Looking Back Brightly - An Embarassment of Blessings

 These Blessings, Reader, may Heav’n grant to thee;
A faithful friend, equal in Love’s degree;
Land fruitful, never conscious of the Curse,
A liberal Heart and never-failing Purse;
A smiling conscience, a contented mind;
A temp’rate Knowledge with true Wisdom join’d;
A Life as long as fair, and when expir’d,
A kindly death, unfear’d as undesir’d.

Poor Richard’s Almanack
 1745

With Thanksgiving approaching Poor Richard's blessing came to mind the other day when I called my childhood neighbor, friend and early coconspirator to check in.  I told him I was I was reminded of our youthful adventures, as I read Mark Twain's (Samuel Clements') Autobiography.  I should be quick to point out that the venerated Dr. Franklin and Dr. Clements (each had an honorary degree) shared both wit and wisdom, with wisdom favoring Franklin, wit Twain.


Franklin's autobiography made a great impression on me as a youth.  It now appears Twain's may make a similar one on me in my autumn  years.  More on Twain's autobiography later.

"A true friend is the best possession "

Poor Richard's Almanac, 

1744

What specifically prompted the call to my "Huckleberry" friend, was Twain's recollection of his youth in the woods of Kentucky.  It was as vivid and colorful as my own.  I imagine most of our favorite childhood memories are sharp and vivid, especially when you have someone to recount them with, as my friend and I  often do.  When we wax nostalgic, we are transported back to a long-ago time in early summer morning, when we would both dash out our backdoors, with the dew still wet on the grass, and our mother's admonition of, "Be home in time for dinner.", ringing in our ears.   We would rendezvous at a giant pine tree between our houses.  It was the finest climbing tree for miles.  There much like our literary heroes Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, we would plot our adventure for the day.  It may have been a foray to Mitchell's Pond to throw rocks at the snakes. Or an arduous hike to the "Boulders", which were a massive towering jumble of giant rocks piled up on one another, left behind as a souvenir from the last Ice Age.  Our missions varied according to seasons and friends available for recruitment for our expedition.  All in all, an idyllic time.  I was blessed, though at the time I didn't know it.  We enjoyed a freedom and independence that in time we would deny our own children, for the sake of safety.  Independence is an exhilarating gift that brings with its own responsibility.  It is an experience that perhaps our children may one day enjoy again.  (Note to the Media, stop scaring everyone.)  


Thanksgiving being a time for reflection, allow me a few moments to range through a few thoughts, on bounty and blessings.


Reading Twain's autobiography, which was written in his final years, brought me to the realization that people, as well as nations, often do not appreciate how fortunate they are, until the blessings they were granted, begin to wane.  Or as Joni Mitchell sang, "That you don't know what you've got till it's gone."   Which brings to mind the observation:
"Youth is wasted on the young."


Mark Twain's literary greatness lay with the fact that his childhood memories never left him.  He was a man who wrote with a boy's heart.  He never lost his sense of wonder, as was evident in "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer".  The foundation for the novel and his exceptional gift of observation, can be seen in this description of his Uncle's farm he visited as a boy.  Its youthful enthusiasm is an apt description of a boy and a country coming of age in the early 19th century.

"I can see the farm yet, with perfect clearness. I can see all its belongings, all its details; the family room of the house, with a "trundle" bed in one corner and a spinning-wheel in another--a wheel whose rising and falling wail, heard from a distance, was the mournfulest of all sounds to me, and made me homesick and low-spirited, and filled my atmosphere with the wandering spirits of the dead: the vast fireplace, piled high, on winter nights, with flaming hickory logs from whose ends a sugary sap bubbled out but did not go to waste, for we scraped it off and ate it; the lazy cat spread out on the rough hearthstones, the drowsy dogs braced against the jambs and blinking; my aunt in one chimney-corner knitting, my uncle in the other smoking his corn-cob pipe; the slick and carpetless oak floor faintly mirroring the dancing flame-tongues and freckled with black indentations where fire-coals had popped out and died a leisurely death; half a dozen children romping in the background twilight; "split"-bottomed chairs here and there, some with rockers; a cradle--out of service, but waiting, with confidence; in the early cold mornings a snuggle of children, in shirts and chemises, occupying the hearthstone and procrastinating--they could not bear to leave that comfortable place and go out on the wind-swept floor-space between the house and kitchen where the general tin basin stood, and wash.

Along outside of the front fence ran the country road; dusty in the summer-time, and a good place for snakes--they liked to lie in it and sun themselves; when they were rattlesnakes or puff adders, we killed them: when they were black snakes, or racers, or belonged to the fabled "hoop" breed, we fled, without shame; when they were "house snakes" or "garters" we carried them home and put them in Aunt Patsy's work-basket for a surprise; for she was prejudiced against snakes, and always when she took the basket in her lap and they began to climb out of it it disordered her mind. She never could seem to get used to them."

Count your blessings, literally

Like Twain, I think most of us have a propensity to remember, "Only the bright moments".  It's why our past is wrapped in a warm nostalgic cover.  Our yearning for the "Old Days" and the appearance of a bountiful past may have something to do with the fact that each year more of us show up for at the same sized world table for dinner.  When Poor Richard's was published in 1750 there were 700 million worldwide pilgrims looking for something to eat, in 1950, 2.55 billion, today according to the United Nations, we had the 7 billionth pilgrim show up looking for grub.  That's a lot of plates on Mother Nature's table.  The mathematic progression should give us pause.

When the original Pilgrims showed up in North America, the natives were only to happy to share what they had with the curiously dressed out-of-towners.  It was inconceivable of the Wampanoag Tribe of Massachusetts to think that these pitiful English settlers could ever need more than the "Great Spirit" had provided for them.  There was land and bounty enough for all God's creatures.  Of course, the Wampanoag's had never met an English lawyer or soldier yet.  Our local aborigines would discover soon enough the people on the far shore had a voracious appetite for land and slaughter.


Even 200 years later it seemed that our North America's bounty was limitless.  Here is a description of a hunting forage out of Mark Twain's childhood back door:

"I remember the pigeon seasons, when the birds would come in millions, and cover the trees, and by their weight break down the branches. They were clubbed to death with sticks; guns were not necessary, and were not used. I remember the squirrel hunts, and the prairie-chicken hunts, and the wild-turkey hunts, and all that; and how we turned out, mornings, while it was still dark, to go on these expeditions, and how chilly and dismal it was, and how often I regretted that I was well enough to go. A toot on a tin horn brought twice as many dogs as were needed, and in their happiness they raced and scampered about, and knocked small people down, and made no end of unnecessary noise. At the word, they vanished away toward the woods, and we drifted silently after them in the melancholy gloom. But presently the gray dawn stole over the world, the birds piped up, then the sun rose and poured light and comfort all around, everything was fresh and dewy and fragrant, and life was a boon again. After three hours of tramping we arrived back wholesomely tired, overladen with game, very hungry, and just in time for breakfast."

It is easy to be charitable when you have much. The trick is to still be kind when things are dear.  As a nation we have often been generous in sharing our wealth with our friends.  Our native North Americans probably felt the same way when they welcomed the European explorers and early settlers.  It would take almost 250 years before they were crowded out of their rich hunting lands and herded westward into oblivion.  I have always been proud of being an American.  Part of that pride stemmed from being blessed by being born in a land of seemingly endless bounty.  Seldom has so much been been protected by so few.  I should also count among my blessing the fact I belonged to a tribe that embraced mathematics and literacy.  The application of which provided our forebears the tools necessary to have their way with the noble but poorly armed native inhabitants, "from sea to shining sea".   Now, I am not suggesting I am proud of how we took title to the land.  Few land grabs are as neat and tidy as the Dutch acquisition of Manhattan, for a handful of beads and trinkets, most are messy and protracted.  Just ask any European, they don't bother drawing the boundaries in ink anymore.  I just feel fortunate that I came from a tribe that appreciated "Gnosis" or knowledge.  It was science and engineering that had our team holding the trigger side of the "fire stick" during our march to the Pacific.  Science and reason will trump witchdoctors and shamans  every time.


While I'm on the topic of taking blessings for granted, a good deal of our greatness comes from passing our knowledge on to our children.   In as much as western common sense (liberal arts), science and logic are currently being called into question by powerful skeptics, I can only pray (curiously ironic) that our belief in mathematics and natural philosophy may continue to serve our tribe in the future.  


As time and mathematics inexorably apply themselves to man's proclivity for reproduction, our tribe and the world, will need rational reasoning and science more than ever to maintain the blessings we have come to take for granted.  Let us hope that as a national tribe we can still count on common sense and our great "commonwealth" as one of our true blessings to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.  


In the meantime, let's look at the bright side of runaway population growth,  it greatly enhances the opportunity to meet new friends and family.  Which brings me back to Ben's idiom: "A true friend is the best possession " and mercifully my conclusion.


Of all my blessings, of which I have many, none do I cherish and am grateful for more than my very own friends and family.  They are a gift and treasure that makes everyday, a day to be thankful.


I pray your days are as blessed.


Happy Thanksgiving.

"Every picture tells a story... don't it?"

A Poppy from the "Field of Flanders" 
and the symbol for Remembrance Day
It's unfortunate how soon we forget something so important.

Our friend Ben wrote to Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society in the anticipation of signing of the Paris Peace Treaty, ending the conflict between Great Britain and the nascent United States,

"...  there was never a good War, or a bad Peace.”

This is has been often quoted but generally out of context.  Franklin ever the practical man went on to say...

... imagine the Paradise, that might have been obtained by spending those Millions in doing good, which in the last War have been spent in doing Mischief; in bringing Misery into thousands of Families, and destroying the Lives of so many thousands of working people, who might have performed the useful labour!”

We call it Veterans Day here but Remembrance is more apt.
In every war there is sacrifice by many, just ask any mother.

Few can argue with Franklin's observation and yet like so many other things we know are bad for us, we can not resist the temptation to periodically run off and impose ourselves on another tribe.  

All of this came to mind when I considered the significance of today's date.  11/11/11, as any Numerologist can tell you is a rare and presumably auspicious calendar event.  And so it was hoped 93 years ago, when the world chose that date and time, to reflect on the what it had done to itself.  At the appointed hour 11AM local time, on the 11th of day of the 11th month, of 1918, the world stopped for 2 minutes. Surviving mothers, fathers, wives, sweethearts, families and veterans all bowed their heads and let the silence speak for the 35 million dead and wounded, lost in the carnage of the "War to End All Wars".  After the tears stopped, the politician's speeches began, and those responsible vowed to "Always Remember".  They promised to never allow the madness to be repeated.  Like so many other resolutions to improve ourselves, this one was soon broken.  It was so sudden that rather than come up with a catchy name for the next war, they merely assigned a number to it.  Let hope that 11/11/11 is more propitious, as well as memorable, this time around.

War, whether good or bad, appears to be as much a part of the Homo sapiens species, as rutting season is to the Moose.  Both are territorial in nature, testosterone driven and stressful to the female.   Yet in spite of a 10,000 year history of continual warfare, politicians still disingenuously condemn war as madness and vow "never again",  even as they are ginning up the next one.  To demonstrate how committed to peace the politicians are (most whom I hasten to add, have never served in a combat zone), our Congress designated a day that would provide them an occasion to make speeches in tribute to those who have "Served their Country", in "projecting" peace and freedom around the world.

Veterans Day or Remembrance Day, is the one day a year we set aside to honor those who do the actual "projecting".   The gesture clearly does little to retard the impulse to go to war but it at least gives us pause to reflect on the price of war, not in treasure but in blood.

That is what I would like to do today, pause and share a reflection of war with you.

"Peace Demonstration" - Mekong Delta, 1970
No one respects peace more than a combat veteran

This is a picture I took in a base camp located in the "Plain of Jars", in the Mekong Delta of Vietnam, in the early Spring of 1970.

It is a picture, like thousands of others, that have been taken at other memorial services, in other wars.  What makes this one different is that I knew the young man, the soldiers in the picture are honoring.

The concept of war is an abstraction.  As abstract as the number 4,481.  It doesn't mean much, unless over the last 10  years you were the parent or spouse of one the 4,481 Americans killed to date, in Iraq or Afghanistan.  Then the idea of war and the number become real at the same time.


Like a number, this picture is an abstraction, but only if it has no meaning.  Here's the story and the meaning behind this picture.

"Go Devil" Patch

Three months before the photo was taken, I had been assigned to the 9th Infantry Division and went through a process center called, "The Go Devil Academy", Go Devil, was the 9th's mascot, (This was before it conjured up satanic possibilities.)  One of the nuBees I went through the academy with, was a young aspiring cowboy from Ft Collins, CO (or it might have been Ft. Laramie, it was a while ago). He had been trained as an RTO (RadioTelegraph Operator) and had taken advanced artillery training in Fort Sill, OK.  I wouldn't have known all this, if I hadn't pulled perimeter guard duty with him for several nights.

One of the few upsides to pulling perimeter guard duty is you get to make new friends.   10 hours of hunkering down in a hole with 2 other fellows, allows for ample opportunity to find out how they ended up in the same hole.  The odd thing is, you remember the stories long after you've forgotten their names.

Like his home town, I vaguely remember our boy's name as "Dusty", which he came by dint of his blonde hair.  I also remember his nick name, because he showed me a picture of his girlfriend holding a puppy of indeterminate breed, that his girlfriend had named "Lil Dusty".  I recall the picture vividly, as it was unusual.  Now showing a picture of your "Girl", is a time honored tradition with soldiers pulling guard duty.  This may be because it is a subtle way to assure the other guys in the hole that you like girls and they can rest soundly, when it's their turn to sleep.  The counter-part of the tradition, is for the guys looking at the picture to say, "Oh Yeah, she's nice!"  You have to say this, no matter how down to the bone ugly she is.  It's just a rule that all soldiers and sailors have lived with since the advent of image reproduction.

Typical Perimeter Guard Post

Turns out the girl in this picture, was as wholesome and cute as Dusty was winsome (you can't say handsome in a foxhole).  In the picture, she is brimming over with her love for Dusty and you can nearly feel her smile.   The girlfriend was holding the puppy close to her face and  I swear the dog was smiling too.   When exchanging these "My Girl" pictures, it can tell you as much about the guy showing it, as it does the woman you're looking at.  You look for clues, as to where and when it was taken.  In this one you could tell the puppy was a Christmas gift, as a bedecked tree could be seen in the background of typical middle class ranch house.  It didn't matter if it was Dusty's house or hers, it just told us where he came from and hung out.    As "My Girl" pictures go, this was a great one and Dusty had every right to be proud of it.

After it had been passed around and studied, we all unanimously agreed, she was a great gal and just as important, that was a fine looking dog he had given her.  (For some reason, Grunts studied the dogs in a picture, as much as the girl).   Dusty beamed, obviously pleased with our evaluation, thanked us, then ceremoniously wrapped the picture back up in its protective cover and returned to it to his wallet.  Thereafter, the conversation naturally turned to what was the status of their relation.  When he informed us she was still his girl.  the questioning narrowed to what were his expectations and intentions on returning home.

This is touchy ground.  Most of us had left "someone" behind and we all  feared the possibility of losing "her" more than we feared Charlie (Viet Cong).  As a result unless someone showed you the picture of a woman, 100 pounds overweight or plagued with a face only a father could love, you usually thought to yourself, there was a fair chance the object of his desire, was going to rip his heart out sometime over the next 360 odd days, your new found friend had left in-country.  Dusty's girlfriend's picture stands out in my mind to this day, only because she had the distinction of being painfully cute, while at the same time, giving me the comforting impression she would still be waiting for him when he got home again.  It was a rare combination and none of us were pained to hear Dusty say, , "I might marry her when I get back ... if she'll have me." .  We all nodded in complete agreement that she would be a wonderful gal (he referred to her as his gal) to get back home to.  After that, the conversation  drifted to pondering how long the mosquito season would be in Vietnam. (Turns out, a long time.)

A few days later, Dusty shipped out to an artillery battalion and was posted to a Forward Observer Team.  I never saw him again, alive.

In April of 1970,  I was assigned to photograph a memorial service out of a Base Camp named Gettysburg.   I flew in to camp on a Huey with some of the usual ceremonial brass.  (Colonels and Generals love getting their pictures taken, but on these occasions, I can assure you they hate it.)  I didn't know the name of the KIA until I heard it read by the Chaplin.  I asked the PIO officer with me if this PFC was a new RTO called Dusty.  He nodded, I started to blink back tears as I worked.  All I could think of was that picture Dusty had showed us that night.   I couldn't get that damn puppy out of my mind, knowing that "Lil" Dusty would be all that his girlfriend and family had left of their boy.

The Chaplin and the Colonel went on to explain how Dusty had been killed by an RPG round as he and his FO team called in fire on an NVA position.  At least thats how I remember it, but mostly I remember that puppy Lil Dusty, smiling.

I gave the film canisters to the PIO officer and asked if he would make sure that Dusty's family got some of the pictures.  I didn't see film or the contact sheet until I returned back to Division several days later.  When I saw the job had been filed and close out, I did something I shouldn't.  I removed the contacts and negatives, and sent them home Stateside.  It was one of the few pictures I kept from my tour.

For years I kept the print hidden away, as it was a painful reminder of the horrific price we paid for a flawed foreign policy.  As time went by, I began to think that as a nation we had learned something from our Vietnam experience and that the lesson, dear as it was, would be some small consolation that our troops had not died in vain.  However, after we invaded Iraq, the second time (If there is an exception to Franklin's rule, the 1st Iraq invasion, Persian Gulf War, is a most likely candidate.)  I realized how naive I was.  I printed and hung the picture of Dusty's Memorial Service, as a reminder that war has a price.  As convenient as it is for us to put war out of our minds it is far too pernicious and destructive, by any measure, to ever forget.


To those who knew and loved the boy being honored in my picture, as well as, the surviving families of every picture like it, I know you won't forget.  Bless you all and thank you.
Happy Veterans Day.   

Franklin 2.0 - Steve Jobs - "He just worked" ..."One last thing."

The previous 3 posts have meander through Steve Jobs' formative years .  By the time Jobs was 36 he had already accomplished more than enough to earn a permanent place in the Pantheon of Innovative Geniuses.  It turns out Jobs was merely laying the groundwork for a future that only he could imagine and bring to pass.



 
 "Not only is the universe stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine.
"


Sir Arthur Eddington

English astronomer 
(1882 - 1944)






This is a quote that has haunted me since I first read it as a boy.  It is a wonderful concept, as it unshackles current reasoning from half-baked orthodoxy and opens the mind to other possibilities.   I have often used it in discussing religion and product market research.  Two subjects that generate vast amounts of dogma based on faith and specious supposition.   It is also a premise that Steven Jobs embraced as he set into motion his desire to provide the world with technical capabilities they hadn't imagined yet.  This brings us back to the dawning of the Internet and Steve Jobs' return from the wilderness.  

It is hard to write about the early days of the Internet, as I'm tempted to take on the role of a wizened geezer, who reminds young people how soft and decadent they are since the advent of indoor plumbing and central heating.  It is worth noting though, if only for perspective, it wasn't that long ago when it took 15 minutes (and no small amount of technical acumen) to send a word document to another computer via a 24 baud telephone modem.  But in 1988, it was 18 hours faster and 25 dollars cheaper, than the alternative (FedEx).  Quaint as this seems, it was the prelude to a technical tsunami  that would wash around the world for the next 10 years.  The result would change the cliche "Its a small world", into a social and economic manifesto, of unprecedented consequence.   In 1995, Steve was perfectly poised on the rising swell, to catch that wave.  

The world would watch in wonder as Jobs "hotdogged" the Techno-wave for the next 16 years.
 
Meanwhile back in Cupertino, California, the Wharton credentialed "adult supervision", that had been imported to make sure the "unkempt visionaries" didn't run the company into the ground, was on the verge of saving the company into bankruptcy.  They knew how to count the beans, they just didn't have a clue how to grow them.

In 1995 there was little to distinguish this beige Apple computer, from its competition, other than it was more expensive and could only run a limited number of programs.  Apparently the grown-up MBA's at Apple had developed a  new business paradigm that still beguiles and plagues American industry








It became painfully apparent to the Apple Board that they were in desperate need of a "Rainmaker", not more paradigm shifting consultants.  Apple needed thunder - a game changer.   It wasn't long until several of the board members remembered there was someone who claimed to have such a product.   The product was the NeXT operating system and the man was Steve Jobs.

The NeXTstep operating system would go on to become Apple's company saving OS X.




With hat in hand, the board approached Jobs.  I have to imagine Steven enjoyed the conversation like few others.  Jobs demanded a price to buy his operating system at roughly the approximated value of what his stock would have been worth prior to his impetuous fire-sale of his stock, after his being forced out, roughly half a billion dollars.  The board agreed, with the provision he come back in a creative capacity and see if he could repeat his trick of "capturing lighting in a bottle" again.  
(I am sure it is not lost on any you who the first person was to capture lighting.  Both Jobs and Franklin were good at it and both started techno/social revolutions.)


Jobs returned, and in short order was handed the keys to the wheelhouse.  He grabbed the helm and in full Jobs mode began to bring Apple back to the future.  


If you have been following this post, you may recall that Jobs had invested his initial Apple stock in a gutsy start-up called Pixar.  Steve baby sat the company through difficult times and subsequently ended up owning virtually all of the company.  Shortly after that the company released "Toy Story".  No one was quite sure how the movie would be received as no one had ever seen a totally computer generated movie before.  Of course the public and the critics loved it.   

And this fact goes to the core of Steve Jobs genius and success.  No one knew if a digital animation would rise to a quality standard that viewers would pay money for.  Jobs saw the potential of the medium and by dint of will (and all his money) made it work.   Toy Story 2, proved Pixar was no one-trick wonder.  Hollywood beat a path to his door.

One of the twists in Jobs career path was that Pixar put him in the thick of things in Hollywood.  Disney wanted (and needed) some of Job's magic and they bought Pixar, much of it with Disney shares.  As one of the principle shareholders of not only Apple but The Disney Company, made Jobs a name to be reckoned with in both the computer and entertainment industries.  Jobs was to become the first real embodiment of "convergence" before Wall Street and the Press, were even sure what convergence meant.  Jobs was about to change that with the introduction of the iPod.

An honest to goodness game-changer the

iPod was not the first or even the best portable hard drive for music.  What set it apart was its looks and the fact that it was the first of many Apple's 2.0 products that,  as Jobs often said, "Just works."







The iPod "just worked" on many levels.  It looked cool, a feature that would trade mark all products going forward.  Cool, was what Jobs brought to the party.  He wasn't a great engineer, he was far too ADD to crunch code, and his mind was too expansive to simply design.  He wanted to be a magician, make people go Wow!  I believe that was Jobs' greatest gift (and part-time curse), was his desire to deliver an experience that made people go "Wow" and then made them smile.

There are 3 parts to every magic trick.   Think of Christmas as a big magic trick.  Take something ordinary, like Decmember, 25th and promise your audience something magical will happen, then begin to create anticipation and make them wait.  This is called "The Pledge".   Christmas morning when the presents are magically revealed is the actually trick and is called "The Turn".  Finally there is the unwrapping of the gifts and the degree of satisfaction the audience receives is called, "The Prestige" or as Steve Jobs called it, the "Wow" factor.


And that's what Jobs brought to the party,  lots of "Wow".


A good magic trick requires attention to detail.  Any slip or mistake and the illusion of "Wow" is gone.  This was the other part of Jobs' great genius, his attention to detail in every part of the audiences' (user's) experience.  From the moment they open the box, to the time they tire of it (Apple has a free recycling program) and purchase his next trick. 

With the possible exception of Tiffany's, few other boxes have been given as much thought as Apple's

The real magic of the iPod was that, "It just worked."  Its design and operation was as simple as it was intuitive.  The subsequent integration with iTunes would lay the foundation for all future Apple products.  The "Convergence" that so many other media, entertainment and computer companies said was just around the corner, was just around the corner, in Copertino, Ca.  And the essence of that convergence was being baked into the Apple DNA.


 
The real "convergence" or as the business consultants were fond of saying, the nexus, would be the integration of wireless technology, with WiFi and the Internet.  I don't have to waste digital ink explaining who accomplished that trick.






The introduction of the iPhone brings the legend of Steve Jobs back to recent events and doesn't need much recounting.  We all know the iPhone begat the iPad, which finally begat the iCloud, which brings this story back full circle. 

  August 10, Apple became the world's largest company - One measure of Steve's "Prestige". 






The iCloud or generically "The Cloud", is where Steve Jobs vision began and ended.  It represents the future of where digital experiences will live now and possibly forever.  It is also most fitting that it will be the place where Steve Jobs' genius will continue to amaze and delight us.   That may be his best trick of all.
 

Link to Stanford Graduation Speech

Oh and one last thing...

As Steve Jobs' was leaving this Earthly stage his last words were: "Oh wow... oh wow... oh wow."

I really am going to miss his magic.

It's only fitting to let Steve have the last word