though I likely shared it with my brother. I don’t recall specific toys or a single friend from eight years in that apartment. My most memorable early experiences relate to World War II.

The First Question Writing a Memoir: What Emotions Arise When Sharing Your Life Story


April 5, 2026

The first question when you write a memoir: What emotions arise when you think about sharing your life story?

That is a loaded question. For anyone writing a memoir, it may be the first consideration: are you prepared to reveal your personal history and inner thoughts to others? Which aspects of your life would you share, with whom, and would sharing bring you happiness or sorrow?

That raises a followup question: would I, or should I, experience emotion when sharing my story? By emotion, I mean feelings of pride or shame, excitement or boredom when discussing myself. I might downplay or amplify achievements. I could even conceal parts of my story, perhaps out of shyness or avoid recalling painful memories. When prompted, I think I would be happy to share but I would not initiate such discussions unless the setting was appropriate.

Another consideration: what is my life story? Is it focused on my career, chronological list of positions held? Or does it center on pivotal moments that shaped my life? Or would my story be marked by how I navigated adversity, or by how I capitalized on—or missed—opportunities?

Then, the audience matters. Am I sharing my story with people of my generation, who have similar accomplishments and backgrounds, such as fellow immigrants? Would I discuss it with someone experiencing homelessness when I have financial stability? Would I share it with children, and for what purpose?

For example, I would share my adventures and challenging experiences with those who have faced similar situations, but I might feel uneasy sharing with people whose lives have been sheltered. They might not relate to or value my experiences.

Issues of comparability can also lead to uncomfortable situations. We have seven grandchildren. People without grandchildren have said we’re lucky and well-off for that reason. I agree. But I am sensitive to such situations, and I do not want to cause discomfort, so I avoid the topic unless asked. People adapt their life stories to their listeners.

Another example, do you want to describe your children’s success, even if the other person had misfortune with theirs? There have been instances when such situations could have led to negative comparisons between my experience and theirs. I try to avoid those situations.

In conclusion: Would I share my story with someone? Yes. I have nothing to hide and would be glad to talk if someone is interested. However, I’ve noticed people are rarely curious about others’ experiences; even travel stories are met with polite acknowledgment unless the listener traveled the same routes.

I would prefer sharing my experiences with those who have backgrounds similar to mine, so we can genuinely connect over common ground.

If I were to share my life story, I would begin with my childhood in Hungary under the Communist regime, describing what that experience was like. A major turning point came when I walked to Vienna, where I was temporarily placed in high school. Afterward, I lived in Manchester, England, for a few months before flying to Vancouver, Canada, and start a new life. Other significant moments included attending university, getting married, having children, and building my career. Each of these events represents a critical event that shaped who I am today.

As my story continued, I would include my experiences in consulting and as a lobbyist, sharing what each role entailed. I would also discuss the countries we visited and the lessons we learned by exploring diverse cultures. Through these experiences, both professional and personal, my life story would come together as a collection of challenges, opportunities, and discoveries.

Some subjects, such as troublesome family matters, might be harder to share honestly. Although I could speak more openly about deceased family members, I might still avoid sensitive subjects.

Overall, I feel positive about sharing my life story when there is genuine interest, especially when I know my story will not make listeners uncomfortable.

Life Experiences fit Together like a Mosaic….Sometimes


April 1, 2026

Three recent experiences connected in my mind last week. The pieces clicked, as in a mosaic. These three experiences led me to stories about people who saw demand for services that were unavailable. Their instincts led to successful companies.

The first experience was a talk I went to hear by a business professor. He introduced himself by describing his usual pitch to students, which is to ask them what motivates business. He said the answer is usually money. He responds to that view by describing a situation, a business transaction: when he goes shopping, he wants to purchase specific goods, such as vegetables. Business is about buying and selling goods and services. Money is simply the vehicle that enables goods and services to change hands.

The next experience was speaking with a physiotherapist, who advised me to strengthen my aching legs. Without going into details, I may have something called lazy butt syndrome, or butt amnesia. Muscles can lose their ability to function properly, so it’s important to use targeted exercises to help them remember how to work.  During our consultation, we talked about cycling and bike racks. I mentioned my intent to buy one. She suggested I visit Rack Attack, a store specializing in racks for cars that carry bikes, skis, and other outdoor gear.

The third experience was buying a hanging bike rack from Amazon, which came from Rack Attack. The rack came in a box, partially assembled. Not fully understanding the assembly instructions, I drove over to Rack Attack and asked for help. The young assistant was excellent, showing me how to prepare the full assembly. Searching the store’s website, I learned that the founder of this chain emphasizes customer relations, focusing on the sales, installation, and maintenance of a variety of racks.

Reflecting on these three experiences, that took place in a couple of days, led me to think about what makes companies successful in business.

The very satisfying experience with Rack Attack made me look into the store’s history. Chris Sandy, the founder, worked at a bike shop in Vancouver, BC, Canada. He noticed that most racks did not fit the more aerodynamic car models, which lacked traditional rain gutters. Attaching sports gear racks to these newer cars was difficult. He decided to open a store catering to outdoor enthusiasts who carry gear in their cars. He started by selling products from Thule, Yakima, and others that fit newer cars.

The first store opened in 1996, and Chris quickly expanded by establishing stores in Toronto and other Canadian cities. In 2014, he sold his stores to Banyan Capital Partners, a private equity investor, to raise money for further growth. By 2026, Rack Attack had over 40 stores, with 30 in the US.

The Rack Attack story reminded me of the Running Room, a specialty store selling running shoes and related products. Running Rooms always have a running club. I used to run with them in Ottawa for years. Running with a group is motivating. You meet people with similar interests. On-the-road discussions fill time and take your mind off tired muscles.

John Stanton established the Running Room in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, in 1984. He was a chubby food industry executive who needed to change his lifestyle for his health. Embarrassed by neighbors watching him try to run, he went outside at dawn to run. He could hardly run a block before sucking for air. But he persevered, became a runner, and opened a one-room store in Edmonton to sell running gear. The store was a huge success, and he expanded the Running Room stores across Canada and the US. Today, there are over 100 Running Rooms, with 8 in the US. The chain employs 1,300 people. John still works and manages the chain with his two sons.

Another example is the Tim Horton franchise. Tim Horton, an NHL player, sought a business after his hockey career ended. He tried several ventures—first, a burger joint, followed by a car dealership, and finally a coffee-and-doughnut shop in Hamilton, Ontario, in 1964. He imagined creating a community hub where people could mingle and enjoy coffee and fresh doughnuts. The idea proved successful: today, there are more than 6,000 locations in 14 countries, growth fueled by key mergers with Wendy’s in 1995 and Burger King in 2014.

These stories back up the business professor’s view of what business is: at its most basic tenet, it is finding an opportunity to sell a product people want. The money part is secondary; the priority is to fulfill an unmet demand for which people are willing to pay. And clearly, the business must be profitable in the long run, otherwise it becomes unsustainable. I would add that good service is also essential to sustain a company and an enthusiastic founder could be a catalyst for future success.

The question is, where can you find ideas for a sustainable business? I do not know that. But, in the high-tech industry, common wisdom says one out of ten startups goes bankrupt. One makes it. The rest struggle on.

In conclusion, it was worth attending the professor’s lecture; it made me think about what business is.