Happy American Thanksgiving

Preface / Introduction

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TABLE OF CONTENTS:
1) Happy American Thanksgiving from Worldprofit.Inc
2) My most memorable Thanksgiving...and oh the memories
3) 'That's what friends are for.' Thoughts on friendship and the person who knows you inside and out...and likes you
Anyway.

Happy American Thanksgiving


Happy American Thanksgiving from Worldprofit Inc.
Today is Thanksgiving Day in the United States. Although here in Canada we already celebrated our
Thanksgiving back in October, it is always a good time to say thank you.
We would like to take this opportunity to thank our Members and our customers around the world.
As a technology and training based company we interact frequently with our customers. Through
user feedback, troubleshooting of support tickets, debugging of technical issues, hosting live
webinars, and beta testing of new products – you – our customers have helped us tremendously. By
listening to you, you’ve help us streamline our services, expand our training program, build new
products, and simplify technical procedures for the benefit of all Worldprofit Members.
We thank you for trusting Worldprofit to be your # 1 choice for Home Business Training Systems
and Earn at Home Programs.
Today, and every day, we give thanks for your support, loyalty and ongoing Membership.

My most
memorableThanksgiving… and oh
the memories!
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. Quick can you name your favorite Thanksgiving song? Unless it's "Over the
river and through the woods" (1844), you probably don't have one. But I do. It's called "Turkey in
the straw", and it is a traditional American folk song from the 1820s. And though strictly speaking it
was not written for Thanksgiving, you'll have to forego its strict history in favor of the elastic
meaning I shall give the tune and its use. I am sure, in due time, you will forgive me. In any event,
start by going to any search engine, find the tune, and put on your dancing shoes... because this
Thanksgiving you'll be dancing, not just filling out your embonpoint, and belching.
What my family usually did for Thanksgiving... celebrated, sanctified, dull.
I was brought up in an Illinois family which, like all our neighbors, believed in the verities of God,
country, and family. These were the bedrocks on which we built our homes, our communities and
our nation. And these three essential parts of American life came sharply together at Thanksgiving,
an event which had to be arranged and celebrated in the grand manner... best china, best crystal, best
silver and food that was quite simply awesome, no stinting contemplated, allowed, or accepted. We
were Americans, part of the great heartland of the nation, and if we didn't have much to be thankful
for, then who did?
Still, this holiday (and Christmas, too) always raised the issue of where to celebrate, for we were part
of large extended families with matriarchs in various branches who made it clear their feelings
would be hurt if we didn't grace their Thanksgiving Day tables, though why they wanted my sister

http://www.LizsWorldprofit.com Copyright Elizabeth English - 2012 3 of 10


with her tendency to scream while eating (admittedly she was only in pre-school) and my brother
(but that is another story), I as eldest son and eldest grandson (on both sides) could never
understand. I knew why they wanted me... "let me count the ways...."
The solution to this problem of venue was solved in most years by the simple expedient of appearing
at two (or even more) holiday tables groaning under the weight of families who had done well... and
stuffing ourselves to sickness accordingly. It is no wonder they felt queasy by day's end. Personally I
always saved room (if at all possible) for the desserts... for here amidst so many culinary
achievements... was sweet perfection in so many alluring ways. Pies of every kind (pumpkin de
rigueur of course), cobblers, cookies with holiday themes... strudel (we were of Germanic stock and
proud)... and the cakes... but enough. Suffice it to say there was no thought of mere sufficiency. It
was all about excess... in so many ways so that no one could ever say anything else, or even suggest
it.
Time -- and holiday arrangements -- marches on.
Sadly, over time things changed and my father and mother were significant reasons why the
multi-mealed Thanksgiving came to an end. Specifically, we moved from Illinois when I was just 16
to California, where family (as Charles Manson and hippies from Haight-Ashbury proved) had an
altogether different meaning. And so, unless my father decided (and my mother concurred), for
father's sister and his wife did not love each other, unless, that is, we were going to our Carter
cousins' ranch in Bakersfield, we stayed home... and invited people we liked, who were never
related. In short, we went from the traditional Thanksgiving of too much of this, too much of that,
people we "had" to like because we were related, to Thanksgivings we invented... and, as we
discovered later when sociologists explored American migrations, most other people were doing the
same thing. And that's why my mother, Shirley de Lauing Lant Phelps de Barlais y de Kesoun, and I
were in the port of San Pedro, California en route to Baja California for Thanksgiving, 1985.
Fourth book, second Thanksgiving out of America.
I have always been of an industrious nature and my breakneck pace through 1985 made clear that I
was a man on a mission, going places, meeting people. I had my fourth book underway, a publishing
company to oversee, an international consulting business, a multitude of lectures nationwide, and a
nationally syndicated program on the Business Radio Network. Managing time was of the essence..
and this precluded vacations and other ways of wasting time, including voyaging to a part of the
world in which I had absolutely no interest. But, then, my mother did... and she was a very
formidable woman. She named the destination, I ponied up for the tickets, and so we boarded one of
the floating restaurants and bars they call cruise ships, where eating and lassitude are the order of the
day, every day.
We were booked as Dr. and Mrs. Lant, which while absolutely accurate was also the seed for a
memorable (and oh so wrong) deduction... because, you see, on this ship, as on all such vessels, the
ladies of a certain age always out number the gents... and so the hopefulness which always
accompanies these ladies on board always quickly wilts.
My mother was a stylish and youthful looking woman and made a point of so appearing, to best
advantage. I was, as usual, slovenly, a demolisher of clothes, even those from the best shops in
Boston and England. Still, as Agatha Christie once observed, old clothes properly cut are always
suitable attire for a gentleman. My mother strenuously disagreed, but here her jeremiads fell on deaf
ears.
Still...one memorable evening, a woman of the purple-haired ilk sidled up to POM (Poor Old
Mother) and asked how long we'd been married... and how she'd managed it; (no doubt wanting
instructions on how to secure as willing mate one as young, winsome, and obviously God-favored as



I.) Freud must have had a conniption.
And that was just the beginning of the memorable holiday voyage.
My mother and I worked as a team; she was admiral, I cadet. The moment after we arrived on board,
she took a page of her cream colored stationary as Baroness de Barlais y de Kesoun, gold coronet
ablaze at the top, and sent a charming message (of which she was past mistress) to the Captain,
advising him a celebrated author was on board whom she'd like to present. That "celebrated author"
would have been me. That note she delivered post haste to the purser along with a First Edition of
my book "Our Harvard," suitably autographed by that self-same author. She always traveled with a
few copies...
The next day I sat in a deck chair, enveloped in a plaid blanket, hands chilled, writing the current
book, "The Unabashed Self-Promoter's Guide: What every man, woman, child and organization in
America needs to know about getting ahead by exploiting the media." For all that I had to be thawed
out each evening, I was making lickety-split progress... and could still dance attendance on Her
Ladyship, my mother. It was a model that worked...
The Captain requests...
In due course, of course, the Captain responded... not just with an invitation to the table at dinner
where he held court but to cocktails in his luxurious private quarters. We dressed accordingly; (my
Harvard blazer was wrinkled but its insignia buttons were solid gold.) When we discovered he was
Greek, we should have recalled the old maxim "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts..."
He was a man of charm, information, and what we Midwesterners call schmaltz. As such he was
very good company, paying every courtesy to the Double B (as we termed the double Baroness, in
her own right, too). But there was something not quite right... which became instantly apparent
when, in paying my mother an exaggerated farewell he tickled the inside of my hand, in a manner
which could not possibly have been misconstrued. I meant to tell her... she would have roared with
laugher and indignation. Which brings us to our unique Thanksgiving on the high seas.
On board, one ate and participated in activities which could never quite obscure their purpose: to let
air out of bloated stomachs. One of these activities was the time-honored "talent show" which would
have been anything but... except for POM. She had an idea to sweep the boards... she always did...
and with her vision, energy, imagination and unparalleled ability to shame people into doing things,
she generally succeeded. "The First Thanksgiving".
POM dragooned one passenger after another into taking part in what was certain to be the winning
entry: a sure-to-please musical rendition of the first Thanksgiving, with dialog by me and direction
by... but you can guess who. Despite frequent (ever escalating) reminders that the script needed to
be written, yours truly did not write the script; instead falling victim to Demon Rum... and so when
POM came to get me for dress rehearsal (a bare hour before the opening curtain) she found her boy
drunk as the lord he was. No script. No excuse. No hope.
But still the show went on, though I had to ad-lib every word, including musical cues to the band,
which gamely played our game. Pilgrims said the silly things they would say... Indians (face-paint
perfect) acted aboriginal... and "Turkey in the straw" rang out frequently as passenger Pilgrims and
Indians ran about the stage capturing passenger turkeys. Then le tout ensemble sang "God Bless
America". Of course we were cheered to the echo, and I got the kind of hugs and kudos I expected...
and she had deserved.
My Thanksgiving this year will be dull indeed without her... for she is making friends and raising
cane in a better place, where she will know, for certain, I would write this article and remember....



***** What are your favourite Thanksgiving memories? Let us know by posting your comments
below.

'That's what friends are for.' Thoughts on friendship and the person who knows you inside
and out... and likes you anyway.

Author's program note. I'd forgotten this song by Burt Bacharach and Carole Bayer Sager, but when
I went in search of just the right tune, the right sound for this article there it was.... the perfect choice.
It's "That's what friends are for". It was introduced by that raspy voiced charmer with the emotive
tug Rod Stewart for the 1982 film "Night Shift" .You'll find it in any search engine. Go now, find it
and play. It's the easiest listening with corny lyrics that just happen to be completely true.
To tell you the truth, when this number came out I didn't pay much attention. It was "pop" music,
my attitude about the entire genre skating perilously near to contempt. But things have changed a lot
over the last several decades... or maybe I've just mellowed like people constantly tell me, especially
people like Ned whose opinion on this matter is worth hearing since as my oldest friend he's in a
position to know. Let's see how that happened...
Edmund V. Henry.
Many years ago, my father Donald Marshall Lant impressed a man named Edmund V. Henry. This
fact was to have the greatest possible influence on my life, as I have never admitted before. Not
from malice, but from something far worse and more destructive... sloth. Now I aim to correct this
grievous fault and make, I hope, generous amends... starting with the man my octogenarian father
still calls "Mr. Henry" though "Mr. Henry" is now no longer amongst the living.
Mr. Henry liked my father and my father liked him which makes theirs the first significant
friendship in this multi-generational story. What would have attracted Mr. Henry's sharp notice (and
he was amply stocked with keen perception) was my father's strongest suit -- loyalty. People not
only liked him (easy to do) but came to rely on him to do what he said he would do... and never let
them down. A person on the way to managerial success always needs such people on his team, can
never have too many and goes out of his way to support those fate delivers. It is what smart leaders
do.
Mr. Henry saw a man of skills, of dependability... and, above all, of fidelity. And so as Edmund V.
Henry moved up, Donald Marshall Lant moved up... and far away from where they both started, in
suburban Chicago...
"California here I come" -- reluctantly.
Edmund V. Henry was the kind of man who expected success... and was willing to do what it took to
achieve it. Hard work never bothered him. He had every virtue prized by the Rotary Club, to which
he should have belonged if he didn't. He was manly, athletic, a person who inspired trust, backed by
his scrupulously kept word. You knew where you were with Ed Henry. He believed in God, the
Great Republic, family -- and the full panoply of infallible dogma assiduously propounded by the
Vatican. This fact could hardly have been more significant... particularly for his dozen children.
My relationship.
When my father told me towards the end of my freshman year at Downers Grove (Illinois) high
school that we were leaving for Los Angeles, I was despondent, angry, seeing no opportunity in the
Golden State... but only unbearable loss as only a dramatically inclined teen-ager could see things.
Mr. Henry, who offered my father promotion if he'd go West was Nemesis, not benefactor. And
being capable of smoldering (none better) I am sure my adamant opinion was heard... but not


followed.
And so because of Mr. Henry and the bright promise of California, a beacon not yet obscured or
tainted, we left all the verities behind... loved grandparents, a town where we knew everyone and
everyone knew us, the very school itself built by my grandfather. Aunts, uncles, cousins, every path
and sidewalk intimately known and cherished... even the acres of violets which carpeted the verdant
way to the ambling creek... all this gone. Who was responsible? Edmund V. Henry and a lifelong
friendship that far transcended any business relationship. My father literally bet the ranch on this
accord.
Ned.
It is now time to introduce you to the protagonist of this story, Edmund Junior, always called Ned,
though I artfully plied him with any number of clever variations and rearrangements, "Nedrick"
being amongst the more mild. You'll be glad to meet him and learn more. Here's your opportunity.
Ned is the first son of Edmund V. and Rosemary Henry. He is now 60-something, right smack
between me (65) and my brother Kevin, a smidgeon over 60. I have known him virtually since the
moment of conception. I am therefore his oldest friend and qualified to comment.
The different path.
In his early days Ned was the fervent Roman Catholic son his ardent father desired. Thus, the subject
arose naturally of Ned becoming a priest, credit to God, his bishop, his priestly order, his father, his
family, and himself. And Ned, then, embraced this possibility, the more so as it was strongly
recommended by Los Angeles Bishop Timothy (later Cardinal) Manning, Ned's staunch benefactor.
He first saw the priest in Ned, ensured his father saw it, and then, Ned himself... the glowing altar
boy who embraced his future with a glad heart and enthusiasm... at first.
Thus one sunny California day I, the heir of Protestant Reformation, beheld the dramatic fact of Ned
at seminary, garbed in the first of the many sacerdotal outfits his father was sure would follow --
priest, monseigneur, bishop, even cardinal, prince of the church. Why not? Bishop Manning was on
the fast track. Why not his acolyte Ned? Every father has great dreams for his first-born son, and Mr.
Henry had his. The problem was, and this is perhaps the tragedy of Mr. Henry's life, once in
seminary Ned's fervor waned. After two years or so, he wanted to leave, his vocation gone, only one
thing yet to do -- let his father down easy.
One thing distinguished Ned then and now. Sweet tempered, good mannered, always determined to
make the people he loved and cared for happy, he had tried what his father so profoundly desired.
However as his commitment dripped away, his heart no longer in his vocation, he wished for
something impossible to deliver... a solution that would give him freedom without hurting his father.
Such a solution did not exist...
And so he left the seminary breaking his father's heart and put foot on the path for the most serious
journey of his life, to find himself and find comfort and self acceptance in the result. His father,
dismayed and afflicted though he was, supported Ned, something the more valued because so
unexpected, under circumstances so bitter. But Ned was the first-born son, and loved. Bishop
Manning, however, never spoke to him again.
"The sharp edge of the razor..."
During these years he bore a distinct resemblance to the character Larry Darrell in W. Somerset
Maugham's 1944 novel "The Razor's Edge" which became in1946 a compelling film starring Tyrone
Power. The title referred to a line in Katha-Upanishad: "The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass
over, thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard." No one knew this better than Ned... or me.



For I was a constant if often attenuated presence in his life, as one secure of the warmest of greetings
despite long absences. I have watched as the lovable boy I knew has grown into the equally lovable
man I know; a supremely valuable trait that has often proven the catalyst for anything other than
serenity and comfort. Throughout all these many years, literally since his birth remember, I have
been a factor. As "his oldest friend" that is my right and I cherish it accordingly.
That is why just the other day, my sister having provided his current telephone number, I called,
saying "This is your oldest friend..." He knew and the years evaporated before our onrushing
memories.
Ned is coming to visit me soon. It will be the greatest possible fun. Irreverence will be the order of
the day. Things profound will be mixed with jokes from long ago. Our much loved dead will rise
again and live in us. Truths will be uttered about each other... and about ourselves. And we will
laugh.... for we are both masters at that.
And so the saga of this lifelong friendship will continue, another chapter added, these words sung by
Stewart more true than ever:
"And I never thought I'd feel this way/ And as far as I'm concerned/ I'm glad I got the chance to say/
I do believe I love you." And, remember, Ned, Larry Darrell, who started in Chicagoland like both
of us, found the secret to happiness.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online
services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate
marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design,
WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business
Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's
permission by Elizabeth English http://LizsWorldprofit.com



Resource
About the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide
range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business
training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting,
hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online
Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with
author's permission by Elizabeth English http://LizsWorldprofit.com

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