Multicultural Health Institute (MHI)

Multicultural Health Institute (MHI) Improving health & wellness issues & reducing health disparities

In the mid-nineties, Dr. Lisa Merritt was working as a physician with a patient roster that was racially and ethnically diverse. She observed major differences in the rates of certain diseases and treatment of people from certain racial and socio-economic subgroups under her care. In order to help resolve some of those differences, Dr. Merritt founded the Multicultural Health Institute in 1995 in Sacramento, California. She recruited a group of doctors and community advocates to work with the Institute to initiate programs and authored a number of papers for medical journals focused on treatment and patient care. The Advocacy work that began in California by the original staff and directors of MHI expanded to service Atlanta, Georgia in 2000. MHI relocated its headquarters to Sarasota, Florida in 2006, where it continues to support government entities, non-profit organizations and community based initiatives through its programs and research.

Dear Friends,It is with profound sadness that we share the news that our fierce comrade and dear, sweet friend Barbara P...
12/21/2025

Dear Friends,

It is with profound sadness that we share the news that our fierce comrade and dear, sweet friend Barbara Powell Harris made her transition yesterday evening, December 20, 2025, surrounded by loved ones and her beloved dog, Charlie.

On behalf of Barbara’s family, we thank you for your understanding, care, support and compassion during this deeply difficult time. Additional information regarding memorial arrangements will be shared as it becomes available.

As we move through this season of wonder and light, we invite you to remember Barbara’s deep love for all living things. She truly walked the talk of genuine kindness, community service, and uplifting others, sharing generously and caring deeply, all year-round. If we carry even a fraction of that spirit forward, we shall honor her in the most meaningful way.

Barbara’s work on this earthly plane was full, purposeful, and beautifully lived. She now rests in a place of peace.

With gratitude and love,
Dr. Lisa & The MHI Family

--

For this Season of Sharing and caring, help a former MHI Scholar with his dream to expand his  photo journalistic endeav...
12/17/2025

For this Season of Sharing and caring, help a former MHI Scholar with his dream to expand his photo journalistic endeavors.

Hello, My Name is Cameron B. Potts I'm a Photographer. This is my 20th year of phot… Cameron B needs your support for Help Cameron Capture Your Future Events

12/12/2025

Linda Blackmans Celebration

12/12/2025
12/11/2025

Dear Colleagues,

It is with deep concern, and on behalf of her sister Emily, that I share difficult news about our beloved sister-friend Barbara Powell Harris. On the evening of December 9, while out walking Charlie, Barb was struck by a car and sustained significant polytrauma. She is currently in serious but stable condition at Sarasota Memorial Hospital.

At this time, Barb is not able to receive visitors, and our immediate focus is on supporting Emily as she navigates this sudden and challenging caregiving process. (A timely reminder of why we recently developed the MHI Caregiver Trackers.)

We will provide regular updates on Barb’s recovery and will let everyone know when visitation may become possible. We anticipate a long healing journey ahead, and there will be meaningful opportunities for support as she stabilizes and moves through recovery.

For those who wish to send cards or other expressions of care, please feel free to mail or drop them off at the MHI Office:

1781 Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Way
Sarasota, FL 34234

You may also keep in mind her favorite organizations and consider sending support to her beloved Orange Blossom Community Garden, Cocoanut Neighborhood Association, Multicultural Health Institute, Bee Academy, Sarasota Bay Estuary and Sarasota Waterkeepers.

We deeply appreciate ongoing prayers, positive thoughts, and well wishes for Barbara Powell Harris her family and our team. As this tumultuous year draws to a close, may we hold close all that we have to be grateful for—most importantly, the strength that comes from unity, compassion, and community love.

Thank you for your consideration
Dr. Lisa Merritt

Originality and Diamonds in the rough are unbiquitous, we just need to see them, and sometimes, cultivate them to polish...
12/11/2025

Originality and Diamonds in the rough are unbiquitous, we just need to see them, and sometimes, cultivate them to polish their brilliance.

Henry Darger died on April 13, 1973, in a Chicago nursing home. He was 81 years old. He'd spent most of his adult life working as a janitor and dishwasher in Catholic hospitals. He had no family, no close friends, no recognition.
Most people who knew him—and few really did—saw him as odd. Quiet. Muttering to himself. Going to Mass multiple times a day. Living alone in a small apartment on Chicago's North Side.
When his landlords, photographers Nathan and Kiyoko Lerner, entered his apartment to clean it out after his death, they expected to find the sparse belongings of a solitary old man.
Instead, they found a secret world.
Stacked in the tiny room were hundreds of massive paintings—some as long as twelve feet—rendered in brilliant watercolors. Scrolls of paper covered with intricate battle scenes, strange landscapes, flowers as big as houses, children with wings, armies clashing under impossible skies.
And then there was the manuscript.
Fifteen thousand, one hundred and forty-five pages. Single-spaced. Typed and handwritten. Bound in multiple volumes.
The title alone was extraordinary: The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What Is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion.
Henry Darger—the quiet janitor, the man nobody noticed—had spent decades creating one of the most ambitious works of outsider art in history. And he'd done it entirely in secret, never showing it to anyone, never seeking recognition, working alone in his room night after night for more than 60 years.
The story itself is epic in scope. It follows seven sisters—the Vivian Girls—who lead a rebellion of enslaved children against the evil Glandelinians, who torture and murder children in a brutal war spanning an entire fictional universe called the Realms of the Unreal.
The narrative is sprawling, obsessive, and often violent. Battles rage across hundreds of pages. Children are rescued. Armies clash. Good battles evil in endless cycles. Religious themes run throughout—prayers, divine intervention, moral judgment.
The Vivian Girls themselves are brave, pure, almost saintly figures fighting against overwhelming darkness. They're heroines in a world where children are victims, where innocence is constantly under threat, where evil seeks to destroy the vulnerable.
And the paintings that accompany the story are equally extraordinary. Darger created them using a laborious technique: he traced images from coloring books, magazines, and comic strips, then collaged them together and painted over them in vivid watercolors. The result is a unique visual style—dreamlike, beautiful, and deeply unsettling.
His landscapes are lush and fantastical. Flowers bloom in impossible colors. Storms rage with apocalyptic intensity. Butterflies the size of birds flutter through scenes of battle.
And then there are the children. Hundreds of them, depicted in his paintings—some innocent and angelic, others caught in violence, some with both female and male anatomy (a detail that has sparked endless debate among art historians about Darger's understanding of gender and sexuality).
The paintings are haunting. Beautiful and disturbing at once. They show a mind that mixed childlike wonder with profound darkness, that couldn't separate innocence from violence, that saw the world as a place where children needed heroes because adults had failed them.
Which makes sense when you understand Darger's life.
Henry Joseph Darger was born in Chicago in 1892. His mother died when he was four. His father, disabled and unable to care for him, placed Henry in a Catholic mission. At age eight, Henry was sent to the Illinois Asylum for Feeble-Minded Children—a brutal institution where he suffered neglect and likely abuse.
He tried to escape multiple times. He was punished, confined, treated as defective. The asylum's records describe him as "self-abusive" and note that he had a "crazy look in his eye." But they also note that he was intelligent, that he could read and write well, that he wasn't actually "feeble-minded."
He was just traumatized. Alone. Powerless.
At 16, he finally escaped and made his way back to Chicago. He found work as a janitor and dishwasher in Catholic hospitals. He attended Mass obsessively—sometimes multiple times per day. He collected found objects: string, newspapers, magazines, discarded pictures.
And he began writing.
The Realms of the Unreal started sometime around 1910, when Darger was in his late teens. He would work on it for the rest of his life—more than 60 years—never finishing, never sharing, never seeking an audience.
He worked alone in his small room after his shifts ended. He typed on an old typewriter. He painted on rolls of paper he salvaged or bought cheaply. He traced images obsessively, building his elaborate collages.
His neighbors occasionally heard him muttering dialogue from his story, acting out scenes to himself. But no one knew what he was creating. No one asked.
When Darger's health declined in 1972, the Lerners—his landlords, who'd rented him the room for decades—helped move him to a nursing home. Before he left, Darger told Nathan Lerner: "It's yours. Throw it away or do whatever you want with it."
He was referring to his life's work.
Lerner, a photographer with an eye for art, couldn't throw it away. When he saw the paintings, the manuscript, the sheer scale of what Darger had created, he knew he'd found something extraordinary.
After Darger's death, the Lerners began showing his work to art experts, curators, and collectors. The response was immediate: this was something unprecedented. An outsider artist who'd created an entire universe in complete isolation. A janitor whose imagination rivaled that of professional writers and artists.
Today, Henry Darger is considered one of the most important figures in outsider art—art created by self-taught artists working outside the mainstream art world. His paintings are displayed in major museums, including the American Folk Art Museum in New York. His story has inspired documentaries, books, exhibitions.
Art critics debate his work endlessly. What did the Vivian Girls represent? Why the violence? Why the obsession with children in danger? What do his paintings reveal about trauma, imagination, isolation?
But maybe the most powerful thing about Darger's story isn't the art itself—though the art is extraordinary. It's the reminder that genius can exist anywhere. In a janitor's room. In a person nobody notices. In a life that seems small from the outside but contains entire worlds within.
Henry Darger spent his life invisible. He worked menial jobs. He lived alone. He had no family, no friends, no recognition.
But he built a universe. He created seven heroines who fought to save children from evil. He painted hundreds of enormous, beautiful, strange works of art. He wrote more than 15,000 pages of story.
And he did it all for himself. Not for fame. Not for money. Not for validation.
He did it because he had to. Because his imagination demanded it. Because creating the Realms of the Unreal was how he survived the real world.
His landlords saved his work. But Darger had already saved himself—by transforming his pain into art, his isolation into imagination, his powerlessness into a story where children could be heroes.
Henry Darger died alone in 1973. But his Vivian Girls live forever, fighting their endless war against evil, proving that even in the darkest places, courage and innocence can survive.
And somewhere in a museum, a twelve-foot painting shows a battle in an impossible landscape, with flowers blooming and children fighting, and the work of a lonely janitor hangs beside pieces by famous artists—exactly where it belongs.
Because great art can come from the most unexpected places. And every story, no matter how hidden, deserves to be discovered.

Moral courage uplifts us all. My fierce mother Eleanor Merritt was, like many of her generation, named after Eleanor Roo...
12/09/2025

Moral courage uplifts us all. My fierce mother Eleanor Merritt was, like many of her generation, named after Eleanor Roosevelt who inspired generations of women to use their intellect and voice to improve humanity whenever and however possible. We remain inspired and determined.

She wasn't supposed to speak. So she held 348 press conferences—and only women reporters were allowed in In 1933, when Franklin D. Roosevelt became president, his wife Eleanor was expected to follow a script written over a century earlier: smile, host teas, stay decorative, stay quiet, and never, ever have opinions about policy. Eleanor Roosevelt read the script. Then she tore it up and wrote her own. Over the next twelve years, she would transform the role of First Lady from ceremonial decoration to moral force. She would travel 40,000 miles a year visiting Americans in coal mines, slums, and bread lines. She would fight for civil rights when it was politically dangerous. And after her husband's death, she would help write the document that would become the foundation of international human rights law. But to understand why Eleanor Roosevelt became who she became, you have to understand who she was told she should be—and how she refused every limitation placed on her. The Unlikely RebelEleanor Roosevelt was born on October 11, 1884, into American aristocracy—the Roosevelt and Livingston families, old money and older power. She grew up in mansions, was taught by private tutors, and was expected to become exactly what wealthy young women became: ornamental wives to powerful men. Her childhood was lonely and painful. Her mother, a renowned beauty, called Eleanor "Granny" because she was plain and serious. Her father, whom she adored, was an alcoholic who died when she was ten. Her mother died when she was eight. She was raised by a stern grandmother who emphasized duty, propriety, and the importance of knowing your place. Eleanor learned her place. She just decided it wasn't good enough. At fifteen, she was sent to boarding school in England, where a headmistress named Marie Souvestre did something revolutionary: she told Eleanor her mind mattered. That thinking was not unfeminine. That intelligence was a strength, not something to hide. Eleanor returned to America changed. She began working at settlement houses in New York, teaching immigrant children, seeing poverty up close. She joined the Women's Trade Union League. She learned that privilege created obligation—not to maintain the system, but to challenge it. In 1905, she married her distant cousin Franklin Delano Roosevelt. He was charming, ambitious, handsome. She was serious, thoughtful, passionate about social issues. The marriage was complicated—FDR's infidelity in 1918 nearly destroyed it—but they formed a political partnership that would change American history. When FDR was paralyzed by polio in 1921, Eleanor became his legs. She traveled on his behalf, attended political meetings, reported back what she learned. She was training, without realizing it, to become something unprecedented. The First Lady Who Refused to Be SilentMarch 4, 1933. Franklin Roosevelt was sworn in as president during the worst economic catastrophe in American history. Thirteen million Americans were unemployed. Banks were failing. Farms were foreclosed. Families were starving. Eleanor Roosevelt could have hosted elegant dinners and stayed silent. Instead, she went to see for herself. She descended into coal mines to see working conditions. She visited relief centers in Appalachia. She toured slums in major cities. She showed up at hospitals, schools, farms, factories—places First Ladies had never gone, talking to people First Ladies had never acknowledged. And then she went back to Washington and told her husband—and the country—what she'd seen. She started writing a daily newspaper column called "My Day" that ran for 27 years. Six days a week, Eleanor wrote about what she was doing, thinking, seeing. At its peak, the column appeared in 90 newspapers and reached millions of Americans. It was personal but political, chatty but serious—a woman speaking directly to the nation about issues that mattered. But here's what made Eleanor Roosevelt truly revolutionary: She held regular press conferences. Starting in March 1933, just days after FDR's inauguration, she invited reporters to the White House. But here was the rule: only female reporters were allowed. At the time, most major newspapers didn't employ women reporters. Wire services and big papers were men's domains. By making her press conferences women-only, Eleanor Roosevelt forced news organizations to hire female journalists if they wanted White House access. She held 348 press conferences during FDR's presidency. She created jobs and opportunities for dozens of women journalists. She used her platform to give women a professional foothold in a field that had excluded them. And she talked about everything: poverty, education, civil rights, women's issues, foreign policy. She didn't limit herself to "appropriate" topics. She had opinions, and she shared them. Her staff was horrified. Political advisors begged her to be more careful. FDR's team worried she'd become a liability. She didn't care. She kept speaking. The Most Dangerous Thing She DidIn 1939, Eleanor Roosevelt did something that would define her moral courage. The Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR)—an organization she belonged to—refused to let Black opera singer Marian Anderson perform at Constitution Hall in Washington, D.C. because of her race. Eleanor resigned from the DAR publicly, writing in her "My Day" column: "I am in complete disagreement with the attitude taken in refusing Constitution Hall to a great artist... To remain as a member implies approval of that action, and therefore I am resigning. "Then she helped arrange for Marian Anderson to sing at the Lincoln Memorial instead. On Easter Sunday, April 9, 1939, Marian Anderson sang to 75,000 people on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, with millions more listening on radio. Eleanor Roosevelt sat in the front row. It was a moment of defiance and moral clarity in a segregated nation. But Eleanor didn't stop there. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, she pushed FDR on civil rights issues. She met with Black leaders. She spoke at historically Black colleges. She advocated for anti-lynching legislation. She pushed for desegregation in federal programs. Southern Democrats hated her. Racists sent death threats. Political allies begged her to be quiet—she was hurting FDR politically. She refused to be quiet. She understood something crucial: power without moral courage is just authority. Real leadership requires using your platform for those who don't have one. After FDR On April 12, 1945, Franklin Roosevelt died suddenly of a cerebral hemorrhage. Eleanor, at 60 years old, could have retired to private life, content with her historical role. Instead, her most important work was just beginning. President Harry Truman appointed her as a delegate to the newly formed United Nations. In 1946, she was elected chair of the UN Commission on Human Rights, tasked with creating something that had never existed: a universal declaration of human rights that all nations would recognize. The commission included representatives from countries with vastly different cultures, political systems, and values. Soviet representatives, Western democracies, newly independent nations—all had different ideas about what "rights" meant. Eleanor Roosevelt led them through two years of debate, negotiation, and compromise. She was patient but unyielding. Gentle in manner but fierce in conviction. She listened to everyone but refused to accept that universal rights were impossible. She once stayed up all night mediating between Soviet and Western delegates who were deadlocked. She hosted dinners where delegates who disagreed politically could find common ground personally. She read every draft, questioned every word, ensured every voice was heard. On December 10, 1948, the UN General Assembly adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It passed 48-0, with eight abstentions. It was the first time in human history that nations collectively agreed on fundamental rights belonging to all people everywhere: freedom from slavery, freedom of thought, right to education, equality before law, protection from torture. Eleanor Roosevelt called it "the Magna Carta for all mankind. "The General Assembly gave her a standing ovation—an unprecedented honor. Truman called her "First Lady of the World. "The PhilosophyEleanor Roosevelt's approach to human rights was deeply personal. She didn't believe rights were abstract principles handed down by governments. She believed they started in daily life. She famously said: "Where, after all, do universal human rights begin? In small places, close to home—so close and so small that they cannot be seen on any maps of the world. Yet they are the world of the individual person; the neighborhood he lives in; the school or college he attends; the factory, farm, or office where he works. Such are the places where every man, woman, and child seeks equal justice, equal opportunity, equal dignity without discrimination. Unless these rights have meaning there, they have little meaning anywhere."This wasn't theoretical for Eleanor. She had seen those small places. She had descended into coal mines and visited tenant farms. She had walked through Harlem and sat in Appalachian kitchens. She knew that rights without justice in daily life were just words.She continued working for human rights until her death in 1962 at age 78. She served on the UN Commission until 1952. She advised presidents Kennedy and Johnson on civil rights. She wrote, she spoke, she advocated, she pushed.The LegacyEleanor Roosevelt died November 7, 1962. Her funeral at Hyde Park was attended by presidents, world leaders, and ordinary people whose lives she'd touched.President Kennedy said she would "remain a symbol of the compassion and the commitment to human welfare which must forever be associated with her name."Adlai Stevenson said: "She would rather light candles than curse the darkness, and her glow has warmed the world."But perhaps her greatest legacy is this: she proved that empathy could be policy. That compassion could be power. That someone born into privilege could dedicate their life to those who had none.She transformed the role of First Lady from decorative to powerful. Every First Lady since owes something to Eleanor Roosevelt's refusal to be silent.She proved that women could lead in international affairs. When she chaired the UN Human Rights Commission, many diplomats were skeptical a woman could handle it. She proved them wrong so thoroughly that no one questioned it again.She showed that moral courage requires action. Not just believing in justice, but using whatever platform you have—even when it's uncomfortable, unpopular, or dangerous.TodayThe Universal Declaration of Human Rights remains the foundation of international human rights law. It's been translated into over 500 languages—more than any other document. It inspired constitutions, treaties, laws protecting billions of people.Eleanor Roosevelt's "My Day" columns, all 8,000 of them, are preserved. They're a window into mid-20th century America—what she saw, what troubled her, what gave her hope.Her press conferences created a template for First Ladies engaging with media and issues.Her civil rights advocacy, though incomplete by modern standards, moved the nation closer to justice at a time when that movement required courage.Every time someone uses their privilege to advocate for others, they're walking a path Eleanor Roosevelt paved.Every time a woman speaks up in spaces that once excluded her, she's benefiting from doors Eleanor forced open.Every time someone stands for human rights even when it's politically inconvenient, they're following her example.The LessonEleanor Roosevelt's life teaches something essential about power and purpose:Your circumstances don't define your choices. She was born into privilege—she chose to use it for justice.Your role doesn't limit your impact. She was given a ceremonial position—she made it consequential.Your platform, however large or small, matters. She used hers relentlessly, courageously, effectively.Empathy isn't weakness. Compassion isn't passive. Gentle doesn't mean powerless.Eleanor Roosevelt proved that the strongest force in politics isn't domination—it's moral clarity paired with persistent action.She wasn't the loudest voice in any room. But she was often the most effective.She didn't grab power. She earned authority through wisdom, consistency, and courage.She didn't demand respect. She demonstrated why she deserved it.And when told to be quiet, to know her place, to let more important people speak, she smiled gently and kept talking anyway.Because she understood something fundamental: human rights begin in small places, close to home. In the mine shaft where men worked without safety protections. In the school where Black children couldn't learn. In the apartment where immigrants struggled. In the farm where families starved despite working sunup to sundown.Those small places were where justice either lived or died. And Eleanor Roosevelt spent her life traveling to those places, listening to those voices, and bringing what she learned back to the halls of power.She didn't just change the role of First Lady.She didn't just write the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.She proved that the highest use of power is giving voice to those who have none.That the truest measure of privilege is what you do for those who have little.That empathy, when practiced daily and courageously, can change the world.She was born into a family that expected her to be silent and decorative.She died having spoken to millions and created frameworks for protecting human dignity that endure generations after her death.She wasn't supposed to speak.She never stopped.And because she didn't, millions found their own voices.The small places she fought for—they grew larger.The rights she insisted on—they spread farther.The compassion she embodied—it became policy, law, foundation.Eleanor Roosevelt turned privilege into purpose.Ceremony into advocacy.Silence into truth.And in doing so, she proved that the gentlest voices, when backed by unshakeable conviction, can echo across generations.Where do human rights begin?In small places, close to home.In coal mines and tenant farms.In the words of a First Lady who refused to be silent.In the courage to use whatever platform you have for those who have none.That's where Eleanor Roosevelt lived.And that's where her legacy endures—in every small place where someone still fights for dignity, equality, and justice.Not cursing the darkness.But lighting candles wherever darkness exists.

12/09/2025

"Take the time to pamper yourself and grow within yourself. Your quiet moments need to become the most meaningful part of you. Meditate, get into a good book, learn something new. Just do something specifically for you. Keeping your wholeness is a must. You can't be there for others if you're running on empty."

— Patti LaBelle



📸 Photograph by Todd Charles Duncan. Johnson Publishing Company Archive. Courtesy J. Paul Getty Trust and Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture.

Something to think about, "Giving while living". Try it, you might like it. On behalf of MHI team, we thank everyone who...
12/08/2025

Something to think about, "Giving while living". Try it, you might like it. On behalf of MHI team, we thank everyone who has and who continue to give support to our efforts, we appreciate you and so do the thousands we have nourished with food, education, mentoring and the organizations we have cultivated and provided technical assistance to.

In 2020, in a modest rented apartment in San Francisco, Chuck Feeney signed the final dissolution papers for The Atlantic Philanthropies—the foundation he'd created 38 years earlier.
On the table sat a small plaque: "Congratulations to Chuck Feeney for $8 billion of philanthropic giving."
He was 89 years old. He'd accomplished his mission. The foundation had given away every dollar it possessed.
And Chuck Feeney—who had once been worth billions—had about $2 million left to his name.
That wasn't failure. That was exactly the plan.
Chuck Feeney's story is one of the most extraordinary in modern philanthropy, not because of how much he gave (though $8 billion is staggering), but because of how he gave it—in secret, during his lifetime, until he had almost nothing left.
And he did it all while living like he was broke.
The story begins in 1960, when Feeney and a Cornell classmate, Robert Warren Miller, co-founded Duty Free Shoppers (DFS). The concept was simple but revolutionary: sell luxury goods tax-free to international travelers in airports.
The business exploded. DFS expanded globally, creating duty-free shops in airports across Asia, Europe, and beyond. By the 1980s, Feeney and his partners were billionaires several times over.
But something unusual was happening. While his business partners enjoyed the trappings of wealth—homes, yachts, luxury lifestyles—Feeney flew economy class, carried his papers in a plastic bag instead of a briefcase, and wore a $15 Casio watch.
He didn't own a car. He didn't own a house. He rented modest apartments.
His partners thought he was eccentric. They didn't know the truth: Feeney didn't actually own his share of DFS anymore.
On November 23, 1984—Thanksgiving weekend—Feeney, his then-wife Danielle, and his lawyer Harvey Dale flew to the Bahamas. They chose the location specifically to avoid legal complications for what they were about to do.
Feeney signed documents transferring his entire 38.75% stake in DFS—then worth about $500 million—to a foundation he'd created two years earlier: The Atlantic Philanthropies.
He gave away everything. His entire fortune. All of it.
Not even his business partners knew. As far as the world was concerned, Chuck Feeney was still a billionaire. Forbes included him on their wealth rankings. He continued managing DFS operations as if he still owned his stake.
But he didn't. The Atlantic Philanthropies owned it. And Atlantic existed for one purpose: to give the money away.
For the next 13 years, Feeney gave in complete secrecy. Atlantic made massive grants—to universities, hospitals, research institutions, peace initiatives—all with one absolute condition: recipients could never reveal the source of the donation.
Buildings were built with no donor names. Programs were funded anonymously. Universities received tens of millions without knowing where it came from.
Why the secrecy?
Feeney had several reasons. First, he genuinely didn't want recognition. He'd grown up in a working-class Irish-American neighborhood in New Jersey during the Great Depression. His mother was a nurse who constantly helped others. The values he absorbed were about service, not status.
Second, he feared that public philanthropy would bury him in requests. If everyone knew he was giving away billions, he'd be inundated with appeals that would distract from the careful, strategic giving he wanted to do.
Third—and perhaps most importantly—he believed anonymous giving ensured that help went where it was truly needed, not where it would generate the most publicity for the donor.
"I had one idea that never changed in my mind," he later explained. "That you should use your wealth to help people."
The secret couldn't last forever.
In 1996, Feeney and his partners sold DFS to LVMH (the French luxury conglomerate) for billions. The sale would require extensive financial disclosures. One partner, Robert Miller, opposed the deal and threatened legal action.
A lawsuit would reveal that Feeney's stake wasn't owned by him—it was owned by Atlantic Philanthropies. The secret would come out in court documents.
So in 1997, Feeney made a choice: he'd reveal himself voluntarily, on his own terms.
The New York Times broke the story: the billionaire who'd been giving away a fortune in secret for over a decade. The man Forbes thought was worth over a billion dollars had actually given it all away years earlier.
The revelation shocked the philanthropic world. Here was someone who'd done the opposite of what wealthy people typically do. Instead of building wealth to pass on or creating a foundation after death, he'd given everything away while alive—and hidden it.
Even after the revelation, Feeney continued living frugally. Economy flights. Rented apartments. The same plastic watch. No car. No property. No luxuries.
Meanwhile, Atlantic Philanthropies was making historic impacts:

Over $3.7 billion to education: Nearly $1 billion to Cornell alone. Major grants to universities across Ireland, Australia, South Africa, and Vietnam.
$870+ million to human rights and social change: $62 million to abolish the death penalty in the U.S. $76 million for grassroots campaigns supporting the Affordable Care Act. Crucial funding for the peace process in Northern Ireland.
$700+ million to healthcare: $270 million to improve public healthcare in Vietnam. $176 million for medical research on cancer and cardiovascular disease.
Massive infrastructure projects: $350 million to transform Roosevelt Island in New York into a technology hub.

The grants were strategic, targeted at big problems where significant capital could create transformational change. Feeney didn't believe in small grants spread thinly. He made big bets on causes he believed in.
And he wanted to see the results himself.
In 2003, Feeney made another radical decision: Atlantic Philanthropies would have a sunset date. The foundation would spend down its entire endowment and close completely by 2020.
This was unprecedented. Most foundations are designed to exist in perpetuity, making small annual grants from investment returns. Feeney wanted the opposite: spend it all, have maximum impact, do it during his lifetime, and shut down.
"I see little reason to delay giving when so much good can be achieved through supporting worthwhile causes today," he explained.
The decision added urgency and discipline. Atlantic couldn't just make safe grants—it had to take risks, make big bets, and spend strategically to deploy billions by a deadline.
By 2011, Feeney's approach had inspired the wealthiest people on Earth.
Bill Gates and Warren Buffett launched "The Giving Pledge"—a campaign encouraging billionaires to commit at least half their wealth to philanthropy during their lifetimes or in their wills.
They invited Feeney to be a signatory. He became the 59th person to sign.
Warren Buffett was explicit about Feeney's influence: "Chuck was a cornerstone in terms of inspiration for the Giving Pledge. He's a model for us all. It's going to take me 12 years after my death to get done what he's doing within his lifetime."
Bill Gates called Feeney "the ultimate example of Giving While Living."
Think about that: two of the wealthiest, most influential philanthropists in history—men who've given tens of billions themselves—looked to Chuck Feeney as their model and hero.
Not because he'd made more money (he hadn't). But because he'd given it away more completely, more quietly, and more radically than anyone else at that scale.
In September 2020, Feeney signed the final dissolution papers. Atlantic Philanthropies closed its doors permanently, having given away over $8 billion across five continents.
It was the largest foundation in history to intentionally deploy its entire endowment during the founder's lifetime.
Feeney's remaining personal wealth: about $2 million. Enough for him and his wife Helga to live modestly in their rented San Francisco apartment.
He'd given away literally everything else.
When asked how he felt about completing his mission, Feeney said simply: "We learned a lot. We would do some things differently, but I am very satisfied. I feel very good about completing this on my watch."
Then he added, characteristically: "And to those wondering about Giving While Living: Try it, you'll like it."
Chuck Feeney died on October 9, 2023, at age 92.
He left behind:

No fortune
No buildings with his name
No monuments to his generosity

But he left behind:

Universities transformed by billion-dollar investments
Peace in Northern Ireland, partly catalyzed by his funding
Healthcare systems modernized in Vietnam
Thousands of students educated
Medical research that's saving lives
Communities strengthened across eight regions on five continents

The impact of $8 billion strategically deployed to big problems in education, health, human rights, and peace.
His biography is titled The Billionaire Who Wasn't—a perfect summary. He made billions but chose not to be a billionaire. He gave it all away.
The lessons from Feeney's life challenge conventional thinking about wealth, success, and legacy:
First: Wealth is temporary custody, not ownership. Feeney treated his fortune as something passing through his hands to be used for good, not something to accumulate or hoard.
Second: Giving while living beats giving when dead. You can see the impact, adjust your strategy, and enjoy the satisfaction of making a difference in real time.
Third: Recognition isn't the goal. Most of the millions of people whose lives improved because of Feeney's giving never knew his name. He didn't need them to know. The impact was the reward.
Fourth: You don't need to live richly to live well. Feeney flew economy, lived in rentals, and wore a $15 watch—and by all accounts was deeply satisfied and happy. The luxuries wealth can buy don't create meaning.
Fifth: Big bets create bigger change than small grants. Feeney didn't spread money thinly. He identified transformational opportunities and went all-in.
There's a photograph from 2020, when Feeney signed the final dissolution papers. He's sitting at a table, smiling—genuinely happy. The plaque congratulating him for $8 billion in giving sits nearby.
He looks like a man who's completed exactly what he set out to do.
Most billionaires die trying to make more money, protect their fortunes, or ensure their wealth lasts generations.
Chuck Feeney died having given every dollar away.
Most billionaires are remembered for what they accumulated.
Chuck Feeney is remembered for what he released.
Most billionaires leave behind foundations with their names, buildings bearing their titles, visible monuments to their generosity.
Chuck Feeney left behind millions of people who studied, healed, and survived because of funding from a foundation most had never heard of.
His favorite quote, the one he lived by, was simple: "It's a lot more fun to give while you are alive than to give when you are dead."
He proved it. He gave $8 billion. He saw universities built, peace achieved, lives saved. He experienced the joy of making a massive difference.
And then, mission accomplished, he died with almost nothing—and everything that mattered.
The deepest legacy, he proved, can move silently.
The greatest wealth, he demonstrated, is often invisible.
And sometimes the loudest greatness leaves behind almost no noise at all.
Just billions of dollars worth of good works, millions of changed lives, and a model of generous living that inspired the wealthiest people on Earth.
Chuck Feeney gave away eight billion dollars and died broke.
That's not a tragic ending.
That's exactly what he wanted.
And it's one of the most successful lives ever lived.

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