Point of View

Mickey Mouse on the Wing by George Merrill

September 15, 2019 by George R. Merrill Leave a Comment

A little bug lives around my porch. He looks like a fly, but just barely. He’s fun to watch.

His body is smooth. It’s without the hair common to flies and he’s shaped shiny and sinuous like the body of an ant and about as big. His proboscis is long considering his overall size. He’s always walking around looking for something.

While looking around, his wings will extend outward and expose large distinctive black circles at their tips. His wings look like Mickey Mouse’s ears.

He’ll often light on me to just explore the contours of my skin. He stumbles through the hair on my arm, like an expeditionary force forging paths through dense jungle undergrowth.

I was lying in the sun one day and he landed on the top of my hand. It’s mostly hairless, so he moved around easily. He got to my index finger, walked to and fro on it finally arriving at the tip and settling on my fingernail. It must have seemed like a clearing. The cuticle especially interested him. I noticed his proboscis and how he used it to examine the cuticle. He placed it like a blind man uses his cane, tapping the terrain ahead to get the lay of the land. He was checking out every millimeter.

What was he looking for? I will never know, of course, but it might be that the search was sufficient for him. Just exploring a new neighborhood was enough.

What are any of us looking for? In a manner of speaking, we have very long proboscises. We have investigated everything in and out of sight, from the composition of DNA to the outer reaches of space. However, nothing sates us very long; whatever we find isn’t what we want. I think we’re looking for nourishment; I believe it’s food for the soul.

I’m persuaded that a compulsive appetite for more is driven by the thrill of acquisition, not the value of the object sought. Just getting something is the nature of that kind of game.

There’s another kind of search, though. This search is for no other reason than the sheer joy of it.

A man who does yard work will occasionally bring his young son with him. The boy is about five. One day the man appeared with two boys, his son and the son’s older cousin.

The dad began his chores. The boys began roaming the property. They’d pass by my studio windows the way I’ve seen squirrels, darting from one thing to the next, as if scouring the ground for morsels. In this case, they were (they’d tell us later) in the search of treasures.

At times they looked like string-puppets, their limbs twitching, heads wagging as though they were affixed to invisible strings dictating their motions.

The older boy was clearly the leader. Whither he went, the younger happily followed. Everywhere they roamed, the older one shepherded him, like a mentor, showing and sharing with him all the mysteries he uncovered in our front yard. Follow the leader, unpopular today, was a good thing in this case.

They romped back and forth past my window. The object of one sortie was the magnolia tree, particularly the seed pods, the remains of the spent blossoms which had fallen on the bed of river rocks arranged around its base. They picked the pods up, scrutinized them briefly, and then held them as if emulating flight, perhaps of a dirigible, making sounds I couldn’t make out. Tiring of this, they threw them like miniature footballs out onto the yard.

The boys were the icons of perpetual motion.

The trust the younger felt for the older was apparent and no matter what new thing they came upon, the older immediately enlisted the younger in exploring it with him. I was especially moved by this; perhaps for feeling jaded in this era of ours that seems to be wanting in the kind of leadership that invites partnership and particularly communicates caring.

My wife invited them into the house. But, no! They were content to stay outdoors. It was a wide and wonderful world out there in the yard, too much so for them to be confined indoors.

The boys invited her to join them at the shoreline. They’d unearthed a treasure they were eager to have her see.

The treasure turned out to be a rock. It was unremarkable except that it appeared to have been sliced clean in half, revealing a marvelous interior. Perhaps an agate, a geode? In either case its bland gray exterior belied the rich hues of the interior, like colored crystals, which if you were to turn the stone in the light, the colors appeared to glow.

The boys asked if they might take home the treasures. Of course, they could.

Familiarity breeds unawareness. We stop looking. In fact, there is so much that has been staring you and me in the face that we never really see. Children don’t miss a thing. Turn them loose and they’re sure to widen our horizons. They remain awe-stricken by the world. It’s a great place to just explore.

In their search, the boys had discovered the magnolia’s seed pod stems. The magnolia stands right outside my studio window. For 30 years I watched it bloom and then drop its leaves and eventually its seed pods. Feel the stems, they insisted. It fascinated them. The stem was soft and velvety to the touch. I, too, was fascinated by its peculiar property.

What I had been caught up in with the boys’ visit was the ‘joie de vivre’ they possessed, that magical excitement that’s generated in the experience of just searching – just looking around a place – for the first time.

Children seek with fresh minds, with curiosity devoid of preconditioned ideas or prejudices which inevitably are the fruits of aging. Imagine seeing something for the very first time, maybe the lunar eclipse, and since you and I may have had no history with it, the seeing contains a purity of excitement that’s rare in the adult world.

For all that, I decided that the best kinds of seeking we’ll ever do is the kind that has no agenda, no need for an acquisition. I suspect my little friend with wings like mickey Mouse’s ears, was all over my arm and hand just for the fun of it, nothing more than curiosity about this strange humanoid who occupies the porch and has hairy arms and fingernails as smooth as glass.

The wisdom in all this is that when the search itself is enough, then we find what we’re looking for.

Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal Church priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality: Reflections: Psychological and Spiritual Images of the Heart and The Bay of the Mother of God: A Yankee Discovers the Chesapeake Bay. He is a native New Yorker, previously directing counseling services in Hartford, Connecticut, and in Baltimore. George’s essays, some award winning, have appeared in regional magazines and are broadcast twice monthly on Delmarva Public Radio.

College Admissions and the American Dream by J.E. Dean

September 11, 2019 by J.E. Dean Leave a Comment

More than a few leaders in academia are nervous about the on-going college admissions scandal. Rich and privileged parents, including actress Felicity Huffman, paid thousands of dollars to get their kids into elite colleges. The scandal has focused on Rick Singer, a “consultant” who employed a variety of tactics, including arranging for private proctors to abet cheating on the SAT, bribing coaches to support special admissions based on false claims of athletic excellence, and using “donations” in exchange for the waiver of admissions standards. All pretty bad, but it might not be the biggest worry for academia. The overall admissions process is dysfunctional and in need of reform.

Partially as a result of the Singer case, how colleges select students for admission is under increasing scrutiny. This started long before the current scandal. Legacy admissions, a practice that gives preference to the offspring of alumni, has been under attack for more than a decade. Other preferences, such as rewarding donors with special consideration for applicants, are also under attack. Proposed solutions include cutting off federal funds.

College leaders, especially at elite private institutions, are watching closely. All admissions standards not based on merit are under scrutiny. These include not only legacy admissions, but preferences for athletes, offspring of staff and faculty members, and even celebrities. In all these cases, the assumption is that the system works to the benefit of wealthy, probably white, students to the detriment of more meritorious students.

One can hope that the prosecution of Mr. Singer and the parents involved in the current scandal will increase the integrity of the process. Unfortunately, even if that happens, and even if other minor reforms are made, the bias of the current system will remain. Simply put, bright but disadvantaged students must have the same chances of winning admission to elite colleges as students without those disadvantages.

The current system, using SAT scores, grades, and extra-curricular activities as heavily weighted criteria excludes many gifted students. For a fair system, the weight given these criteria needs to change, by adding new criteria or adjusting current ones. The personal circumstances of individual students, such as the quality of the schools they attended, the ability of their parents to facilitate involvement in athletics or community activities, and even things like access to adequate nutrition and health care, somehow should be added to the mix. This is not an easy fix, but one worth exploring.

Importantly, some of these issues are already on the radar screen. Progress has already been made. The College Board, for example, has adopted an “adversity score” to adjust outcomes based on identifiable factors that might cause students to score lower on the exam as a result. Many colleges are also increasing the qualitative examination of applicants, a process which, if employed with integrity, will go a long way to making the process more equitable.

Also, in considering college opportunity and success, the fact that low-income students are succeeding in college in increasing numbers should be remembered. Many students also assume that getting into an elite college is essential to success in life. It isn’t. For many students there are hundreds of great colleges that in many cases may provide an individual student with an equally good or better education than they would have gotten at one of the so-called elite schools. Examples are easy to find.

While progress is being made, the admissions process remains in need of fundamental reform. The need is urgent. Each year another cohort of high school graduates must live with the current system. Are there any quick fixes out there without the pitfalls inherent in developing more complicated formulas for evaluating students? Is more radical reform worth a look? Can it be done without increasing federal intrusion into the governance of institutions of higher education, something that could arguably undermine the uniqueness or excellence of some institutions? For example, the “elite” nature of Harvard and similar schools is arguably as much a matter of the composition of the student body as it is of the quality of the faculty. Would Harvard be Harvard without it’s “cream of the crop” student body?

Clearly, reform will be complicated and controversial. Despite that, one can hope that the college admissions scandal will prompt more serious, comprehensive, efforts to make college admissions more equitable. Work needs to be expedited, pursued with urgency and involve the key stakeholders, especially students, academia, and taxpayers.

It’s time to support the American Dream by making college admissions fair.

J.E. Dean of Oxford is a retired attorney and public affairs consultant. He is a former counsel to the House Committee on Education and Labor. For more than 30 years, he advised clients on federal education and social service policy. He is the former chairman of the National College Access Network (NCAN), a group promoting success in higher education among underrepresented groups, and KnowledgeWorks Foundation, a national leader in strategic foresight and education innovation

Out and About (Sort of): Remembering, Reacting by Howard Freedlander

September 10, 2019 by Howard Freedlander Leave a Comment

Eighteen years ago tomorrow, our homeland was attacked by terrorist hijackers who crashed American passenger planes into the World Trade Center towers in New York City, the Pentagon and a farm field in Shanksville, PA. It was an unforgettable and unforgivable day in our history.

Loss of lives totaled nearly 3,000. Loss of a sense of security in our nation was incalculable.

I lost a friend and lacrosse teammate that day. His name was Michael San Phillip. He was working on the 104th floor in the second tower as an investment adviser for a small firm, Sandler, O’Neill. On the clear blue day, 83 people reported to work that day; 66 never returned home to family and friends.

Mike, whom his fraternity brothers and teammates called “Sal,” was a football player turned lacrosse defenseman. A steady performer, he was well-liked. After graduation in May 1967, I never saw him again.

When I learned of Sal’s death, I had just become president of my class at the University of Pennsylvania. I knew I wanted to do something to memorialize an unfortunate victim of a heinous, cleverly planned assault on America and its national psyche.

I decided that a scholarship in his name would be a positive reaction to a horrendous act of war. Fortunately, I was able to persuade the university and the powers-to-be in my class to support the fundraising necessary to create a meaningful memorial to my teammate.

The next step was to meet with the family to gain its endorsement of a scholarship, since I knew we would have to gear up a significant awareness campaign among my 1,400 classmates. So, accompanied by a staffer in Penn’s development office, I drove in January 2002 to Ridgewood, NJ, one of several communities in the northern part of the state that sends a horde of communities daily to work in New York City.

We had lunch with Mike’s widow and youngest daughter. We learned that Sal was one of 13 Ridgewood residents who did not return home on Sept. 11, 2001. We learned that Lynn and Carrie had collected his wallet in January 2002 from a police precinct. I wondered how a person’s wallet could have survived a fiery death. I learned that Mike didn’t like to carry his wallet with him and had put it in a desk drawer.

Lynn requested that the scholarship be directed to scholar-athletes, since she knew how much he loved sports. I thought the request was reasonable and hoped that the university would agree. It did.

Fast forward to 2019, and we have raised nearly $900,000 in market value for this endowed memorial fund. The school distributes proceeds to three recipients every year. Once a year, I meet these incredible young men and women at an annual scholarship celebration. Jill Abbott, Mike’s oldest daughter, joins me, along with her daughter, Mickey (Michelle), named after the grandfather she never knew.

I tell this story, because it represents my little effort to do something positive amid the ramifications of a terrible tragedy. When I was promoting the new scholarship to my classmates—only a few of whom would have known Mike San Phillip—I used the pitch that perhaps, just perhaps, one of the San Phillip Memorial Scholarship recipients might be able to help find a solution to the deep-seated hatred and estrangement that motivated terrorists to destroy 3,000 lives and instill fear and trepidation among Americans as they gather in densely populated venues.

My idealism may have been misplaced 18 years ago. But, as I wrote, I had to find a way to react positively to an event that still sickens me. I was in a position to take action that would provide hope, not just for me but my classmates—and the stricken San Phillip family.

Though raising hundreds of thousands of dollars from generous classmates has been challenging, I have considered the effort one of the most worthwhile in my life. I mourned like many. I was agitated like most. And I was determined to find some glimmer of redemption amid horror and hatefulness.

Another deeply satisfying aspect of helping to create and sustain a fund for good was observing the response of a 9/11 victim’s loved ones. Jill, who lives in Wilmington, DE, was a source of strength throughout the process. To observe her as she talks every year with the scholarship recipients and exhibits genuine interest in them allows me to take even greater pride in the San Phillip fund.

Jill and I make sure that the more than dozen recipients over 18 years know something about her father, and why the scholarship was created. We hope they understand, but can’t be sure. We hope they will try to make this world a little better.

Centuries-old animosities are difficult to extinguish. Death of Michael San Phillip by terrorists committed to human destruction has enabled a glimmer of hope.

That’s my dream.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

Fit for a Queen by Jamie Kirkpatrick

September 10, 2019 by Jamie Kirkpatrick 1 Comment

Our porch swing gave up the ghost over the weekend. I like to think it had a long and happy life. Once, it must have graced someone’s porch up county for a decade or two before my wife eyed it in a little antique shop nearly eight years ago. Despite its shabby chic condition, it was love at first sight; the only problem was the shop was closed. I stole away the next day and bought it to surprise her. When I returned home with it, you would have thought I had brought her the holy grail.

That swing was the little grace note that floated above the score of our porch and animated it. On spring evenings, summer days, or autumn mornings; with a good book, a cup of coffee, or a glass of wine; that sweet little swing held my wife in the palm of its gentle hand. Her feet just brushed the floor as she read or needlepointed, talked on her phone, or engaged a passerby in light conversation. It kept her secrets, comforted her pain, and amplified her laughter. She might share it with a friend for a moment or two, but make no mistake: it was her realm. No one else ever looked quite right there.

It was a common enough piece of porch furniture: all slats and screws and eye hooks and chains with a worn, grey patina and an occasional little squeak that a drop of WD40 would silence like morning fog. Over the years, it had seen a few close calls but with yet another infusion of cash and careful attention from handy friends, it would recover and begin again thanks to some new hardware or brace or fresh coat of paint. Like an old grandfather clock, it marked the hours of our days and the seasons of our years so when the deathblow finally came with a loud crack under the bottom of a large friend last Friday evening, time came to a crashing stop. The next morning in better light, a cursory examination revealed the deadly fault. I called the swing doctor and held my breath.

He came right away to examine the patient. He probed and poked and scowled. Like the surgeon who trudges down the dim hospital hallway with bad news for the waiting family, he shook his head. “I could fix it…again,” he said, “but the wood’s all soft and rotted. I think it’s time for a new swing.” My wife looked at me. I looked at the swing doctor. “You sure?” I said. He just nodded.

Life, as always, must go on. We mourned then we measured and set out on a Saturday pilgrimage. At our first stop, there was a potential candidate but the color wasn’t right and then another choice but the shape was all wrong. We weren’t going to settle for just any old swing; we were determined to find the perfect new swing. It was a beautiful September day and neither my wife nor I could contemplate her not having a new perch by nightfall. “Call Backyard Billie,” I suggested.

You may not know Backyard Billie. It’s not a person, it’s a place, the Shangri-la of outdoor furniture. It may not have much in the way of antique charm, but it has nearly everything else: Adirondack chairs, patio sets, a chaise for lounging by the pool, if you happen to have a pool. If there were a new porch swing anywhere in the nearby vicinity—and not all that ‘nearby,’ mind you—Backyard Billie is where it would be. My wife called and explained the object of our desire. I just listened. “You do?” she said into the phone, hope surging back into her voice like the tide. “Can you text me a picture?” We waited several minutes. Her phone dinged. “Let’s go!” she said.

We had already begun to consider our two options: wood was less expensive but resin lasts forever and with minimal maintenance, to boot. No garish colors, just basic white. Height of back and depth of seat were important factors: it had to fit her like comfortable shoes. That’s a tall order for a short girl but we were optimistic. We had seen a candle burning in the darkness.

I won’t bore you with the details. Or with the cost. The most important news is that we have a new swing, one that will likely outlast us and the probably the next generation, too. Even the swing doctor—a wood purist—admired it. It fills the old space perfectly. It gleams white; even the new chains glisten. Its most important feature, however, is that it looks and feels like it was built for a queen, my queen, the queen of the front porch.

We gently set the old swing, chains and all, on the curb with a sign saying “Free to a good home.” By morning, it was gone.

The swing is dead. Long live the swing!

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer with homes in Chestertown and Bethesda. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy magazine. “A Place to Stand,” a book of photographs and essays about Landon School, was published by the Chester River Press in 2015. A collection of his essays titled “Musing Right Along” was published in May 2017; a second volume of Musings entitled “I’ll Be Right Back” was released in June 2018. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.com

An Immense Journey by George Merrill

September 8, 2019 by George R. Merrill Leave a Comment

On the short walk to my studio at night, I’ll often look up to see the stars. It’s not some deep soul-searching thing – it doesn’t start that way, anyway – it’s usually an inconsequential glimpse to see ‘what’s up,’ up there.

Casual glimpses may become a soul-searching thing. It did one night.

The night was clear. The oppressive humidity had gone from the air, and the atmosphere was as transparent as glass. The stars were radiant; pure and glistening, the way jewelers speak of their finest diamonds as being of the “first water.” That’s a jeweler’s way of saying the diamonds are as pure and clear as a dew drop. Seeing stars on such nights as these, always stirs this recurring thought: the stars may have died billions of years ago, but their light continues on as if what flame they once generated was destined to continue through the universe and live forever. Light has a destiny. We have a destiny.

I like the thought.

Do you suppose that this is the way it is to be for us, too? The light, that life force that sets us into motion illumines the small circumference that our lives inscribe. Its beams continue beyond that circle into eternity even after we’ve ceased to generate light.

I reckon that’s why the universe is so inconceivably large – so that all the energy ever generated can continue on, unimpeded, and have a space to be accommodated as it continues on its journey. Fanciful to be sure and hardly scientific, but I believe it works something like that.

That our life force, once aglow, continues shining through the books whose authors are long gone; or in other ancient writings and scrolls, in architecture and the various artistic creations that we have unearthed from antiquity. But I mean something even beyond that.

It’s common to hear and read about light and it’s peculiar, almost magical properties, this stuff of the beginning of the universe. This was the essence of the big bang that produced all the building blocks of the created universe. For sure, in the beginning was light and it illuminated the whole universe. There was also a lot of noise, a big bang, actually.

I’ve read several theories about how light behaves and about its place in the created order, but little about sound and its role in creation. Our beginnings are called the big bang. I recall no commentary on just what the sound of it may have been like.

As I write, I’m listening to Louis Armstrong singing ‘It’s a wonderful world.’ It’s broadcasting from my Echo. To hear music, I need only to make a request out loud: “Alexa” I say, “play Satchmo.”

I imagine it’s like God saying, let there be music, and suddenly there it is.

Alexa’s pretty responsive. However, when I ask her for selections from Beethoven she comes up with the most dreadful music and I can find no reason, acoustically, for the confusion. I imagine she’s not always playing with all her chips. But when she’s on, she’s on.

Discounting sound’s import may have begun long ago when the big bang happened. There was no atmosphere and no way sound could be transmitted. If there was any sound (there had to have been) only God heard it. Strangely, he didn’t think enough of it to comment. He was definitely partial to light. When God finished the work of creation, it was “everything that he saw that he had made and behold it was very good.” It was clear that he liked what he saw. Whatever he heard, it wasn’t anything he thought was worth mentioning.

Sound, like light is a phenomenon of vibration, subatomic waves. Isn’t it possible that every time we open our mouths or play an instrument, cry out in joy or in wail in suffering, these vibrations, like light, find their way into the universe? Wouldn’t they continue on the immense journey to a destination we can only imagine? Traditionally, we think of prayer that way, but with this caveat; that our voices are supposed to wind up in God’s hearing. There is a lot of controversy about that very issue, particularly about voices not being heard, such as victims of gross injustice so common today.

In fact, echoes from the beginning of time do exist today in audible although very humble forms – static heard over some television screens and other electronic transmissions.

Madeleine L’Engle, reflecting on faith and art, tells this remarkable story.

In one of the early space explorations, the astronauts in orbit reported hearing some “old time” nostalgic music over their speakers. They enjoyed it, but wondered where it came from. They assumed NASA had aired it for their listening pleasure. The astronauts radioed the people at NASA thanking them. NASA responded saying they knew nothing about it. Their curiosity aroused, NASA began some preliminary investigations to try to identify what the astronauts may have heard. Their search included identifying any broadcasting stations that may have aired the kind of music the astronauts reported hearing. They found none. They went back in time to see if some earlier broadcasts may have made their way into space. Their research revealed that the particular program broadcasting the music had been aired sometime in the later nineteen thirties.

“Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him,” St. Paul once wrote as he stood awed at the majesty of creation. He was stunned by the sheer wonder of what’s sublime in the mundane, the glory in the ordinary. He expresses this awe and wonder beautifully in the context of his Christian faith. I think his vision applies well outside this context and has been expressed from the beginning of human existence, typically in music and art. It finds its expression in unexpected ways from the most unlikely people.

The stogy Anglican bishop of Birmingham, England was asked once what he thought was the most magnificent hymn ever written.

“Louis Armstrong singing, ‘What a Wonderful World’,” he replied in a heartbeat.

In the lyrics, Armstrong sings about what he sees, like, “trees of green, red roses too… skies of blue and clouds of white.” He also sings about what he hears – the sounds of common life – like people extending a greeting, “how do you do” or whispering, “I love you.”

This universe shimmers with light; but it also vibrates with sound, sounds like the liquid gravel voice of the one and only ‘Satchmo.’ He’s long gone, but his voice continues to be heard. The author of the music has expired, but the tones that emanated from him live on to bring us joy and send light into our lives.

Beto and the F-Bomb by Al Sikes

September 7, 2019 by Al Sikes 4 Comments

Pardon my obsolete reference. I am asked from time to time (not often) about what was accomplished during the period I chaired the Federal Communications Commission (FCC).

Always I talk about encouraging and facilitating the transition from analog to digital communications. Not infrequently, however, the lingering historical connection is with Howard Stern.

Stern had a morning show on radio and failed to find anything humorous outside of sex. His best ratings came from pre-pubescent males. I initiated proceedings against him for violating anti-obscenity laws that were in place to protect children. I became a frequent target on his show; at one point he hoped I wouldn’t recover from cancer surgery.

Okay, I get it. This brief chapter is more interesting, if less consequential than technology transactions. Or is it? Did Stern’s sexual repartee with his fall girl, Robin, have any effect on male sensibilities?

Or, on Beto O’Rourke, who has lugged the F word into politics from somewhere. Or, on a culture that to Beto’s mind will find the adjective unobjectionable or at least non fatal to his political ambitions.

Before my knee talked back, I enjoyed downhill skiing. Then I took up the cross-country kind. I, of course, knew the characteristics of gravity, but got a lesson in the dynamics of pleasure. Downhill was more fun.

I am coming around to believing that contemporary culture is similarly affected. Comedy writers lead the way — politics follows. If there are serious philosophers today I wonder what they think? Or, will anybody care?

Al Sikes is the former Chair of the Federal Communications Commission under George H.W. Bush. Al recently published Culture Leads Leaders Follow published by Koehler Books.

Memories of the Heart

September 6, 2019 by Spy Desk Leave a Comment

I listened to my heart his summer as I was reflecting upon the best word to hold before the Kent School community for the upcoming academic year. As a serious French student in high school and college, the words of a French proverb resonated with me. La gratitude est la mémoire du coeur – Gratitude is the memory of the heart. Many of you know that I am an avid Twitter-er. Each morning and each night Lin-Manuel Miranda, creator of the musical Hamilton, writes a short rap for his numerous Twitter followers. On July 16, I started my day with the following, it touched my heart, and in that moment I knew what my word would be.

“Gmorning.

Double down on listening.

Double down on humility.

Double down on what’s enough.

Double down on gratitude.”

I have chosen GRATEFUL as my word for this academic year. GRATEFUL inspires me for many reasons. Defined as thankful, or feeling or showing appreciation for kindness, I believe that true gratitude is the springboard to both character and success.

There are many benefits to having a GRATEFUL heart. Recent studies have shown that gratitude is linked to reduced anxiety and depression, improved sleep, higher life satisfaction, and better overall health. Gratitude also helps rewire the brain. Research in mind, brain and education science shows that the emotion of gratefulness provides a positive and supportive attitude towards others and a feeling of relief from stressors. For all of us, practicing gratitude promotes feelings of self worth and compassion for others, and makes us happier.

For students and educators at Kent School, we will share those things for which we are grateful in a daily gratitude journal, which everyone received as a gift on Tuesday. I am looking forward to writing my daily entry. There is always something for which we can, and should, be GRATEFUL. Whether it is the sunrise on your school campus, the joyful laughter of students, the dedication of teachers and administrators, the quiet time during OTTER – Our Time To Enjoy Reading, or simply the happiness you feel at work, being GRATEFUL makes us appreciate all of the little things that comprise a purposeful life.

I am GRATEFUL for my family each and every day. Last weekend, my final summer hurrah, was also Jim’s birthday. Kelsy came from Nashville (with Steven and their dog, Otis) and Jenna from Baltimore to share in a birthday crab feast with Jim’s sisters, their spouses, and friends. It was chaotic, loud, crowded, and so much fun! I am GRATEFUL for each dish I loaded into the dishwasher, knowing a favorite meal was enjoyed. I am GRATEFUL for each wine glass I washed by hand, thinking about the conversations that happened while holding those glasses. I am GRATEFUL for each sunset we shared on the dock and tried to capture in photographs. I am GRATEFUL for each towel I washed on Monday after the house fell silent. And, I am so GRATEFUL to begin my fourth year as Head of Kent School.

Memories of the heart are the best.

Nancy Mugele is the Head of School at Kent School in Chestertown, a member of the Board of the Association of Independent Maryland and DC Schools, a member of the Board of Horizons of Kent and Queen Anne’s, a member of the Board of Chesapeake Charities, and a member of the Education Committee of Sultana Education Foundation.

The Flip Side of Honesty

September 4, 2019 by Craig Fuller Leave a Comment

A while ago, a good friend became the victim of deception. It involved a work situation. Everyone involved knew each other. I came to know the facts but was troubled and puzzled about how relationships were put at risk when a few people decided not to speak truthfully about leaked information and contact with a journalist. So, I dug deeper to understand deception.

I guess the good news is that we humans are hardwired to believe what we are being told. If it was otherwise, we would exist in an even more hostile environment.

The bad news is that deception has reached near epidemic proportions according to the experts. And, the workplace is one of the hotbeds of deception. In fact, most tend to be more honest with strangers than those with whom they work and live.

Research suggests that many of us encounter nearly 200 lies a day…yes, a day.

How is that possible you say. Well, here are some of the statistics that got my attention:

One in four Americans believes it’s okay to lie to an insurer.
One-third of all resumes contain false information.
One in five employees says he/she is aware of fraud in their workplace.
More than three-quarters of lies go undetected.
Deception costs businesses $944 billion per year.

All this from the book, LIESPOTTING, by Pamela Myer.

So, deception is well beyond the big news stories of politicians misrepresenting the truth or people stealing millions through investment fraud. It is all around us. Oh, and consider this: it’s not like a person is either a deceiver or a truth teller. We all engage in deception from time to time.

And, why?

Figuring out what motivates deception really is the first step in rebuilding trust. And, having a group of people – or maybe just one other person – where trust is an absolute given brings all kinds of advantages.

The research considers how to define a lie. The definition offered: A message knowingly transmitted to another person with the intent to foster false beliefs or conclusions and without prior notification of purpose.

But, they go further to actually define the nine primary reasons people engage in a deception:

To obtain a reward not otherwise easily available;

To gain an advantage over another person or situation;

To create a positive impression / win admiration;
To exercise power over others by controlling information;
To avoid being punished or avoid embarrassment;
To protect another person;
To protect yourself from harm;
To get out of an awkward situation;
To maintain privacy.

Recognize these? I do.

And, recognizing “motive” is the first step in liespotting. It turns out that in the process of deceiving, people actually do things that the experts refer to as a “tell.” And, learning to spot tells has tangible benefits whether you are negotiating a business deal or just coping with everyday situations in life.

I will leave the lessons in liespotting to the experts in the book. I’ve also included a video from a Ted Talk by the author, Pamela Meyer, which is both entertaining and educational. And, there are many other experts with books and videos about how to spot deception.

My point is this, deception has real consequences. If the experts are correct that, while it has always existed, today we have a virtual deception epidemic; then, we should all work to slow if not reverse something so corrosive to discourse.

There are some clues into how we might go about this task. And, they go to the heart of the problem.

It turns out that when people are face to face about 80% of communication occurs through non-verbal forms of communications. A full 65% has to do with body language.

So, when we flash text messages and emails to communicate to someone right down the hall, we are stripping away for the sender and the receiver the very vital elements of effective communication….the 80% that’s non-verbal. Now, if you want to deceive, this is a real advantage. But, if you really want to better understand someone and effectively discourage deception, get into a face to face situation.

Throughout the human experience, relationships were built on face to face communication. Only recently has virtual communication overwhelmed conversation face to face. While it is not feasible to end our virtual dependence, just don’t let it be the sole method of communication between people that matter at work or at home.

We clearly need added balance. Today, more than 210 billion email messages are sent in a single day. And, to put that in perspective, it means more messages are sent virtually every day than the amount of paper-based mail sent in an entire year.

The experts suggest that while we compose our messages using words carefully, words only make up about 7% of the communication equation. Perhaps there is no better explanation for why miscommunication occurs so frequently.

When you look up the definition of “miscommunication,” you find it means “a failure to communicate adequately.”

That definition provides an appropriate place to conclude. Let’s all strive to communicate adequately. Why would we not? At least if our intention is not to deceive. And, that’s the truth!

Craig Fuller served four years in the White House as assistant to President Reagan for Cabinet Affairs, followed by four years as chief of staff to Vice President George H.W. Bush. Having been engaged in five presidential campaigns and run public affairs firms and associations in Washington, D.C., he now resides on the Eastern Shore.

For more: Pamela Myer’s Ted Talk on Liespotting and a link to her book.

Op-Ed: The September Democratic Debate and Civility by J.E. Dean

September 4, 2019 by J.E. Dean Leave a Comment

Now that the field has been set for September 12, we are likely to witness the first real event of the 2020 primary season. The debate will feature only 10 candidates, arguably still too many, and, more importantly, only one night of debate with all the candidates on the same stage. Each candidate will have more time to talk and comment on the remarks of other debaters. This will work to the benefit of some candidates and to the detriment of others.

The ten candidates we will see on the 12th are Biden, Booker, Buttigieg, Castro, Klobuchar, O’Rourke, Sanders, Warren and Yang. Pundits suggest the focus of the debate will move left due to the failure of several moderates to qualify, including Senators Gillibrand and Bennet, Montana Governor Bullock, Maryland’s own John Delaney, Governors Hickenlooper and Inslee, and Rep. Ryan.

Because the major left-leaning candidates qualified, a hard-fought scrum with some candidates seeking to out-bid others on the “boldness” of their proposals with others seeking to destroy others with “got-ya” type ambushes, is likely.

With regret, I’m prepared for the worst, especially from candidates for which anything less than a stellar performance will likely mean the end of their campaign. Beto O’Rourke comes to mind. He’s re-tooled his campaign to be more serious. Right. Maybe some righteous indignation highlighted by flailing arms for effect. Kamala Harris will most likely attempt to reprise her attack on Biden, possibly shifting the target to Warren or Sanders if she’s feeling feisty. Bernie will be, let me be clear, Bernie. Shouting, he will imply that anyone failing to join “his” revolution is betraying the 99 percent. Elizabeth Warren, steadily climbing in the polls and attracting larger and larger crowds at rallies, will stick to her currently winning script. She has a plan for everything, which makes sense for those who have concluded that both the government and the economy are fundamentally corrupt. I am not in that camp.

All these performances, should they come to pass, most likely will share one thing: They will fail the civility test. It should not be this way. Directly attacking other debaters, questioning their motives, or mischaracterizing their records ought to disqualify a candidate from participating in future debates. That’s not realistic but imagine a special panel of three credentialed Democrats could serve as judges and render an opinion after the debate. Candidates would have to agree to be subject to the rule as a condition of participating.

Of course, don’t expect anything remotely like this attempt at discipline to happen. Unfortunately, any performance not failing the civility test is likely to generate little notice and a drop in the polls. Loud and rude all too frequently, including in 2016, works. Civil and intelligent, often, doesn’t.

In a worst-case scenario, all ten candidates would be disqualified for future debates and the party would have to retroactively cancel the rule. That won’t happen in the next debate because at least four of candidates have practiced civility, at least to date: Biden, Klobuchar, Buttigieg, and Yang. Some would add O’Rourke, Castro and even Booker to the list, but are they really in the same class as the other four candidates in terms of civility?

Given the unlikelihood of a disciplined, civil debate, on the 12th, it will be up to viewers to hold individual candidates accountable. Does the debater portray a basic decency that would make them a model for young people? Does their debate performance suggest an ability to work effectively with others that might not buy into their programs or vision for the country? Will the candidate raise the level of debate nationally out of the gutter to focus on what is good for America and its future?

Most engaged voters already have a perspective and preferences among the candidates on policies and electability. They are less sure on civility. Many believe that only a bully can out bully Trump. These voters like Harris, Warren and Sanders. Others are looking for the opposite of Trump: Someone evidencing a predisposition to listen rather than shout and who talks to their opponents they way voters like to be talked to themselves. So far Biden, Buttigieg, Yang and Klobuchar best fit this description.

I will be focusing on candidates’ civility on September 12. Let’s hope for a civil a debate. The future of our country may not depend on it, but it’s a step in the right direction.

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