Of what are you proudest?

Is it proper to be proud of good luck? Every achievement or failure has an element of luck. The thing of which I am most proud is that I had the good fortune to marry Marianne and that she tolerated me, and stood by me through thick and thin.

Derivative of that, I’m proud of our children, all of whom have their own long, stable marriages, which have produced another generation of good humans—not a bad apple among our grandchildren. Early in our marriage, I told her I wanted our children to know what they would find when they came home from school. We did and I’m proud of it. And I am ever aware that some of the results surely must owe to good luck because I know plenty of parents who did everything right and did not get a good result.

I’m also proud to have been admitted to Rice University and survived the very difficult time I had: my father was dying, a hopeless drug addict who died my sophomore year. Part and parcel of the experience was that I was a kid from the country now in a big city at one of the most demanding universities in the US. I had to drag myself out of bed each day. I had few friends and less money. In retrospect, I believe I was seriously depressed, but in those days student psychological support was practically non-existent. Every year I was there I wanted to quit. But I didn’t. And I’m proud of it.

I’m also proud that I was accepted by and graduated from UT Southwestern Medical School. It still seems like a miracle of good luck. 

I am very, very proud to have served in the US Army.

I’m proud I chose to be an entrepreneur, to take the risks, to be in the arena, and master the uncertainties and challenges it brought. Many a day I wanted to be done with the stress and instability that are native to entrepreneurial life. I’m proud I didn’t quit.

I am proud that Marianne and I, having been graced with financial success, were generous in funding educational trusts for our seven grandchildren, and in supporting the education of others less fortunate.

I’m proud of my role in the creation of the columbaria at Saint Michael, especially the new one that bears Marianne’s name. I grew interested in columbaria in 1981 when I was a pallbearer for Don Payne’s funeral. His ashes were interred in the tiny columbarium at St. John’s Episcopal Church on Lafayette Square near the White House. Back in Dallas, we began campaigning for a columbarium at our church. Marianne and I were instrumental in getting the original one constructed. Her ashes are there and mine will be next to hers. Later a smaller one was built inside Saint Michael Chapel. The third one was constructed after she died. I was the principal donor and promoter, but it was a parish-wide project; I could never have done it alone. Each of the gates bears this inscription: “To the glory of God in Memory of Marianne Harper McConnell, 1939-2013.” The inscriptions are small and inconspicuous, “There to be discovered,” in the words of Max Levy,” the architect. It is beautiful, elegant, and understated… like she was.