RUGator

I got fired today. Was sort of cool.

Awaiting my loop today, Mr. Trump rode by. It IS his course, you know.

So I “pointed” to him. His response?

You got it.

I got “fired” as he pointed right back at me.

I loved it.

I loved it because he always makes time to give the caddies a friendly greeting. And to give us some good-natured teasing too.

Can’t make it up.

“Recognition is the greatest motivator.”

Gerard C. Eakdale

Reading about Penn State’s iconic coach, Joe Paterno, I learned of the “experiment” he put into place early on in his career.

That high academic standards and athletic achievement were not mutually exclusive.

Paterno himself played football as an undergraduate at Brown. His parents wanted him to go to law school. He had other plans.

And so I borrowed an idea from him.

Perhaps I could demand high achievement from my students. But how would I do this? I didn’t have the athletic fields to reinforce any classroom ideas I might try out on them.

So I stumbled upon something else.

As a first year classroom survival technique, I got to know my kids. What made them tick? Where were they from? Who were their parents? What if I put them (the kids) first and not the “material?” It’s all I had. I didn’t know any better.

Show them that you love and respect them and they’ll run through walls for you. That popped into my head. I was on the look out for ways to recognize them.

Nicknames, likes, friends, aptitudes, eye-contact, accountability, one on one conversations, listening more than speaking.

In short: THEM.

Simple.

Not easy.

But, it works.

Can you do that?

Put others first. Listen more than you speak. Build others up. Hard work. Persistence. A positive attitude.

It never ends. Isn’t easy. Preaching to myself. Constant reminding.

It keeps me up at night.

And gets me up in the morning.

Virtue. Diligence. Brotherly love.

Those three words were (are) our “cardinal principles.” At the time, I thought I knew what they meant.

I had no idea.

Almost thirty years later, I’ve come to a better understanding.

One of my Sigma Phi Epsilon brothers has come upon some severe life difficulties. And while I don’t need to elaborate, it’ll suffice to say that he needs our help.

An email was sent out to my fraternity brothers outlining his plight. The responses? “What does he need? Where do I send the check? What else can I do?”

Every one of them.

Without question.

From men I grew up with.

Thirty years ago.

Virtue. Diligence. Brotherly love.

While on the range awaiting my loop, I spotted the Ping representative setting up for a “demo day.” I offered to help him bring his equipment (bags filled with clubs) from his van to the driving range.

“Hey, I know you,” I called out.

And I did.

At least I remembered him.

Many years ago, he worked for Top-Flite Golf. I introduced myself to him one day while he was stocking the pro shop at another club. I sort of felt sorry for him because not many players were using Top-Flite golf balls. I did because I’ve always been a contrarian.

He gave me a dozen of my favorite golf balls. He told me that his job working for Spalding (which was on the verge of bankruptcy) was very stressful. He was hoping to find another position in the golf business for a more profitable company. The prospects didn’t seem too promising.

As a thank you, I sent him a copy of “Leadership for Leaders,” a book generously passed on to me from one of my mentors (Homer Rice, the book’s author). The book had helped me find my way.

Today he reminded me, “You sent me the book. You’re a teacher, right?”

And I left the golf course later with a brand new Ping hat.

I read somewhere that when a plane is in flight, it’s basically off course most of time. But its radar system, knowing its destination, continually makes the proper adjustments to get it back on track and ultimately to where it’s going.

And with us too?

In December of 1994, I was that plane.

In a bookstore, I happened upon “Coaching Football” by Tom Flores and Bob O’Connor. I was going somewhere yet nowhere. In chapter 2, entitled “Why We Play the Game,” there’s a section devoted to an overview of how Homer C. Rice (former Georgia Tech athletic director and college and professional coach) talks about how he went from dirt poverty to those lofty postions. I was intrigued. He discussed the role that football played in his success, how the game taught him to overcome adversity, and how to set goals. I was motivated to reach out to him, so I wrote him a letter.

He responded by sending me a very personal letter and a book that he had written called “The Attitude Technique.” This book became my “radar system” as I, with blind faith, implemented the practices that he used to successfully transform his life. He also mentioned another book which his father had given to him when he was a young boy. That book was called “I Dare You,” by William Danforth (the founder of The Ralston Purina Company). “I Dare You” is about how to live the “Four Square Life” (and if you ever buy any product made by Purina, you’ll notice that the company’s logo is the “four square checkerboard.”) That checkerboard is based on Danforth’s “four square” philosophy for living. After more letter writing to other coaches, I was astonished to discover that many of these same coaches had used Rice’s “Attitude Technique” as part of their team’s overall football program.

Both books and the subsequent correspondence I had with Homer Rice, literally changed my life. Since then, I have purchased multiple copies of “I Dare You” which I give to my students to read on a rotating basis. Every student gets one week to read the book, sign and date it upon completion, and return it to me to pass along to the next pair of students to read.

So “I Dare You.” If not now, when. Remember this: all can, some will, but most won’t. Which group are you in?

When she was in seventh grade, Noel told me she wanted to be a teacher. It was an exercise we did each year. Writing down your goals, that is.

Someone had taught me, so I blindly followed his advice. What did I have to lose? Already I was broke. No degree in hand, I had practically flunked out of college.

Now (then), I sat alone with a piece of yellow legal paper. I did what I thought I was supposed to do. Putting my head down, I ran hard and scared. For two years.

He was right.

I have the letter he sent in my binder. If he could know how he continues to inspire others. My students now. While he goes on, so do I. He walks with me though. He’s a coach and a teacher. He taught me with one condition: treat others as you wish to be treated. It’s written on my desk. For my kids to see. More importantly, it’s written in my heart.

And so they’d write down their hopes and dreams. And they’d do it just like I was taught to do. And they’d doubt too. But I could speak now with a passion burned in from experience. From failure. And heartache. And continued self-doubt. But I had something to hold on to. And that would change things.

Then in eighth grade, she’d tell me again how she wanted to teach. Again, she’d write it down. On a piece of paper. Dated and signed. So many years ago.

Coming back to see me years later, now a junior in high school, she’d tell me that it would be “early decision” she’d seek. All her eggs in one basket. “If not you, than who?” (and a good thing she couldn’t see me crossing my fingers too).

You know the rest?…

“Mr. C., I got in! Can you believe it? I actually got in. I am going to be a teacher!”

(I couldn’t help but go back to that day in ‘98 when I’d be asked, “Why would anyone want to be a teacher?” Would she know the answer now? Could she ever know?)

So today, coming into school, I’d stop to get my mail in my box. I’d see Gabby, the little first grader who was dropped off each day for “morning care.” She’d look at me like I had all the answers. With a smile on her face that could (and would) remind me of the answers that I continue to look for (maybe she wants to be a teacher?) Getting down on one knee, I’d give her the “high five” that the two of us tacitly agreed to give each other every time we meet. I’d tell her that she had a gift. And give her a wink.

Then putting down the mail, a letter of reference fell to the floor. It was for Noel.

She’s applying for a teaching position. At my school. Our school. And she wanted her teacher to vouch for her.

Brushing the tears aside and all alone, I filled it out.

Welcome home, Noel. Thank you.

Just staying afloat has been difficult enough. Making it to the other shore?

That’s another matter.

Mrs. Polovina was handing back our anatomy tests. She made a point of telling the class that most of us had done a lousy job.

“Most of you failed,” she said. “I’m very disappointed in these scores.”

Making my way up the long aisle to get mine, I readied myself for a red “F.” Instead, a “C” brought a bit of a relieved grin to my face.

Turning around to walk back to my seat, my steps were halted by her call of, “Just a minute, Michael.”

“What’s the matter,” I asked.

“Your grade?” she questioned.

“I got a C. Most of the class failed, you said.”

“Yes,” she quietly affirmed, “but I expect more from you.”

And almost thirty years later, I would find my role reversed.

Sitting down next to me, Alyssa had her head down. One of my most reliable students, she had just finished her test. “I know I didn’t do very well, Mr. C,” she announced with a tear streaming down her cheek.

An 86.

“Not your best effort?”

And so I recounted my 11th grade anatomy test story knowing too, that that same message Mrs. Polovina had relayed to me so many years ago, would have a similar effect on this future teacher.

According to former Green Bay Packer great, Paul Hourning, there were two “times,” when playing for coach Vince Lombardi.

Regular time vs. “Lombardi Time.”

Regular time was what most people followed.

Lombardi Time was always fifteen minutes earlier. And it was adhered to by winners.

If a Packer meeting was scheduled to begin at 8:00 am, astute players would know to arrive and be ready to go at 7:45 am.

Every time.

http://www.amazon.com/WHEN-PRIDE-STILL-MATTERED-Lombardi/dp/0684844184

Democracy rules on the first tee of every golf course.

It doesn’t matter who you are. I know because I’ve witnessed it first hand as a caddy. And I know it too as a player.

I’ve seen some of the most successful people from all walks of life alone on that first tee. I’ve seen some of the best players in the world on that first tee too. And they all have to go through the same things. The mental side of the game. The physical part. And the emotional side also.

It’s a game played inside the head.

It doesn’t matter what brings you there. You still have to face yourself. Alone. Over the ball.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes you succeed. Sometimes you fail. But always you have to move on.

It’s sort of like life.

That’s why golf is the best game.

A dope rhyme has been loosely defined (by me) as a “sick style of rhyming.” And so…

“The ideals which have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been Kindness, Beauty, and Truth. The trite subjects of human efforts, possessions, outward success, luxury have always seemed to me contemptible.” –Albert Einstein                           

Refreshing isn’t it, to see so many people only now clamoring for a return to service toward others. Now that the state of our nation’s collective health is deteriorating, everyone is having a mutual epiphany.

Yet what about the people who have been living with this mindset for their whole lives?

Nurses, firefighters, teachers, care providers, and other service-oriented people in this country (and around the world) already know this truth.