Leading with Vision and Heart: A Memoir

By Leonard H. Roberts

Leading with Vision and Heart is inherently a story of success, but it is also a story of the importance of family and friends, including legendary baseball player Hank Aaron. Len Roberts' memoir shares the joys of fatherhood, but also the heartache when his first-born daughter was struck by a drunk driver. And it recounts a love story over half a century in the making, between Len and his wife, Laurie. From a passion for travel to a family love of animals, and from C-suite boardrooms to the family lake house, Len has led a life that leaders of all backgrounds can learn from. In this book, he shares the memories, insights, and leadership principles that he has developed over a lifetime of integrity and accomplishment, while acknowledging and honoring the loved ones who make it all worthwhile.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBooks2go, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781545756829

Book preview

A Strong Start in Chicago

There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human society, are created, strengthened, and maintained.

—Winston Churchill

There is no land like the land of your childhood.

—Michael Powell

There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.

—Graham Greene

Ask a man who’s an old-timer what life was like when he was a kid, and invariably you’ll hear something along the lines of, It was a different world back then. His memories may be sharp, or they may have grown a bit clouded with time, but he’ll likely look back on his days of boyhood with fondness, as a time when people worked together, trusted each other, and believed in shared values like respect and hard work. Most people in their golden years today look back at the time they spent growing up as a golden age for America, when life was a lot simpler than it is today, and in many ways a lot better.

I think part of this perspective, if we’re honest, is due to our brain’s tendency to remember the good and forget the bad when looking back at the period in our history that is most special to us… which is the early years of life, for many people. Looking back at my own childhood, I recognize that it was not all sunshine and roses, by any means, for either me or the rest of my family, especially considering these were tumultuous years for those facing prejudice in mainstream society.

And yet… in many ways, life was simpler back then. Things that many kids and youths have to worry about today just were not an issue. We did not have the constant distractions of technology, the influence of social media, or the bombardment of text messages, e-mails, and other interruptions that come along with daily life now. For better or worse, we were not yet a global village, and the local community was still largely our world. Life primarily revolved around home, family, school, work, and friends.

Before I dive into stories of my childhood, though, I would like to share with you more about my parents. They did so much to give me a strong start in life, and I learned a great deal from watching them and learning from their example.

My Parents Are Married

When my father, Jack, was about 22 years old, he changed his name to Jack Roberts because he was having trouble finding work with the last name Rabinovitz. At that time, there existed strong discrimination against Jews in certain industries, and my father found that the companies he wanted to work for would not hire Jews. In response, he legally changed his name to Roberts.

His older brother, Louis, also changed his name to Roberts, but their younger brother, David, kept the name Rabinovitz. David moved to California, and on the West Coast he did not experience the same level of antisemitism that his brothers faced in Chicago. When Dad married my mother, Goldie Solomon (1917-1997), on December 11, 1938, in Cook County, Illinois, his name on the marriage license was recorded as Jack Roberts.

My Dad, Jack

Dad had the opportunity to gain more education than many people received in the late 1930s. He finished high school and completed a couple of years of college. He was well-suited to these academic pursuits; my father was a well-rounded, intellectual individual with many skills and talents. His penmanship was beautiful, he was very literate, and he was great at math. Rather than leaning fully into what are called left-brain or right-brain abilities, he was adept at both. Dad was extremely creative, as he could draw well and wrote poems to my mother. But he was also very organized—to the degree that it drove my mother crazy.

For the most part, Dad was a quiet man, but with a wonderful sense of humor. He made me and my siblings laugh all the time. He gave us each nutty nicknames, which he never stopped using. I never heard my father call my mother by her name of Goldie; it was always Johnson. I have no idea where that name came from. I was Chooch to him, and he called me that until his death; even calling me Chooch when I was the CEO of Arby’s Inc. To this day, I still use many of his coined expressions within my own family, including KMT (kiss my tuches… Yiddish for ass), let it rip (when he had to rush to the bathroom for number two), Knarkes (unwanted guests in our home), and so many more.

In the early years of their marriage, Dad worked as a machinist’s helper. At the time Dad registered for the draft in 1940, he was working for Maremont Automotive Products, located at 1625 S. Ashland. This was one of the country’s largest independent manufacturers of automobile and truck parts. Founded in 1877, the company originally built horse-drawn vehicles and also kept them in good repair. But Maremont adapted to the times as transportation methods changed, and the company expanded into numerous states. It eventually produced complete auto and truck exhaust assemblies, including mufflers and tail pipes, auto and truck springs, clutches, and other items.

Dad was 25 years old when he registered for the World War II draft on October 16, 1940. On his draft registration card, he was described as being 5’11" tall and weighing 155 pounds, with light brown complexion, black hair, and brown eyes. While my dad was not drafted in the armed forces due to issues with his flat feet and scoliosis, he did serve in the United States Citizens Defense Corp., organized by the Office of Civilian Defense (OCD) to recruit and train volunteers to perform essential tasks at home. Qualifications for membership required enrollment, physical and mental aptitude, recognition of obligation to study duties, taking required training courses, and subsequently attendance at periodic group practice.

Although World War II had already started when Dad registered for the draft, the United States did not enter the war until after the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. The greatest generation spent the next four years defeating Hitler and Mussolini in Europe while also battling the Japanese in the Pacific Ocean. The war in Europe would end in May 1945 while the Japanese surrender would not come until September 1945, after the United States dropped the first two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Back at home in the United States, everyone scrimped and saved to buy war bonds and collect materials that could be used for the war effort. Sacrifices were made and prayers were uplifted. It would not be until the last months of the war that the true horrors of Hitler’s Nazi Germany would be revealed to the world as U.S. soldiers liberated the concentration camps where Jews had been relocated and murdered. Over six million Jews and six million others fell victim to a most extreme form of German nationalism, the likes of which the modern world had never seen.

Mom and Dad

In the years after the war, my parents, along with most other Americans, focused on getting life back to normal, raising children, and working hard to achieve the American dream. At this point in the nation’s history, that dream was really taking shape in the popular imagination, as it related to work, housing, family, and recreation. My father spent much of his time working to support his growing family. His income when we lived on Congress Parkway came from his job and renting out the second flat of the two-story home. Dad worked very hard during the day, but he still put in many hours after work to keep the house that he owned in good shape.

Our neighborhood was integrated. By this time, white flight had already started, and black families had begun moving into the neighborhood as white families vacated their urban homes and moved to the suburbs. My dad was always active in civil rights activities. He was also generally active in the community and helped to organize some of the first neighborhood associations.

Dad would eventually be employed as a mechanical engineer with Blackstone Manufacturing Company. As a mechanical draftsman, he created designs for auto parts, such as fuel pumps and others. Blackstone, a small metal fabricating shop, had expanded into making conveyors for manufacturing plants after the war and was able to use its success to enlarge its plant. Blackstone was located at 4630 West Harrison St, close enough to our house that my father walked to work. He set an example of a strong work ethic in support of his family.

Although Dad never made a lot of money, he was frugal and managed his finances well. And he moonlighted every Christmas season as the famous Sears Santa Claus, at the Sears store on Madison and Crawford Avenue.

While we obviously never celebrated Christmas, for some reason, my parents allowed us to sit on Santa’s lap every year in December to tell Santa what we wanted (for Hanukkah). I remember never feeling sad or jealous that my Christian friends celebrated Christmas while we did not. I was happy for them, and besides, we got gifts every day for eight nights. And again, for some reason, my parents wanted us to believe that the Santa at Sears was real and that he wanted to know what we wanted for Hanukkah. I truly looked forward to this every year. Then one year (maybe when I was five or six), Santa’s voice sounded very familiar to me. I knew that voice from somewhere. And then I finally realized it was my own dad! I remember him laughing with his stomach gyrating the same as you would expect a real Santa to laugh. It’s one of my funniest and fondest memories as a young lad.

I eventually found out that the Sears Santa Claus was my own dad!!! 1953

Dad understood budgeting and knew how to stretch a dollar. He understood very well the Chicago Transit Authority (CTA)—the public transportation system—transfer system that would allow him to transfer between buses throughout the city for a two-hour period. However, he was a master of manipulating the CTA transfer system and somehow figured out how to transfer all day on one fare.

In fact, for his 70th birthday party, where I served as Master of Ceremonies for the event, I presented my dad with a six-foot poster board image of a CTA transfer, and I read him a poem I wrote. Here’s an excerpt:

He’s materialistic and spends a lot of money.

Never jokes, never funny.

When he traveled the city with the bus,

He would always pay his fare without a fuss.

On this occasion, we think of these things a lot,

But describe Jack Roberts, THEY DO NOT!!!

When my parents had arguments, they were usually fighting about finances. Mom buying items from door-to-door salesmen always irked my dad the most. They were the epitome of what he called knarkes. I remember Dad always had to go out chasing bargains because there wasn’t a lot of available money to spend. He would bring home shopping bags on public transportation. I remember the corned beef manufacturer that my dad journeyed to in order to bring home scraps: Lazar’s Kosher Sausage Factory, on 5500 N. Kenzie Ave.

Dad shopped for food bargains at a downtown store, Goldblatts. We would go shopping for a family of seven and carry home heavy paper bags of groceries on the CTA buses. This is probably the reason I had the courage to carry a large roll of linoleum on the bus for our first apartment after getting married—more on that later.

My dad taught me powerful lessons about working, saving, and giving. On Saturdays, we would go shopping with him, traveling all over the city to hunt down the best bargains. While we were out, we would have lunch. Dad would bring pennies, nickels, and dimes with him and would take us on the bus to Skid Row. Once there, Dad would give the coins to us to hand out to homeless people. We kids would decide who the recipients of these coins should be. This training on the powerful act of giving stuck with me—even though money was tight, he showed us how important it was to think of others who were less fortunate and to share what we had with them. He could have simply told us this message—but making us a part of it, and having us share in the act of giving, drove the lesson home in a much stronger way.

CTA Transfer Card

On these Saturday morning journeys, we would often have to take the Chicago train system, called the El. We would track above some of the worst dilapidated neighborhoods in Chicago. I would stare out the window and think how fortunate our family was to live where we did, in spite of friends and family up north feeling that we lived in the ghetto.

Life Lesson: We all have something to give to others, and the next generation learns to give by watching us.

Whether we were shopping for food downtown at Goldblatts, getting corned beef scraps at Lazar’s, or getting a 25-cent haircut on Skid Row (and passing out change to the homeless), we also had a treat: a true Chicago style hot dog at David’s on 3422 Roosevelt Road. The hot dog would be served with French fries in a plastic basket along with a drink, all for 25 cents. There’s nothing like a Chicago style hot dog or Italian beef!

Chicago Dog

Dad also taught me about the importance of saving and planning ahead. When he died, we went to the bank to gain access to his lockbox. Inside, we found savings bonds and CDs for my mother worth unbelievable amounts, far beyond what any of us had expected: over $50,000. My mom was seemingly set for life, thanks to my father’s foresight and preparation.

As a side note, while Laurie and I provided some financial support to my mom through the years, it was relatively small compared of the substantial financial support we provided Laurie’s parents, all of which we felt blessed to do. We truly loved our parents.

Dad was also very active in the community, putting many hours into helping those around us and improving the city where we lived. He was very civic and community minded. For example, he volunteered for many years with Boy Scouts of America. Dad was a Scoutmaster in the community, providing leadership for many Boy Scout troops in the area and serving as a terrific mentor and role model for them.

Another cause that occupied much of Dad’s time was the United Property Group, an organization created to keep neighborhoods united as they went through the process of integration. This was important, as the various Chicago neighborhoods were being occupied by diverse ethnic and racial groups, and this was causing tension and revealing prejudice. Dad believed in integrated neighborhoods. He did not support discrimination or acts of racism of any kind, and this was another important value that he modeled for his children and for others.

I remember one time that a black physician, his wife, and their two kids moved into our neighborhood on Congress Parkway. Their house was burned down. At a very early age, I realized that something was very wrong with our society, and I knew that people like my father needed to work against it… and that I would, too.

I learned so much from my father. He was a kind, hardworking man who took a stand against prejudice and served as a mentor to many, including me.

B’nai Israel Synagogue of Austin

Dad was a man of high values and was very religious, always serious about his faith and committed to observing the Sabbath. In his early years, he was a member of Congregation Machzikai Hadas, literally translated as Supporters of the Law, which was derived from a Polish organization. But for most of his life, he attended the B’nai Israel Synagogue of Austin. The synagogue was built in 1927. It was located at 5453 W. Jackson Boulevard, one street north from our house.

Nathan Weiss was the rabbi at this synagogue, one of a few in the area. (Rabbi Weiss eventually also married my wife and me.) Once my brothers and I had had our Bar Mitzvah, we had four qualified men in our household to form a minion. A Sabbath service on Saturday morning could not commence until nine qualified men were present to form this minion. Therefore, we were in high demand for this small synagogue and congregation. I could remember when Rabbi Weiss would come to our home to literally drag us to the synagogue. We finally gave in… but mainly to please my father, as it was important to him.

There were a lot of rituals and requirements involved in being orthodox Jews. My twin brother and sister, Edward and Esther, both married Catholics and converted to Catholicism. I was disappointed that my siblings converted out of Judaism, but my dad had an even harder time with their departure from the family faith. He had lived through the Holocaust and remembered the so-called German Catholics who had participated in that horror. To him, the cross was a symbol of the people who killed the Jews in the Holocaust and through the centuries. I understood his emotions, even though I did not share them.

My father taught me not to listen to antisemitism. He said that I should walk away when confronted with prejudice and should turn the other cheek. I tried to follow this advice and the example that he set for me, but this was hard to do in practice. Sometimes I would come home with a bloody nose or a black eye because I had trouble walking away. I never wanted to be the subject of discrimination.

After Dad retired in 1970, he continued serving others and was instrumental in organizing the Rogers Park Association for the Deaf. He died on December 28, 1985, at the age of 71. Services were held on December 31 at Piser-Weinstein Menorah Chapel, and he was buried at Shalom Memorial Park in Arlington Heights, Illinois.

As I mention in the appendix chapter on My Forebears, my father had eight siblings, and two lived with their families in California. But the other six were in Chicago, and we always got our families together for summer picnics, for Passover Seders, and for many years of celebrating Hanukkah. David Rabinovitz, his wife Bernice, and their children (Sherry, Jeffrey, and Larry) lived out on the west coast, so we didn’t see them very much while I was growing up. Likewise for Frieda and her husband Efraim, and their children—David, Judy, Daniel, Raymond, and Anna Leah—who also lived in California. But all my other relatives listed and discussed in the appendix got together often for so many holidays. At these family events, I especially loved goofing off with my cousins Leah, Madeline, Stuart, Anita, Janie, Bobby, and Danny. Some of my fondest memories as a young boy had to do with these extended family gatherings.

My Mom, Goldie

Mom was just the opposite of my dad when it came to personality. She was not very learned or intellectual, but people loved her because of her vivacious personality. She was not a quiet person by any means. Always having an opinion and something to say for any occasion, Mom talked a lot—sometimes too much. She was very friendly to everyone she met, and sometimes a little goofy, which meant she could be a lot of fun. If she grew irritated or frustrated with one of Dad’s brothers or sisters, I remember her saying, Go back to 1828 South Spaulding where you belong. That is where my father’s eight siblings grew up.

I would have to say that my mother had it rough trying to raise a family with limited resources at her disposal. She was not a very good cook in general, but she was a talented baker. She made some absolutely delicious cakes, strudels, and cookies. Her baking was in demand by friends and family. When our gang of six or seven arrived, we tended to crowd a house; but we knew my mom’s baking gave us quid pro quo for the intrusion of our large-sized family. She also loved gardening, which was another area that really brought out her personality. All her plants had names, and she talked to them.

Mom always loved being goofy.

I also remember that Mom loved to listen to music, particularly a Connie Francis album, Connie Francis Sings Jewish Favorites.This was a collection of Jewish songs that Francis recorded in 1960, and the second album the artist released in an attempt to appeal to immigrant communities in the United States. It remained on the album charts for 81 weeks and peaked at number four. Francis grew up in an Italian-Jewish neighborhood in Newark and spoke Yiddish fluently. She was very familiar with songs in Hebrew, prompting her to record the songs either entirely in Yiddish or Hebrew or bilingually, with a few lines sung in English. Mom loved her music. And I did too. I still listen to Francis’ My Yiddishe Momme and Oh My Papa.

Mom was an associate member of the Hadassah Women’s Zionist Organization of America. Hadassah fundraises for community programs and health initiatives in Israel, including the Hadassah Medical Organization, comprised of two leading research hospitals in Jerusalem. In the United States, the organization advocates on behalf of women’s rights, religious autonomy, and U.S.-Israeli diplomacy. Her involvement in Chicago was legendary. I remember going to a Hadassah awards event in the 1980s, where Mom was honored. I was so proud to witness this emotional event for my mom.

Beyond baking, my mom was also well known for her fabulous salads. Being a big salad eater myself today, I wish I knew her recipes. I don’t think she ever wrote them down; they were all in her head. 

Mom making one of her acclaimed salads for some charity event.

Not only would she bring her salads to family gatherings and Hadassah events, but she also made frequent visits to several veteran hospitals and served her salads there.

Even though money was always tight in our family, my mom was still extremely generous with her time. I don’t recall my dad ever objecting to my mom buying the ingredients to make these acclaimed salads and baked goods for Hadassah, for the hospitalized veterans, or for anyone who was in need.

Mom was the disciplinarian in our family. If I failed to meet expectations, she would deliver some firm, choice words to get me back in line. But she was always very loving and nurturing, even as she disciplined. She also set a great example and was a good mentor, sharing her moral and ethical outlook on the world and how it should shape our behavior. Like Dad, she held to high values, and she likewise was a person who did not tolerate discrimination.

All the grandkids loved Grandma Goldie. She would get right down on the floor, playing with them at their level. She was fun and silly with them. Grandma Goldie taught the grandkids how to talk to the plants in the garden.

My mother, Goldie Solomon Roberts, died on May 6, 1997. She was buried beside my father at Shalom Memorial Park in Arlington Heights, Illinois. Like my father, she set a wonderful example for me to follow from a young age, and she gave me love and care as I was learning and growing.

Writing this book and recalling my childhood only reinforces the impact my parents had on me. I love them so dearly and miss them beyond words can express.

The very first photo I ever took with my own camera. It was mom reading the morning paper.

Extended Family

In the appendix, you will find a chapter titled My Forebears. It is a remarkable piece of research tracing the trials and tribulations of the lives of my great-great-grandparents from eastern Europe (both paternal and maternal). So, for my grandchildren, Darcy, Jack, Ellie, Javi, Roberto, and Mateo, you will be introduced to your great-great-great-great-grandparents. You will better understand your lineage going back five generations! Now that is cool! And as you will read in that very special ancestral chapter, my dad had eight siblings, and most of them lived in Chicago. So, I had lots of first cousins, and of course, lots of aunts and uncles. You will read more about my many uncles, aunts, and cousins in the appendix chapter on My Forebears.

I loved getting together with my Chicago first cousins, especially Leah and Bobby Dauber, Janie Balinski, Madaline Bosak, Stuart and Anita Sokolin, and Danny Joseph. I was also very close to my mother’s younger sister, my aunt Hessie Arons (Bernie), and her two sons, Rand and Barry. In fact, of all my first cousins, I maintained the closest relationship through the decades with Rand Arons.

My Aunt Hessie and Uncle Bernie Arons and cousin Randy.

Due to the COVID-19 pandemic and the newly widespread use of Zoom, it was fun to reconnect recently with my cousins Leah Dauber and Madaline Bosak. Leah and Madaline were the nearest to my age, and this was probably one of the main reasons why they were the first cousins I was closest to while growing up in Chicago. And in the appendix chapter on My Forebears, I give special recognition to my cousin, Leah’s daughter, Dina Yaker, for setting up the Rabinovitz Facebook family site. As previously noted, my family name was Rabinovitz before it was changed by my father to Roberts.

My mother also had two brothers and their families who lived in California. One brother was Alex Solomon, who was married to Marian and had two children. I really had no relationship with this family. The other brother was Bernie Solomon. My family and I have remained connected to Bernie’s son, Ryan, who is a great guy. Ryan married Kim, and they have their first child, Samantha.

My Siblings

My parents first lived at 1828 S. Spaulding, the place where Dad grew up, during the early years of their marriage. While my sister Marcia was born prior to World War II, my other siblings were born in the years after the war. I learned later in life that my sister was born out of wedlock by another man before my father met my mother. He quickly adopted my sister and was always a devoted father to Marcia. The story of how I first learned that my sister was only my half-sister will be told later in this book. It’s another amazing story of my life.

•Marcia M. (Clark) was born October 18, 1938. She married Louis Lou Farcus (1934-2013), and their children were Joanna Lynn (1963-2006) and Suzanne (1965-2018). She then married Dave Clark. Their daughter was Ruth Ann Anne (Kolb). Anne and Andrew Kolb have two daughters: Felicity and Caillin. Please make a point to read the Chapter on Forebears which also covers the tragic deaths of both my nieces, Joanna and Suzanne.

•Allen N. was born September 26, 1946. Allen graduated Lane Technical High School and then went to the University of Illinois at Chicago. Allen married Sandy, and their children were Jennifer and David. Allen then married Carolyn, and their children were Noah and Isaac. Sadly, Noah died at birth on August 10, 1984. Allen then married Sue. Isaac has two sons, Zane and Taavi. David has a daughter, Emma. Jennifer has two sons, Vincent and Trevor.

•Edward S. was born September 29, 1947 and graduated from Austin High School. He was married to Lydia, and they had no children. Edward died May 31, 2021.

•Esther E. (1947-2019) was born September 29, 1947. She graduated from Austin High School and then attended a nursing assistant program. Esther married Alex Gorra in 1968, and they were divorced in 1970. They had no children. She then married Bill Truly. Esther died December 29, 2019, survived by her husband, Bill Truly. Bill died April 2, 2021. Please make a point to read the chapter on My Forebears which provides a very personal perspective on the sad deaths of my sister and brother, Esther and Edward.

Earliest Memories

One of the luckiest things that can happen to you in life is to have a happy childhood.

—Agatha Christie

Now that I have shared a little of my family’s history, let me get back to that day in February 1949 when I was born.

Like most people, I look back on my childhood years with a bit of wistful nostalgia. Those years seem like a lifetime ago—which I guess they were—and yet there are certain memories that stand out so clearly. Other parts of my boyhood are little more than a blur now. How far I’ve come since then… and how much the world has changed!

I was born at Mt. Sinai Hospital in Chicago. The second Jewish hospital to be established in Chicago, Mount Sinai was founded by Eastern European Jews in 1919. The first Jewish hospital, Michael Reese Hospital, had been primarily established by German Jews in 1881 on Chicago’s South Side. Located adjacent to Douglas Park at 15th Street and California Avenue on Chicago’s West Side, Mt. Sinai originally had 60 beds. There, Jewish doctors could get training and practice medicine without facing exclusion from hospital staffs.

My earliest memory dates to the time when our family was living at the low-income housing project at 2754 West 26th Street in Chicago. I was two or three years old, sitting in a stroller and playing with the colorful wooden balls that would slide across a wire on the front of my stroller. I also remember when a car ran over my foot and an ambulance came to take me to the hospital. I remember coming home with ice packs on my foot. I might have been around three years old.

Our house was located at the intersection of West 26th and California Boulevard, across from Cook County Jail. Originally, the Bridewell jail was located at Polk and Wells, but it was moved to 26th and California in 1871—about the time of the Great Chicago Fire—and named the Chicago House of Corrections. It housed an average of 419 individuals daily, but the building was expanded to eventually hold approximately 3,200 individuals, then believed to be the largest concentration of inmates in custody in the free world. In the 1930s, the Cook County Jail housed numerous celebrity criminals, including the notorious gangster Al Capone.

My sister, Esther, and brother, Edward, and me playing outside the low-income housing project on 26th Street.

The house my family lived in was a single-story unit connected to all the other housing units. We had a big family and limited space, so I remember sleeping together with my three brothers in the same room. We used coal to heat the furnace, which was outside, so in the wintertime the furnace had to be fed more coal by going out into the brutal cold. After this home, my family then moved further north and west of the housing project.

Me, Allen and Edward and Esther, 1953

4432 Congress Parkway

When I was about five, in 1954, our family moved to the West Side of Chicago, to 4432 Congress Parkway, now Ida B. Wells Drive. At that time, Congress Parkway was a newly constructed major east-west thoroughfare. Before I-290 was named the Dwight D. Eisenhower Expressway in the 1960s, it was called the Congress Expressway because its eastern end was joined to Congress Parkway.

My clearer memories start from the time I was about eight to ten years old. We lived on the first floor of a two-story home that my father had purchased. The infamous race riots were going on at this time in Chicago, and people were burning down homes. Our house was not affected, but it did eventually burn down many years later. As a Jewish family, we were discriminated against, and we often had vandals put graffiti on our garage.

The first real home we had after the housing project. We lived at the Congress Parkway home during the years 1954-1961.

There was a lot of discrimination in that time and place, and I felt it. My brothers, even though they were 6’4 and 5’10, got beat up or bullied for being Jews. I was a tough guy and didn’t like antisemitism, so I tended to fight back when push came to shove. Dad was a great man and did what he could to ease tensions and facilitate integration.

There were hardly any Jewish families in our neighborhood, as nearly all of them had moved north. In the 1950s, five percent of the Chicago area Jews lived in the suburbs, but soon Jews began moving to Lincolnwood and Skokie because of the relatively inexpensive vacant land there and because of the 1951 opening of the Edens Expressway. Single family homes were constructed in this northern suburban area, drawing Jews out of the city. Only Kenilworth and Lake Forest prevented Jews from moving in. By the early 1960s, the number of Jews in the suburbs had increased 40%.

Spry and Sumner Elementary Schools

For kindergarten, I went to Spry Elementary School, located at 2400 S. Marshall Boulevard. But from first grade to fourth grade, I went to Sumner Elementary School Sumner Elementary, named for Charles Sumner, an American politician and senator from Massachusetts, was located on the west side of Chicago in the West Garfield Park Community.

Horatio May Elementary, Chicago

In 1959, while still living on Congress Parkway, I switched for fifth grade to May Elementary School at 512 S. Lavergne Avenue. I remember it being now a very long walk to get to school from 4432 Congress Parkway. It was now too far for me to walk home for lunch, so I ended up eating my lunch at my Aunt Esther’s (Balinski) home. She lived almost across the street from the May School. Unfortunately, her husband Steve was an alcoholic and, when drunk, did not welcome me to his home for lunch. I remember him always screaming at me from his bedroom to get that kike out of our house! Obviously, he was not Jewish. By this time, I had grown accustomed to the blatant antisemitism, but I felt sorry for the embarrassment that my Aunt Esther had to endure.

Allen and Esther with me on top of the famous bear at Lincoln Park Zoo, 1952

4907 Gladys Avenue

In 1961, when I was in seventh grade at May Elementary, we moved to a home much closer to May. I was glad not to be subjected to the alcohol-induced antisemitic behavior of my Uncle Steve. It was a single-family house at 4907 Gladys Avenue, where I lived through my high school years. The years spent at this house were probably the most formative years of my life, the years that did the most, I think, to shape me into the person I would become.

Growing up, I was a very picky eater. Lamb was the only protein source I would eat, with the exception of Chicago hot dogs. Although my mother was not what you would consider to be a skilled cook, she made great lamb chops and French fries for me.

Dad and my siblings during our Chicago summers, 1954

When I was 13 years old, I had to prepare for my Bar Mitzvah. The major requirement was that I had to study hard to read the Torah. I did well, and my parents held a big party at the house. I remember my best friend, Leroy Cooper—who was also 13 years old—served as bartender at the bar that was set up on a card table. Leroy would continue to be my best friend as the years passed, even serving as best man in my wedding.

Our home on Gladys Avenue. Moved there in 1961. It was the home I left when marrying Laurie in 1967. My sister, Esther, in front.

My boyhood friend and Best Man, Leroy Cooper

I joined the Boy Scouts, mostly because my dad was so active in the organization. However, to my father’s disappointment, I was kicked out of the Scouts for clowning around.

Summer Vacations

Even though my parents had no car and very little money, we still looked forward to our summer getaways, even if they were limited to riding CTA buses and the L to various exciting venues in Chicago. Once school was out, from the time I was four until I was 11, we would take day trips to interesting places around the city, and I would enjoy experiencing them with my siblings and parents. And at that time, most of these venues had free admission.

Every summer, we would look forward to my parents taking us to the Museum of Science and Industry. This was on the south side of Chicago in Hyde Park. We also enjoyed visiting the Field Museum of Natural History, the Shedd Aquarium, the Lincoln Park Zoo, and Riverview Amusement Park at Belmont and Western. And we loved going to the three-story, man-made waterfall at the Olson Rug Company at Diversey and Belmont Avenues.

As a side note, I always marveled at the grand limestone architectural facades of our museums. It was an alternative universe for me from the visual experiences I had growing up in my west Chicago neighborhoods. I used to fantasize that if I ever became a very wealthy man, I would build a dream house made of limestone. Who would have imagined that’s exactly what we built in 2004.

My brother Ed and me at the water falls presented by Olson Rug Company

As another side note, about the Museum of Science and Industry, when I was 11 years old, I traveled on the buses to that museum all by myself to pick up some fertilized chicken eggs. I bought an incubator and watched the wondrous process of hatching the chicks at my home on Gladys Avenue. Diligently caring for them, I raised the chicks after they hatched until they were grown. I will never forget my mom nestling a dying chicken in her arms, and rocking the dying chick all night with tears in her eyes so the chick could pass peacefully, which didn’t take place until around 4 a.m. This tells you something special about my mom and her tender heart.

With Ed at the Riverview Amusement Park. My favorite summer vacation event, 1955

Sports and Coordination

Everyone was close in our neighborhood when I was growing up. We played softball in the streets, establishing bases wherever we could. I played a lot of neighborhood softball in local fields too but not on an organized team. We also played hockey in summer and winter. We had a ping-pong table in our garage, and I became very skilled at playing it, even besting my older brothers.

I also loved to play pinners, which—if you’re not familiar with it—is a neighborhood game that was popular in Chicago, played on the front stoop or someplace with angled bricks or stones that can be used to pop a ball into the air. The batter throws a ball at the edge of the step or the angled wall, and the fielder tries to catch the ball as it bounces back.

From age eight until about age 14, I excelled in both pinners and ping-pong. No one my age or five to ten years older could beat me in these two games. I was the neighborhood champ and would practice for hours every day to keep my skills sharp. I loved these games.

From ping-pong and pinners, I developed terrific hand-eye coordination, which served me well for playing defense in baseball. I was never a great hitter, but I could make spectacular in-field and out-field defensive plays. No one my age could catch or throw a ball so accurately, so I was the first player to be chosen for defensive skills… but I was the last player to be chosen for my offensive batting skills. I loved telling my hitting struggles to perhaps the greatest slugger of all time, my close friend, Hammerin’ Hank Aaron. That story will be told later in this book.

Later in life, the superior hand-eye coordination that I developed from playing pinners and ping-pong proved very useful, as I loved playing with and teaching my daughters and their friends how to better catch and throw balls. Later still, I enjoyed playing and teaching the same things with my grandkids in the pool at our family lake house compound (1999-2022). Our lake house estate, named Sans Souci, will be featured in later chapters.

This time together wasn’t just about my kids (and their friends) learning basic catching and throwing skills; it was also about teaching them to handle the pressures of competition. We played competitive games for catching and throwing accuracy. I love teasing my kids and grandkids with the famous Vince Lombardi quote when they would lose: Don’t worry… winning is not everything, IT’S THE ONLY THING!

Of course, my wife, daughters, and grandkids did not like to hear this from me. The truth is, I said it almost facetiously. All through my life, I have always believed that greater lessons in life were learned from failing than from winning. You will get a dose of this belief and life philosophy in a later chapter on leadership.

My superior hand-eye coordination, combined with my fighting experience in the school yard, also helped me in my college years of boxing. The sport of boxing seemed like a natural fit, as my coordination helped me to defend against incoming punches and also to land hits of my own. I was really good… until I wasn’t. Within a year, I sustained a serious shoulder dislocation injury. My boxing days came to a close. My newly wedded wife, though, was happy this pursuit ended. I still love to watch professional boxing on occasion, but have to sneak away from my family to view it.

My interest in boxing actually waned in the late 1980s, however, after I befriended the famous boxing announcer Howard Cosell. He was the acclaimed announcer for Muhammad Ali’s fights. Cosell eventually became a critic of the sport due to his concerns about brain injury, and this affected my interest in boxing. In more recent years, I have started playing golf and pickleball. When I picked up golf for the first time in 2005, I thought (incorrectly) that my superior hand-eye coordination would help my golf game. I believed that ability would lead to unmatched skill on the fairway. So far, I have not been able to prove this theory! On the other hand, I recently started playing pickleball at age 73 in November of 2022. To my surprise, I was quite good right out of the gate, even though I never played tennis. I definitely feel my old ping-pong and pinners acumen has and will continue to pay off with pickleball.

Goofing Around

With a penchant for acting goofy—doing silly and playful things—that I probably inherited from my mother, I enjoyed making my friends laugh. My best friend, Leroy Cooper, was also a class clown. I didn’t take much of anything seriously and thought that being a source of amusement for my friends was what I was best at. That all would change the day that one of my teachers helped me to see that I had more to offer.

Mrs. Ryan and the Essay

Although I don’t remember any of my other grade school teachers, I remember one who was a stand-out influence on my life: my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Ryan. Keep in mind, I had not distinguished myself academically. I performed well in athletics, always a class clown, and could hold my own in a fight, but I was not what you would call a scholar.

One day, Mrs. Ryan had every student in the class write an essay. I don’t precisely remember the topic that I wrote on, but I think it was an essay about the noise on my street—about the dogs barking and the other sounds of a city street. A few days later, Mrs. Ryan started bragging about one of our essays. She said to the class, In all my years, I have never read anything so profound from a fifth grader, or even an eighth grader, or anyone in high school.

I sat back in my chair, wondering who it was that had made such an impression on our teacher. Mrs. Ryan then said, I want this person to stand up and share this essay with the class. Leonard, please stand up and read your essay. I was stunned. My legs were shaking as I stood up from my desk to read my essay.

Mrs. Ryan’s admiration of my writing went a tremendous distance in boosting my confidence. She exerted a profound influence on my life, prompting me to begin seeing myself in a different light. Perhaps, I thought now, I did have the potential inside me to be more than just the class clown.

Italian Bullies

Another strong memory I have of this time period involves my encounter with two Italian bullies. This altercation took place while I lived on Gladys Avenue, and the two boys in question were named Richard Pulio and Kenny Atella. They were physical bullies with the brawn to back it up, big and muscular. They targeted me largely because I was Jewish, but they also wanted to put me in my place because I had been in a few winning fights.

One day, they were waiting for me after school near the schoolyard. They cornered me and beat the crap out of me, as I had no way to defend myself against these two hulking brutes. I came home bleeding and bruised up—and angry—but determined to figure out what to do. In the midst of my pain that evening, I devised a plan. Kenny lived about five doors away from me, so at about 4 a.m., I got up, walked down to his house, and rang his doorbell.

Kenny’s mom came down to answer the door, drowsy and surprised to be woken up at this hour. I had carefully fabricated a story in advance, so I told her that her son had bought the answers to a test from me and I had given him the wrong answers. I needed to correct that, I explained, for the test was the first thing in the morning. I told Mrs. Atella, I needed to give him the right answers now! It was all a complete lie, of course.

She called up to Kenny, and he came to the door half asleep and unprepared for a fight. Without warning, I clobbered him hard and nonstop. His nose was bleeding, and his eyes already swollen. I wanted to give him a black eye so that he would have to come to school with it. After that incident, I was respected by him and his buddy. They never messed with me again. And I think they decreased their bullying against others in those ensuing years at May School.

Patrol Boy Captain

When I was in the eighth grade, I was voted to be captain of the Patrol Boys, a group of boys that wore white belts and patrolled school crossings. This was during the ongoing racial tensions in Chicago, and I didn’t like the way the black kids were being beaten up every day. One particular boy wanted to go to school, but he was quite timid and frail—and black. He was getting beaten up every day. This didn’t sit right with me, and I had a reputation as being a tough kid, so I took a step and used my position as captain of the Patrol Boys to do some good.

Elected as the Captain of the Patrol. My very first leadership position.

I went to this boy’s home one afternoon and told his mother who I was, explaining that I was captain of the Patrol Boys. I described to her what was going on with her son and offered to pick him up every morning and protect him on the way to and from school. I did that for three months, meeting him at his front door every morning and taking him home in the afternoon. He would wait for me after class.

Being a Patrol Boy came with the benefit of protection from the school. If you attacked a Patrol Boy, you were suspended. God knows what would happen if you assaulted the Captain! Knowing this, I capitalized on my reputation as a fighter and my position as a Patrol Boy to help this kid who was in need. It was a combination of don’t attack a Patrol Boy and don’t mess around with Len, and it worked. It felt good to help someone in need.

Life Lesson: If you are strong, use your strength to stick up for those in need.

Iam a strong believer in the good created by a free market economy. I am very concerned about college kids today not fully understanding the opportunities created by hard work and our capitalistic economic system. That’s why I helped start Students In Free Enterprise (SIFE) along with other leaders, including Sam Walton. In fact, I was its chairman for a number of years. SIFE is an international non-profit organization that works with university students who want to make a positive impact on their communities and become socially responsible business leaders. On their campuses, students form teams and use a business model to improve the quality of life and standard of living for people in need.

As the years have gone by, I find myself growing more conservative and have aligned myself accordingly when it comes to political issues. That being said, throughout my life I have been committed to fighting bullying, discrimination, and exclusion based on race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation.

I know exactly where that commitment came from. I know how it feels to be bullied, discriminated against, and excluded because I was Jewish in non-Jewish neighborhoods. I never heeded my dad’s advice that sticks and stones will break your bones but words will never harm you. While my brothers turned the other cheek when they got excluded or bullied, I fought back with my full mind, body, and soul.

My family: Dad, Mom, Marcia, Allen, Esther, Edward and me. 1980

Because of my religion, and the time and place in which I lived, I was exposed to bigotry and discrimination from an early age. I toughened up quickly and learned to use my fists when it was too hard to walk away from a fight. If someone called me a dirty Jew or kike, there would be consequences… on my terms and at the hour of my selection. In time, I earned the respect (or fear) of my oppressors. Still, in the midst of this, injustice pulled at my heart whenever I saw it, and I knew that I couldn’t just stand by and watch. All of this explains a lot about my later history and the track record I have in dealing with these cultural issues. But I am still a proud conservative capitalist!

Even with all of these factors, my childhood was a time of innocence and happiness in many ways, due to my parents’ efforts to protect me, care for me, and give me a home full of love. They also provided excellent examples for me to follow, teaching me the values that were so important to them, such as caring about other people, looking out for those in need, and refusing to accept prejudice or racism.

Before I knew it, high school was on the horizon. I already had Lane Technical in my sights.

My Siblings and Their Children and Grandchildren

1998 picture of me with my siblings Marcia, Allen, Esther and Edward.

My brother Allen’s daughter, Jennifer, and her two sons, Vincent and Trevor.

My brother Allen’s son, David, and chis daughter, Emma.

My sister Marcia’s daughter, Anne, and her two daughters Felicity and Caillin.

My brother Allen’s son, Isaac, and his two sons, Zane and Taavi.

Teen Years at Lane Tech & Central Soya

A boy becomes an adult three years before his parents think he does, and about two years after he thinks he does.

—Maj. Gen. Lewis B. Hershey

The best substitute for experience is being sixteen.

—Raymond Duncan

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

—E. E. Cummings

These days, it pretty much goes without saying that teenagers are a breed all their own. Whatever the crazy fashion trend currently embraced—pants falling down, clothes worn backward, two-hundred-dollar shoes, or whatever else is popular—teens can seem to come from another planet. We grownups understand that they are going through a peculiar phase in life, a time when they are neither children nor adults. It’s almost like going through a rite of passage… a time that they let go of the things that mattered when they were boys and girls, and gradually learn the responsibility and wisdom that come with age and experience as they become men and women.

Teenagers are caught in between, which is perhaps why they can be so infuriating, but also why we must cut them a little slack. It can be a tough process, and don’t we all remember how great but also how hard life could be at this age? With all the highs and lows, the teenage years can be like Charles Dickens wrote: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

In the ’60s, teenagers worked jobs and had disposable income to spend on things like going to the movies, drinking soda and eating burgers, playing sports, dancing to impress the opposite sex, taking a partner on a date, or shopping for popular items. Lots of teens spent time at diners, stadiums, restaurants, movie theaters, or other places to eat, dance, laugh, play, listen to music, or just relax. We were definitely not grown up, but we weren’t kids anymore, either. We took satisfaction in our growing independence.

Unlike today’s teenagers, who seem to spend the majority of every day staring at a cell phone like their lives depend on it, the only forms of electronic entertainment we had were the radio, TV, or the movies. So, we spent most of our time actually interacting with other people. Imagine that! Although we spent a lot of time with other teenagers, we were also close to our families, and we still sat down together at dinner to talk about our lives and what we did that day… a closeness that is all too rare in the twenty-first century. I admittedly missed too many of those dinners with my own teenage daughters due to my CEO demands.

Lane Technical High School

Our family was one of the last white families to leave the West Side of Chicago. By the time I was ready to begin high school, the local public school system was deteriorating and the public high school in my neighborhood, Austin High, had a particularly poor reputation. Education was important to my parents, so I studied hard to get good grades. I knew how highly my parents valued my learning, but I also understood that good grades were my ticket into college, which would lead to a better career. I planned on pursuing the sciences at a university, which meant I needed to attend a good high school that could prepare me for these studies.

My very smart brother Allen, two years older, was a student at Lane Technical High School, and I set my sights on attending there too. He was a very well-rounded student, strong in all the core subjects—math, science, English, and history—and my hope was to become that kind of student as well.

Lane Tech