Just Plain Bill

Hiroshima

I’m writing this blog soon after the anniversary of the Hiroshima atom bomb blast. It’s now 70+ years since that event, which is often described as “…when the world changed forever…”

I visited the Peace Memorial Park near ground zero as a 20-year old Marine, soon after arriving at my duty station at Iwakuni Japanese Naval Air Base, about 30 miles from Hiroshima. At the site, I was amazed to see a remaining structure, The Genbaku Dome, a hall designed for arts and educational exhibitions that was miraculously still standing after the blast. The detonation was the same as up to 15,000 tons of TNT, capable of “…destroying five square miles of the city.”

The mood at the memorial park, where there’s a plaque stating something to the effect,  “May we not bring this upon ourselves again,” was somber. Conversations were hushed. As a member of the U.S. military, I was introspective… even humbled.  

After I’d been in Japan for about six months, the base chapel hosted a presentation by the Hiroshima Maidens; survivors of the blast, all of whom were coping with a variety of lasting injuries, including many scars that disfigured them for life. The purpose of the presentation was to help the world better understand the horrendous and lasting impact of such a weapon.

And, that’s what it did for me.

The years since that experience have been filled with conflicting thoughts concerning peace, war, and their accompanying contradictions.  As a “hero between wars”, being of the age when our country was never fully engaged in a major conflict, I was never put into a position where I would take the life of another. This era of military service has been referred to as “winning the lottery” – a service era based on when I was born, enlisted, and separated. Interesting too, even ironic, is that I’d chosen a branch of the service known for its ability to defend our country at the highest level.

I do believe I would take a life in the defense of another, especially a family member. But in all honesty I don’t really know - and I hope I’m never forced to find out.

Not sure if that makes me a pacifist, as I am strongly against the yearning for war too many of our leaders and citizens exhibit. But I realize that there comes a time when we need to defend ourselves. I imagine that only time will tell.

Just Plain Bill

What good is a pencil without an eraser?

As I posed this question to myself, while sharpening some pencils I take to my substitute teaching assignments, I wondered – Is this a reflection of my perspective, or even my philosophy of life?

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been unsure of the accuracy of what I write down. My lack of confidence is no doubt rooted in the fact that I was a horrible speller, always needing an eraser on my pencil so I could either correct or change what I’d written. My writing materials further intensified my lack of confidence for when I was young, the paper we used was usually of newsprint quality and my erasing often led to holes in my paper. Add the fact that when our writing had to be done in ink, it was done using a pen, complete with ink well and attempted on paper over numerous scratches on every desk.

I envy those who keep a journal, especially those who do so using an ink pen. I just can’t write a page, or even a passage, without thinking I needed to “correct” something. What a shame, eh?

I was raised to respect handwriting, trying to learn to let my writing “flow”, moving my arm in a rotating pattern using the fatting part of my forearm in a flexible configuration, with properly formed letters on the page as the expected result. Of course I learned cursive writing in the third grade, using what I believe was called the Palmer method - a method I most likely resist to this day. When I pay attention to the motion and action of my arm and wrist as I write, my “method” is one that results in a combination of cursive and printed letters created by “squishing” my wrist as I write. (I’m not sure “squishing” is even a word. Where’s my eraser?)

Both my parents were born in England at the turn of the 20^th century. My mother attended school through fifth grade (quite common). My father ran away from home and did not attend school beyond second grade, at the most. My mother loved writing, and became quite proficient with calligraphy. I still have a few of her journals and notebooks, which I treasure.

I also suffered through the early years of typing with paper that was extremely hard to correct (why would I even try to use carbon paper?) That was followed by more expensive paper that was “erasable”, and then on to correction tape – I was ecstatic when IBM came out with their Selectric typewriter that allowed you to back space and “correct” your error. Then came White Out, and finally spellcheck on our computers…(oh, there’s my eraser).

So, what might be the therapy or treatment for my malady, which might be defined as a deep-seated fear of being “wrong”, or stupid, or?

Just Plain Bill

Glad I First Learned About Sports

in the “Good Old Days”

As a kid, I could name for you the starting lineup for the minor league Oakland Oaks. And except for a call-up of a few players to the majors – Billy Martin, for one – I could do that for several years.

I grew up in Oakland, California in the 40s and early 50s, when sports were much different then they are today. You may ask, “How could sports be so different in the “good old days?”

The main difference is that professional players usually stayed on one team for all, or a majority of their careers. I know this changed with the actions of Curt Flood (whom I watched play when he was in high school). Flood “… became one of the pivotal figures in the sport's labor history when he refused to accept a trade following the 1969 season, ultimately appealing his case to the U.S. Supreme Court. Although his legal challenge was unsuccessful, it brought about additional solidarity among players as they fought against baseball's reserve clause and sought free agency.” (www.wikipedia.com)

(On a side note, Flood played in the same McClymonds High School baseball outfield as Vada Pinson and Frank Robinson, all future major league all-stars. Boy, was I blessed to be able to watch those games for free!)

While free agency was a good thing for players, it led to the almost wholesale movement of players between teams, much like chess pieces in a game that’s full of chance - and a lot of guesswork. This movement has become comical, as my favorite team, the Oakland A’s, has made so many changes there are now only three players on the 25-man roster that I remember from just a year ago. I know the reason is purely financial – the A’s being the featured team in Michael Lewis’s bestseller Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game and its movie adaption. Teams have to find ways to compete on an uneven financial playing field. But having 22 members on a team be “new”? That’s a bit much. For me, loyalty to a brand is not the same as loyalty to a team. I am happy for the players, yet I yearn for the days when I could follow a team for years and know who’s who. Now, I suppose I’d be content with the same roster for a year or two.

(These major roster changes make me think of the old Abbot and Costello skit, “Who’s on First?”)

I know I’m talking like an “old timer”, even fondly remembering following teams on the radio before TV’s Game of the Week (yes, a single game a week, not all 30 teams’ every game “…subject to blackout restrictions”). I even listened to Oakland Oaks games recreated on the radio, complete with sound effects, as Bud Foster refashioned the game from the teletype! (What’s that?)

In closing, I was also blessed as an adult to be able to attend a pro football game that included the 49ers “million-dollar backfield” of Y.A. Title, Hugh McElhenny, Joe Perry, and John Henry Johnson – all future Hall of Famers.

And, I saw Bill Russell and his USF Dons in their undefeated year, paying $12 for a ticket.

Enough, old timer…

Just Plain Bill

“Give me a lever long enough…”

Archimedes has been credited with saying, “Give me a place to stand and I will move the Earth”, also translated as “Give me a place to stand and rest my lever on, and I can move the Earth.”  While the wording is somewhat different, the intent is the same, meaning – that provided the necessary resources and opportunity, one individual can change things in a major way.

Through the 2,300 hundred years since that quote from around 212 B.C., the saying was also translated later as “Give me a lever long enough, and single-handedly, I can move the world”, a phrase used in a multi-day leadership program I developed and facilitated: Leveraging Human Assets, or LHA.

The seminar included a variety of team activities requiring collaboration to solve work-related tasks and issues, complete with many competitive activities that engendered trust, while challenging assumptions, titles, and comfortable roles.

The culminating activity required participants to create an action plan establishing the value and financial impact of the five days of work. Over the eight years the program took place, the average positive financial impact stated by the managers was over one million dollars for each participant, in addition to significant efficiencies each would ultimately contribute to the company’s operations.

I personally believe in Archimedes’ statement. As I continue on my journey as a performance coach and cheerleader, I will refer back to it and recite it often while striving to maximize the capacity and increase the potential in all my students and clients.