Salon Brilliant Careers | A man to match his mountain

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A MAN TO MATCH HIS MOUNTAIN | PAGE 1,2, 3, 4
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A lesser man might have been defeated by this devastating disaster, but Hillary responded by redoubling his Himalayan efforts. In all, the trust has built 27 schools, two hospitals and 12 medical clinics, plus numerous bridges and airfields. In recent years the trust has expanded its scope, devoting considerable funds to rebuilding monasteries and to reforesting valleys and slopes in the Mustang, Khumbu and Pokhara regions. Hillary's son Peter, himself a mountaineer, has also been active in working for the Sherpas.
"I have never felt sorry for the Sherpas," Sir Edmund said in San Francisco, "and I have never tried to impose projects on them. These are all things that the local people wanted, and we just responded. Every time we finish one project, we get more requests." These days he spends more than half the year traveling the world from his home in New Zealand, raising money for the trust and supervising the various projects undertaken with the funds he's raised.
And so Sir Edmund has come to San Francisco. You listen to the humility and selflessness in his words; you watch as he smiles and shakes hands with a mind-numbing parade of fans -- and then touches a little boy with magic as he stoops to sign a tattered book and shakes his tiny hand. You think of how often he has been through this, how many times he has answered these same questions, told these same tales -- and how genuinely gracious and good-hearted he seems to be. And you find yourself wondering: Is this man for real?
Is this man for real? Sometimes you worry that we have lost our capacity for worship, for awe, for delight and humility in the face of genuine idealism; sometimes you worry that the shadows of modern life have obscured our ability to be inspired. Then you listen to Sir Edmund talk about how fame was thrust on him, and how he has spent the years helping the Sherpas help themselves, and you watch the faces in the crowd, the smiles and the nods and the sighs, the tears that occasionally glisten in those hard and glittery eyes.
And you feel somehow that your own faith has been renewed, that there are dreams worth following, causes worth pursuing, that people can devote their lives to something larger than themselves and grow in heart and mind and grace until they become almost as high as the mountains they love.
You can feel it in the ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel; you can see it in the eyes of the black-gowned, bepearled socialites and the mountaineers restless in their sport coats and ties. This one man has captured the heart and imagination of generations. Here is someone who did the near impossible, climbing the world's tallest mountain, and then did the near impossible again -- refusing to be spoiled by all the adulation and accolades that achievement earned him, and remaining loyal to an ideal and a people he loved. Because of this man, countless lives have been bettered, and an entire culture has been preserved.
When Hillary shuffles off the stage, you watch people throughout the room -- bankers and lawyers and writers and climbers -- dab at their eyes, until you can't see because your eyes too are filled with tears. And you remember what David Breashears said earlier, looking straight at Sir Edmund, his voice cracking a bit and tears glistening in his own eyes: "We shall never see the likes of you again, Ed; we shall never see the likes of you again."
But the evening's defining moment occurs just before the end of Sir Edmund's speech. He has been showing slides of the clinics and schoolrooms his fund has built, and telling tales of the villagers whose eyes have been cured and limbs have been straightened, whose lives have been saved from prostitution or destitution. Then a shot of three laughing schoolgirls with shining eyes flashes on the screen, and Hillary sighs. "Ah, here are three of my favorite young friends," he says. And as he looks at the screen, his smile is as wide as the sky.
SALON | Dec. 1, 1998


	R E C E N T L Y I N T R O Why we launched Brilliant Careers S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.		A MAN TO MATCH HIS MOUNTAIN \| PAGE 1,2, 3, 4 - - - - - - - - - - A lesser man might have been defeated by this devastating disaster, but Hillary responded by redoubling his Himalayan efforts. In all, the trust has built 27 schools, two hospitals and 12 medical clinics, plus numerous bridges and airfields. In recent years the trust has expanded its scope, devoting considerable funds to rebuilding monasteries and to reforesting valleys and slopes in the Mustang, Khumbu and Pokhara regions. Hillary's son Peter, himself a mountaineer, has also been active in working for the Sherpas. "I have never felt sorry for the Sherpas," Sir Edmund said in San Francisco, "and I have never tried to impose projects on them. These are all things that the local people wanted, and we just responded. Every time we finish one project, we get more requests." These days he spends more than half the year traveling the world from his home in New Zealand, raising money for the trust and supervising the various projects undertaken with the funds he's raised. And so Sir Edmund has come to San Francisco. You listen to the humility and selflessness in his words; you watch as he smiles and shakes hands with a mind-numbing parade of fans -- and then touches a little boy with magic as he stoops to sign a tattered book and shakes his tiny hand. You think of how often he has been through this, how many times he has answered these same questions, told these same tales -- and how genuinely gracious and good-hearted he seems to be. And you find yourself wondering: Is this man for real? Is this man for real? Sometimes you worry that we have lost our capacity for worship, for awe, for delight and humility in the face of genuine idealism; sometimes you worry that the shadows of modern life have obscured our ability to be inspired. Then you listen to Sir Edmund talk about how fame was thrust on him, and how he has spent the years helping the Sherpas help themselves, and you watch the faces in the crowd, the smiles and the nods and the sighs, the tears that occasionally glisten in those hard and glittery eyes. And you feel somehow that your own faith has been renewed, that there are dreams worth following, causes worth pursuing, that people can devote their lives to something larger than themselves and grow in heart and mind and grace until they become almost as high as the mountains they love. You can feel it in the ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel; you can see it in the eyes of the black-gowned, bepearled socialites and the mountaineers restless in their sport coats and ties. This one man has captured the heart and imagination of generations. Here is someone who did the near impossible, climbing the world's tallest mountain, and then did the near impossible again -- refusing to be spoiled by all the adulation and accolades that achievement earned him, and remaining loyal to an ideal and a people he loved. Because of this man, countless lives have been bettered, and an entire culture has been preserved. When Hillary shuffles off the stage, you watch people throughout the room -- bankers and lawyers and writers and climbers -- dab at their eyes, until you can't see because your eyes too are filled with tears. And you remember what David Breashears said earlier, looking straight at Sir Edmund, his voice cracking a bit and tears glistening in his own eyes: "We shall never see the likes of you again, Ed; we shall never see the likes of you again." But the evening's defining moment occurs just before the end of Sir Edmund's speech. He has been showing slides of the clinics and schoolrooms his fund has built, and telling tales of the villagers whose eyes have been cured and limbs have been straightened, whose lives have been saved from prostitution or destitution. Then a shot of three laughing schoolgirls with shining eyes flashes on the screen, and Hillary sighs. "Ah, here are three of my favorite young friends," he says. And as he looks at the screen, his smile is as wide as the sky. SALON \| Dec. 1, 1998