The Accidental Authortag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor/92008-03-30T20:37:56ZMovable Type 3.32If you try to make and impression that's the impression you'll maketag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5782008-03-30T20:33:29Z2008-03-30T20:37:56ZThere were twenty million dollars on the table in front of me, and I couldn’t afford the table. The check was headed to a university out west and the coffee table was special ordered from the Far East. At that same table pastors, musicians, college presidents, politicians, and others smiled as checks were extended across the table to their causes. And on many occasions, egos, disingenuous spirits and other intangibles sent sad souls away from the table empty handed. At the same table three million dollars was written to the New Era Foundation, which at the time was considered a...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
Managing by the Book: Principles for a Fulfilling Business Life is his story, and they’re his principles—I was simply asked to help him write it. At first I turned him down. Though respecting his business savvy and his decades of helping others from his successes, it is my policy not to ghost write or to write another’s book. “Okay” he’d say, but this deliberate white-haired university Trustee would then proceed, “But could I treat you to coffee to run my thoughts by you?” I’d agree, read a few paragraphs, make some scribbles, and we’d go our ways. A few weeks later, the same thing. One coffee at a time I was re-writing his entire text with him. Finally, I took the whole manuscript and several dozen pots of coffee later we finished the text (to be published this summer by Triangle Press).
Something happened each meeting, and through the reading of each chapter—I found the man’s heart. And, through various interviews I saw it deeply. Regardless of the business adventures we discussed, principles in question, personalities involved in unpacking the stories, and any shortcomings any of us might have—his unbridled passion was there. No special suit purchased to impress me. No “Just happened to be in your neighborhood.” No ice sculptures of my children. During three years of writing this text his eyes were on the prize – a text that passes along lessons about personal and professional honesty, about sensible solutions, people-first practices, and about “planning your work and working your plan.”
I suppose we need to keep asking ourselves what table we’re bellying up to. What’s on the table and are we honest with ourselves and others. Oh, almost forgot—that imported table that held tens of millions during our discussions—it was a replica. My boss told me he loved saving money on such things when because of the context people only assume they’re real. His entire castle was filled with the same furniture. On my way out of his house I stopped and looked a little longer at the little Rembrandt painting, wondering if I’d ever know if it were real.
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Holden Caulfied's Dreary World Comes Alive tag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5772008-03-29T16:19:39Z2008-03-29T16:32:47ZHow To Talk about Books You Haven’t Read is perhaps the best title of a book this decade. We’ve all been there—looking glassy-eyed like 50Cent and PDaddy at an opera. I had not read Catcher in the Rye until becoming a “Dr.” At first mention it sounded like an agrarian novel. However, I soon learned enough about the book's thesis and search for meaning to know that it was rather controversial. That fateful day when I finally read it (and such books should only take a day) my eyes were opened to the real world of Holden Caulfield and his...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
How To Talk about Books You Haven’t Read is perhaps the best title of a book this decade. We’ve all been there—looking glassy-eyed like 50Cent and PDaddy at an opera. I had not read Catcher in the Rye until becoming a “Dr.” At first mention it sounded like an agrarian novel. However, I soon learned enough about the book's thesis and search for meaning to know that it was rather controversial. That fateful day when I finally read it (and such books should only take a day) my eyes were opened to the real world of Holden Caulfield and his miserable mental plight. Perhaps as important was to get to know the author, J.D. Salinger. Even though I finished the day disappointed, expecting much more and some sense of closure, and curious about its place in middle school curricula, I also gained an appreciation for the author’s genius. And in reading, and only in reading it, could I understand the underlying fascination with it among students. Misguided to be considered a required text, but a brilliant insight into the dreary fatalism that plagues so many. Reading, and only reading with a sense of sincerity, also brings to light the Harry Potter series, Tolkien’s works, the Chronicles of Narnia, and the long list of wonderful reads that enrich our lives. From Dr. Seuss’ The Snitches to Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago, writers prompt us to think deeply about the human condition and how best to respond to its recurring shortcomings and blessings.
So what about this notion of talking about books you’ve not read—well, I’m sitting at Miami University’s King Library (Oxford, OH) ensconced by an expanse of books far beyond my reading limits. The new book has some clever and helpful advice but a sinister twist. Those of us in the academic professions and in professional setting need to stay appraised of new knowledge and should be reading literature reviews with regularity, such as Books & Culture, New York Times Review, Times Literary Supplement and so forth. We may be prompted to buy some of the books we read about, but mainly we’re just staying current with titles, authors, trends of thoughts and the key conclusions being espoused. How To Talk About Books You Haven’t Read basically says that’s enough—and we’re likely less biased by doing so. The author, Pierre Bayard, is a French literature professor of some renown, so readers without lobotomy scars should pick up a bit of overstatement and some sense of ingenuity or satire—he claims he doesn’t like ready or rarely reads. All said, it’s a wonderful read, provokes thought, brings several smiles, but leaves one perplexed with his rampant relativistic notions. My full review of this book goes into much more detail (pending publication at B&C), but suffice it to say that if a book can take on whatever meaning the reader intends, and not the author, then I’d be a bit leery of having brain surgery any time soon. If the surgeon heads towards my noggin with a gallon of ice cream and a sippy cup, I’ll be relatively certain that his relativistic reading of the med school texts were interpreted quite differently than the authors intended.
And if you read Bayard’s witty little book, besides violating its thesis by reading it, you’ll bristle at his notion that the main reason to stay current with your community’s “must read” book list is to be conversant at cocktail parties. That is, to avoid embarrassment. If that’s the case—as I reflect on my days in graduate school as one of the few non-imbibers—just arrive late to cocktail parties and you’ll hear some rather strange hops-induced theses from books you’re familiar with, or ones that likely nobody but you will remember in the morning anyway.
Well, you can’t judge a book by its cover, but contrary to Bayard’s anti-reading manifesto, I think there’s still quite a few that are still worthy of opening.
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Standing in the Senate Room--Looking to Arlingtontag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5762008-03-16T12:34:19Z2008-03-16T15:04:30ZStanding in the Indiana State capitol I heard a sandpaper-scraping sound, and turned only to see a lobbyist dragging his chin on the floor. An otherwise successful bloke, his kindly countenance couldn’t hide the fact that on this day his special interest was the big loser as a bi-partisan answer to a property tax crisis was about to pass. On this busiest of days, the last of the session, there was an amazing revelry, a joyful bi-partisan exchange in the majestic cloisters. From the restroom to the balcony, no sharp words were heard in this historic home of all three...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
Standing in the Indiana State capitol I heard a sandpaper-scraping sound, and turned only to see a lobbyist dragging his chin on the floor. An otherwise successful bloke, his kindly countenance couldn’t hide the fact that on this day his special interest was the big loser as a bi-partisan answer to a property tax crisis was about to pass. On this busiest of days, the last of the session, there was an amazing revelry, a joyful bi-partisan exchange in the majestic cloisters. From the restroom to the balcony, no sharp words were heard in this historic home of all three branches of government. Bitterness took recess.
I stood behind the rostrum with the respected Representative Harris for the standard House chamber picture—sensing the majesty of the place and the history in those hallowed halls. Laptops everywhere, scattered papers, stacks of folders. This was indeed a relaxed but busy place.
Across the hall in the Senate chamber I was reminded of the entrance to Charlemagne’s capitol at Aachen. The marble walls flanked by pillars and three stories of lighted offices were missing only the balcony and a king. The 50 pristine blank desks presented a stately presence, perhaps helping to define the term.
I positioned myself on a substantial wood carved bench and served the muse. There were the fast-paced staffers getting last minute signatures, and their mannerisms were in sharp contrast to the senior citizens guarding the chamber doors—more gregarious than Wall Mart greeters. There was Stellamae, seemingly the glue for the whole operation, ensuring the logistics from behind the scenes, and Mike Cline the quintessential wordsmith, running up a staircase with armfuls of briefcases and writing materials.
There were a few veteran politicians whose entrance to any hall or chamber turned heads and a cloud of respect hovered above them in an almost mythical fashion. Representative Bauer’s movements marked the House’s agenda as Senator Long’s did across the hall. One’s position bespeaks a presence, such as the entourages that surround Senators Young and Lawson, and media that track Lt. Governor Skillman’ well-calculated words. And those with the birthright giftedness, stature and otherworldly voice of a Representative Turner seem to set the standard for a state leader’s profile. True character stands the test of time, and career politicians live their lives in open scrutiny. To survive is a testimony of consistency.
On this particular day, March 14, 2008, I could not help but reminisce about faces no longer in the crowd but with legacies vested in making a difference for all of us, such as the indefatigable Julia Carson and the endearing David Ford. Their faces may be missing, but their voices remain. And that’s the beauty of it all, that what we strive for today is not ephemeral in the human story, but has staying power that enhances lives for generations.
We all know what they were willing to bet their lives on, and Carson and Ford did just that—giving their lives to politics. While two radically different leaders in many aspects they both gave without limits. While the Republican caucus strives to replace the beloved Senator within its thirty days it’s clear that his persona is irreplaceable. Oh, we will miss his face but let it be the face of politics, the kind, patient, beacon of integrity, and coupled with Senator Carson’s tenacity, let it be a face with eyes toward action. May it be a face that succumbs not to the modern relativistic democratization of truth, but insists on the truth of democracy’s potency for structures guaranteeing our freedoms. And, to our grandchildren’s chance for the same.
This afternoon I join many in the city of Marion welcoming home Bryan Crossman, our heralded West Point graduate surviving two tours of duty in Iraq, narrowly escaping the ultimate sacrifice exacted of many of his beloved troops. But my heart weighs heavy as I also tip my thoughts toward Arlington Cemetery where another Marion native is about to be saluted. While politicians were fighting for our rights in the state capitol on Friday, Staff Sgt. Collin Bowen passed from this world fighting for our rights on a foreign soil. Battling tyranny and oppression that rapaciously belittles women, kills children, he died in response to similar screams from families throughout the civilized world at the sights, sounds and ramifications of twin towers crashing on the helpless. While property taxes were taking unfair tolls on our pockets, human rights and ideals taxed Collin’s personhood. Just as the faces of Carson and Ford emblaze images of a high calling, the picture of the young handsome Bowen pierces my soul with an unforgettable image of sacrifice.
Clipped to my screen as I write on this hallowed morning is more than the picture of Collin Bowen, what I see before me is the cost of freedom. The diplomacy that begins in our local precincts and plays out in our state capitols and the national venue can never be severed from the realities of clashing ideals that throughout history have discarded the best of diplomacy. While President Bush’s awkward swagger and disjointed expressions pale in the wake of Obama’s call for hope, Staff Sgt. Collin Bowen’s sacrifice testifies that bombs don’t shatter one’s soul, but define one’s ideals. Our president’s lack of charisma should not discount his content. While we strive to protect the innocent from bombs, others bomb the innocent. From the Assyrians and Athenians to the Mayans and the Taliban, clashing ideals have been settled by the sword.
We should put forth our best diplomacy to advance solutions based on our ideals while simultaneously committing to defend them. The rejection of incivility does not ensure civility. A golden-tongued defense of freedom, as Pericles discovered in the shadow of the Spartans, does not itself sustain freedom. While we all need Churchills to clarify our ideals and to instill passionately to defend them, such protection against invading forces that defy them moves beyond words.
What I witnessed in Indianapolis on Friday are the logistical underpinnings of ideals that play out on foreign fields. A drive around Monument Circle and the War Memorial en route home vividly reminds me of lives lost for lives lived today in freedom.
Sitting with JFK at St. Anne's tag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5752008-03-07T12:44:54Z2008-03-07T12:46:05ZJohn F. Kennedy sat next to me at St. Anne’s Catholic Church in West Palm Beach, for his last mass in this life—though 40 years before my arrival. Emotions welled as I reflected on his passionate desire for change, for attendance to the human condition, and the various references to his profile during this current election season. To drive from Jupiter Island and homes with 25 attendants across to the modest place of worship is quite a contrast in cultures, and provides the backdrop for JFK’s life. Though from the Sybaritic climate of caviar and cashmere, he championed the daily...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
What are your thoughts from the pew?]]>
The Seeing Eye -- A Memorable Day in West Palm Beachtag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5692008-03-01T03:23:01Z2008-03-01T03:28:07ZA few hours ago I witnessed discrimination of the 1960’s ilk as three airport taxicab drivers in succession refused the family in front of me. Suddently West Palm Beach became overcast and the human condition grew cold. I watched my new friends literally left on the curb as the drivers sped away. Jim, Ginger, Colby and Payton went from perplexed to rightfully indignant. The first driver actually shook his head no, then paced, and noted that “it’s not going to happen.” James expressed a remarkable patience, rolling his eyes a bit more than usual, but reserved. I was talking with...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
What do you think? What are your first reactions to the Kutsh's predicament today? ]]>
Changing Clutch Plates in the Snowtag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5672008-02-28T03:08:24Z2008-02-28T03:10:40ZMy dad rapped three decades before its time, but all in expletives. Changing the clutch plate on your family car in the snow means you’re short on doe. I held the flashlight until my hands went numb. Dad’s gloves went on and off until shortly before the sun arose and the car worked and so did dad. I spent a week in the windy snow that night. Dad would light another cigarette, swear a bit, then slide under again on cardboard. A few jaunts into the house. A few hot chocolates and Falls City beers. More smokes and swear words....Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
What signs remind you of blessings in your life?]]>
They burned their new outhousestag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5652008-02-24T22:33:34Z2008-02-24T23:03:50ZOur friend recently helped build outhouses for homeless Gypsies in Romania, sensing the need to assist them in surviving their refugee squalor. The next day Bekah was a bit perplexed to find the wooden toilets gone--until noticing families huddled in the cold around fire pits made from the walls. I once watched as several families gave gifts to struggling families, an event sponsored by a youth program in Marion, Indiana called J.C.Body Shop. The kids seemed rather overjoyed, and many left protecting their gifts still in their boxes. A few weeks later I recall asking several of the teens if...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
What are your thoughts?. ]]>
When the World Crawls through the Church Doortag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5642008-02-22T22:28:22Z2008-02-23T12:24:27ZWhen the legless man crawled through the front door of the church on his elbows, the preacher paused. When a scarred Rawandan woman and a wealthy Brit spontaneously jumped from their pews to lift him to his, the sermon was complete—lived out in front of the church. My friend Peter Rhetts relates this first-hand account in a speech from his years of travels as a lawyer for a missions organization. Regardless of our various religious backgrounds, like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. before Gandhi, we can all lean into his enduring passion for humanity’s crises and be better for doing...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
What are your responses to Peter's challenge to his fellow Christians?
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Straddling Bodies to Swing Pillows--San Francisco Traditiontag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5632008-02-21T02:50:23Z2008-02-21T02:57:15ZI couldn’t comprehend what had just transpired nine floors beneath my San Francisco Hyatt window—the large plaza was covered with snow. The noise of hundreds of people awoke me from my jetlag recovery, and on wobbly legs and through blurry eyes my mind tried to catch up with the temperature disconnect—tons of snow in sunny Cisco. Then I began to recognize push brooms instead of snow shovels, and pillows instead of snowmen. It was Valentine’s Day and I had just missed a massive pillow fight. Later the hotel staff told me that it’s a tradition. Every year people go take...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
Do you see yourself as the creative or logistical part of the solution? Do you see the disconnect in your community?
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What We Learn from Cheating: Students Can Amaze and Amuze Ustag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5592008-02-13T03:47:05Z2008-02-13T03:59:34ZAfter the young man repeatedly took full credit for his personal reflection paper, my colleague decided to confront his cheating. As his English Composition professor, she asked one final question of the young man: “Just exactly when did you have your abortion?” Betty said it wasn’t difficult believing a student blatantly plagiarized a paper. What was perplexing, however, was that he hadn’t even read the paper—even after he had been summoned. While teaching in California some of my colleagues caught a cheating ring with invisible ink. Yeah, when several all-American looking students had blue fingers during finals the gig was...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
Catcher in the Rye, intrigued by Candide and provoked to new depths of thinking by Mere Christianity. That in the study of the Mayans they don’t find some romantic culture we should venerate, but one we should protect against. That the study of Mao prompts them not to follow blindly anyone’s Little Red Book or unfounded revolutionary thought. To discover for themselves that the greater the mind the chance for the greater error, and that little decisions can have grand consequences.
And, the next time I have a conversation with a student caught cheating I’ll be careful not to wear a starched shirt. Yeah, having it rip in the stomach area might not be the effect I was after.
Your thoughts?]]>
Keith Drury: by Design and not Defaulttag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5582008-02-09T15:04:09Z2008-02-09T15:25:14ZIn a few days hundreds of professors in San Francisco will read about a funny little genius of a man from Indiana Wesleyan University. In a new book, Why I Teach, they’ll catch a glimpse of Professor Keith Drury, a MENSA-type who chose to bring his intellectual wares to Marion, Indiana. Yes, he’s unique--at times sporting a pencil-thin beard, or occasionally wearing neon weather gear—traffic-stopping yellow slicker boots that could house a carp. He has walked the Appalachian Trail and the Trail of Tears, and at 60 still outlives his students. His mind’s quickness is Dennis Miller’s on high octane—but...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
Why I Teach, they’ll catch a glimpse of Professor Keith Drury, a MENSA-type who chose to bring his intellectual wares to Marion, Indiana. Yes, he’s unique--at times sporting a pencil-thin beard, or occasionally wearing neon weather gear—traffic-stopping yellow slicker boots that could house a carp. He has walked the Appalachian Trail and the Trail of Tears, and at 60 still outlives his students. His mind’s quickness is Dennis Miller’s on high octane—but it’s filtered through a deep faith. I'd be afraid to put him in a room with Robin Williams if flying dendrites were combustable.
His books have set records for the Wesleyan Publishing House, with a wave of new titles hitting recently. And he’s managed to blog a decade longer than most, representing his unusual penchant for knowing the societal pulse.
If I were into voyeurism, I’d follow Professor Drury around the campus and beyond, to learn of his other habits and ways—to see if he eats normal food or prefers leaves and wild flowers, to listen to conversations with novice hikers, hitchhikers, children, students and servicemen. I’d read scribbled notes over his shoulder. I’d follow a book from its first thoughts to its bound timeless form. I’d chart one day’s statements, and post a graph that would likely parallel a Super ball in a silo.
I arrived to campus a few months after he had received an honorary doctorate from Indiana Wesleyan, and weeks after he decided to switch careers and join the faculty. He planned to invest the last part of his life into students—to enable them to go places he could not. To inspire them to write, to learn, to live fully. And, a decade later, there are indeed hundreds of students trekking across this nation with a close tie to their professor, and who have written their first book (many published in some form). They run soup kitchens, businesses, churches, and serve in a sundry of positions at a mélange of organizations. They can all stay in touch with him through his Tuesdays Column, a web blog with many thousands of hits regularly—and more readers than many newspapers. http://www.drurywriting.com/keith/.
Over twenty years ago, I was among the first wave of students who sat in his classes (he taught on top of international duties with the Wesleyan Church). The following is an excerpt from Why I Teach(McGraw-Hill) about one particular class. In a sense, it changed my life:
In that 1970s classroom, an energetic professor named Keith Drury drew a “V” on the chalkboard and made a simple statement: “Your life is like a wedge. The sharper and narrower the wedge, the more likely you’ll reach your life goals.”
It seemed almost too simple at first—two lines of chalk as a functional metaphor for life? But the more I thought about the idea, the more the wedge concept made sense. For me at the time, and for many college students today, my goals were abstract concepts, disconnected from my daily actions. I figured they would come “some day,” but I had no real plan for achieving them, and because “some day” seemed so far away, I didn’t worry whether what I was doing today was pointing me in the right direction, or helping me get where I wanted to go any faster.
But as Dr. Drury explained how our goals should determine how we form our wedge—that its sharpness and narrowness must be aimed at a specific goal of our choosing—I began to evaluate my own wedge, and my own goals. . . . In that chalkboard “V,” I saw concrete connections between choices and outcomes that I had never visualized before. I realized I was not only responsible for my future, but capable of directing it.
After class, when most of my friends were lounging in the cafeteria or goofing off in their dorm rooms, I went down to the bank and opened my first Individual Retirement Account. I planned to take my future, and this life wedge thing, seriously.
Keith continues to show that informal power can often be more potent than formal power, not in a subversive but complementary way. As a mentor, a leader of core development. An intrinsic sage with external benefits. He continues to show that decisions made on principle and not personality have staying power. And, that a purpose-guided life will likely have more positive influence than one without a sharp life wedge. We answer life's ultimate questions by design or default, and Dr. Drury will never be guilty of the latter--nor many of his students. It's also interesting to see the culture developing around him, of a bright group of professors with many decades of influence ahead--and with a zeal infused a bit by their hiking colleague.
What lessons have you learned from a Keith Drury in your life?
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The Wicca Ways of Venice Beachtag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5542008-02-02T16:18:28Z2008-02-02T16:19:58ZThe fellow had so much facial jewelry and tattoos that he looked like he fell into a tackle box holding an ink well. His left-over, dyed Billy Ray Cyrus mullet atop his gaunt shirtless nipple-pierced body might as well have been a neon sign, “Look at me! Please!” Beyond him was a roller-blading, Caribbean Troubadour in a knit bouffant turban; his small guitar and a megaphoned-nasal voice would have caused Randy, Paula and Simon to resign from Idol. Yeah, it was another typical day at Venice Beach, CA. I would write for hours at the (former) Fig Tree café, then...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
Do you know of such a place? Where's the Venice Beach in your life?]]>
Decisions To Live in the Desert tag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5512008-01-30T03:08:42Z2008-01-30T03:14:49ZIn the windy darkness of the Egyptian desert I wasn’t ready for a lifeless shock—our flashlights illuminated dozens of ancient skeletons reaching through the sand. Half way between Cairo and Alexandria the netherworld seemed half alive. I can still see that first fleshless hand and forearm suddenly appear before my nose, and the closest Depends were two hours away. We were at our new excavation site, arriving for the first time after dark. These were the remains of hundreds of priests buried in “the holy hill,” now desecrated by centuries of howling night winds. From the fourth through the eighth...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
Depends were two hours away.
We were at our new excavation site, arriving for the first time after dark. These were the remains of hundreds of priests buried in “the holy hill,” now desecrated by centuries of howling night winds. From the fourth through the eighth centuries thousands of Coptic priests went off the grid—disappearing forever from all contact with the outside world to get in contact with themselves and their God.
It was an eerie place at first, until meeting the living priests from the nearby monastery. After Muslims destroyed the now buried monastery, another sprouted. Today it’s the residence of His Holiness Pope Shenouda III, and we were privileged to stay in his compound. Each evening monks dressed in all black would walk out into the desert with provisions tied in cloth bags and affixed to the end of sticks hoisted over their shoulders. on the end. They would stay in their desert caves for days before resurfacing.
But there was also a sense of deep peace. I’ll forever recall their silhouettes disappearing at dusk on the horizon. Many of these monks were highly educated men that had left professions for their spiritual professions. While I didn’t understand their choices, I could understand their search for meaning and purpose, for inner peace.
What do you do to live at peace?To find your life purpose?]]>
When the Crowd is Uninformed--Classic Examplestag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5482008-01-26T14:38:26Z2008-01-26T14:54:06ZAbout an hour west of Atlanta a crowd gathered to hear me speak on the The Da Vinci Code (2003). Silly me, I had figured if they flew me in and dedicated their Saturday morning for a workshop—they had read the book! I felt a bit like Da Vinci trying to describe his “Mona Lisa” in front of an empty frame. Or, telling my students all about Steinbeck, C. S. Lewis and Erasmus without having them read their works. Imagine someone describing all the details of Dr. King’s memorable visit to the Washington D.C. Mall, from the bulging crowds to...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
The Da Vinci Code (2003). Silly me, I had figured if they flew me in and dedicated their Saturday morning for a workshop—they had read the book! I felt a bit like Da Vinci trying to describe his “Mona Lisa” in front of an empty frame. Or, telling my students all about Steinbeck, C. S. Lewis and Erasmus without having them read their works.
Imagine someone describing all the details of Dr. King’s memorable visit to the Washington D.C. Mall, from the bulging crowds to his passionate delivery of the speech, but never offering them pause to read or listen to his “Dream” speech. Perhaps a good contemporary example would be standing on one side of the Extreme Home Makeover bus, and instead of ever seeing the house that Ty and his team built for you, they only described it. And even though the crowd yelled “Move that bus!” for hours, you chose not to yell and you never removed the obstacle to enjoying both its beauty and its added value to your life—and to that of your family. The classics do such things for us.
However, we do this often in our personal and formal education—rubbing shoulders with Voltaire, Cervantes, Luther, Kempis, Chaucer and the like without ever shaking their hands. We increasingly dance around Life’s Ultimate Questions (one of Ronald Nash’s confident book titles) without facilitating people’s intrinsic hunger for meaty dialogue from what generations of folks have collectively decided are classics. While a book like Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code is but an ephemeral fancy that evokes group discussions, and is a fun read despite its ridiculous historic claims, to enter dialogue without reading the author’s work is itself counter-intuitive. Regardless of its final resting place on literary shelves, there are those who’ve nestled in a café chair and devoured it, and those who have only seen others reading it as they made their way to the counter.
The same is true of Rick Warren’s The Purpose-Driven Life (2002). I vividly recall several months of traveling to engagements when the planes to and from these college towns were filled with passengers reading either Warren or Brown. The same was true of earlier with the release of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s [Philosopher’s] Stone (1997), a series about to reach 500 million in sales. And, here again many concerned citizens crowded in halls and churches to condemn without reading. The end of the Sorcerer’s Stone is fascinating—and actually reflects Rowling’s creatively intense though simple style while profoundly noting that there is no power greater than that of a mother who gives her life for her son. Well, if you haven’t read the book I just revealed the source of Harry’s powers.
Of the above books, look again at Warren’s little text, though not a novel it hits at the heart of the classics—engaging us in life’s ultimate questions. He challenges us in simple form and diction to think through both the human condition and its relationship to the supernatural.
On February 15th, McGraw-Hill will release my little book, Why I Teach: And Why It Matters to My Students at a conference in San Francisco. Though short, it took a lifetime to write. The thesis is rather easy—it’s because I cannot not teach. And, I’ve realized that teaching is a noble cause worthy of one’s life energies. But it’s here that I engage the above discussion anew; if teachers are not helping students to ascertain their life purpose, to engage life’s ultimate questions, they’re not pushing them hard enough. Regardless of which Latin root of “education” we use, we need to re-engage the classics. The root “educare” means to train or mold, and many hold up this definition to emphasize passing down knowledge. The other root, “educere,” means to lead out, and involves questioning and creative resolution. Great works can do both simultaneously—as long as we concern our students with more than the rote memory of the subjects and plots, but also the key questions being addressed about our humanity and civility.
In Why I Teach I reflect on the life passion of Robert Maynard Hutchins to preserve the “Great Books” in the college curriculum. The following is from a lively 1970 interview with this former President of the University of Chicago.
“. . . When young people are asked, "What are you interested in?" they answer that they are interested in justice, they want justice for the Negro, they want justice for the Third World. If you say, "Well, what is justice?" they haven't any idea …. They are ignorant of the fact that there is a Great Conversation echoing back through history on the subject of justice. You are quite right that they are not ignorant in the sense that they do not lack information. They have more information than any previous generation, but having a great deal of information has little to do with knowledge.”
In this same section of Why I Teach is a mention of Athony Kronman’s new book, Education’s End: Why Our Colleges and Universities Have Given Up on the Meaning of Life (Yale, 2007), and note his thesis that colleges no longer help students to answer this biggest of big questions. However, his books falls short of endorsing professors with authority to engage the questions with the depth and personal tenacity that once underpinned all of education. He remains safe on this score, riding his work of its potency. I end this discussion with the reflections guided by the rather pensive and systematic thinker, Christopher Flannery. Aided by his co-author, Rae Wineland Newstad, they note:
However much America—and the world—needs technically skilled workers and professionals, there can be no doubt of the critically greater need for liberally educated citizens and human beings who can distinguish good from evil, justice from injustice, what is noble and beautiful from what is base and degrading. Such men and women will be fit to enjoy and confer on one another all the blessings of life that are within our power. Not just in the workplace, but in the home and the neighborhood, in the public square, the town meeting, and the church (The Liberal Arts in Higher Education (New York: University Press of America, Inc., 1998), p. 6, cf. pp. 3-23).
Well, it’s Saturday morning and I’m going to put down this pen (keyboard) and talk with an old friend—llike many of my friends, she's been dead for quite awhile. Yes, I'm finishing a classic. I'm no longer daunted by the long list of classics and/or “great books,” expecially in the light of enjoying a second time through my favorites. And given the wave of new titles, and some rather enjoyable morsels, I've learned that it's not about finishing any list, but knowing enough of the questions and responses to assist with one’s one journey--staying engaged in the Great Conversation. And, as Flannery and Newstand note, to help enhance life for those around us. This very blog site is rather flippant against any page of a great book. I hope, however, at the least it prompts to return to such a page.
What are your favorite “classics?” Any key thoughts you’ve gleaned for the book?]]>
A Real Survivor -- the Reality of an Extra Chromosometag:extra.chronicle-tribune.com,2008:/blogs/accidentalauthor//9.5432008-01-19T13:44:10Z2008-01-30T03:19:12ZThere’s a Forest Gump-ness about Joni that speaks volumes into the pages of our lives. She’s my niece, 25 years old, and at 4’2” is a waist hugger. Lean into her story with me—it’s typical of the Down syndrome world and has the uniqueness each special child brings. Joni stood at the opposite end of the crowded hallway from her special friend, Wade. In a memorable moment, the crowd parted on cue and Wade yelled in his recognizable slurred speech, “Joni Smith! Joni Smith! Will you please go to the prom with me?” The kids of Frankfort High School witnessed...Jerry Pattengalewww.indwes.edu/buckcreek
What are your observations about Down syndrome children? Any lessons learned?
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