Sadhu and Shishya

Sadhu and Shishya

“Fred?”

“Yes, Shishya?”

“Why, do you live here?”

“Ah, Shishya, the mountains are a transition between earth and sky. How else can the seeker find change but by traversing transition?”

“But Fred, the path up here is so strenuous.”

“Shishya, Shishya, the road to change is always hard. The rocky trail to these heights is but a symbol.”

“Have you always lived here?”

“No Shishya, I have taken up residence in other transition points. I lived for a while in an island cave on a cliff by the sea, but many people came arriving by motor boat rather than row or sail, I found it disturbed my aikyam. Besides, everything was damp all the time. I accept the oneness of the universe, but I don’t really like mold. I also lived for a while in a hut at the edge of a forest, but people just ‘dropped by’  on their way to somewhere else. I tired of wood gatherers and hunters. Hunters were the worst. Ahimsa to a hunter? It is beyond their understanding of their dharma.”

“I understand, Fred.”

“Do you, Shishya?”

“I think so. But, what of those pilgrims who are not able of body, Fred?”

“That is what Zoom is for, Shishya.”

“And the obtuse phone tree, and ever-crashing scheduling software are the difficulty of the path?”

“Exactly. There may be hope for you yet, Shishya.”

The young apprentice farmed a small root vegetable patch on the south face of the mountain and bartered pilgrims’ gifts with the market merchants down the mountain for whatever else they needed. The apprentice cooked and cleaned and greeted those who came to see Fred or checked-in on those held long in the Zoom “your host will join the meeting soon” space.

Shishya studied with the master seven years. Each year they had at least one conversation, where Shishya asked Fred questions. The conversation above happened in year two and Fred was particularly talkative. It isn’t that they didn’t talk at other times. There was certainly no vow of silence.

“The carrots are quite sweet this year.”

“I tried the guano the hermit-up-mountain suggested.”

“That guy is bat-shit crazy!”

“I wonder when the snow will stop.”

“Weather. Isn’t it nice we’re having it.”

But every so often Fred would say, “Tell me, Shishya. What are you learning?” That was Shishya’s cue to probe the wise one. Why did Fred do what he did when he did it?

“Fred, why do you tell people ‘not to be a thief?’”

“Why do you think, Shishya?’

“I think I understand why you said that to the war-lord. He steals the lives of the many. He steals their homes by destroying them. He steals women’s dignity and oneness with their bodies by assault in the name of his dominance.”

“True Shishya. Kaluk is driven by revenge for hurts beyond time, which rules his memory, and blocks new input to his heart or his head. He tries in vain to forget the stolen-hole in his center by stealing others’ capacity for forgiveness, just as his mercy was stolen in his life and in stories of endless humiliations suffered by his father and his father’s father. The stolen-hole deepens with each generation. The only thing that will begin to fill it is not to be a thief.”

“I see. But why did you tell the drunkard and the opium smoker not to be a thief. Is it because they were stealing to support their addiction. Weren’t they only hurting themselves?”

“Ah, Shishya. We never only hurt ourselves. The stolen-hole in the addict hurts those who love him or her. Addicts seek numbness to hide the hole, but the numbness only steals their own joy, digging the hole deeper, which hurts us all. When you are in a hole, the first action is ‘stop digging,’ so – do not be a thief. We are all connected. We can be connected by joy and love or we can be connected by fear and pain. The joy connection seems better to me. . . . Just sayin’.”

The years of apprenticeship passed slowly punctuated by small talk and stupid jokes.

“ Hey Shishya, Knock knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Apple.”

“Apple who?”

“A -pple-ase pass the chana chaat.”

(groan)

“Knock, knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Apple.”

Apple who?”

“Apple -ication. Learn through doing, Shishya. Practice makes better; nobody’s perfect”

(groan)

“Knock, knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“Orange you glad I didn’t say ‘Apple?”

(groan) “Fred! Come-on, man! You’re killing me!”

“We are all dying, Shishya.”

One day the master called the apprentice. “Shishya, your apprenticeship is now complete. Today you become a sadhu-journeyman. It is the beginning of your wander-years, make sure they are also your wonder-years.”

“Fred, can I now tell you how corny you are?”

“Shishya, when have I ever stopped you? But tell me before you  “wonder as you wander,” what have you learned these seven years?”

A final exam. Shishya took a deep breath and began:

“To sin is to hurt anyone or any living thing, including yourself. The first sin is stealing; to be a thief, whether to steal a life or a rice bowl, safety or dignity, is to deepen a hole in one’s being.”

“Life is change. To change is always a steep path. I may stumble. I may fall back, but if I keep putting one foot in front of the other I shall progress.”

“That is good, Shishya. Now, any questions for me?”

“Well,  yes actually, Fred, two:

“First, you encourage all pilgrims to follow one meditation practice:

‘Breathe in joy, gratefully; breathe out Love for all the world.’

“What is behind that?”

“Shishya, we often forget that we are surrounded by joy, the laughter of a child, the star-like jewels of dew in the grass, or any blessing that makes the journey from the gift of our senses to our heart. We also too often breathe without being grateful for, or aware of, our breath. Prana is life, and our only duty to life is to be thankful for it. So our in-spiration is joy and gratitude.

And as we breathe out we can replenish the joy we absorb with Love. I am not a follower of the prophet Jesus, but he once said something I find profound. As recorded by his disciple John, Jesus said, ’God is Love.’ Think on that for a minute. He didn’t say “God is like Love’ or God expects Love,” he said ‘God IS Love.’” So if there is a Way as the Taoists say or an Eight-fold Path as the Buddhists pray or a universal duty, Dharma, Love should be upon our breath, the life-force we put out into the world. We die a little (expire) each day, so we should ex-pire, breathe out, with Love.

And the second question, Shishya?”

“Well. . . I always wondered. . . why are you called Fred? It’s a strange name for a sadhu.”

“Is it? I did not know that. Well . . . in the early 1960s, I visited America. There was character named Fred in a short animated television film. Fred lived in a house of stone and he seemed approachable and ever so joyful – so I took his name. Yabba-dabba-doo!”

 

 

I am grateful to my LinkedIn connection and fellow BizCatalyst 360 scribe, Dr. Ali Anani,  for inspiring this story.

 

The Rule of Law Is Not Enough

The Rule of Law Is Not Enough

The Trial

I was called for jury duty three times in two years always in spring or fall consulting busy-season.

“So just when would be a good time for you, Mr. Culler.”

“I’m free the three days before Thanksgiving, your honor.”

“Fine. The clerk will schedule you. Next.”

At the county courthouse at 8:00 a.m. on a November Monday, I was impaneled as an alternate on a trial for which jury selection completed Friday. The same judge welcomed me by name and released another juror, to “prepare Thanksgiving dinner” and directed the plaintiff’s attorney to begin his opening statement. “Try to be brief, counselor.” He wasn’t.

It was a civil trial, a dispute between two neighbors. The plaintiff’s attorney was fiery, “. . . will show that the defendant, Mr. Charles T____, did through negligence and willfully malicious intent cause the injury of my client, Mr. Robert J_____. . . such that he is no longer able to earn his living. . . .“

The defense attorney was briefer. He said there was no negligence and that the defendant “took actions to prevent the plaintiff from annexing his property and that any injuries sustained by the plaintiff were caused his own actions.”

The evidence was presented by both sides over the next two days.

The two neighbors lived in the hills outside the city. Bob’s family lived there for generations and his father sold Charley the land on which he built his house. Bob was a plasterer, Charley had a landscaping business.

Bob asked Charley if it would be OK if he parked a car on the flat space at the bottom of Charley’s property when they had guests. Charley agreed. When Charley didn’t mow the spot, Bob grew impatient and mowed it. Then Bob paved the parking spot on Charley’s land, without asking Charley. Acrimony grew. Angry words flew between Bob and Charley and their spouses. There were “always cars parked there” making it hard for Charley turn intro his driveway with his landscaping truck.

One day Charley came home to find that Bob had erected a basketball hoop on two 6”x 6” posts cemented into the ground. Charley’s driveway was blocked by cars owned by Bob’s son’s friends who were annoyed that Charley was interrupting their three-on-three basketball game. Charley exchanged rude words with the boys and told Bob to “Take that hoop down and never park there again.”

Days went by, more rude words were exchanged, but no action taken and b-ball games lasted until late at night. Someone set up lights on the “court.”

Charley’s chainsaw cut the hoop stand at ground level; he moved it to Bob’s property and then dumped a four foot high pile of dirt and stones on the asphalt on his property, eight feet from the road rendering the space (and “court’) unusable. More inappropriate language was  exchanged.

About a week later, Charley answered the door to a policeman who informed him there had been an accident on his property. He came down to find Bob standing next to his car the front two wheels of which were on the pile of dirt and stones. Much swear-laden yelling ensued. Bob wanted to press charges because Charley had “created a safety hazard.” Officer D____’s report described the pile of dirt as “completely off the road” and concluded that Bob “either lost control of his vehicle or drove off the road on purpose.” The report concluded there was no crime, nor safety hazard. The dirt pile was visible for 100 yards. Someone took pictures of the approach, both driveways,  and the car on the dirt pile with a measuring tape showing the distance from the road. The officer said he “encouraged the neighbors to resolve their differences without involving law enforcement in the future.”

Bob sued Charley for one million dollars for injuries, pain and suffering caused by Charley’s negligence and malicious intent. Testimony took two days.

Tuesday at 5:00 p.m. the judge charged the jury to begin deliberations that evening because of the holiday. Dinner would be served at 6:00 p.m. He reminded the jury that our job was to follow the law. Was there negligence? Was a safety hazard created?

“There’s been some emotional testimony, but there is also documentary evidence, police reports, deed plots and photographs. Perhaps you can reach a verdict this evening and have tomorrow free,”  That was optimistic. We the jury were undecided when they sent us home after 9:00 p.m.

The Deliberations

I used to tell this story being judgmental about some fellow jurors  who were influenced by the emotions in the case.

“Bob really hurt his shoulder. He can’t do work over his head and ceiling work is more than fifty percent of his work as a plasterer.”

“There is no way I would let anyone speak to my kid like that. Charley’s lucky it wasn’t me.”

Some didn’t understand the law. “Let’s fine them both $10 and tell them to be better neighbors.”

“That will a hung jury and they’ll have to try the case all over again.”

“Why don’t we find for the plaintiff, but only award him $1.”

“Because on appeal the verdict of negligence will stand, and only the amount will be appealed, and if there was negligence, then $1 is not a reasonable award.”

At 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday, we the jury agreed that the documentary evidence, photos and police report indicated that the pile of dirt was off the road, on Charley’s own property. In spite of our misgivings about disrespect and bad language, Charley could legally place the dirt there; there was no negligence. We found for the defense.

The plaintiff’s lawyer requested to “poll the jury,” ask us each how we voted and why, and I was momentarily petrified, because I thought our fragile consensus had too much to do with the holiday. The judge denied his request and sent us home.

Lessons Learned

At the time, my lesson was that I never wanted to rely upon “a jury of my peers.” Too many on the jury didn’t understand the law, were swayed by emotion, and felt pressured by the press of the holiday to think clearly or make good decisions. I felt like Henry Fonda in the film “Twelve Angry Men,” the 1957 Sidney Lumet film, which is arguably the best example of one man using reason to overcome emotion and ensure that justice prevails.

Yeah, but. . .

Feelings are important especially when considering issues of intent and malice afore-thought.  Charley did have malice. Bob did hurt himself, at least, if we believe doctor’s report. I still believe we made the right decision.

Upon Further Deliberation

Thirty-five years later, I have been distressed wondering about the effects of the wars the world and I revisited this case, because that’s what Bob and Charley had – a war, a small war perhaps, and as far as I know no one lost his life – but a war, none-the-less.

I don’t know what happened after the trial with Bob, Charley, and their families, but I don’t imagine that their relationship improved easily. I doubt that the legal remedy led to reconciliation and bonhomie.

One man felt ownership and protectiveness of his land. One said “my father owned it long before you got here. Your land is my family’s legacy.”

One felt a favor had been abused. The other said, “you weren’t using it and besides I improved it.” The favor had become a given, expected, deserved.

Both felt angry and disrespected. Words hurt and destruction of property hurts. Injuries are long-remembered. Bob talked bitterly of his son’s humiliation being called names in front of friends.

There was recriminatory testimony, which started with “They always. . .  or They never. . . .”

The law didn’t really serve either family. True, Charley won that case and he avoided a million dollar judgement, but the conflict was likely to go underground, beneath the visibility of the law.

Some of my early work as a consultant was in intergroup conflict resolution. Rules, what should happen, never resolved conflict. What worked was if each party could listen to the other side, and be able to state the other party’s point of view and the feelings associated with it.

Then the parties could establish accepted behavior and a grievance process when things went awry. Even that didn’t always work, but it was a start.

The court could have mediated conflict resolution with Charley and Bob, but that really isn’t the role of the court. Family and friends could have an intervention. But only Charley and Bob could commit to make it work.

I am unsure what it would take for Bob and Charley. What about the rest of us?

Another’s Secret

Another’s Secret

He bore the name of the Prophet.

We had a little difficulty meeting. I was not in the place he expected me to be and the app-map did not have all the street names.

The dealership called him, a service meant to offset labor prices double what I usually pay. There was no charge for the recall, of course, but I understood that the mechanic would “inspect” my six year old vehicle and prescribe further work, which I would verify with my usual mechanic, or not.

“Are you buying a car?” Mohammad asked.

“No, just service.”

“Not something you could not do yourself?”

“A recall. But I don’t do much work myself anymore. I used to work on cars, but not anymore. I don’t understand them – too many computers.”

This seemed not to compute with this old Uber driver. “Not even changing the oil?  Or brakes?”

“I figure at 76 I can let someone else do that.”

“We are the same age, but I like to keep my hand in.”

“I understand. Keeping skills up is valuable.” I relayed my recent failure soldering. “It seems I completely forgot how.”

“Soldering? I could never do that.”

We chatted about the weather, as everyone seems to, then he got around to the inevitable “What do you do?” question. I skipped the part where I responded “retirement” and he responded, “but before?”

“I’m a writer.”

Oh? What do you write?”

“Non-fiction mostly. I just self-published a career advice book for young consultants Traveling the Consulting Road. This didn’t seem to interest him. “I also publish some things from conversations I have with ordinary people I meet.”

Oh? Like what?”

“Well, I often ask people, ‘What is the secret of life?’”

“Oh?’

“Yes, imagine a young person sits before you, asks for your life wisdom. What do you say?”

He seemed intrigued. He missed the next turn the GPS suggested.

“That seems such a simple question, but it is very deep.”

I smiled. Mohammad was thinking. This question always takes people by surprise. Most, not all, feel compelled to answer.

“I can only answer this from my faith. People say that Islam means peace, but that is not quite right. There is a kind of peace in it, but Islam means surrender.”

“I had no choice in my birth. I will have no choice in my death; it will come whenever. . . . But in between I have many choices, far too many choices. This is my test. That is the problem of a life. But if I make one choice, if I choose to surrender to the will of God, other choices get easier.”

“People will say ‘ How can I know the will of God?’ but they know – in here.“ He tapped his chest lightly. If ever they do not know what is the right thing to do, stop . . . listen. It seldom takes longer than three heartbeats. If my action helps me, but hurts another, that is not the will of God. If it helps another, and does not cost me dearly, what would stop me?”

I responded that Christians also talk about the Will of God, Buddhists about the eight-fold path and Taoists speak of about The Way.

“Faith is our connection to God, not any particular faith, but faith, and most of all. . . living it.”

We went on to talk about the nature of people (“99% good”), cars (“simpler is better”), food (“ a little that’s good is better than a lot”). And then, some forty minutes later, we said “nice talking with you,” and he dropped me at home.

I always learn something when I ask this question. I am not a religious person, but people often go to the Golden Rule or say that we shouldn’t be “hung up on materials things” or that “hate is toxic.” A few, like Mohammad I believe, are people who try to live their faith.

I will remember the gentle way he tapped his chest in reference to knowing the Will of God.

“They know – in here. And if not – stop . . . listen. It seldom takes longer than three heartbeats.”

I’ve been known to quote the late Andy Rooney, CBS “Sixty Minutes” curmudgeon, on religion: “I’d be more willing to accept religion, even if I didn’t believe it, which I don’t, if I thought it made people nicer to each other, but I don’t think it does.”

I further opine “too many wars have been fought in the name of a belief in God,” but then I think of someone who lives their faith, like the late Fred Rogers, PBS children’s TV creator, or perhaps this gentle Uber driver and I admire their certainty and the luminous path they describe.

 

Henceforth, I will endeavor to practice his three heartbeat rule. Will you?

Learning from the Brothers Grimm

Learning from the Brothers Grimm

Jake and Wil save German culture

The “Little Corporal” was ruining everything. Napoleon Bonaparte abolished the feudal system; peasants duties to the manorial class were reduced or eliminated.  The lingua franca, or trader’s tongue, that was a combination of Italian French and Spanish words suddenly had more French and was replacing High German – and not just with the confused folk of Alsace.

The Emperor decreed that all must ride horses or drive carriages on the right side of the road, which made defending yourself with a saber awkward. But the absolute worst thing was that good German folk tales were told less often at children bedtime!.

Times under the Korsisch (Corsican) were yet another trial for Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm of Hanau,  In 1796, their father died at forty-four when Jacob, the eldest, was eleven. His father was the sole breadwinner. There were ten children in the Grimm family and Jacob was head of household and had to help support his mother and his siblings. He and his brother Wilhelm were bookish, worked hard at school and were accepted at the prestigious Lyceum high school. They went to university, Jacob took time off to fight Napoleon before getting his law degree. Wilhelm studied German literature.

The Brothers Grimm were broke. They were always looking to make a little money to help “keep the wolf from the door,” so to speak. Today young men might start a YouTube channel, become TikTok influencers, or write a monetized blog.

In 1808 after their mother died they hit on a plan to publish historical German folklore and in 1812 the first edition of Kinder und Hausmãrchen (Children’s and Household Tales), what we know today as Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

Jake and Wil talked about the higher purpose of saving German culture; enough that it is in the lore surrounding the book. Perhaps it was their “elevator pitch” as they traveled the countryside interviewing grossmutters und hausfraus (grandmothers and housewives).

Despite my wisecracks, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were first-rate academic researchers. They documented sources and the evolution of these stories over time. The two volume collection is of significant historical importance in the fields of literature and folklore and has encouraged and enabled further research in the time since its publication. It also happened to make the brothers some money, which they sorely needed.

Und so? (Yeah . . . and?)

In my quest for “Wisdom from Unusual Places,” I decided to read Grimm’s Fairy Tales to see what I might learn. I didn’t read the whole two volume set. I read the Dover Thrift Edition pictured above, forty-three stories translated and published in 2007 about the same time Google Books put a translation and the original online.

Volume one has ninety stories; volume two has one hundred fifteen stories, and ten legends. There are forty-four other stories, the Grimms researched and documented, but never published. Many stories are other versions of the forty-three I read, but some are completely different. I read the short version, but still I learned some stuff.

The Folklore Industry

Probably people have been telling stories to children since before fire was discovered. I wrote earlier in the blog about Aesop whose fables were first recorded in the sixth century BCE. Some of the folktales in Indian culture date to the third or fourth millennium BCE. Tacitus, the roman historian in the first century CE used such stories to determine the character of a people. Jordanes, the sixth century Gothic historian created the divined the history of the Huns from their mythology and folklore, though the academic value of accounts of magical women cohabiting with forest fauns is suspect.

The Grimms collected these stories to demonstrate their Teutonic roots, “Take that Napoleon!”. I find it extremely ironic that some of the same stories were collected by Charles Perrault, of L’Académie Française to venerate French culture. “Cinderella” is in both books. The Little Reed Cap (Rotcäppchen) that we know as “Little Red Riding Hood” is in Perrault as “Le Chapperon Rouge;”

Some turned these stories into entertainment as Walt Disney did in the twentieth century, (Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty).In my house growing up there was a 19320s book of Grimm’s Fairy Tales in English that was pre- Disney and Golden Books and less gruesome than what I just read, but not as sanitized as the Disneyfied versions.

Settings and Architypes

The stories I read in Grimm are all set in medieval times, a time of local feudal kings with the advantages royalty brings. It was also the time of the growth of towns and villages and a burgeoning middle class of tradesmen and shopkeepers. So the tales are full of tailors, millers, bakers, furniture makers, shoemakers etc. Farmers are often met going to the town market with a fat animal to sell. Master tradesmen have unruly apprentices, who after apprenticeship are sent on their Wanderjahr (wander-year) to perfect their skills in neighboring villages (Journeymen) until they can produce their “master -piece.”

Children, whether of nobility, tradesmen or peasant, had certain traits by birth order. The eldest was often responsible, sometimes haughty and entitled. The youngest was often ignored and so became resourceful. Middle children often “paired” with the eldest against the young kid.

Gender architypes? Well the most obvious thing is that women are regarded poorly in these stories. Hänsel and Grethel’s mother browbeats the kindly old woodcutter into abandoning their children in the woods and when resourceful Hansel leads them home by dropping white stones from the path, she locks the door so he can’t gather stones and must use  breadcrumbs.

Women are witches, evil stepmothers, uber-vain queens (“Looking glass, Looking glass on the wall, who’ in the land is the fairest of all?”). The wife  simply must have some rampion lettuce (Rapunzel) from the sorceress’s garden and so send’s her husband over the wall and then must give her firstborn daughter away. They are never satisfied like the poor fisherman’s wife who demands he ask more and more from the magic flounder until unhappy with the castle she ends them back in the hovel.,

Step parents  (especially step mothers) spoil their own offspring and are never nice to step children, (“Cinderella,” “The Three Little Men in the Wood,” “Brother and Sister”). Beautiful daughters can be sweet (Snow White and Rose Red) or conceited and demanding, (“King Thrushbeard”). Sons are either lazy good-for-nothings or resourceful (“The Knapsack, the Hat and the Horn”).

Rich men, kings, innkeepers, or robbers )are often greedy. Little people are magical, elves who make the shoemaker’s and dwarves,. The ugly and disabled are too often bad (Rumpelstiltskin, the witch in Hänsel and Grethel).

Wrong-doers are punished in a medieval way, putting on red-hot iron shoes or be pushed down a hill in a barrel with nails sticking inside. The Grimms took their name seriously.

These tales have entered language, culture and what the Germans call the Zeitgeist, ‘following breadcrumbs,” “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” “Needle in a haystack.”

Good Sense in Fairy Tales

First, there are no fairies in the Grimm collection I read. Cinderella gets her pretty ballgowns from a little white bird who sings in the hazel treen that grew from Cinderella’s mother’s grave, not some dragonfly-winged tiny grandmother spreading Disney-glitter. Still there is plenty of magic. The tales present a balanced view of the world, which might teach us today as they were intended to teach children of the medieval times.

Lesson number 1. The world is a dangerous place.  There are evil-doers everywhere, wolves in goat’s clothing, robbers, greedy-guts landlords and evil sorceresses who can curse you to sleep for a hundred years.. Even your siblings will sometimes do you dirt.

Lesson number 2. Magic abounds in the world if you know where to look. Elves can help you  make shoes “money while you sleep,” Little men in the wood can find you strawberries in winter. Talking frogs and bears can become princes. Brothers changed to ravens and swans can be returned to their human state by the love of a siter who completes a magical quest.

Lesson number 3. Don’t boast and keep your word. The miller’s daughter has to spin straw into gold (a brag from flax spinning into pricey linen thread0. The princess who goes back on her word to the frog to sleep with him. Many problems arise from a lack of humility and integrity.

Lesson number 4. Be kind to animals and the less fortunate.  Most Germanic tribes like the Celts are Indo-Europeans, peoples who migrated from India, so perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that karma reigns. What goes around comes around as animals and beggars save Simpleton in “The Queen Bee”, and Dummling in “The Golden Goose” and “The Little Peasant” ends up as the richest man in the village, (because everyone else kills themselves for greed).

Lesson number 5. With a little pluck you can make your own luck.  The Valiant Little Tailor transforms the confidence derived from “killed seven with one blow,” (flies no less) into a meteoric rise to royalty. The Bremen Musicians band together and drive off the robbers.

Some will like the Disneyfied versions of these tales because they are less gruesome, but even in the originals love conquers all; princess and prince and miller and his bride live happily ever after.

Not Ready for the “Reeks and Wrecks”

Not Ready for the “Reeks and Wrecks”

Stuff Needs Fixing

The lamp is twelve years old. It was a gift from a family member because it went with our last house, an Arts & Crafts fairy-hut in a stately home neighborhood about two miles from where we now live. It does have a Dirk Van Erp vibe, the San Francisco Arts & Crafts metal worker that made those gorgeous bronze-base-mica-shaded lamps we could never afford. The metal-framed shade is made of oiled parchment and is showing its age.

The copper watering can is about six years old. The handle is soldered on in two places and I have resoldered it once at the base. I did a sloppy solder job, but held for a couple of years. The watering can was functional and still pretty if you didn’t examine the handle too closely.

Call Mr. Fix-it

I describe myself as a “fix-or-repair guy” as differentiated from a “throw-away-and-buy-new guy.” I am concerned about all the broken, but repairable stuff filling up landfills. In the words of the old Phil Ochs song “we’re filling up our world with garbage.”

I also get an unreasonable amount of satisfaction from fixing and reusing stuff, so sometimes I spend hours in my workshop fixing something that I could easily repurchase for under twenty dollars. Now in my retirement that is slightly less stupid than it was when I was making hundreds an hour as a consultant, but it still makes no financial sense.

My wife Billie is more practical than I am. She is researching online to replace the shade; I am struggling in my workshop to repair the watering can. It appears at this juncture that she will win this particular competition. I offered to strip the old shade down to the metal frame and put a reattach a covering of her choice. She has declined such assistance.

Mr. Fix-it fails again

I don’t blame her. Right now I am a fix-or-repair-guy who sucks at fixing things. My soldering skills have declined miserably. I made three attempts to resolder the handle, which detached at the top of the handle, while I was attempting to resolder the bottom. Just knowing about Murphy’s Law neither prevents nor mitigates its application.

In frustration, I decided to bolt the handle on. So I drilled a hole in both the top and the bottom of the watering can and attached the handle with some copper bolts I had. What could go wrong with this plan?

The top of the can is, of course, no problem. The watering can is never filled to the point where water would touch the hole. The bottom of the can enjoys no such advantage. Yes, it leaks. In fairness to my apparent failure to anticipate this outcome, I did mix some epoxy to fill around the hole under the head of the bolt and the handle. The watering can still leaks.

That’s the thing about water; it finds its way. The Taoists say, ”Faced with an obstacle become water.”

Now I have a watering can. . . with a hole and a bolt that is epoxied in. . . that still leaks.

My father passed away in 2000. I don’t have to close my eyes to see him shaking his head.

Handy Ray

My father was born in 1904. His father was a printer and so he was around machinery growing up. “There were no repair shops; you had to fix things yourself,” he told me.

My dad was what today you’d describe as “handy.” He fixed stuff and he fixed it the right way. I don’t think he ever used duct tape for anything but sealing the ducts of their forced-air heating system. My father and mother built their own house from plans they got at a lumber yard.

My parents took a freighter trip around the world in their late sixties. They were going to be gone for eight months and my father hatched the idea to rent the house while they traveled. His basement workshop was overstuffed and he asked me to help box things.

In a canvas roll were some tools I had never seen. “What’s this stuff?”

“Oh, that’s from Bessie.”

My father’s first automobile was a 1926 Ford Model T Tudor Sedan. Guys’ first cars are often an object of nostalgia and Bessie was no exception.

“That’s a wheel truer and that’s a spoke shave.” Ray was soon “lost in let’s remember.”

“The Model T wheels had metal rims with wooden spokes. Roads weren’t paved so if you hit a rock or a hole the wheel went out of true and maybe you broke a spoke or two. Well, you carried a spare, but you still had to fix the wheel.”

He went on to describe the process, as my expanding exasperation filled the basement. To my shame I think he threw away those tools based upon my youthful impatience. Even though he finally abandoned the rent-the-house-while-we’re-gone idea, the Bessie tools were gone when we cleaned out the house twenty years later.

What was left in the house? There were eight working electric motors stripped from old refrigerators and washing machines. He had out and replaced the brushes and rewired each.

An apple too far from the tree

He taught me many skills, but most have atrophied over the years. Some of the woodworking skills I’ve kept up, but  when I look at the dresser built by my great grandfather and chairs by my great, great grandfather, I realize I am not very good. Plumbing related skills like soldering are long gone. I worked on cars as a kid, but now I have idea what or how. I was shocked to find that my latest car doesn’t have a dipstick. “How do I check the oil?”

“The onboard computer will notify you if the car needs oil or it needs an oil change.”

I think about lost capabilities, the knowledge and skills of daily life that are no longer in demand that we’ve forgotten. When the Zombie Apocalypse comes, most of us will be truly screwed.

In the future

I read and watch a lot of apocalyptic science fiction and fantasy. Whenever I get concerned about the state of the world these stories seem to improve my mood. “At least there’s still electricity and people aren’t eating each other,” (yet).

Right now I’m reading Justin Cronin’s The Ferryman, about a world where renewable clones live in an island world called Prospera and Support Staff with service and maintenance skills live in poverty nearby in the Annex. The class struggle aspect of the book is a disturbing reminder of the inequity that exists in our world.

The book reminds me of a book I first read in high school. Kurt Vonnegut’s novel Player Piano, was written in 1952, the same year that my parents build their house. Vonnegut was a General Electric public relations manager who left the corporate world to write full-time.

Player Piano is set in a future world where all work is automated. A few engineers design and maintain factory machinery. Computers maintain all the data. (They are vacuum tube monstrosities, but ignore that.) We meet a young Paul Proteus, Vonnegut’s main character,  when he is a trainee engineer listening to his boss:

“If only it weren’t for the people, the goddamned people,” said Finnerty, “always getting tangled up in the machinery. If it weren’t for them, earth would be an engineer’s paradise.” 

Engineers are high priests. Any non-engineering jobs with the large corporations are menial drivel waiting to be replaced by computers. Corporations fund a government sponsored minimal middle-class lifestyle. Everyone has big TVs and radar ranges and wall-to wall carpeting. It’s a bleak vision and everyone seems depressed, but the Vonnegut’s cynical humor makes it readable.

There are a few artists, writers, bartenders, and large standing army. Ten year olds take a test to see if they have the aptitude to become engineers. If you are not in that one percent of the population, you join the army or get shunted to the Reeks and Wrecks, the Reconstruction and Reclamation Corps. Some of the Reeks and Wrecks scratch out a living replacing radio and TV tubes in their own repair shops, but most travel like tinkers moving from factory to factory fixing whatever they could fix with old hand tools.

Paul Proteus ponders industrial revolutions. The first “devalued muscle work, then came the second one that devalued routine mental work. I guess the third would be machines that devalue human thinking . . . the real brainwork. I hope I’m not around to see that.”

Prescient much, Kurt? I’m struck by the nearly straight line between the world Vonnegut satirized and today. Artificial Intelligence? Machine learning? We haven’t even mastered real  intelligence yet or understand how people learn and we’re teaching it to computers? What could go wrong with this plan?

A late adopter like me can get left behind quickly. Even little day-to-day fix-it skills deteriorate if not used. I guess I better start relearning to solder or I won’t even make the Reeks and Wrecks.

 

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Becoming Interesting

Becoming Interesting

The LinkedIn Wisdom Elders

I’m connected on LinkedIn to several men about my age or a little older who write posts like I do. Some also have weekly newsletters on LinkedIn where they publish slightly longer pieces, similar to what to these pieces on Wisdom from Unusual Places. I think what we have in common is that we’ve all reached the age, where we feel the need to share wisdom we’ve uncovered or accumulated before we die. We think we’re interesting and I admit I learn some things from these men.

I’m connected to a lot of wise women too. Often I learn more from the women. They are often more interesting and insightful than the men, because different genders have very different perspectives on life. The women’s stories often create what I call “flat head moments,” in reference to that spot on my forehead derived from smacking it with the heel of my hand in astonishment, “Oh man, really? I didn’t see that at all!”

I might tell some of those on another day. This is about the ‘wisdom” shared by old men, guys who think we’re interesting and that there is someone out there listening to us. To be fair judging by the comments a few people are listening, reading our posts and getting something out of it. There are some comments by women, and some comments by younger men, but all too frequently it’s other older men who read, relate and comment. We find each other interesting.

The Most Interesting Man in the World

This week a post from this wisdom brigade started me pondering about what I think is interesting, which led me to the Dos Equis beer commercial “The most interesting man in the world.” (It is amazing how the guy-mind works; somehow it always gets back to beer.)

This television commercial aired in the United States between 2006 and 2018. I’m not sure if it aired outside the US, but maybe as it was created by the EuroRSCG agency, (which became Havas Worldwide in 2010).

The ad ran for twelve years. It won a Clio award, which means a bunch of ad agency creative directors thought it was cool, and it was admitted to the Advertising Hall of Fame, which I think recognizes both creativity and sales. The campaign lasted more than ten years, continuing even after Cuauhtémoc Moctezuma Brewery, was acquired by Heineken in 2010. So no doubt it sold a lot of Dos Equis beer.

For anyone who hasn’t seen the ad, it portrays an attractive bearded older gentleman, a vaguely Latin looking and sounding bon vivant whose “personality is so magnetic that he cannot carry credit cards.”

The actor who starred in the ad from its inception was Jonathan Goldsmith, who allegedly auditioned improvising for thirty minutes with one sock off, before closing with the line he was given “. . . and that’s how I wrestled with Fidel Castro.” Goldsmith says he modelled the character on his friend and sailing partner, the archetypical Latin lover, deceased actor Fernando Lamas.

“The most interesting man in the world” was an object of admiration, perhaps even envy, to the target demographic young beer dinking guys. The character was well-travelled, shown in settings around the world. He was brave, shown releasing a bear from a bear trap. He was eccentric; he is shown cooking, shooing a mountain lion from the counter, obviously a pet.

He was sophisticated and supremely confident.

“If opportunity knocks and he’s not home, opportunity waits.”

“His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man’s entire life.”

“He had an awkward moment once, just to see how it feels.”

Most importantly, he was attractive to women. (This was an ad for young beer drinking guys.) Beautiful younger women are always seated with him. The attraction is not purely physical; The Most Interesting Man (TMIM) is portrayed as sensitive, a listener, wise.

“A wingman? It never takes more than one man to have a conversation than with a woman.”

The pitch was always: “I don’t always drink beer, but when I do I prefer Dos Equis.”

The message: “You wanna appear suave and sophisticated like me, have chicks hang on your every word? Dude, ditch the Bud Light and order Dos Equis.”

Then TMIM spouts a philosophical zinger, “Stay thirsty, my friends.” The implication was if you want to be interesting, thirst for experiences, learning, and a high class brew.

Personal Branding

Jonathan Goldsmith became branded as “The Most Interesting Man in the World.” He was frequently stopped on the street. Celebrities wanted to meet him. He was invited to meet President Barach Obama more than once.

In 2016 Havas worldwide made a goodbye ad for Goldsmith where TMIM was launched to Mars, from which journey there was no return. In 2016 the new agency Droga5 launched a new campaign for Dos Equis featuring a younger more Latin-looking actor Augustin Legrande. It started airing in 2018 and closed the same year. Apparently Goldsmith was TMIM and less than replaceable. Havas tried to use Goldsmith to Pitch Stella and a tequila without success; TMIM and Dos Equis were co-branded.

This is also the period when people began to talk about personal branding. Tom Peters, the former McKinsey consultant who burst on the scene with In Search of Excellence, wrote a book called Brand You 50: Fifty Ways to Turn Yourself from an ‘Employee’  into a Brand That Shouts Distinction, Commitment, and Passion!

It is easy to see how this evolved into the YouTuber, Instagram, and TikTok influencer, everybody’s a star getting their “fifteen minutes of fame,” as Andy Warhol predicted in 1968.

But are we interesting?

Learning from TMIM

OK, there’s a lot of stuff that I think is negative about these ads. They promote some macho male ego crap that I think is damaging to both men and women. But I’m going to leave aside the men must be strong and brave, not dress in tight pants “if I can count the coins in your pocket, spend your change to call a tailor.” I don’t support the have a ‘real man’s drink’ message, “Unless your drink is expecting rain, you should probably reconsider the drink umbrella.”

But occasionally TMIM made sense:

“Find out what it is in life that you don’t do well and then don’t do that thing.”

“In another life . . . I was myself.”

“It’s never too early to start beefing up your obituary”

“I once found the fountain of youth, but I wasn’t thirsty.”

Back to the LinkedIn Wisdom Elder-Guys

Well, us old guys on LinkedIn may not be as interesting as TMIM, but we have a good time sharing what we’ve learned:

Charles Hamm, Texas Grit: “Knowledge is knowin’ ya can do sumtin. Wisdom is knowin’ if ya should. Ponder on it, pilgrims.”

Dr. Ali Anani: “I was looking at the image of trees facing a big storm. The big tree showed character by deepening its roots.
What makes people who have all the means to make strong choices but allow events to knock them over and fall?
Be strong. Be resilient with strong roots of values, ethics and thoughts.”

Bob Musial: I found books at my local library. The harried young woman said ”Checking out?”

To which I replied in a concerned tone, “I hope not.”

She didn’t get it, but I did thank the woman next to her for laughing”

Me: “A chip on your shoulder cuts off blood flow to the brain.”

Rached Alimi: There is a road in the world, a single road that no one else can travel except you: where does it lead? Don’t ask yourself, walk.

 

Thanks to all my LinkedIn friends who share their wisdom. We are all becoming more interesting every day.