Saturday, April 4, 2009
MBA Video Tribute
This video was shared with people from the Berkeley community who gathered to share their memories of, and love for, Bill Sonnenschein on March 15, 2009: http://www.vimeo.com/4004840.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Taking Pause
“Leadership is love.”
Those were the parting words of Bill Sonnenschein’s Leadership Communication class in fall 2007.
A good friend, tears welling up in his eyes, said to me afterwards that he had desperately needed to hear that sentiment from the Haas community. We were frantic first-year MBAs—immersed in a world of decision trees and z scores, and invariably losing touch with our real selves. That message, and Bill’s constant embodiment of every ounce of it, was timely, refreshing and nothing short of cathartic.
This past fall, I had the privilege of getting to know Bill quite well as his Head GSI. He was a mythical figure when we first started planning the course, but he quickly became a mentor and confidant. I remember clear as day the first thing he said when he called to ask me if I wanted the gig: “I’m looking forward to working with you, but mostly I’m looking forward to being your friend.”
I was sold. Being his GSI—and his friend—subsequently proved to be the defining experience of my time at Haas.
I was of course far from the only one that forged a close friendship with the man. He made it impossible not to, because he was ever himself; he candidly and indiscriminately let you into his world and in so doing gave you permission to do the same (a right which he simply would not allow you to fail to exercise).
I recently had lunch with Bill’s best friend (and heir to the class this fall), and he told me stories dating back to the early 80s of the very same affable counter-culturist we got to know and love at Haas (the only difference being that back then Bill had hair down to his waist). Indeed, in every situation and with every audience, Bill was always himself. His genuineness, his authenticity, was what made him so magnetic, so compelling, so rare.
Yes, I said it: Authenticity.
As you read that I can see the eyes rolling and hear the sighs. We all know it was Bill’s favorite word. He said it at least forty-three times per lecture.
But it wasn’t just a rhetorical device, a way of pulling in audiences and persuading people with the spoken word—for Bill Sonnenschein, it was a way of life. In ways both subtle and direct, literal and figurative, he was pushing us to find our “voice,” our true selves, to accelerate the pace of our own personal growth and thoughtfully set out on our real adult life’s journey.
Bill was also the most magnanimous person I knew—his command of a room as a speaker was well-documented, but he was also a fantastic and generous listener. I frequently popped into his office (always tiptoeing for fear he might be laid out on his floor in some crazy yoga pose), and would ramble for upwards of twenty uninterrupted minutes, usually about jobs and girls. He had an extraordinary gift to just be with people, and it was therapy for me.
He even came over to my house on occasion to talk about the course, which really meant we were going to hang out, talk politics and Madagascar, and hear stories about his days (years?!) as a roadie for the Grateful Dead. Talking about the “course” was reserved for the way out the door, hours later. That was Bill—someone who understood the power of connecting with other human beings in a real and visceral way.
And he was in no rush to do it. Bill was famous for his pauses. A bit too long and dramatic, perhaps. Modeling good public speaking for his students, to be sure.
But there was also something very poignant and meaningful in his use of pause—he was encouraging us all to slow down, to take pause. In the midst of our preoccupation with our classes, our careers, our futures—in short, ourselves—he was telling us not only to be ourselves entirely and unapologetically, but also that we must freely and lovingly give of ourselves to keep the perspective needed to fully taste the richness of life’s flavors.
And he didn’t just tell us. The consummate teacher, he showed us the way. Because he saw the humanity and decency in every person (okay, every person but Sarah Palin), he had all the time in the world for anyone, everyone.
My enduring image of Bill will be of someone who put tremendous energy into his course and always put students first. But I’ll also remember some of his quirks: The suit he proudly wore for the first class (which he couldn’t wait to take off), his lame attempts to match his outfits to cohort colors, his rants and his unmatched wit and wisdom, his undeniably professorial hair and glasses, and his love of good food, Martin Luther King, and Citizen Kane (“ROSEBUD”). But first and foremost, I’ll remember a friend, brimming with passion and compassion.
Bill’s last status update on Facebook, on Christmas Day, said “Bill is happy!!!” Who can ask for anything more. We should all take solace in the fact that he spent his final days with his family, and in Madagascar, lemurs climbing all over him, kayaking under a rainbow, and living life to its fullest.
Sure it was too soon for those of us that knew him, but this is where he wanted to be. It’s where he was supposed to be. I am comforted by the thought of all of his students dispersed all over the world during our winter break sending prayers and thanks to him, like rays beaming up to a node, from the Ganges River, from Walls Great and Wailing, Machu Picchu, and everywhere in between. It was a fitting exit for a world traveler who savored every sweet—and bittersweet—morsel of a planet he loved.
Bill liked to end his course with Dr. King’s “Mountaintop” speech, delivered mere hours before he was assassinated, which is eerie in its prescience: “I’ve been to the mountaintop…I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy…I’m not worried about anything.”
Bill, in his own right, was a protective bubble in the craziness of business school who empowered us to see and move towards the promised land in each of our hearts. For that we all owe him a debt of gratitude.
In his premature passing, Bill is teaching us yet another lesson, that the breath of life can be taken from you at any moment, that one must maximize every second and live in the means, not towards some ever-elusive end.
But this is far from his final lesson. I’m convinced that we will be learning from Bill’s life for the rest of ours. His way of being, and of being with people, will be instructive for a lifetime.
The only way to sufficiently honor the legacy of this amazing man and teacher is to actively remember all he taught us and stood for, to be more present in our daily lives and relationships, and to hold those pauses just a few fleeting moments longer…
As another GSI put it, we must all go forth and “live harder.”
Bill, you are irreplaceable. We love and thank you.
Those were the parting words of Bill Sonnenschein’s Leadership Communication class in fall 2007.
A good friend, tears welling up in his eyes, said to me afterwards that he had desperately needed to hear that sentiment from the Haas community. We were frantic first-year MBAs—immersed in a world of decision trees and z scores, and invariably losing touch with our real selves. That message, and Bill’s constant embodiment of every ounce of it, was timely, refreshing and nothing short of cathartic.
This past fall, I had the privilege of getting to know Bill quite well as his Head GSI. He was a mythical figure when we first started planning the course, but he quickly became a mentor and confidant. I remember clear as day the first thing he said when he called to ask me if I wanted the gig: “I’m looking forward to working with you, but mostly I’m looking forward to being your friend.”
I was sold. Being his GSI—and his friend—subsequently proved to be the defining experience of my time at Haas.
I was of course far from the only one that forged a close friendship with the man. He made it impossible not to, because he was ever himself; he candidly and indiscriminately let you into his world and in so doing gave you permission to do the same (a right which he simply would not allow you to fail to exercise).
I recently had lunch with Bill’s best friend (and heir to the class this fall), and he told me stories dating back to the early 80s of the very same affable counter-culturist we got to know and love at Haas (the only difference being that back then Bill had hair down to his waist). Indeed, in every situation and with every audience, Bill was always himself. His genuineness, his authenticity, was what made him so magnetic, so compelling, so rare.
Yes, I said it: Authenticity.
As you read that I can see the eyes rolling and hear the sighs. We all know it was Bill’s favorite word. He said it at least forty-three times per lecture.
But it wasn’t just a rhetorical device, a way of pulling in audiences and persuading people with the spoken word—for Bill Sonnenschein, it was a way of life. In ways both subtle and direct, literal and figurative, he was pushing us to find our “voice,” our true selves, to accelerate the pace of our own personal growth and thoughtfully set out on our real adult life’s journey.
Bill was also the most magnanimous person I knew—his command of a room as a speaker was well-documented, but he was also a fantastic and generous listener. I frequently popped into his office (always tiptoeing for fear he might be laid out on his floor in some crazy yoga pose), and would ramble for upwards of twenty uninterrupted minutes, usually about jobs and girls. He had an extraordinary gift to just be with people, and it was therapy for me.
He even came over to my house on occasion to talk about the course, which really meant we were going to hang out, talk politics and Madagascar, and hear stories about his days (years?!) as a roadie for the Grateful Dead. Talking about the “course” was reserved for the way out the door, hours later. That was Bill—someone who understood the power of connecting with other human beings in a real and visceral way.
And he was in no rush to do it. Bill was famous for his pauses. A bit too long and dramatic, perhaps. Modeling good public speaking for his students, to be sure.
But there was also something very poignant and meaningful in his use of pause—he was encouraging us all to slow down, to take pause. In the midst of our preoccupation with our classes, our careers, our futures—in short, ourselves—he was telling us not only to be ourselves entirely and unapologetically, but also that we must freely and lovingly give of ourselves to keep the perspective needed to fully taste the richness of life’s flavors.
And he didn’t just tell us. The consummate teacher, he showed us the way. Because he saw the humanity and decency in every person (okay, every person but Sarah Palin), he had all the time in the world for anyone, everyone.
My enduring image of Bill will be of someone who put tremendous energy into his course and always put students first. But I’ll also remember some of his quirks: The suit he proudly wore for the first class (which he couldn’t wait to take off), his lame attempts to match his outfits to cohort colors, his rants and his unmatched wit and wisdom, his undeniably professorial hair and glasses, and his love of good food, Martin Luther King, and Citizen Kane (“ROSEBUD”). But first and foremost, I’ll remember a friend, brimming with passion and compassion.
Bill’s last status update on Facebook, on Christmas Day, said “Bill is happy!!!” Who can ask for anything more. We should all take solace in the fact that he spent his final days with his family, and in Madagascar, lemurs climbing all over him, kayaking under a rainbow, and living life to its fullest.
Sure it was too soon for those of us that knew him, but this is where he wanted to be. It’s where he was supposed to be. I am comforted by the thought of all of his students dispersed all over the world during our winter break sending prayers and thanks to him, like rays beaming up to a node, from the Ganges River, from Walls Great and Wailing, Machu Picchu, and everywhere in between. It was a fitting exit for a world traveler who savored every sweet—and bittersweet—morsel of a planet he loved.
Bill liked to end his course with Dr. King’s “Mountaintop” speech, delivered mere hours before he was assassinated, which is eerie in its prescience: “I’ve been to the mountaintop…I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy…I’m not worried about anything.”
Bill, in his own right, was a protective bubble in the craziness of business school who empowered us to see and move towards the promised land in each of our hearts. For that we all owe him a debt of gratitude.
In his premature passing, Bill is teaching us yet another lesson, that the breath of life can be taken from you at any moment, that one must maximize every second and live in the means, not towards some ever-elusive end.
But this is far from his final lesson. I’m convinced that we will be learning from Bill’s life for the rest of ours. His way of being, and of being with people, will be instructive for a lifetime.
The only way to sufficiently honor the legacy of this amazing man and teacher is to actively remember all he taught us and stood for, to be more present in our daily lives and relationships, and to hold those pauses just a few fleeting moments longer…
As another GSI put it, we must all go forth and “live harder.”
Bill, you are irreplaceable. We love and thank you.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
One's life is defined...
One's life can defined as sum of the impacts and influences the person has had on others. There is no doubt that Bill's life has had a temendous impact and influence on many lives. The testament to that are these blogs, and the still silent and shocking reaction of all Haas students as they talk about the event of the past few months.
Bill was masterful at finding a way to connect to any person, regardless of background, culture, and etc. With me, it was Persian poetry which he was very fond of, especially poetry of Rumi, and Saadi. His knowledge of Persian literature was impressive. In his honor, I asked permission to post this poem from Rumi:
When I die...
When I die
when my coffin
is being taken out
you must never think
i am missing this world
don't shed any tears
don't lament or
feel sorry
i'm not falling
into a monster's abyss
when you see
my corpse is being carried
don't cry for my leaving
i'm not leaving
i'm arriving at eternal love
when you leave me
in the grave
don't say goodbye
remember a grave is
only a curtain
for the paradise behind
you'll only see me
descending into a grave
now watch me rise
how can there be an end
when the sun sets or
the moon goes down
it looks like the end
it seems like a sunset
but in reality it is a dawn
when the grave locks you up
that is when your soul is freed
have you ever seen
a seed fallen to earth
not rise with a new life
why should you doubt the rise
of a seed named human
have you ever seen
a bucket lowered into a well
coming back empty
why lament for a soul
when it can come back
like Joseph from the well
when for the last time
you close your mouth
your words and soul
will belong to the world of
no place no time
~RUMI, ghazal number 911.
Bill was masterful at finding a way to connect to any person, regardless of background, culture, and etc. With me, it was Persian poetry which he was very fond of, especially poetry of Rumi, and Saadi. His knowledge of Persian literature was impressive. In his honor, I asked permission to post this poem from Rumi:
When I die...
When I die
when my coffin
is being taken out
you must never think
i am missing this world
don't shed any tears
don't lament or
feel sorry
i'm not falling
into a monster's abyss
when you see
my corpse is being carried
don't cry for my leaving
i'm not leaving
i'm arriving at eternal love
when you leave me
in the grave
don't say goodbye
remember a grave is
only a curtain
for the paradise behind
you'll only see me
descending into a grave
now watch me rise
how can there be an end
when the sun sets or
the moon goes down
it looks like the end
it seems like a sunset
but in reality it is a dawn
when the grave locks you up
that is when your soul is freed
have you ever seen
a seed fallen to earth
not rise with a new life
why should you doubt the rise
of a seed named human
have you ever seen
a bucket lowered into a well
coming back empty
why lament for a soul
when it can come back
like Joseph from the well
when for the last time
you close your mouth
your words and soul
will belong to the world of
no place no time
~RUMI, ghazal number 911.
Friday, February 13, 2009
A Beautiful Person
on behalf of Joel Drescher, MBA '05, Speech GSI '05:
I am deeply saddened to hear of the passing of Bill Sonnenschein. Bill befriended me early in my Haas career and was my Speech instructor and later my Speech GSI instructor. He was incredibly kind, very smart and very, very present. I liked Bill a lot because I felt like he “got” the world. He understood and appreciated human potential. He believed in a better world, and he inspired his students and friends to do the same. Bill will always be an important part of my educational journey; he inspired optimism, humor and goodwill. He will be missed.
I am deeply saddened to hear of the passing of Bill Sonnenschein. Bill befriended me early in my Haas career and was my Speech instructor and later my Speech GSI instructor. He was incredibly kind, very smart and very, very present. I liked Bill a lot because I felt like he “got” the world. He understood and appreciated human potential. He believed in a better world, and he inspired his students and friends to do the same. Bill will always be an important part of my educational journey; he inspired optimism, humor and goodwill. He will be missed.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thank you Bill!
Bill and i connected at Haas and then our mentor-friend relationship grew even more afterwords. His support, encouragement, and friendship was reinforced by actual opportunities. Even from Madagascar he was trying to support me and find me opportunities.
Few teachers continue their work after the class is over, few friends pro-actively look into your needs. Bill was one of those few, and i hope to emulate him.
Rajesh
Few teachers continue their work after the class is over, few friends pro-actively look into your needs. Bill was one of those few, and i hope to emulate him.
Rajesh
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
March 15 - Celebrating Bill
Please join us on March 15, from 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m., at International House’s Chevron Auditorium to celebrate the life of our friend and colleague, Bill Sonnenschein. His contributions to the Haas community were immeasurable, profound, and we will miss him deeply.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Bill's recent GSIs gather to reminisce
We spent the night talking, eating, reminiscing, crying, drinking and laughing. We knew Bill was with us. It was hard to believe that we had sat with Bill in that very room on Ashby not so long ago planning the Fall 2008 Leadership communication class for the incoming 2010 MBAs.
Bill inspired us and loved us, but most importantly he taught us how to live life to its fullest. We’ll try to live life a little harder, take time to pause in both speaking and reflecting occasions, and as Bill would always quote, be the change in the world we want to see.
We look forward to celebrating the life of Bill Sonnenschein.
Omar, Mira, Will, Carrie, Jenny, Adrian, Jenn, Rachel, Morgan, Samir, Pedro, and Adrian
GSIs for Leadership Communication, Haas School of Business, Fall 2008
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