The power of your legacy

I’m writing this to you from New York City.

I’m here with my son, Hayden—he’s 17—and we’re scouting universities.

And as I sit in this country, watching him walk through these towering campuses, full of ambition and wonder, I find myself reflecting on two stories I heard recently. Both American. Both powerful. Both true. 

And both soul-stirring. 

One happened in the 1920s.
The other, in the 1940s.
Two different men.
Two violent deaths.
Two lives that, through tragedy, reshaped a nation.

And as I share these stories with you, I want you to notice what they awaken in your own heart.

Because these are stories about legacy.
Not the kind written in dollar signs…
But the kind etched in making the RIGHT decision when it really counts. 

Story 1: Easy Eddie and the price of redemption

We begin in Chicago.

The year is 1920.
America is in the grip of Prohibition—and Chicago is a city run by the underworld.

At the center of it all: Al Capone.
The most feared man in the country.

Capone was untouchable. His enemies ended up in the river. His critics disappeared. There’s a story—true story—about how Capone once beat a man to death in the middle of a restaurant… with a baseball bat… because the man insulted him.

No one dared call the police.
No one dared stand up.

That’s how powerful he was.

But Capone’s true power didn’t come from his fists or his gun.
It came from one man:

Easy Eddie.

Easy Eddie was Capone’s personal lawyer.
And he wasn’t just good. He was genius.

No matter what charges the government brought—murder, bootlegging, racketeering—Eddie made them vanish.
He knew how to manipulate the system so well, no one could touch Capone.

And for his loyalty, he lived in unimaginable wealth.
Cars. Mansions. Clothes. Power.

But behind the tailored suits and million-dollar smile…
was a man who also happened to be a father. 

Easy Eddie had a son.
A boy he loved more than anything else in the world.

And that son would ask him—

“Dad… what do you do?”

Eddie couldn’t give a straight answer.

As the boy got older, the questions sharpened:

“Where does all our money come from?”

Again… no answer.

Easy Eddie could buy him the best schools. The finest shoes. The softest sheets.
But he couldn’t give him the one thing that mattered:

A father worth admiring.

And that truth… began to gnaw at him.

He realized: I’ve given my son everything—except a good name.

And one day, he made the most courageous decision of his life.

He turned.

He flipped on Capone.
He went to the authorities.
He testified in court.
His actions helped put some of the most dangerous men in America behind bars.

And he knew…
he knew…
it would cost him everything.

One day, while driving through Chicago, another car pulled up beside him.
Gunfire erupted.
Bullets tore through the steel.
Easy Eddie’s car spun off the road.
His body was riddled with holes.

He died alone.

But in his pocket, the police found a folded piece of paper.

A poem—creased at the corners, worn from being read and reread.

“The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop,
At late or early hour.

Now is the only time you own.
Live, love, toil with a will.
Place no faith in time…
For the clock may soon be still.”

That’s what he left behind.

A man who chose truth over comfort.
A clean name over a corrupt fortune.
A legacy worth dying for.

Story 2: The sky over the Pacific

Now, fast forward to the 1940s.
World War II.

A young fighter pilot launches from the USS Lexington—a massive aircraft carrier in the Pacific.

Mid-mission, he’s told to return. He’s low on fuel. But as he circles back, he spots something.

Nine Japanese bombers.
Headed straight for the Lexington.
Thousands of lives on board.

He’s alone.
No backup.
No bullets to spare.

But he doesn’t retreat.

He charges.

He fires everything he’s got.
Two enemy planes fall into the sea.
Then—he’s out of ammo.

But still, he doesn’t back down.

He begins ramming the bombers.
Flying dangerously close.
Clipping wings.
Disrupting their formation.
Throwing them into chaos.

His plane is being shot at from every direction, but he keeps going—relentless, fearless.

Eventually, the remaining bombers retreat.
The ship is saved.

This pilot becomes the first Navy aviator in World War II to earn the Medal of Honor.

His name?

Butch O’Hare.

You might know that name if you’ve flown into Chicago.

O’Hare International Airport is named after him.

O’Hare’s legacy helped inspired millions of Americans and allied troops to give their all to win the war against the Nazis and the Japanese empire. 

But here’s the part I didn’t tell you.

Butch O’Hare…
was Easy Eddie’s son.

The man who once protected America’s most notorious gangster…
gave his life to give his son a clean name.
And that son went on to save thousands.

What will you leave behind?

Both men gave their lives for this country.
Both died in a violent sacrifice.

But one—gave his life to redeem himself.
The other—gave his life because of that redemption.

And maybe—just maybe—
it was Easy Eddie’s sacrifice that planted something in his son’s heart.

The courage.
The integrity.
The compass that said: This is what we stand for.

So now I want to ask you—
Not as a parent. Not as a professional. Not as a role. But as a soul:

What are you leaving behind?

Maybe your legacy isn’t your business.
Maybe it’s not your money, your house, or your donations to charity.

Maybe legacy is something quieter.
Something sacred.

Maybe legacy is…

The values and emotions you leave in the hearts of those who loved you most.
The truth you lived by when no one was clapping.
The moments your child reflects on—not what you built, but who you became.

Legacy isn’t a LinkedIn bio.

It’s what your child says about you when they bury you in the ground.
It’s the stories they tell.
The character you pass on.

We’ve been conditioned to believe that legacy is about what we acquire. Money, cars, stock portfolios. 

But I believe… it’s really about what we stand for when no one’s watching.

And I believe that’s what echoes beyond the silence.

That’s legacy.

Not what you leave to your children and the people who loved you most. 

But what you leave inside their hearts when they think about you.

If you enjoyed this story, leave a comment.

And for those of you who want to take this further, here are two reflective questions you can ask yourself. 

Legacy reflection: 2 Questions to ask yourself today

1. What would my children—or those who love me most—say about my character if I were gone tomorrow?
   
2. Where in my life am I choosing comfort over courage… when my soul is asking me to stand for something greater?
   

PS – Want to be in a room where stories like this come to life?
These are the kinds of reflections we dive into at Mindvalley University—live this July in Amsterdam.
It’s not just about lectures. It’s about awakening your values.
Your voice.
Your vision.
If you’re feeling the call, this might be your place.

Learn more about MVU in Amsterdam

With love and in service,

— Vishen