(Above) Milton and I before he received the City of Vancouver Freedom of the City Award

Milton Wong passed away on December 31st. I was told by his family that he was at peace, surrounded by his loved ones in his home. He had been battling pancreatic cancer.

All the major English and Chinese media outlets in Canada have highlighted the loss of Milton as a great business leader and philanthropist. They applauded his enormous impact on the world: his championing of multiculturalism, social justice, sustainability, the arts and compassion for people living in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. They mentioned his success as an entrepreneur and angel investor. They all failed, however, to mention Milton's immeasurable impact on the world of ideas, his impact on British Columbia's biggest thinkers. He pushed for the support of Aboriginal causes long before the government apologized for the Indian Residential Schools. He advocated for "cultural accommodation" at a time when anti-immigrant sentiment toward the wave of immigrants from Hong Kong was pervasive. More recently, he said to leaders in the finance sector, "There is no such thing as unlimited growth." These were provocative ideas. Today, multiculturalism almost seems passé, sustainability is politically hip and the Occupy movement shows us that Milton was right about the myth of unlimited growth.

I am totally heartbroken.

And stunned. We knew this was coming, but you are never prepared for it. It's like being told your arm is going be broken. All the knowledge in the world cannot prepare you for how it's actually going to feel.

Milton was Chancellor of SFU when I graduated. I called him "Mr. Wong." All of my life's work following that, from Schema Magazine to my professional work at CBC and now UBC, have been touched by him in some way. For eight years I meticulously studied him. How he spoke, his choice of words, his actions, his stories, how he made people feel when he engaged them. His ways of thinking.

I am crushed with the gravity of this moment.

The last time we made eye contact he rolled down the passenger window of his car and intently looked at me, quietly, serenely pausing, just before he left the BC Cancer Agency. That was the very last time.

I feel—more than ever—blessed and privileged to have gotten so close to Milton. To have been associated with him in such a meaningful way.

I had the profound honour of being a "Milton Wong mentee." And it was no secret—on his part. I'm still very shy to admit it. Not that I was ever ashamed (are you kidding?) but because being his mentee was no light matter. He has mentored many over-achievers. Very successful and influential people. So being his mentee meant that he and the world expected the highest from you. This honour came with social responsibility: success was defined by how you solved the world's problems or how you influenced the biggest picture thinkers.

Every so often I'm asked how Milton came to mentor me.

This is the strange part. I have no idea. Perhaps I should have asked him. Milton's role in my life and work was nothing short of a gift from the universe. Nothing I could have earned, or anything I can claim any credit for. Perhaps in sharing how Milton brought Schema Magazine to life will provide some insight to that question.

There would not be a Schema Magazine if not for Milton.

In my last year at SFU, in full pursuit of a career as a professional visual artist, I fell into the role of Editor-in-Chief of RicePaper Magazine, an Asian Canadian arts and culture magazine. I initially took on the role of Visual Arts editor, hoping to grow my art network. I was also a volunteer at
Centre A, the Vancouver International Centre for Contemporary Asian Art. Milton was a founding board member. I first met Milton at a Centre A board meeting, just a handshake.

I figured I could run a magazine, but I needed some business mentorship. Centre A held a symposium at the Morris J. Wosk Centre for Dialogue in 2002, and I volunteered at the reception table. As Milton was leaving the auditorium, I mustered all the courage I had and tried to intercept him.

"Mr. Wong. Hi. My name is Alden Habacon, I ..."

"Alden. You're the RicePaper guy, right?" He said.

"Yes", surprised that he knew who I was.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of crumpled bills.

"Hey, you're a good writer. Here's forty bucks. Please make sure my subscription is renewed."

"Thanks, Mr. Wong. It's only $20."

"Yes, I know. Make sure I get two copies."

"Can I send you a receipt?" I was fishing for his contact info.

"Oh, I don't need a receipt." He smiled. I felt embarrassed. Of course he didn't need a receipt. He reached for his wallet.

"Here's my card. You can send them to my office." I quickly explained that I wanted his advice on making RicePaper sustainable. He reached into his wallet again and gave me the business card of his Executive Assistant, Opal Wong.

Smiling warmly, he said, "Give Opal a call, and let her know I sent you."

And then he rushed off. I thought to myself, "Did that just happen?" That conversation is burned in my memory because it was so unreal. Like the Heath brothers say in the book Made to Stick, Milton is memorable because he was so often unexpectedly generous or approachable.

I had his card. Even better, I had Opal's card! It took me another two weeks to gather the courage to call her. I rehearsed what I would say for days. I finally picked up the phone and dialed. As my heart began to pound, I got her voicemail. I freaked out and hung up. It reminded me of a time when I called a girl as a teenager, her dad picking up and I not knowing what to say. It's laughable today. I called back an hour later, left a message, and a day later I got a call from Opal.

Our meeting was rushed. I took lots of notes. I don't remember what was said. But following that meeting, I established the first real subscription system and closed a sponsorship deal with VanCity Credit Union. We met once more, and he gave me feedback on my ideas on revamping the magazine's look, on making it marketable.

Later that year, RicePaper and I had a bad break up. Also not a secret. One of my darkest moments as a young adult. From shining star to epic fail.

I was devastated. I didn't know who else to call. So I called Milton.

He met me at Starbucks on Cambie, near 19th Avenue.

I showed up early, got us seats, bought his coffee in advance. I shared with him what had happened.

He assured me that I did the right thing, and said, "You can't predict how people will respond ... So what do you want to do now?"

I explained that I felt I had some momentum in magazine publishing and that I'd like to stay in it. I described my pitch to Heritage Canada to buy a bulk subscription, and their response that if they supported one ethnocultural magazine, they would have to buy a subscription to every other one too. He gave me a smile that said he understood and was impressed I had stepped up.

"So, I have an idea for a magazine about Canada's diversity," I said.

"Oh yeah, I have an idea for a magazine about Canada's diversity," he responded.

"Tell me what yours is about." I wasn't sure where this conversation was going to go.

In the end, we hatched an idea for two magazines: one for the public sector and another for youth. Same content about the evolution of multicultural identity in Canada, but with different packaging.

Schema's prototype cover (2004)

We met in his office a week later. At that meeting, he called John McCulloch, who had led the marketing campaign for HSBC, and Bruce Dewar, who would later become the CEO of 2010 Legacies Now. Both of whom Milton had been mentored in some way. In classic Milton fashion, he picked up his Blackberry, dialed and said, "You need to meet this guy." Fifteen minutes later the four of us we were having lunch. I was in the company of giants. I have never felt more humble.

Through Bruce, The Laurier Institution donated office space. And with Bruce and John's help I wrote the business plan for these magazines. It was in the Laurier's office that I came up with the idea of a schema to describe one's complex cultural identity and the beginnings of Schema Magazine. We calculated that we needed $250,000 to publish. Then came Milton's biggest challenge to me: that if I raised $125,000 and he would match it. Milton lent me his credibility and for a year, I set out to do just that.

I never raised that money. But that was not the lesson he was teaching me. No one was willing to invest big money into a print magazine. Milton insisted that we either raise it all, or not bother. And so we abandoned the print magazine. With the Conservative Party now in power, we also abandoned the magazine for the public sector.

But this was far from being a failure. Seven years ago we dodged a bullet. Not long afterward, the entire newspaper industry began to struggle. Print magazines were going under all around us. Instead, we focused on an online format called a "web log." And the rest is history.

The hustle Milton put me on did raise some money. It also got some important attention: our effort was featured on the CBC's The National twice. I was invited to speak to the leadership at CBC in Toronto about a whole new way of approaching multiculturalism in media. That subsequently turned into a career in diversity and media.
CBC's Gloria Macarenko features Schema in "Caught Between Cultures" (2005)

Milton described Schema to me in this way: "You are trying to describe in words what your generation already intuitively understands, but we don't yet have the language for." He loved the complexity of this challenge. He could see the most latent of ideas, and always found a way to add his profound wisdom.

Yet, for all of Schema's potential social innovation, he always stressed the importance of socialization, especially as we were a virtual operation. At every update meeting with Milton, he was reminding me that the contributors needed to meet up and connect, that the relationships that Schema produced were the real profit, perhaps the real product.

Schema tied me, its volunteers and its writers to Milton. And I think he enjoyed knowing that. He was always interested in where it was going, how it was being subversive, how it gave "my generation" a greater sense of belonging as mainstream Canadians. Perhaps resolving the complexity of his and his daughter's identities—where he was informed by his being Chinese, but no longer defined by it. Perhaps providing language for something he had struggled with in his own navigation between Vancouver's Chinese and mainstream communities.

Milton Wong on Vancouver Downtown Eastside Chinatown Revitalization (GVTV, 2009)

He was especially interested in how close the team was, and who they were. In fact, despite being the busiest man in the world, he met with the founding editors on a number of occasions. Gave us advice and encouraged us to never quit.

In the end Schema has reached more people and in more places around the world than it would have as a print magazine. It has supported the development of many young writers. It trained me to mentor and kept me sane when grappling with diversity at CBC just seemed hopeless. But most of all, it was the beginning of working with Milton on much bigger ideas.

Schema was an extension of Milton's vision for a constantly evolving, multicultural Canadian identity, or, in other words, an increasingly complex Canada. It was his way of giving voice to young Canadians whose identity was more complicated than either mainstream or ethnic media allowed. The young team that launched Schema, the new team that currently produces Schema, and the millions of readers Milton's passion has reached—these are and will always be a reminder of his gift to me.

I still feel like I am being mentored by Milton.

Milton often spoke about there being "no more and no less matter" than there ever has been. The atoms of the dinosaurs are here among us. It's a closed system. For that reason, I know that Milton's spirit is here.

His influence in my work has not ceased, and neither has the bigger picture work that we began together. In fact, it feels like all of that stuff—the ideas he was passionate about—has become even bigger than life. I'd like to believe that in the last moment we made eye contact, he knew this would happen. He knew he had given me and all of those he touched more reason to never quit, to never stop pushing for a more just, more compassionate and more caring world. The kind of home that Milton would have wanted for all of us.