To whom much is given, much will be required, and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.”

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Those words from Luke 12:48 have carried special weight throughout my life. When you’ve been born with a silver spoon in your mouth, your responsibility is not to tarnish it. I was blessed to be born into a family that had already accomplished much, earned a great deal of respect, and made a profound impact on many lives.

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My responsibility, I felt, was to not tarnish that legacy, and to add to it where I could. My blessing came with an expectation. Life isn’t a free ride. You really should leave the world a better place than you found it.

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Many children are born into families that operate their own enterprises, be they farms, stores, or even large companies. It just so happens that my family’s business was a psychiatric hospital and training program.

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When I was born, the Menninger Clinic was a well-respected, yet relatively small, family business. It remained as such for most of my childhood. But suddenly, about the time I entered high school, the clinic expanded, seemingly overnight. So much so that, when I was ready to assume a role, it was world-renowned and influential.

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Like my father, Will Menninger, and my uncle, Karl Menninger, I became a psychiatrist. But what I didn’t anticipate was that I would follow in their footsteps outside of the family clinic. Like my father and my uncle, I wound up spending much of my time writing, speaking, participating in work groups in the civic arena, and consulting.

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I had a multifaceted career that allowed me to travel to interesting places, meet interesting people, and engage in interesting work. I like to say that I frequently found myself in the right place at the right time. But being born into the Menninger family had a lot to do with that. In most circles, my family name was recognized and respected. My grandfather, Charles Menninger, my father, and my uncle were prominent leaders, earning world-wide recognition. The Menninger name gave me entrée into many circles and opened many doors for me.

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To whom much is given, much is required.

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I knew from my childhood that I wanted to become a psychiatrist like my father. I don’t recall that it was ever discussed openly, nor am I sure when it became my definitive goal. But by the time I was in high school, I was certain it was what I would do. I knew from an early age that I wanted to help people. Having watched my father closely, it seemed psychiatry was a way to do that. The opportunity was there for me to join the family business, and I did my best to stick to that path. But I discovered many amazing and satisfying things along the way that I never planned for. It is from these adventures that many of the greatest lessons of my life were learned.

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Perhaps the most valuable lesson I learned, applied repeatedly throughout my career, derived from the application of advice from Dr. Felix Wroblewski, at Cornell Medical College, who served as a mentor early in my career:

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“It’s more important in life to like what you do than to do what you like.”

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Adopting this attitude has been the key to much of the success I’ve experienced in life, and served as a fitting title for my memoir, written in my early 90s.

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“Why write a memoir?” you might ask. I asked myself that question repeatedly as I put down these words.

Is it the self-gratification of saying you authored a book? No. I’ve published books before. I didn’t need to write another one.

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Is it nothing more than narcissism that produced this work? I hope not.

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I was motivated to put these words on paper because, although many of my experiences seem like ancient history now, there are some nuggets of wisdom, some scraps of hope, and some embers of insight in those stories that are still meaningful. The Morale Curve, the TGIF Syndrome, the Myth of Happiness, reflections on tragedy and loss, violence and civil disobedience…. I don’t want to take these lessons to the grave with me. I want to make one last effort to plant them like seeds, in hopes they will grow for generations to come.

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Few people in life have had the opportunities I had. My task was to not tarnish the silver spoon. But beyond that, I realized that there is a responsibility to care for what you have been given and to pass it on.

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I hesitated to write this book particularly because of my awareness of the much-researched “fallibility of memory.” As old athletes are prone to say, “The older I get, the better I was.” In my own case, I don’t want to succumb to the fallibility of memory, remembering only my accomplishments and the good times in my life. I don’t want to paint an unrealistic picture of the success of the Menninger Clinic over the decades, nor of myself as a doctor, husband, father, and contributor to my community.

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But as I turned 90 in 2021, I determined that, to the best of my memory, I would tell my story in its entirety in hopes that I could honor the family business by recalling it from its humble beginning to the day it passed from Menninger leadership in 2003. Having watched the organization up close as a youth, having studied under extraordinary teachers, and having traveled the world to work with remarkable leaders on a variety of important projects as an adult, I hope to pass on a few lessons I learned along the way.

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I owe a debt of gratitude to Todd Fertig, who helped me to record my memories and to artfully intersperse amongst the chapters a dozen talks and writings produced throughout my career which I deemed the most worthy of inclusion in the book.

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It has been my pleasure to work with Flint Hills Publishing to bring this project to reality. Thea Rademacher and the staff have encouraged me along the final leg of the journey. Additionally, I thank my daughter Marian and my daughter-in-law Claire for their thorough and careful editing of the manuscript.

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While I am grateful for many who have supported me throughout my life and career, I wish to say a special thank you to my eldest son, Fritz, who has been instrumental in allowing me to remain in my home and assisted me in living a vibrant life into my 90s. Without his help, my life these past couple of decades would have been much different. My “independence” has been largely dependent upon his assistance.

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Writing a memoir brings recollections flooding back of so many people who impacted your life along the way. It would be impossible to acknowledge all of them in this book. Friends, relatives, and co-workers who don’t find your names in the following pages, please know that your presence in my life is cherished.