A Good Man

RIP, Rick Sapio, 1963-2024

“All good things come to those for whom the good is all things.” — Guy Finley

The world lost a good man the week before Christmas, Rick Sapio. To say he was a good friend doesn’t quite feel right — we’d never been to each other’s house, never really broken bread together, never partnered on a deal — but to not think of him as a good friend doesn’t feel right to me, either, because of the type of man he was. You see, Rick was a special kind of man who is innately friends with everyone, delivered to everyone the gift of his spirit, and silently conveyed to you that you had just met someone who was on your team.

I first met Rick at the Gathering of Titans, a special gathering of entrepreneurs and thought leaders who meet once a year at MIT’s Endicott House. The intellectual heft of the group, and the volume of achievements of its members allows it to summon the best thought leaders in the country to share a message from the stage that benefits all who hear it. Speakers often talk about the quality of “the room,” saying things like “that was a good room,” or “the room lacked energy.” To me, GOT is simply “THE room,” there isn’t a better one, and I was flattered to be invited to speak to the group twice, and then a join an accountability group composed of some of the members.

Rick was a founding member of the group, served as its Chairman seven times, and was regarded by all as its animating spirit, and maybe its Court Jester. The man was quick-witted and hilarious and his smile and laugh only encouraged others to smile and laugh. He had that rare gift of being able to drop the most outrageous, irreverent, and offensive joke that if delivered by anyone else would have hurt feelings, but with Rick it was just funny because he was laughing with you, never at you.

In between sessions, we ran into each other and he said “You're full of shit, you know?” with a huge smile. “You may be fooling others but you’re not fooling me. I’m a CEO and I do waaaaaaayyy more than 3 things a day!” I laughed right back at him and said “I’ll prove to you in 3 seconds that you don’t,” and then taught him the methodology of Culture, People and Numbers and how everything we do as leaders fall into those categories. That’s all it took and he was a convert.

After that I kept in loose touch with him, hearing about him as much as from him. We shared some calls, I made some referrals to his exit planning business, knowing that I could trust him with my friends who wanted to sell their companies. He invited me back to speak at the next GOT, an honor only rarely bestowed, and one that rankled several of my friends who had spoken once and yearned to get back in “The Room.” At this point I was working my way through loads of grief and had written a new book that helps you answer tough questions as a legacy to those you leave behind. We booked a call to talk about it … and then the bottom fell out.

I heard through GOT friends that Rick was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and had been given 60 days to live. “Go home, get your affairs in order, and say goodbye to your friends and family,” was the message from the doctor. “Get bent,” said Rick, (at least in my imagination), and embarked on a course of study, therapy and healing that extended his life an additional 18 months or so.

As the GOT meeting neared, I started to wonder whether my invite was still good and who was in charge of the meeting since Rick obviously couldn’t be. I reached out through the same friends and were told that Rick was still running the show and I should speak with him. So I booked a call and he said “What do you have for us?”

The enormity of the situation weighed heavily on me. What I had was called by the Romans, a memento mori, a reminder of death that I wanted people to use to capture this life for the benefit of those who lived on after they are gone. But I didn’t want to say that to a guy who was so obviously in that exact situation, so I told him I didn’t think it was appropriate and that I’d work on something else. “Nope, bring that or don’t show up!” he said, laughing. “That’s what we want!” And so I did. I saw him and the group several months later and I shared, from my heart, the exercises that had helped me through the worst grief I’d ever known.

The whole program was like that. One speaker after another sharing the human experience in an act of deepening the living of this life. One man spoke of losing his wife to cancer. Another of losing his son to an overdoes. Still another of battling intense suicidal depression, and another about losing a husband and dealing with financial hardships. Others talked of business betrayals, and personal moral failings, and the ugly side of addiction. There were prayers of healing, rituals of loving, hugs and tears and a camaraderie that I was almost abashed to see.

And it was a lesson to me.

This life of ours is all these things, the smiles and the tears. Rick knew it, and knew that we needed to see it, and know it, and he called that message into being in that time. It was the work of a zen master who never tells you what they are going to teach you, they just awaken you to that knowledge.

At his funeral there were easily 700 people or more. It was high church Catholic mass that saw people of all faiths praying through the Rosary, responding to the priest, and taking the homily to heart. There were tears, yes, but there was such a sense of a life well-lived that you almost felt wrong for shedding them.

And that’s a testament to a man whose death proved how very well he lived his life. With his example, may we all aspire to a similar result.

Rest in Peace.

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Rick leaves behind a wife and 4 children, an extended family of siblings and nieces and nephews. My prayers are with them and yours wouldn’t go amiss should you feel the call to share them.