It may seem strange to start this abroad blog with a tribute to Matt Haley. But truly, it could not be more fitting that I begin with the story of a fellow world traveler and an inspiration.
Some background: my Delawarean friends know Matt was a great restaurateur and my friends elsewhere may have heard me mention him as my Papa’s best friend. He would not want a fuss over his passing. But fortunately, he lived a life where he made a great impact on his community and there will be quite an outpouring of love for him. So sorry Matt, but I’m about to blab about you.
His restaurants stretched the beautiful Delaware coast from Lewes to Fenwick, satisfying many appetites and employing thousands of community members. If you’re from Southern Delaware, you have either worked for or known someone who has worked for Matt Haley. You probably have also either been fired by or know someone who has been fired by him.
I met Mr. Matt on rather different terms, not as an employee, but as a bumbling ten year old who was the daughter of his new friend, my Papa. He had invited my family over to his home for shrimp scampi. My sister and I scurried about his place admiring the furniture and colorful abstract paintings. I think he may have been a bit concerned that we would knock something over-- his bachelor pad was not childproof. Thankfully, we avoided disaster and he was great with us. He immediately caught onto our distinct personalities and never once spoke down to us, as all kids expect adults to do. He was kind, bright, and loud. His chuckles shook the house and when he disagreed with my Papa, he was sure to recite his opinion fifteen decibels higher. Matt was larger than life.
While cooking dinner, he explained to my sister and I how to prepare shrimp scampi. Over the next ten years, Matt would teach me a lot more than how to make food. And he would teach me in the best way possible-- not through his words, but through his actions. Facta non verba, a life motto of mine.
My first job was at one of Matt’s restaurants. I started working there when I was a sophomore in high school and was going through a pretty rough time (as many 15/16 year olds do). There were too many times where I had to call in sick or leave early due to blinding anxiety. But he kept me on. He never mentioned it. He let me take breaks when I needed to and despite his consideration, I'd heard the rumors and was terrified when he came in.
One night, he was in a Chef Gordon Ramsey kind of a mood and was going off on the staff. I’d heard Mr. Matt could get like that, but I’d never seen it myself. It was a bit of a shock and I was feeling overwhelmed by it all. I was in the back, running food at lightning speed trying to prove to my boss and dad’s best friend how efficient of a worker I was when I slipped, crashed and completely ruined two plates. I started to get up, trying to brush it off and pretend like I was okay to keep going despite my raging embarrassment. My cheeks were beet red, my knees were scraped, but little me was ready to keep charging through. Matt took a break from reenacting an episode of Hell’s Kitchen and came over to me. His immediate compassion brought tears to my eyes. I began to weep, right there, in the kitchen, in front of all the staff during the busiest hour of the night. It was a very stereotypical teenage girl moment. He helped me into his office and went straight for the first aid kit. While caring for my knee he asked me candidly, “What is going on, Minni?”
Through blurry eyes and broken words, I managed to spit out that I was overwhelmed, loved my job, wanted to keep working because it made me feel productive, but I was going through a hard time. One I was sure I would make it out of.
He solidified that thought, “Of course, Minni. Since I met you I said to myself, ‘That little girl has got something good going on.’” Then he made a joke and told me to be back on the floor in 5 minutes.
Surprisingly, for a man who had never raised teenage daughters, he said exactly the right thing. He put his confidence in me when I felt my worst. And that amount of faith from someone I admired and knew meant a lot to my Papa, was enough to toughen me up and get me back on that floor in 5 minutes. It was the perfect sweet and sour philosophy: you mess up, you take 5 minutes to be sad or pissed or embarrassed, then you go back to work.
I now look back at those difficult months at the end of my sophomore year as me taking my five minutes in life to freak out about the emotional roller coaster of becoming an adult then being like, okay, it’s time to go to Africa now and live your life. So I did.
Based on the response to his death, Matt did for me what he did for a lot of people who found themselves in a rut. He gave them compassion when they needed it and tough love when it was the time.
Matt’s love was a diaspora in itself, reaching from the Delaware coast to Nepal. I wish I could speak more to his work over there, but I only know fragments of stories my Papa has told me.
Matt went to an orphanage there several years ago to make sure the kids were provided with healthy food and knew how to prepare meals themselves. He ended up meeting a young girl who had escaped the sex trafficking trade. Her story and strength lead him to adopt her and her sisters to provide them with the security they had never known. He has sponsored them for years now and I can’t imagine what impact his passing will have on their lives. My love goes across the sea to them.
As Matt evolved into a philanthropist, I too discovered my passion for girl’s rights in the third world. We would occasionally email about what I was learning in books and what he was living in the thick of it. I admired his approach so much. He taught what was needed, became a part of the community, and continued to give back. Yes, he was a large, white man with money, but this guy did not have a white savior complex. He was humble, caring, and wanted to live a life where he provided others with the skills to prosper in their own. Queue in a development buzz word: self-sustainability.
Fittingly, the last time I saw him was in June at a celebration for his 2014 James Beard Foundation Humanitarian of the Year award and his contributions to The Children’s Beach House. He was tired that day, understandably exhausted from the publicity and ridiculous amount of projects he was involved in. But he was as gracious and humble as ever, contributing his success to the support he received from his friends and colleagues. And as always, he spoke about focusing on working together and continuing what had been started.
While writing this, I can’t help but think it’s too damn soon to be saying goodbye to Matt. I’ve seen him win awards, survive cancer, and less triumphantly but just as important, break bread with my family at our dining room table.
As my parents mourn the death of their good friend and my community says goodbye to his wonderful life, I ask those who are reading to continue Matt Haley’s legacy of philanthropy, compassion, and hard work.
Mr. Matt, may the world see more people like you.
P.S. Your spirit is coming with me to Kenya. You've got 3 days to pack.
Some background: my Delawarean friends know Matt was a great restaurateur and my friends elsewhere may have heard me mention him as my Papa’s best friend. He would not want a fuss over his passing. But fortunately, he lived a life where he made a great impact on his community and there will be quite an outpouring of love for him. So sorry Matt, but I’m about to blab about you.
His restaurants stretched the beautiful Delaware coast from Lewes to Fenwick, satisfying many appetites and employing thousands of community members. If you’re from Southern Delaware, you have either worked for or known someone who has worked for Matt Haley. You probably have also either been fired by or know someone who has been fired by him.
I met Mr. Matt on rather different terms, not as an employee, but as a bumbling ten year old who was the daughter of his new friend, my Papa. He had invited my family over to his home for shrimp scampi. My sister and I scurried about his place admiring the furniture and colorful abstract paintings. I think he may have been a bit concerned that we would knock something over-- his bachelor pad was not childproof. Thankfully, we avoided disaster and he was great with us. He immediately caught onto our distinct personalities and never once spoke down to us, as all kids expect adults to do. He was kind, bright, and loud. His chuckles shook the house and when he disagreed with my Papa, he was sure to recite his opinion fifteen decibels higher. Matt was larger than life.
While cooking dinner, he explained to my sister and I how to prepare shrimp scampi. Over the next ten years, Matt would teach me a lot more than how to make food. And he would teach me in the best way possible-- not through his words, but through his actions. Facta non verba, a life motto of mine.
My first job was at one of Matt’s restaurants. I started working there when I was a sophomore in high school and was going through a pretty rough time (as many 15/16 year olds do). There were too many times where I had to call in sick or leave early due to blinding anxiety. But he kept me on. He never mentioned it. He let me take breaks when I needed to and despite his consideration, I'd heard the rumors and was terrified when he came in.
One night, he was in a Chef Gordon Ramsey kind of a mood and was going off on the staff. I’d heard Mr. Matt could get like that, but I’d never seen it myself. It was a bit of a shock and I was feeling overwhelmed by it all. I was in the back, running food at lightning speed trying to prove to my boss and dad’s best friend how efficient of a worker I was when I slipped, crashed and completely ruined two plates. I started to get up, trying to brush it off and pretend like I was okay to keep going despite my raging embarrassment. My cheeks were beet red, my knees were scraped, but little me was ready to keep charging through. Matt took a break from reenacting an episode of Hell’s Kitchen and came over to me. His immediate compassion brought tears to my eyes. I began to weep, right there, in the kitchen, in front of all the staff during the busiest hour of the night. It was a very stereotypical teenage girl moment. He helped me into his office and went straight for the first aid kit. While caring for my knee he asked me candidly, “What is going on, Minni?”
Through blurry eyes and broken words, I managed to spit out that I was overwhelmed, loved my job, wanted to keep working because it made me feel productive, but I was going through a hard time. One I was sure I would make it out of.
He solidified that thought, “Of course, Minni. Since I met you I said to myself, ‘That little girl has got something good going on.’” Then he made a joke and told me to be back on the floor in 5 minutes.
Surprisingly, for a man who had never raised teenage daughters, he said exactly the right thing. He put his confidence in me when I felt my worst. And that amount of faith from someone I admired and knew meant a lot to my Papa, was enough to toughen me up and get me back on that floor in 5 minutes. It was the perfect sweet and sour philosophy: you mess up, you take 5 minutes to be sad or pissed or embarrassed, then you go back to work.
I now look back at those difficult months at the end of my sophomore year as me taking my five minutes in life to freak out about the emotional roller coaster of becoming an adult then being like, okay, it’s time to go to Africa now and live your life. So I did.
Based on the response to his death, Matt did for me what he did for a lot of people who found themselves in a rut. He gave them compassion when they needed it and tough love when it was the time.
Matt’s love was a diaspora in itself, reaching from the Delaware coast to Nepal. I wish I could speak more to his work over there, but I only know fragments of stories my Papa has told me.
Matt went to an orphanage there several years ago to make sure the kids were provided with healthy food and knew how to prepare meals themselves. He ended up meeting a young girl who had escaped the sex trafficking trade. Her story and strength lead him to adopt her and her sisters to provide them with the security they had never known. He has sponsored them for years now and I can’t imagine what impact his passing will have on their lives. My love goes across the sea to them.
As Matt evolved into a philanthropist, I too discovered my passion for girl’s rights in the third world. We would occasionally email about what I was learning in books and what he was living in the thick of it. I admired his approach so much. He taught what was needed, became a part of the community, and continued to give back. Yes, he was a large, white man with money, but this guy did not have a white savior complex. He was humble, caring, and wanted to live a life where he provided others with the skills to prosper in their own. Queue in a development buzz word: self-sustainability.
Fittingly, the last time I saw him was in June at a celebration for his 2014 James Beard Foundation Humanitarian of the Year award and his contributions to The Children’s Beach House. He was tired that day, understandably exhausted from the publicity and ridiculous amount of projects he was involved in. But he was as gracious and humble as ever, contributing his success to the support he received from his friends and colleagues. And as always, he spoke about focusing on working together and continuing what had been started.
While writing this, I can’t help but think it’s too damn soon to be saying goodbye to Matt. I’ve seen him win awards, survive cancer, and less triumphantly but just as important, break bread with my family at our dining room table.
As my parents mourn the death of their good friend and my community says goodbye to his wonderful life, I ask those who are reading to continue Matt Haley’s legacy of philanthropy, compassion, and hard work.
Mr. Matt, may the world see more people like you.
P.S. Your spirit is coming with me to Kenya. You've got 3 days to pack.