In 1983, shortly before my twenty-first birthday, I decided to move out on my own for the first time. I was transferring to a four-year college after prolonging my Junior College stay to three years and milking the free rent at home for about as long as I possibly could. My best buddy at the time, Mike, and I decided to help each other by taking the leap from our respective nests together and rented a one-bedroom apartment to share in Fullerton, California. The apartment complex was right across the street from my college and just a couple miles from Disneyland where I had secured a job wearing a costume as one of the world famous Disney characters. It was an exciting and frustrating time as I discovered what it was like to make my own way, live by my own rules and negotiate sharing close quarters with a girl-crazy, MTV and cigarette addicted roommate. I was ripe for exploring my individuality, my spirituality (which up to this point had been religiously dictated to me solely as conservative Christianity, my parent’s shared belief) and my sexuality (I had only recently lost my one and only virginity to a girl who broke, no... demolished my heart). My all too protective parents visited our bachelor pad often at first and left many care packages which turned out to be quite sustaining (today I honor my parents for keeping me alive all those years). In one particular gift bag was included a used paperback copy of a book written by a Ph.d whose name I couldn’t pronounce. Both my parents had recently read the book entitled, LOVE and thought I might enjoy it. Although I hadn’t been much of a reader up to that point, as a newly freed optimistic bohemian I was quite automatically turning on to books like Hesse’s Demian and Siddhartha, Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye and Kerouac’s Dharma Bums. These were all stories of young men, quite like myself I proudly thought, who were coming of age in bold new ways (of course I merely fantasized about being half as bold as any one of the characters in these stories).
I was gradually developing the notion my parents couldn’t possibly understand the real me, the quasi-hippie who was now emerging from underneath years of rigid, shame-oriented rules and traditional biblical principals. Still, they guessed correctly when they imagined I would enjoy reading, LOVE. I was becoming quite the amateur philosopher and needed food for my soul. LOVE was a perfect beginner’s book for a sprouting sage like myself. As if the title wasn’t catchy enough, the sub-heading read, “A Warm And Wonderful Book About The Largest Experience In Life.” Bring it on baby! Right on!! I thought.
Leo began the book by giving credit to the approximately 400 students who had joined him in an elective university discussion group known as “Love Class.” The class had been inspired by the tragic suicide of one of his sweetest and most talented students at the University of Southern California. In “Love Class,” Leo and his students discussed the complexities and joys of loving. Most importantly, they talked about an all too ignored topic, how love is a learned phenomenon and that we must first be taught the ways and power of love in order to love ourselves and each other more.
“It is only when we have experienced love that we truly realize what would be lost by missing it.”
He shared his insights into the miracle of love through candid storytelling. I was impressed by how easily he revealed his humanness and desire to be loved. He spoke with the deepest sincerity of his affection for his parents who had raised him to celebrate every moment and who taught him love by “showing him love.” He talked about crying out loud in public places (what’s to be embarrassed about?). He joked about the way people struggled to pronounce his name (B-U-S-C-A-G-L-I-A... the “G” is silent) and how he found it endearing. He shared his discovery that love is a miracle and by its very nature is infinite and that the more you give yourself, the more you have to share without ever losing what you have gained. He told stories of his travels to distant lands to visit people he believed had very little (because they possessed little material wealth) only to find out they were rich in wisdom and community. He spoke of hugging seemingly endless lines of strangers so that he could connect with each person and his or her unique expression of love. He truly believed in and promoted individuality, non-conformity and dreaming outrageous dreams. He was discouraged by people who attempted to make everyone like everybody else. He taught me there is something within the me of me that is different from every single human being and persuaded me to discover and develop it. While reading his marvelous book, I could hear him, in my mind, emphatically raising his voice at me in a most passionate yet loving outburst, encouraging me to break out of my apathetic ways. He would invite me to explore new sights, smells, tastes, sounds and excite me to express with courage what were my unique discoveries. One of his favorite sensations to explore and to encourage was that of touch. As I already mentioned, he loved to hug. He called touching “brailling the world.” Not only did he hug thousands if not hundreds of thousands of people, he hugged trees and played in big piles of leaves throughout his adult life. Some people thought he was a nut which turned him on. Leo embraced the notion of being outside the norm. He lived that way intentionally and it was a relief to him to be fully expressed.
“Any action that inhibits is not love. Love is only love when it liberates.”
He liked that children were naturally innocent, generous, free, creative and expressive. His exploration of love forced him to remember what it was like to be a child and rediscover a sense of playfulness. “The only real goal of life is the present joy and the realization of self in joy”, he would say. It became a goal of mine to tap into my childlike joy which had not surfaced in me for years.
In his book LOVE he discussed the following ideas: Love is a learned phenomenon, man needs to love and be loved, love is difficult to define, love knows no age, love has many deterrents, to love others you must first love yourself, free yourself of labels, love involves responsibility, love recognizes needs, love requires one to be strong, love offers no apology.. all these beautiful lessons from one incredibly gregarious and genuine teacher I had not yet met but who I wished very much I could thank with a big hug.
I remember applying Leo’s lessons of love to my life in a myriad of ways. I hugged my parents for the first time in years which led to my telling them I loved them for the first time in as many years. Somehow my family had never learned to be demonstrative. Leo spoke often of how his family members always said, “I love you!” and how daily they shared hugs and big sloppy wet kisses on the mouth. In the Buscaglia family, shame was poison.
Leo inspired me to break out of my routine. I started slowly by putting my dishes away in a different place every time I cleaned them. A small action yes, but it was actually quite liberating! In a big-picture sense, I started believing I could love everyone and actually tried seeing love’s unique expression in everyone I encountered. And it was beautiful and mind-blowing to appreciate the differences.
“The only lasting trauma is the one we suffer without positive change.”
I left college before graduating because, after thoughtful self-examination, I realized I had continued my education in order to please others. It had finally occurred to me why it was taking so long for me to get through school. I was dragging my feet. What I really wanted was to be an actor. So, I took a big leap of faith and moved to Los Angeles (leaving my roommate behind on the best of terms) to pursue my dream. This major change effected more change. I opened myself up to deeper and deeper levels of intimacy in my relationships. I let my friends and family know I was committed to seeking the truth and to loving others. I took a stand for living an extraordinary life. I followed Leo’s advice and tasted my meals, listened more attentively to music as it played, felt the wind in my face, jumped into a pile or two of leaves, drank wine merrily, danced, sang, laughed and cried like a baby for the first time since, well, being a baby. I gave copies of LOVE to just about everyone I knew in an effort to spread this one teacher’s rich message of compassion.
“Most of us remain strangers to ourselves, hiding who we are, and ask other
strangers, hiding who they are, to love us.”
It was now the summer of 1985. My friend Debbie, whom I had met while working at Disneyland (supposedly “the happiest place on Earth” but I knew better because the happiest place on Earth was where I was standing), knew how turned on I was by Leo’s message. She very generously offered to take me, as her guest, to see and hear Leo lecture at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium (it was always more sharing than lecture with Leo). Of course I accepted. It was a thoughtful gift. Debbie was familiar with Leo’s work and had also taken on the challenge (and pleasure) of practicing warmth and benevolence in the world. Millions of people had been receiving Leo’s all-too-important message through books and the mass media. And even though the evening was very special for us, so was it for another couple thousand of Leo’s closest students of love. He thrilled, challenged, and inspired me that evening. He touched my heart with every ringing word of truth that came pouring from his lovely soul. At the end of the evening, Leo did as he always had and invited the audience to line up for hugs. He made it clear he would stay until every last person who desired a hug from him received one. He had once written that these hug-fests left him drained yet feeling nothing short of rapture (which I learned from Leo is better than ecstasy). I wanted a hug, but the line was so long that somehow Deb and I decided the evening had been quite satisfying and we could leave without the coveted embrace feeling no regrets, and so, we blissfully floated home unhugged. Truthfully, I ended up regretting that decision for a long time. Second thoughts led me to the realization it would have been worth the wait to meet Leo just once.
“All the things that "go without saying" or that are "understood" between two people in love can build up a mountain of miscommunication.”
One of my first support jobs upon moving to Los Angeles to pursue my creative life was that of ticket seller and usher at the historic Rialto Theatre in South Pasadena. I liked the job because it allowed me time to read and relax between intermissions. The Rialto showed some great art films, foreign and independent American, and I would often watch my favorite films over and over. I was also allowed to eat free popcorn and drink free soda. Ask any poor hungry actor what a mother load that was.
I had heard that Leo lived in the area near downtown Los Angeles, and read somewhere he lived near Pasadena and liked to hang out at a bohemian coffee house I had once visited. After reading this, I mused I would someday bump into him. In fact, I had a very strong intuition, stronger than any I had ever felt, that this meeting would be taking place sometime in the near future. I hardly ever trusted my gut feelings (I had never been taught to listen to and trust my heart) but for some reason I now found myself frequently fantasizing about what I would be saying to Leo when I finally met him. I imagined I would ask him to my home (which I shared with five other groovy artist types) for tea... and he would accept. We would have a down-to-earth conversation about what inspired us, we would share laughs and hugs and we would undoubtedly become friends and plan to meet again.
I worked at the Rialto awhile and after some time had forgotten my little Leo daydream when one evening a small group (two men and two women) entered through the theatre door at which I stood taking tickets. And even though there were four people standing before me, I couldn’t take my eyes off one of the gentlemen; a casually dressed yet distinguished looking man. He was a slightly more than middle-aged Italian man with warm droopy eyes, slightly flabby jowls and a distinctive salt and pepper goatee. It was Felice Leonardo Buscaglia... “Dr. B.” I was stunned silent and he didn’t really have time to say much more to me than hello as his group was in a hurry to get to their seats. He did, however, offer a warm loving smile as I tore his ticket then returned his stub. It took a few minutes for it to register in me that the hug doctor was actually in our theatre. I once again found myself regretting that I hadn’t made further contact with my teacher and soon-to-be tea-drinking friend. I knew I had to make the most of this chance encounter and reach out to Leo when he came out into the lobby after the movie finished showing. I was feeling shy but knew I needed to be bold if I was going to make the connection. It was summer but it felt like Christmas Eve. I was at first excited about having had such a close encounter with him, then I became nervous at the thought he and his party might exit the theatre through a side door and I would never see him again. I waited, without saying a word to another soul, during the unendurable two hour running of the film. I can’t remember for certain which film it was, and it doesn’t really matter, but think it was The Turtle Diaries starring Glenda Jackson and Ben Kingsley. The movie was a touching story of two people who meet and become friends while attempting to save an endangered turtle. Perfect for someone humane like Leo I assumed quite simply, not noticing my tendency toward the obvious.
I was preparing for the moment of a lifetime, meeting someone I considered one of my greatest spiritual teachers. I was reacting as anyone might who was about to meet his or her guru. Leo often said he didn’t like being thought of as a guru... he didn’t want people following him, but rather thinking for and trusting themselves. I respected and appreciated that conviction so, instead, I worked with the concept that we could be friends. The film ended. Leo and his party walked out into the lobby where I swooped toward them. They barely had time to begin discussing the film when I interrupted their conversation with a jittery, “Dr. Buscaglia...” Leo stopped dead in his tracks and smiling, took me in with those deep reaching eyes of his. His companions, who were most definitely accustomed to this type of disruption stepped aside patiently while Leo took a moment with me. I continued, “I just wanted to say how much you have helped me... uh.. taught me. I was wondering if I could have a... I mean... uh... give you a hug!?” Leo let out a warm laugh, looked about as far into me as anyone ever had and said, “Well, I can tell... you’re very special.” He proceeded to give me one of his famous tension melting hugs. I suddenly wanted to bawl my eyes out. I was holding back the emotion, using a tried-and-true shame-based technique I had been taught as a child... feigning strength. Even though the unspoken invitation to soften my defenses was profound, I remained stoic. But deep down I knew Leo would not have judged me had I released some of the feelings I had hidden for years. I was pent-up, desperately needing to be seen and heard. The truth was I felt overlooked by those closest to me. I was lonely. I was awkward about revealing my truest self because I had never been taught it was my right and alright to do so. Had I been open, Leo may have even joined me for a good cry.
It didn’t take long before my guilt set in for having delayed him and his friends. He complimented me on the tie I was wearing (which in my mind was a ridiculous faux-satin brown and red Asian motif thing), and in my hazy state I blurted out, “I know we’ll see each other again!” I was surprised at the boldness of my statement, but once again I was having a strong intuitive feeling that this was truly, definitely going to happen. He looked even further into me as if he was giving me, in that moment, all the love and compassion he had available to him and he replied, “Yes! I know we will.” He gave me one of those intimate two-handed handshakes and turned to leave with his friends who had been respectfully observing our exchange. Rapture! Then the realization... I forgot to ask him to tea.
I was excited to tell my friends and roommates about my encounter with Dr. B., but they didn’t seem all too impressed. Hugging a stranger, big deal. So I kept my rapture to myself. By the way, rapture is quite a natural high and can carry you through quite a long stretch. Now I knew why Leo was addicted to all that hugging.
“It is when we ask for love less and begin giving it more that the secret of human love is revealed to us.”
My second actor support job at that time (why is it artists always seem to need more than one job to survive?) was that of Customer Service Representative for a major live theater downtown. On one particularly average day at the office, I took a call from a subscriber who was inquiring about renewing his season tickets. It was Leo. How divine! I had run across his name in the company’s database once before and had made some flip comment to a co-worker about being a fan and mentioned I had bumped into him once. She had asked if he was the huggie wuggie guy and I brushed it off, blah, blah, blah! I made light of it because I didn’t trust I could communicate to any extent the powerful impact Leo had had on my life. So I kept the truth (and love) to myself.
My previous intuition about connecting again with Leo was now validated, somewhat. Though he wasn’t standing in front of me, I was instantly receiving his abundant warmth through the phone. I was genuinely pleased to hear his voice on the other end and I was much more centered during that second encounter. Standing face to face with him might have caused me to scrutinize myself more, so it was nice not to feel that added pressure. Remember, he was so adept and eloquent and I was just a duckling on the big pond of life. I was worried I would let out a quack upon opening my mouth. Instead, I spoke more openly with him. I said, “Hello Dr. Buscaglia, do you remember me? I’m the ticket-taker who hugged you at the Rialto Theatre a few months ago!” To my delight he did remember me and my funky tie and complimented me for being such a kind person. The call was brief, I answered his questions about his subscription and said what a pleasure it was to speak with him again. I said I would see him soon and he replied in kind. I did not, however, ask him to tea. The real possibilty of our two paths crossing again seemed quite unlikely.
A few weeks later I was once again at work and found myself with the task of stuffing subscription tickets into envelopes. There are several thousand subscribers to that particular theater and there were about ten of us organizing the mailing. I had been stuffing tickets for hours when, in a moment, I awoke from my mindless task-trance to discover the next set of tickets I was preparing to be mailed were none other than those belonging to Dr. Leo Buscaglia. I was somewhat excited and amused by this serendipitous happening, and decided to live outside typical business protocol (Leo was one to encourage spontaneity) and attached a hand-written Post-it Note to Leo’s tickets, upon which I had written a brief greeting. Less than two weeks later I was handed a Post-it Note reply Leo had sent along with some subscription correspondence. It read:
Eric - How nice to receive your note.
It personalized an otherwise impersonal transaction.
I look forward to seeing you again.
Warmly,
Leo
Leo had been an extraordinary teacher in my life. He inspired me to reach out to others and express myself. Here he was again rewarding the simplest of actions with warmth, appreciation and encouragement. This was a very busy man mind you, teacher, lecturer, traveler, media personality and yet he took the time to acknowledge me. Leo once said, “there are too many beautiful things about each human being to call him a name and then put him aside.” Upon receiving his note, my heart soared at the realization I had applied the lessons of love so well. And I had the privelege of practicing love with the very person who taught me the lesson. I knew more than ever I was a beautiful worthwhile being. To this day I keep that Post-it Note tucked under the groovy, hippie-esque jacket of a first edition hardcover copy of LOVE I was given several years after those close encounters of a loving kind. This very special copy of LOVE was pulled from underneath a pile of secondhand books at a yard sale. My friend Jaye knew how much Leo had influenced me and felt I would appreciate the book. Inside the cover of this incredible find is the a price written in pencil; 30 cents. The book and the treasures it contains (including my love note from Leo) are to me, priceless.
“The life and love we create is the life and love we live.”
I read several of Dr. Buscaglia’s books including, Living, Loving and Learning (many of his recorded lectures in printed form), Personhood (a discussion on becoming uniquely ones own self and embracing our humanness), The Fall of Freddie the Leaf (a touching children’s story that introduces young and old to the concepts of living, dying and faith in life) and The Way of the Bull (what Leo learned as a result of his travels throughout Asia) and Loving Each Other (what more can I say?). I was most definitely an avowed enthusiast of his teachings. There weren’t many people at the time teaching love and the song was right, what the world needed was love sweet love. His teachings rang true with me; the path Leo invited me to take was one I felt right about taking. The world today seems more in need than ever of great teachers like Leo Buscaglia.
One night, back at the Rialto Theatre, it happened again. There I was in the exact same place where I had first encountered Leo and again in he walks with a friend. Leo seemed to be surrounded by people who loved him. He was there that night to see the documentary, The Thin Blue Line (a story about a man wrongly accused and convicted of a police officer’s murder). It struck me odd that Leo would be interested in seeing something politically charged. I had had the same impression as many and assumed he would be more inclined to see something mushy, you know, warm and fuzzy like the turtle movie. But of course I knew the truth; Leo was all about new and different experiences, expanding his awareness, trying on diversity and relishing every moment of every new idea and sensation. As I took his ticket he remembered me instantly. A huge smile exploded onto his face and he reached out to embrace me. As I was very timid the first time we had met, I took in this second hug more deeply than I had the previous. I had now twice hugged my hero, the man who first taught me about love and the human condition. I tried to communicate, through that hug, all the gratitude I felt for all he had given me.
He received me warmly and was genuinely kind to me, an insecure young man relatively unrelated to him. I experienced relatedness without any strange sexual vibe or obscure neediness. It was simply two people sincerely making the most of a moment. He had taught me how to do just that.
Leo and his friend were the last two to enter the theater as the film was starting. I followed as they took their seats. It was my job to close the lobby doors to keep extraneous light and sound from disrupting the showing. As I closed the doors I noticed a group of people making noise in the seats one row in front of Leo. I was stunned when I heard “Dr. Hug” ask the quartet of friends to keep the noise down or he would have to move. He seemed a bit terse. It was surprising, but I realized in that moment another truth about Leo, something he had never denied, and that was that he was human, not perfect, but perfectly imperfect. Even though these young interrupters probably didn’t recognize him and must have simply thought him a stodgy older guy, he became in that moment even more inspiring to me. He was real, generous in every way, even with the more painful truths.
When Leo exited the theater that night he took a moment to speak with me. He asked my name again and asked what I did. I was very brave with him and told him I was an actor (something I was barely ready to admit even to myself). He was encouraging and genuinely enthusiastic. He said, “how splendid!” or something to that effect. He often wrote about how he was raised to appreciate the arts, theater, music and in particular opera, and how a beautiful artistic expression could touch him so deeply he would burst into heartfelt tears. I felt a surge of confidence. I had acknowledged myself as an artist in the presence of someone extremely creative and inspiring. I wanted to create and inspire too. I knew I had an experience, a story, my life to share with others just as Leo had shared his with me and so many others. I finally knew without a doubt that pursuing a life of compassion through art had merit. The thought of asking him to tea never crossed my mind that night.
“When it comes to giving love, the opportunities are unlimited, and we are all gifted.”
About a year later I saw Leo, alone, crossing a downtown Los Angeles street. I was only a few feet away but did not have a strong impulse to break into his moment of solitude. I’m sure he would have embraced me warmly as he had before, but something in me was saying I had been given more than my share of intimate moments with him. It was time to let him go. To help spread his lessons of love by creating loving experiences in my own life and sharing what I learned. Of course I was stunned that once again he was standing, literally, right in front of me when all those years earlier I had intuited he someday would be. I never imagined we would meet as many times as we had. Every encounter offered reassurance that there were, as Leo had said, more people in the world concerned with loving than there were people bent on destroying and hating. Love would prevail. The only thing that bothered me after watching Leo walk into a highrise and out of sight was that I had never asked him to tea as I had once imagined I would. I had never really given the idea any credence, but was feeling slightly disappointed that I had allowed my self-doubt and distracting thoughts to prevent me from being bold enough to ask.
In one of his books and in several of his lectures, Leo discussed children at play. He reminded us of the way children will walk right up to each other and say, “do you want to play with me?” Sometimes the response will be a firm “NO!” As adults we take that kind of rejection so personally. So many of us are lonely and in need of validation from others. One rejection and we are crushed, depressed and even devastated. Kids however are free in a way that allows them to simply move on to the next child and ask, “will you play with me?” They keep asking until they find the one playmate who says, “YES!”. I certainly could have asked Leo to tea without any expectations. He might have said yes.
“Separateness is an illusion.”
Several years went by. I bought some Leo lectures on tape and listened to them whenever I needed an infusion of spirit from the good doctor. I occasionally shared the tale of my having met Dr. Buscaglia. Each meeting was an unforgettable event of a lifetime. When telling the story, I tried to play it down, but truthfully, it was and still is one of the extraordinary highlights of my life.
I read somewhere Leo had moved to Lake Tahoe. He started to spend less time in the public eye but continued to write great books (Bus 9 to Paradise, Seven Stories of Christmas Love, A Memory for Tino (a children’s book), Papa My Father, Born for Love, The Disabled and Their Parents and his last, Leo Buscaglia’s Cookbook with Biba Caggiano). How prolific! What a broad range of topics! What a full life he lived!
“Love is constant, it is we who are fickle. Love does guarantee, people betray. Love can always be trusted, people cannot.”
I had one last encounter with Leo late in 1996. I was leaving the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, home of the Los Angeles Opera, having just seen Franco Zeffirelli’s unique production of Leoncavallo‘s Pagliacci. An acquaintance, tenor Greg Fedderly, had just sung the role of Beppe opposite Placido Domingo. While stepping out onto the Music Center plaza I noticed Leo a short distance away leaving the venue with friends (of course). His salt and pepper hair and famous Van Dyke beard had grown a bit whiter. The lines on his face were more deeply etched from the additional years of passionate laughing and crying. As I impulsively walked up to him and interrupted his conversation, he greeted me with the same warm smile, deep eye contact and two-handed handshake he had always practiced sharing. He didn’t recognize me. It had been a long time and many faces had come into and out of Leo’s life. But when I told him we had met at the Rialto Theatre years earlier, a vague recollection seemed to register on his face. If he didn’t remember me, he treated me as if I was a long lost friend and gave me a huge hug. That made three incredible times I had been gifted with a loving embrace by this giant of a lover. It was most definitely a windfall. He asked what I was doing at the opera (Leo was passionate about opera... his mother was a singer who, when he was a child, taught him to sing the roles in Aida and La Boheme). I told him I knew someone who had been in the performance. He asked who it was, and when I answered him, his childlike excitement grew because it turned out we both knew Mr. Fedderly. He was clearly pleased to discover we had something in common. It’s a smaller world, it turns out, for those who are out in it living passionately. The universe is not as desperately big and vacuous as we might convince ourselves. If we reach out, we can connect. The opportunity to ask him to tea did not present itself that day, but the thought crossed my mind as did his many lessons in love.
Leo died in June of 1998. There was a kind but brief obituary in the Los Angeles Times several pages into the paper. I felt he deserved a front page, twenty-one-gun salute, eleven o’clock news, heroic kind-of-remembrance. Perhaps that was just me and what I would have given him. He had shared so much of himself. I felt we owed it to him. But I’m sure Leo would have said we owed him nothing. That his joy had been in the giving.
People forget. We’re human after all. Leo and his glory days have faded, but his message is still in print and in action, reverberating forever throughout our little universe. I’ve written this love story in part to extend an invitation to you to consider what he taught and encourage you to take time each day to tune into love. Learn about it, then live it. Let all life be the object of your affection. It is The Way to real freedom.
Someday I plan to meet my long-lost friend for tea (or whatever they’re serving in the great beyond) and thank him for seeing, hearing, touching, teaching and loving us. It might seem like a trite, comfy and cozy fantasy to some, but I’m living proof that humanity can be transformed by loving actions... and wishes do come true.
Warmly,
Eric
"It's not enough to have lived. We should be determined to live for something. May I suggest that it be creating joy for others, sharing what we have for the betterment of person kind, bringing hope to the lost and love to the lonely."
Leo F. Buscaglia
1924-1998
I have quoted Dr. Buscaglia extensively in this article. The quotes have been respectfully borrowed from his books, Love and Born to Love.