How Brendan Breen is Making Martial Arts Accessible

Owen Reid never gave much thought to karate. For one, the 35-year-old has cerebral palsy and needs a wheelchair to get around his home at Deer Park Villa, a care facility for people living with disabilities, in the town of Ituna, Saskatchewan.

But his indifference to martial arts vanished in January of 2018, when he was asked to join a new initiative: a local named Brendan Breen was offering karate classes. During that first weekly class at Deer Park Villa, surrounded by a handful of other students, Reid was skeptical. Still, he quickly found himself drawn in by Breen’s enthusiasm. “He got me motivated to try it,” Reid said. Over time, the kata routine—a series of movements, like punches, lunges and jumps, against an imaginary opponent—was adapted so Reid could complete it from one spot using mainly his arms.

Breen started the Deer Park Villa classes while he and his wife, Mikiko, were establishing Martial Arts Abil­ities Canada, the country’s first registered charity to combine karate with special needs. If a student can’t afford the $75 monthly fee, Breen will work out a lower price or waive the charge altogether.

He started teaching three years ago as a way of connecting with a sport that he’d practised decades earlier. Breen—who, when he isn’t volunteering, works as a sales rep for a company that sells protective coatings for vehicles—is known for being patient, accommodating and infectiously positive. He’s quick to adapt his methods to suit each situation. A student who has an injury that limits their flexibility? No problem.

Word of his inclusive approach spread through the small prairie town, population 700. Breen hadn’t set out to teach students with special needs, but he was swift to welcome new recruits who had autism, cerebral palsy and cognitive learning issues. “People were just kind of sending the students to me,” he said.

When he heard about a system for teaching karate to people of all abil­ities, he knew he had to meet its Belgian creator, Eric Bortels. Last May he had his chance: Bortels was giving demonstrations of his “inclusive karate,” or I-Karate, in Montreal. Breen flew to see him and joined the organization.

Breen quickly incorporated what he’d learned about I-Karate at Deer Park Villa. One technique is for the instructor and students to wear a red armband on one arm and a blue one on the other arm, since colours are easier to follow than “left” and “right.” Students also stand on mats that are colour-coded to simplify the commands for where they should put their feet.

That openness to new ideas has paid important dividends. One particularly emotional moment came in October when Lynnette Gaudet, a 37-year-old student with Down’s syndrome, performed the kata routine just about perfectly. “She couldn’t believe it. She was almost crying,” says Breen. “When the students achieve what a lot of people think they can’t, it touches my heart.”

There are a few areas in Canada where adapted martial arts like karate, judo and tae kwon do are offered; the Montreal-based Association for the Development of Adapted Martial Arts is affiliated with approximately 20 clubs, but those are mainly in Quebec. Breen, however, is the only certified I-Karate teacher in the country and will soon begin training teachers to lead classes in a number of provinces.

As for Reid, I-Karate gave him the confidence to accompany Breen to meet a provincial minister to lobby for funding and recognition of their program. “One of my goals was to go to the legislature and really prove to the government what I can do,” he says, to show them what Martial Arts Abilities Canada helped him realize: he can do anything anyone else can.

Next, check out these people with real-life superpowers.

Growing up, I always heard stories about my dad’s brothers, my uncles Bill and Jim. Bill was the high school superstar—athletic, beloved, charismatic. I never met him. In 1969, at 24 years old, he was admitted to Toronto’s Sunnybrook Hospital during a psychotic episode. He jumped to his death from its rooftop.

Not long after, Jim, the youngest brother, was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Jim is an incredible person—playful and caring. He’ll quietly say something funny, then smile impishly when you pick up on the joke. He survived misguided early treatments for his condition, from heavy-handed prescription regimens to shock treatments.

I was lucky. In a lot of households, our uncles’ problems might have been shrouded in silence, but my parents encouraged us to talk openly about mental health and how it requires the same care as physical sickness. My mother worked at Toronto’s Centre for Addiction and Mental Health for years, my father at the United Way, and I inherited their passion for mental health advocacy. It didn’t occur to me that I’d ever need those resources myself.

In 2014, I was elected to Toronto city council, representing what was then the downtown ward of Trinity-­Spadina. I was 30 and I poured myself into the job. I often attended a dozen meetings a day. I championed issues I cared deeply about, such as safe bike lanes and curbing the opioid crisis. I was doing the work I’d always dreamed of—and making a real difference.

But underneath I was a mess. Shortly after the election, my marriage ended. To cope with the loss, I suppressed all my emotions. I hadn’t slept well for years, and my insomnia got even worse. When I did fall asleep, I’d wake up several times each night, even after taking sleeping pills, drenched in cold sweat. I figured I was just tired, overworked, overwhelmed. I kept myself together at my job, but whenever I was alone, I fell apart. My response was to pump myself full of vitamins and run 10 kilometres each day. When that didn’t help, I put in even longer hours at the office. I wore my job like a suit of armour—nothing would interrupt my ambition. I wasn’t okay, but I couldn’t admit it, let alone explain it.

In 2016, I met a writer named Grace. We fell in love, and suddenly everything changed. The armour I had developed was cracking. I was both happier and more miserable than I’d ever been, trying to balance intimacy with denial about the state of my mental health. I started experiencing intermittent chest pains. I constantly felt light-headed and dizzy. Emotionally, I would ricochet from nervous to sad to terrified in an instant. I didn’t realize it at the time, but these are all symptoms of panic attacks.

Once, I was about to do a television interview—something I had done many times before. For some reason, I found myself paralyzed by the worry that I would break down and cry on camera. Shaking and sweating, I forced myself to walk onto the set, convinced it would be a disaster. The interview went fine.

I should have been relieved. But I wasn’t, because I didn’t understand what had happened. These episodes occurred again and again. There was no obvious trigger to my anxiety—it wasn’t public speaking or seeing friends or even being alone. It was random and unfocused, which made it all the more alarming.

I was supposed to be healthy. I’d always been the guy who woke everyone up too early on vacation. By this point, I was barely dragging myself out of bed. I was exhausted by noon and absolutely wrecked by the time I got through my evening meetings. For months I endured medical appointments and tests, looking for a physical explanation for what was going on. Some doctors suggested it might be stress, but none brought up the possibility of panic attacks.

One night in late 2016, at around 2 a.m., my chest pains got so intense that I was convinced I was having a heart attack. I called 911, and within 10 minutes, I was lying in the back of an ambulance. An ECG and a round of blood work confirmed that I was physically healthy. Lying in that hospital bed, I came to a realization: the problem wasn’t in my body, it was in my mind.

Within a few weeks, I started seeing a psychiatrist, who officially diagnosed me with situational depression (connected to my divorce) and generalized anxiety disorder (a condition in which a person is overwhelmed by irrational worry). My doctor was wonderfully kind and thoughtful. He described psychiatry as an art based on science and driven by a passion for understanding. And while he prescribed a series of treatments—antidepressants, cognitive behavioural therapy, daily exercise—it was mostly through our conversations that I was able to grasp what I was experiencing and how common it was.

Over the span of three years, his “art” opened my eyes. For a long time, I’d assumed I was invincible. Suddenly, I was learning how to slow down and listen, how to experience and process emotions, how to accept that I’m not always in control. To put it simply, I was finally learning how to be human. And it was terrifying.

I’m still figuring out how to manage my anxiety. It’s not easy. Part of the process is discovering balance. I still work too hard and too much, but relationships, friends, music, jogging and even cooking have become important parts of my life. A little later than I should have, I’ve realized that life is not a race. Winning the next council vote, public policy debate, even the next election are significant, but only if I take care of myself.

I’m lucky that the system worked for me. I have excellent health care and the added (and essential) benefit of caring family and friends who listen without judgment. There are countless stories like mine with very different endings. Clearly, there are treatments that work, but far too many people can’t access them. My dad always told me that to miss the joy of life is to miss all of it. For the first time, I’m finding the joy.

Next, make sure you know how to get the most out of therapy.

This Model T Race Raises Funds for an Alberta Museum

One of the most popular community gatherings in the High River, Alberta area is an annual fundraiser put on by the local Call of the West Museum. This heritage museum houses a large collection of vintage tractors and farm equipment, as well as Model T cars and trucks and a tremendous assortment of memorabilia. It’s all run by volunteers and the money from fundraisers and admission sales keeps the museum humming along.

Among other offerings, the annual event features a tractor pull competition and the Model T race, which always draws an appreciative crowd. The race is put on by a group called the Model T Barnyard Racers, and was first held in 2013. Nowadays about 1,400 to 1,500 spectators come to the High River Rodeo Grounds to watch up to 14 Model T’s race around the track.

I snapped this photo at last summer’s race. The driver is Peter Anderson from Hussar, Alberta, but the car is actually owned by Gordon Rasmussen, from Standard, Alberta. Gordon told me that he raced the car himself from 1941 to 1951; he now lets Peter drive it, but for sentimental reasons, he and his wife decided to maintain ownership. The event always coincides with Father’s Day and makes for a fun family outing for locals and visitors alike. If you’re in our area next June, why not join the fun! For more information, visit the High River Agricultural Society website.

Next, check out this gallery of great Canadian car photography.

Digging For Buried Treasure on Chesterman Beach

There is a story told around beach bonfires at night on Canada’s western shores that goes like this: It seems that many years ago, a Spanish treasure ship was blown off course and was in danger of foundering off Vancouver Island. The captain ordered that the treasure be rowed ashore and buried above the tide on a stretch of sandy beach.

One morning a few years ago, some children and their parents were walking on Chesterman Beach in Tofino, B.C., when the kids spied a small cedar plank, half covered in seaweed, with writing on it. Because there had been a storm the night before, it was reckoned that the plank became dislodged from a forgotten hiding place. They were able to read the simple words that directed them to a large nearby rock which the treasure was said to be buried under.

After a dash back home to get shovels, the adventurers dug as directed and dragged up a large, centuries-old chest with iron hinges and leather straps. Inside were silver-plated, sparkly trinkets such as jewels, as well as pearls and old coins such as pennies. Mixed in were small toys including a wind-up music box, a flute, small cars, shells and even a very old doll.

Inscribed in the chest’s lid were instructions for sharing the swag. Kids under ten were allowed to keep two items each, but any treasure removed had to be replaced by something of equal value. The chest was to be secretly reburied on the same spot. The treasure map was to be left in the sand for other kids to find. Our family did as directed and buried the chest where we had found it. The grandkids left the cedar plank with writing in a spot where other kids were sure to find it.

The next day, we watched from a distance as another group of parents and kids, all armed with shovels, hollered and shouted as they dragged the chest on to their nearby blanket. What a wonderful time everyone had! One of the parents has started a Facebook group called “Chesterman Beach Treasure Hunt” to share photos and stories of the joy of finding real buried treasure.

Check out more fascinating British Columbia and Canadian Rockies legends!

Latin for “wolf,” lupus allegedly takes its name from skin lesions that once reminded people of wolf bites. It’s a systemic autoimmune disease: “systemic” because it can affect any or all of the body and “autoimmune” because it’s caused by an overzealous immune system targeting normal, healthy tissues.

Lupus’s widely varied effects depend upon the immune system’s targets. One of its most distinctive indicators is a butterfly-shaped rash that covers the cheeks and the bridge of the nose, but this happens in only about a third of sufferers. Other signs can include disc-shaped skin lesions, sores in the mouth or nose, fever, fatigue, arthritis, muscle pain, shortness of breath and dry eyes. Most people see their symptoms come and go in periods of active disease (“flares”) and remissions.

A predisposition for lupus runs in families, although it often seems to take external factors to bring on the disease and set off flares. These triggers range from ultraviolet rays to stress to infections (such as shingles or the common cold) to certain prescriptions (like sulpha antibiotics). Some cases, known as “drug-induced lupus,” clear up once you stop the medication. Most other cases must be managed over a lifetime. For reasons that may involve hormones and sex chromosomes, women are affected nine times more often than men.

If you’ve been diagnosed with lupus, try to lower your exposure to your triggers. When flares do arise, drugs such as NSAIDs and corticosteroids can control them, which is paramount for preventing inflammation caused by the immune system from permanently scarring organs such as your kidneys, lungs or heart. “Active lupus is like the winds of a tropical storm,” says Dr. David Isenberg, the senior author of the lupus-­management guidelines published by the British Society for Rheumatology. “We need to calm them quickly to minimize the chances they’ll cause damage that can’t easily be undone.”

That said, drugs can bring adverse effects of their own—digestive problems from long-term NSAID use, osteoporosis from steroids—so your rheumatologist will need to tailor a regimen with a good protection­-to-harm ratio. They should also schedule regular checkups so that any complications that do arise can be treated promptly. Lupus needs to be taken seriously, but with regular monitoring, adherence to your prescriptions, emotional support and a healthy lifestyle, the odds of surviving it are in your favour.

Learn how to spot the telltale lupus symptoms.

Meles Wudima* fled from his village near Addis Ababa to the Ethiopian capital because he had nowhere else to go. He was five years old and both his parents were dead. He’d headed to his aunt’s, but she had seven children and couldn’t take him in permanently. Soon Wudima was participating in the street economy, along with roughly 10,000 other orphaned kids in Addis. To survive, he shined shoes, sold peanuts and begged.

Then, when he was about nine, Wudima met Meheret Worku (above).

A year earlier, in 1996, Worku had flown from Edmonton to her hometown of Addis to visit her mother for the first time in well over a decade. Accompanying Worku were her husband, Scott Smillie (a social worker, pictured above), and their two children, Rebecca, three and a half, and Rachael, 18 months. The family had come with the intention of helping street-involved children, but without a set plan.

It was one of Rebecca’s questions that finally pushed Worku and Smillie to act. “Why aren’t they wearing any shoes?” she asked about kids in the street. Worku had worked as a school teacher in Ethiopia, so children and education felt like natural starting points. And after learning that the principal of the Misrak Del elementary school was paying for an orphaned student’s uniform and living expenses, Worku thought, This is who I’m going to join forces with.

Worku had left Ethiopia in 1981 on a scholarship to Germany, but also to escape Mengistu Haile Mariam’s repressive regime. From Germany she moved to Edmonton, finished her bachelor of science degree at the University of Alberta, began teaching, met Smillie and started a family. These opportunities were thanks to her education—a gift from her father, a general in the Ethiopian army. Worku Gebre Maryiam had used his relative affluence to pay for his eight daughters and one son to attend private school, wanting to offer them what his own sisters—many of whom were illiterate—never got. Back then, Ethiopia’s school enrollment was just 25 per cent.

Maryiam died shortly before Worku left Ethiopia. His final wish, she says, was for his children to someday return to help their country.

All children can attend government school in Ethiopia, but many don’t. Uniforms, books and other expenses are one barrier; poor health or being forced into work are others. Smillie and Worku decided to focus on getting orphaned street-involved children with caregivers to class. Kids like Wudima: Worku met him on her second trip, and he started receiving supplies and food and was provided with housing shortly thereafter.

As the years ticked by, Worku continued to take calls in the middle of the night and travel back and forth between Canada and Ethiopia to ensure Wudima and dozens of others got necessities. From Edmonton, Smillie organized financial donations, including partnerships with the Knox Metropolitan United Church.

Twenty-two years on, the group the couple created—the Sustainable East Africa Education & Development Society (SEEDS)—is independent and supports 260 students in Addis and the village of Amanuel, and supplies the schools with desks, water tanks and the like.

Wudima has stayed in touch with Worku. Now 29, he has a job as a tour guide. “Some young people are addicted to drugs or they become pickpockets,” he says. “If you have school, that’s a good advantage to keep yourself from everything.” Of Worku, he says, “She’s like my mother.”

It’s a fitting tribute for an organization that stays the course. “We’re in it for the long haul,” Smillie says. “We’ve seen, based on those original kids, that education is the way out of poverty.”

Worku has an even deeper connection to their work. Seeing Ethiopian orphans thrive, she feels she’s done right by her dad. “That’s the dream of my father I’m seeing—right there in my face.”

Don’t miss out on these good news stories that will brighten your day.

*Name has been changed.

What does AM and PM stand for?

Many of the English words and expressions we use daily can trace their origins back to Latin, and this is true for some of the English language’s more perplexing abbreviations. “Lb,” the seemingly out-of-the-blue abbreviation for “pounds,” comes from the Latin phrase “Libra pondo.” “No.” as an abbreviation for the decidedly O-less word “number” comes from the Latin “numero.” And, if you’ve ever wondered, “What does AM and PM stand for?” look no further: These common abbreviations come from Latin too. (These Latin phrases will make you sound smarter, too!)

In Canada and several other English-speaking countries, we use these abbreviations all the time. The correct use of them makes or breaks our alarm-clock settings. And yet many people can’t correctly answer the question “What does AM and PM stand for?”

Well, if you’re one of those people, wonder no more. “AM” stands for “ante meridiem.” The Latin phrase “ante meridiem” means “before noon” or “before midday.” That’s why, in the 12-hour system, all times from midnight onward use this designation. PM stands for “post meridiem,” meaning “after noon” or “after midday,” and as such applies to the times from noon onward. The Latin word “post” has also made its way into our language on its own, synonymous with “after.” (Here are more Latin words you use every day without even knowing it.)

What about noon and midnight?

One of the most confusing aspects of the AM-PM system, once you’ve answered the question “What does AM and PM mean,” is how it accounts for midnight and midday. The confusion that can arise from having two of every “o’clock” a day is definitely a solid argument in favor of using military time. So, in the 12-hour system, which 12:00 is which?

Technically, 12:00 at night, which we know as “12 AM,” is exactly 12 hours after the previous noon and before the coming noon, so does it count as “before” noon or “after” it? And, of course, 12:00 PM is noon, so it may seem silly to designate it “before” or “after.” English-speaking countries parse it out by using “12:00 AM” to refer to midnight, since midnight starts the new day, so it can be considered “before noon” of the same day. Not to mention it would probably be even more confusing if time went from 12:00 PM to 12:01 AM. So noon then becomes 12 PM by default.

Though, if you’re deeply linguistically opposed to calling “noon” “after noon,” there’s actually another Latin abbreviation you can use. The AM/PM system actually does have a specific abbreviation for noon—just the letter “M,” short for “meridiem,” which would come after “12” and only refer to noon. Haven’t heard of it? Well, for better or worse, the “12 M” designation for “noon” is quite rare and has been pretty much lost to antiquity. If the answer to the question “What does AM and PM mean” surprised you, find out the hidden meaning of these everyday objects.

Why is the Lazy Susan lazy?

A lazy Susan is a round tray that rotates and is meant to sit on a countertop or table and allow multiple diners to access food, condiments and relishes without having to pass them around.

It’s unclear where the name lazy Susan came from. If you’ve dined at a Chinese restaurant, you’ve likely used one there. The Smithsonian notes a revolving table, which later evolved into what we know as the lazy Susan, was first used in 13th century China. It gained popularity over centuries and found its way into Chinese restaurants as a “hygienic dining tray” in the 1960s.

Some historians credit Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Edison. The Los Angles Times notes the two Thomases allegedly named the invention after sluggish daughters, yet many say there’s no credible proof to support that claim.

“Historians can trace the concept to 18th century England, when it was probably known as a dumbwaiter. It may have become popular at a time when household servants were in declining supply. In the absence of maids or footmen to refill wine goblets and deliver condiments, diners were forced to reach across the table or interrupt conversation with ‘pass the pimientos please,'” the Los Angeles Times explained.

An early use of the lazy Susan in the United States was possibly in 1891 when Elizabeth Howell of Missouri was granted a patent for a self-waiting table. “This invention relates to certain new and useful improvements in self-waiting tables of that class in which the movable portion is supported upon rollers and mounted on a central pivot; and it has for its objects among others to provide an improved table of this character in which provision is made for preventing crumbs or dishes or other articles from getting between the table proper and the revolving part, the said provision adding also to the neat and tasteful appearance of the table,” the patent states. (Check out more brilliant home organizing hacks.)

And if that’s not enough possible origins for you, the Chicago Tribune notes the name can be traced back to an advertisement in the December 1917 issue of Vanity Fair magazine. “Ovington’s, a now-defunct New York store, ran the ad. It was a two-page Christmas promotion that spotlighted a number of fancy household items as possible gift ideas. Item No. 365: a mahogany tabletop tray that measured 16 inches in diameter and cost $8.50.”

Despite it not being 100 per cent clear exactly where the term lazy Susan originated, one thing is clear: lazy Susans are valued. In fact, Christie’s auction house often sees these home helpers go for hundreds, if not thousands of dollars.

Next, learn about the origins of Eggs Benedict!

Why Talking to Yourself is Perfectly Healthy

Chances are, you’re talking to yourself throughout the day whether you’re aware of it or not—everything from “I’m going to be late!” to “I love this dress” to “I’m so behind at work” have likely crossed your mind pretty often. But have you have ever said such phrases out loud? If you answered yes, you’re on the right side of science—there are actually loads of benefits of talking to yourself.

It turns out that expressing some inner thoughts out loud can actually help you better conquer the present and future and is something we should all start doing, according to Lisa Ferentz, clinical social worker, psychotherapist and author of the book Finding Your Ruby Slippers: Transformative Life Lessons From the Therapist’s Couch. Ferentz employs this practice most often when it comes to helping her clients develop a positive outlook about themselves and the day ahead. “There’s nothing more important than the way we talk to ourselves because that inner monologue informs in subtle and not-so-subtle ways all our subsequent thoughts, emotional states and behavioural choices,” she says. Simply put, if you’re constantly critical, judgmental, or facing the day with a negative attitude, you’re making it pretty hard for yourself to encounter positivity down the line. (Check out more daily habits of optimistic people.)

A good way to adopt a healthy mental state is to write down what you’re grateful for, your own strengths, and positive affirmations; then stand in front of a mirror and say those things out loud. If you feel silly, don’t give up. “Like anything else, once you practice and approach it from a positive place, you discover it’s quite easy to do. It guides our life whether we’re conscious of it or not,” says Ferentz. In fact, one study from the University of Lethbridge found that students who were taught how to engage in positive versus negative self-talk were able to change their perspectives, attitudes and reactions. Sure enough, talking to yourself is one of the signs you’re actually smarter than you realize.

Ferentz also encourages people to whisper aloud pep talks or explore their thoughts and feelings heading into a potentially intimidating, threatening, or overwhelming situation. “When we whisper positively to ourselves it gives us a little more strength and courage so we can meet a challenging scenario head on,” she says. That sentiment echoes research that has found athletes are often fans of self-talk ahead of competitions. (Here are more tips on how to stop procrastinating and live a happier life.)

That doesn’t mean you can’t mutter aloud your frustrations, too. Just like there’s a place for positive self-talk, there’s also a place for negative if you approach it the right way. “There’s definitely a value to understanding what you’re feeling whether it’s positive or negative. Saying negative thoughts out loud can be very validating,” says Ferentz. “Bringing the negative stuff you’re thinking and feeling to the surface then gives you the opportunity to re-evaluate it.” Once you voice what’s bothering you, try asking yourself if it’s useful to keep holding on to those thoughts or if it’s something you can process and then let go of.

So next time you hold a little two-way conversation with yourself, don’t worry, it’s perfectly okay.

Next, find out the exact age when the average person is most confident.

Gloria Vanderbilt passes away, aged 95

The passing of fashion pioneer and socialite Gloria Vanderbilt has led to touching tributes and kind words, both from those who knew her personally and those who simply adored her clothing. But it’s also led to speculation about her fortune. In addition to the $5 million trust fund she inherited as a young woman, Vanderbilt also headed her own profitable clothing label. And the questions about her fortune are especially prevalent because one of her children is a pretty high-profile figure himself.

Vanderbilt’s youngest son from her fourth marriage is successful CNN news anchor Anderson Cooper. But Cooper won’t be following in his mother’s footsteps and receiving a large sum of money now that his mother has passed. In fact, he won’t receive any money from her at all.

This isn’t a bombshell revelation though, unlike these shocking family secrets. Cooper claims he’s always known that he wouldn’t be inheriting money from his mother; in a 2014 appearance on The Howard Stern Show, Cooper said, “My mom’s made it clear to me that there’s no trust fund, there’s none of that.” He claimed that his mother valued the money she made on her own far beyond her own inheritance. He said that his mother had never discussed with him where the money actually would go, but that he knew he himself wouldn’t be getting it “from the time [he] was a kid.”

And Cooper says that he much prefers it that way. “I don’t believe in inheriting money,” he told Stern in the same interview. “I think it’s an initiative sucker, I think it’s a curse.” The knowledge that he had a “pot of gold” waiting for him from his mother would have stunted his motivation as a young man, he believes. And, of course, Cooper is pretty financially well off himself, so it’s not as if receiving money from his mother would make or break his financial well-being. Either way, though, he’s made it clear that he’s perfectly content without his late mother’s money.

If his words while she was alive—and the moving eulogy he gave after her passing—are any indication, there was no ill will between Cooper and his mother. “My mom… is the coolest person I know. She really is,” he said on The Howard Stern Show. It seems like Cooper and Vanderbilt’s positive mother-son relationship was more valuable to either of them than money—and we certainly can’t argue with that.

Next, learn about the ironic “failures” of wildly successful people.