Remembering Two Heroes - One Long Dead, One Alive

One of the themes that runs through most of the blog posts here is this: Life is challenging, and it takes a strong person to do the hard things.

Recently I spent time remembering my time in Vietnam. The vast majority of my West Point classmates served in combat there. They faced challenges that most people can't even imagine. They had to do hard things.

I served in an area of Vietnam known as III Corps, which is the central part of that country. I wasn't assigned to an American combat unit. I commanded a mobile advisory team. Our job was to upgrade the combat capabilities of the Vietnamese Regional Force and Popular Force units around the town of Cu Chi. We lived and worked in the same villages where these soldiers lived.

I remember advising a Vietnamese captain and his unit one day on a mission to engage a Viet Cong unit that was known to be in our area. Sure enough, when we arrived at the location, we were taken under fire. The enemy was in a grove of trees on the other side of a swamp. I decided that the best way to engage them was with a gunship. I contacted the operation center by radio and requested air support.

AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter

About fifteen minutes later, the aircraft arrived. It was an AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter. I marked my position with a smoke grenade and gave the pilot a vector to the enemy location. He fired several rockets and his minigun into the area. This effectively silenced the Viet Cong's attack on us.

I didn't know it then, but two of my West Point classmates were serving as Cobra gunship pilots in Vietnam at the time I was there.

Richard C. Hulse

One was Rich Hulse. Rich and I were friends all four years at West Point. We saw each other nearly every day and attended many classes together. The sad thing about Rich was that during his final month, just before graduation, he admitted to the authorities that he had gotten married. On the one hand, I found it hard to believe that he couldn't wait until after graduation to marry his sweetheart. Cadets aren't allowed to be married, and they have to sign a statement that they aren't married each time they return from a pass or leave. Rich didn't want to lie about it; he didn't want to violate the Honor Code. So he turned himself in, and they dismissed him from the Academy just days before graduation. So he didn't graduate with us. It was tragic.

But I respected him for having the strength of character to do the right thing. It cost him his degree and his Regular Army commission, after all those difficult years. But he kept his honor.

He became an enlisted soldier, but was soon accepted into Officer Candidate School and became an Army Reserve second lieutenant. Then he went to flight school and learned to fly the Cobra. Soon afterward, he was sent to Vietnam.

In 1970 his aircraft was shot down and he was killed in the crash. Rich Hulse was a man of character and courage. He did hard things and gave his life in service to our country, and I think of him as a hero.

The other classmate who flew Cobra gunships while I was there was Woody Spring. Woody and I knew each other as cadets. He competed on the varsity gymnastics team. He went to Vietnam right after graduation, serving in the 101st Airborne Division. Then he went to flight school and served a second tour in Vietnam as a Cobra pilot.

Sherwood (Woody) Spring

This was a side of Woody that I didn't know. He was fearless. Looking back on my combat experience I believe the most heroic among us were the helicopter pilots. Whether gunship pilots or medical evacuation pilots, their job was to show up at the most dangerous moments. No matter what was happening on the ground, they came through for us. All these pilots were amazing heroes.

Woody survived his tour and eventually got trained as a test pilot. Amazingly, after that he was accepted into the NASA astronaut program. In 1985 he rode the space shuttle into earth orbit, where he launched three satellites during 12 hours of EVA space walks.

So Woody did a lot of hard things, too. He's another of my heroes.

Since graduation in 1967, our life journeys have diverged considerably and I never saw either Rich or Woody again, even though unknown to any of us we were busy fighting the Viet Cong at roughly the same time during 1969-1970 in Vietnam.

Today, there are young people who are still doing hard things and getting stronger for it. They'll be the achievers and leaders of the future. Some of them may even become true heroes.

However, in deference to the truth, most kids these days are involved in escapist activities and nonsense, being cool, and taking the easy way out whenever possible. They have no clue what honor is. It's hard to say what their life journeys will be like.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2013. Building Personal Strength .

Adolescent Rites of Passage - Something of Monumental Importance Has Been Lost

I've been reading about traditional and modern rites of passage. So far, the two most helpful books have been Crossroads: The Quest for Contemporary Rites of Passage, ed. Louise Carus Mahdi, et al (1996); and From Boys to Men: Spiritual Rites of Passage in an Indulgent Age, by Bret Stephenson (2006).

A consistent theme: Long ago, "primitive" cultures evolved effective initiation rites to guide young people from childhood to adulthood. Modern adolescents feel the same powerful need to break away from childhood, prove themselves, find their identity, and be acknowledged by and accepted into the adult community. But traditional rites of passage have for the most part been diluted or discarded, and most young people are left to find their own way, often with disastrous results.

My reading has caused me to reflect on what happened to me during my own adolescence. My conclusion: I had amazing luck in the rites of passage department.

• At age 13, I earned the rank of Eagle Scout after two years of hard work.
• At age 14 in the Explorer Scouts I experienced the "Order of the Arrow' initiation ritual.
• At age 15 my father was assigned to Germany. Our family was on a waiting list for housing, and I had to take his place to help my mother control my six younger brothers and sisters for six months until we could join my father.
• At age 18, after 12 years at the top of my class, I gave the valedictory address at my high school graduation.
• At age 18, I survived the West Point summer "Beast Barracks" training and was accepted into the Corps of Cadets.
• At age 19, I was "recognized" at the end of "Plebe" year and became an upperclassman.
• At age 22 I graduated from West Point and was commissioned a second lieutenant in the a Regular Army.
• At age 22 I was married in a Mormon temple with my grandfather officiating.
• At age 22 I successfully completed the Army Ranger School.

Each of these rites of passage required that I accept a "call to adventure" and survive an ordeal, a test to prove myself. After successful completion I was recognized by my community in a way that made me feel I had arrived at a new level in my life. In other words, I was involved in several structured processes that helped me develop personal strengths that would empower me throughout my life and careers -and be recognized for doing so!

Nine of them! How lucky is that?

One of my most intense ordeals happened soon after my adolescence. As a young captain I served in Vietnam as an advisor to Vietnamese infantry units. During that year I participated in over 200 combat missions. I was given several awards for valor and service, but at the end the acknowledgement and acceptance back into my community was non-existent. Instead there was confusion and alienation. I remember an incident during my graduate studies at Duke University when an enlightened coed called me a "baby killer." So my service in Vietnam never became a true rite of passage.

And it wasn't a rite of passage experience for the three dozen of my West Point classmates who died on the battlefield. And soldiers returning from combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan aren't made to experience developmental rites of passage either - a huge opportunity wasted.

Young people will always need to be challenged, tested, guided and accepted in a powerful way in order for them to define who they are and feel they've put childhood behind them. But modern culture has abandoned the old structures without replacing them. Gangs, high society, and college fraternities and sororities have their initiation rituals, but these are pathetic remnants of ancient traditions. It's a tragic, mostly unrecognized shortfall that has left our youth adrift.

The consequences of teens trying to find their own way towards being adults - unwed teen mothers, gangs, crime, substance abuse, and suicide. And yes, middle-aged offspring who still live at home and who have never become adults.

Given that the rituals that served ancient and primitive cultures are inappropriate for our time, is there a way to recreate effective rites of passage for today's youth that are appropriate for modern life? It's something I think about a lot these days.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2013. Building Personal Strength .

Dancing in the Dark - An Old Ax Gets Sharpened

2013 Photo by Kathleen Scott

I met Warren at the farmer's market in downtown Fredericksburg, Texas. He was the elderly gentleman wearing a black cap with the inscription, "U.S. Army Air Corps - World War II Flyboy" on the front. The sign at his booth said, "I sharpen anything that cuts."

I told him he didn't look old enough to be a World War II veteran, but he said he was 88 years old. And still showing up to do something useful in the world. "Do you get much business here?"

"It keeps me busy. I set up here and at the New Braunfels farmer's market."

"I go to the New Braunfels market every Saturday. Can you sharpen an ax?"

"Sure."

My ax had never been properly sharpened, so it was practically useless. But I kept forgetting to bring it to the market. Finally I got the bright idea of storing the ax in the trunk of my car, so if the blade-sharpening man showed up, my ax would be only a few steps away.

On my next trip to the New Braunfels "Farm to Market" I saw his booth and handed him my ax. "It's in bad shape," I said.

"That's a good ax you have there. You want to hear an ax story?"

Are you kidding me? I have a Ph.D. in literature. I write stories every day. You might as well ask a little kid if he wants a candy bar. "Absolutely."

"Well, I have an ax just like yours. I live out in the country and I always keep it sharp. One day I was driving home in my truck and there was a grass fire next to the road. I got my ax out and cut some branches and started beating the edges of the fire. Then a young woman stopped and she started helping. She had a wonderful singing voice and later on she sang all over the country."

"What did you do in the war?" I asked.

"I flew B-17s. When the war ended I was a flight instructor."

An image of those old bombers formed in my mind. "Wow. B-17s. That must have been pretty scary." I told him that in Vietnam I went on over a hundred combat missions but returned without a scratch.

We were both silent for a moment. This kind of talk was a little out of place next to the mundane necessities of life, like buying fresh vegetables and sharpening an ax.

"Do you know the song, 'Dancing in the Dark'?" he asked; and without waiting for my answer, he began to sing:

Dancing in the dark
Till the tune ends
We're dancing in the dark and it soon ends
We're waltzing in the wonder of why we're here
Time hurries by, we're here and gone...

It felt strange to be the one-man audience of an old man's song. It was as if he needed to tell me something, and the song was the best way to do it. When he finished I said, "I've heard this song a million times, but I never paid attention to the lyrics. For a love song, it has a pretty existential message."

"Yes, it does."

So for just six dollars I got a nice, sharp edge on my old beat-up ax, plus a gift I hadn't bargained for.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2012. Building Personal Strength .

Neil Armstrong and Future NASA Missions

On July 20, 1969, I was sitting in my bunker 10 miles north of Cu Chi in Vietnam. The other five members of my adviser team had gathered in front of a small black-and-white television set, which was powered by a small generator. We were watching a live broadcast of the fuzzy image of Neil Armstrong in a bulky space suit step slowly down to the lunar surface. His voice crackled: "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

TV image of Neil Armstrong taking "one small step"

Neil Armstrong recently passed away at the age of 82. He and Buzz Aldrin are two of my heroes. With what we now consider primitive technology and without the benefit of previous missions, they went where no one had gone before - to the moon's surface. Thanks to the lunar missions, we know a lot more about the moon and how it was formed.

When asked by novelist Norman Mailer why he felt it was important to go to the moon, Neil Armstrong answered, “I think we’re going to the moon because it’s in the nature of the human being to face challenges.”

Other scientists working in the space program have said, “We're a race of explorers. It’s our destiny to travel to the stars.” Or words to that effect. Others claim that the new technologies developed for space travel “trickle down” as practical products for consumers. I'm sure this is true, even though right now I can't think of any examples.

A few years after the moon landing challenge had been faced, the human race lost interest, and funding for more exploration dried up. Astronauts haven't traveled to the moon since.

The truth is, if human beings are so keen on facing challenges, there are plenty of challenges facing us right here on Earth, such as war, terrorism and genocide; nuclear proliferation; poverty, hunger, disease, and overpopulation; dwindling fossil fuel reserves and the need for alternative energy sources; government corruption and waste; debt and failing economies; pollution of air and water; human rights violations and mistreatment of women. And these are just some of the major unresolved challenges.

Maybe NASA isn’t set up to handle them. But how about space missions to learn how to cope with climate change, whether caused by nature or humans?

An even scarier problem is the detection and deterrence of near-Earth asteroids. We don’t think much about asteroids, but there are billions of them rocketing around the inner solar system, and many of them are of the “near-Earth" variety. In 1908 an asteroid too small to be detected with current technology entered Earth atmosphere and exploded over Siberia. The blast leveled a thousand square miles of forest. A similar event would totally destroy New York City. Scientists say more strikes like this are inevitable. They even say we’re due for a larger asteroid strike, like the one that caused the global extinction of dinosaurs and most other species 65 million years ago.

So, NASA, how about that for a challenge? Forget sending a manned mission to Mars. Who cares whether there are microbes there? Use your funding instead for something even more challenging, and what could be more important than protecting life on Earth?

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2012. Building Personal Strength .

Luck and My Accidental Life

The other day I was alone in my car, sitting at a stop light, patiently waiting for it to turn green. It was a busy thoroughfare, and the line of cars was like an evacuation.

Finally, the light turned green. I paused for a moment, and in that moment a 16-wheeler flew by doing 60 mph. Whoa! He had run a red light! If I had gone ahead when the light turned green, he would have hit me and probably would have killed me.

Reflecting on how lucky I was, I remembered that something similar happened to me nearly 20 years ago in Miami. I had spent the evening sampling the colorful nightlife at South Beach and was headed back to my hotel. Two blocks from the beach, I came to a red light. I was listening to the last few minutes of an NBA Finals game in which Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls were about to win the championship. The light turned green, and since I was listening to the game, I wasn't in a big hurry and didn't zoom off. But just as my foot reached for the accelerator, a huge truck flew by. The driver had run a red light. I thought at the time that I could have been killed. I was lucky. Maybe I owe my life to Michael Jordan!

I've had plenty of close brushes with death - in Vietnam, in traffic, etc. After each event, I thought that I was still alive purely because of chance. I could have died.

One of my best friends, a fellow Vietnam vet, remarked to me once, "We're already dead." Meaning, we almost died numerous times and are still alive by luck or accident. None of us knows when or how our death will come. The fantasy is, I will live a full, happy life and then die in my sleep at the age of 100, plus or minus. As I said, a fantasy.

Two of the most important people in my life are my sons. I'm lucky to have them. In the case of my youngest son, I'm lucky in two special ways. One, he's the genius software engineer who has created every product my company has produced for more than 25 years. How about that for luck? What would I have done without him? My life would be a lot different. I'm sure I wouldn't be writing this blog post right now.

Two, I'm lucky that he's alive at all. No, he hasn't had any close brushes with death - that I know of. But he's lucky he was ever born. All those years ago, my wife and I wanted two children. My first son was born in Frankfurt, Germany when I was stationed there in the late 60's. Sometime after I went to Vietnam, my wife miscarried. It was a sad thing, and I couldn't be there for her. It was probably brought on by stress. Midway through my tour, I had an R 'n' R pass to Hawaii, and we met there for a romantic week. She got pregnant, but later suffered a second miscarriage. A year after I returned, my second son was born.

But here's the deal. If she hadn't miscarried, a child would have been born. And it wouldn't have been the person who is my youngest son. It would have been someone else. And we wouldn't have tried to have more children. So my youngest son owes his life to those two miscarriages. Yes, they were difficult times for my wife, but they were lucky times, because of who my youngest son turned out to be, and the great relationship we've had.

So both of us are living "accidental lives."

Come to think of it, aren't we all?

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2012. Building Personal Strength .

Schadenfreude - A West Point Memory

In 1967 I got my undergraduate degree in general engineering from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. My four years there were an amazing experience. Getting the chance to go there was one of the luckiest things that ever happened to me. 846 of us arrived there in 1963, and at the end 583 classmates graduated and were commission as second lieutenants in the Regular Army. Most of us served in Vietnam, and 30 of us did not return.

The story of our time at West Point and our service in Vietnam is told in a recently released documentary, "In Harm's Way." It's a well-balanced, extremely well-done production, although the DVD isn't available to the public yet. Watching that DVD brought back a lot of old memories - some of them unpleasant.

One bad memory popped into my head for the first time since graduation. It happened in the fall of my freshman (plebe) year. One evening after a parade, an upperclassman in my company stopped me as I was going to my room. His name was Al Randall (not his real name).

"Hey Coates!" he shouted at me.

I immediately came to a halt and stood at attention. I wondered if I had done something wrong. "Yessir!"

"Come here, I want you to meet someone. It's my date."

Alarm bells went off. Why this surly upperclassman would want to introduce me to his date was beyond me. I could think of no good reason and figured I was in for a ton of trouble. But I followed him outside, and I soon found out why he wanted me to meet her. She was Jane Steele, one of my high school classmates. I thought it was amazing that we could leave Ludwigsburg American High School (in Germany) in May and see each other again at West Point in September. It was a nice surprise. Maybe Al Randall wasn't such a bad guy after all.

"Fall out, mister. Relax. You're with friends for now," Al said. This meant I had his permission not to stand at attention. I asked Jane how she was doing and where she was going to school. After some small talk, Al said, "Well, Mr. Coates, I know you've got things to do. Time to say goodbye."

And that was that. I counted that as one of the many surprises that happened to me during that first year. The next surprise happened after supper that night. Al Randall stopped me in the barracks area as I walked back to my room.

"You seemed to be having a good time talking to my girlfriend," he said.

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean it was good to see a high school classmate again."

"I bet. She said a lot of good things about you. Did you ever get it on with her?"

"No, sir. We never dated. We were just acquaintances. I didn't know her very well, sir."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No, sir!"

"It looked to me like you were trying to snake her away from me."

Oh, man, I could see I was in big trouble now. "No, sir."

"Well, I tell you what. I don't think you're being straight with me. I want you to report to my room at nineteen-thirty hours in full dress gray, ready for inspection. Do you understand?"

"Yessir."

"Now post!" I did an about face and marched back to my room. I did everything I could to pass his inspection, but of course it wasn't good enough. That night I learned a little more about hazing than I wanted to. I concluded that he was a sadistic person and throughout my first year I did my best to steer clear of him. But our paths crossed a few more times, and each time he made me report to his room. These visits always resulted in humiliation and demerits and I ended up walking punishment tours on more than a few weekends.

After that first year, I forgot about Al Randall. As sophomores, my classmates were accepted as upperclassmen. I was beyond his reach.

But the spring of my junior year, when Al Randall was a senior and only a couple weeks before graduation, I learned that he had been dismissed from the Academy for cheating on an exam.

I never had to get my revenge. He did it to himself, which is what usually happens. Because of his low character he survived four years at West Point only to be kicked out before he could graduate.

At that moment, I experienced a moment of intense joy that I later learned was called schadenfreude, (pronounced SHAW-den-froi-duh) derived from a German word that means "taking pleasure in the misfortune of others." I'm not sure if I ever experienced that unique kind of joy again at any time during the next 45 years. But watching "In Harm's Way" brought that memory back. It was an amazing time to be alive at an amazing place.

I wondered whatever happened to Al. In my fantasy he became a police officer in a small town, where he could use his authority to make life miserable for people who had broken the law or who he suspected were capable of breaking the law. Don't worry, I'm not going to Google him to find out. No doubt there are lots of guys his age named Al Randall, and some of them are probably good, decent people.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2012. Building Personal Strength .

To Kill or Not to Kill - That Is the Question

Have you ever had the urge to kill?

I read about this kid from Memphis, Tennessee, Eduardo Marmolejo, who felt the urge to kill his high school principal. According to him, she did something that aroused his anger, so on August 11, 2011, he stabbed her to death in a classroom.

So I asked myself if I've ever felt the desire to kill anyone. And the answer is yes.

I could remember a couple instances. When I was 25 I was an Army captain in charge of an advisor team in Vietnam. One of our team assignments was to help a small village defend itself against the Viet Cong. Our assistance wasn't always graciously accepted. I recall that once someone rigged a grenade to the front door of our bunker. Fortunately, we discovered it and dismantled it. Still, we tried to help them as much as we could. On one occasion we horse-traded at a nearby basecamp to get them a 55-gallon drum of gasoline. That night I walked outside our bunker. When I heard a sound, I shined a flashlight to see a villager hard at work siphoning gasoline from our jeep. I was so enraged that I pulled out my pistol and pointed it at the culprit. My finger was on the trigger, but I didn't fire.

Why not? I felt the urge, but I knew it would be wrong, and I knew what would happen to me and to our team if I did. I shouted at him and he ran away. The next day, I reported the incident to my boss and recommended that the team be moved to another village, a more welcoming one.

The other "urge to kill" incident happened 25 years later. One of our affiliate colleagues defrauded my company of $15,000. He refused to pay us money that he had collected and that was due us, making false allegations all the while. It was a painful, stressful incident. He moved his business to another state, making it all but impractical to recover the money. I had some interesting revenge fantasies, I can tell you. But of course I didn't follow through on any of them.

Why not? Because I knew it was inappropriate and wrong, and I understood the potential consequences all too well.

So what about young Eduardo? He was 17 years old. Why did he follow through with his revenge fantasy? Couldn't he understand that his actions were inappropriate and wrong? Couldn't he foresee that he would be convicted of murder - and possibly put to death or sentenced to life in prison?

The answer is that he probably wasn't thinking about the consequences. He felt rage, so he killed her.

During the teen years, the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that analyzes cause and effect, foresees consequences and makes rational decisions is "under construction." The ability to think rationally and control impulses can be ingrained, but it's hard for a teenager to do this without help. However, with guidance from parents, coaches, teachers and other adult mentors, an ample foundation for critical thinking can be established before the window of development for the prefrontal cortex closes at the end of adolescence. And that's what happens with most people. Some people end up with more critical thinking abilities. Some with less.

Apparently the adults in Eduardo's life weren't coaching him to think critically. Maybe they were incapable of doing so. Maybe they weren't trying. Maybe they weren't there. The bottom line: the boy's prefrontal cortex was radically underdeveloped, and he gave in to his murderous impulses.

He murdered a 47-year-old woman, but he has no idea why he didn't control his urge to kill.

And sadly, probably the adults around him have no idea, either. In our culture, very few adults understand what's going on in the developing teen brain or how important that development is. And they have no idea how to stimulate its development. It's amazing how rare it is for a parent, a teacher, a coach or other teen mentor to consciously help a teen to learn to think critically. It's not a priority goal of our culture, our education system or parenting.

I hope that someday, in a less primitive time, it will be.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2011. Building Personal Strength .

Why I Write About Personal Strengths

Forty-five years ago, when I was a young lieutenant, I attended three months of training at the Army Ranger School, where I learned a lot of difficult combat skills. I learned how to navigate for miles in cold rain at night through dense underbrush up and down mountains in order to reach a distant objective before dawn. I learned how to lead an infantry attack while coordinating medical evacuations, artillery fire and air strikes—all at the same time. You get the picture.

I got good at it. And when I arrived in Vietnam, I was glad I had these skills. But I learned something important. Performing in combat is so adverse that none of these combat skills are worth much if you can’t be bold, keep your cool, manage your awareness, be flexible, give maximum effort, exercise judgment and yes, even show compassion. The biggest challenge was exercising these personal strengths, not the combat skills.

I’ve been intensely interested in these core strengths ever since. In April 1999 I published an article in Performance Improvement, "Strengths of Character: A New Dimension of Human Performance." The paradigm in the human resource development world at the time held that competence consisted of skills and knowledge. I made a case that a third element, which at the time I referred to as "character strength," was also a factor.

You know I’m right about this. You can have abundant knowledge, a high level of skill and strong motivation. But what if conditions turn against you? What if you encounter opposition? What if things go wrong? What if the stakes are raised and the cost of failure is multiplied? What if you’re getting pressure from stakeholders? What if office politics gets in your way? What if customers are angry about problems? What if the competition has introduced something new and powerful? What if three members of your team have left for other opportunities? What if your child is diagnosed with a rare form of cancer?

The answer is, you’ll have to do some hard things. And what you actually do will be a manifestation of who you are, at the core.

To capitalize on their personal strengths, I recommend that people do two things.

1. Consider which personal strengths are your strongest, and look for ways to use these more often in your life and work.
2. Work on making the weak areas stronger, one personal strength at a time.

I admit that even though doing these two things is crucial to personal success, following this advice is more difficult that it sounds. That's the real reason my company spent 10 years developing ProStar Coach, an online virtual coaching system to help success-oriented people work on personal strengths and people skills. It makes the behavior change process a lot like working out in a gym. But instead of building physical strength, over time people get stronger at the core of who they are. In ProStar, they do the reps! And they get behavior models, coaching, encouragement, feedback and accountability. If you're interested, right now the website is letting people try out ProStar Coach free.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2011. Building Personal Strength .

Fortunate Son - John C. Fogerty's Vietnam War Classic

I first heard "Fortunate Son" when it came out in 1969. I was sitting in my bunker north of Cu Chi, writing a letter and listening to Armed Forces Network radio. It was a passionate, angry protest song, and the lyrics were hard to make out. But the phrase, "I ain't no millionaire's son, no," struck a chord. I later learned that back then Julie Nixon was dating David Eisenhower, and Fogerty knew that privileged kids like these would not be the ones sent to fight the war.

Some folks are born made to wave the flag,
Ooh, they're red, white and blue.
And when the band plays "Hail to the chief",
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord,

It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son, son.
It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one, no,

Yeah!
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,
Lord, don't they help themselves, oh.
But when the taxman comes to the door,
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes,

It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no millionaire's son, no.
It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one, no.

Some folks inherit star spangled eyes,
Ooh, they send you down to war, Lord,
And when you ask them, "How much should we give?"
Ooh, they only answer More! more! more! yoh,

It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no military son, son.
It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one, one.

It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no no no,
It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son, no no no,

The rock songs of that era are the only ones that move me anymore. It was some pretty powerful stuff. Fogerty also wrote "Born on the Bayou" and "Proud Mary." Creedance Clearwater Revival broke up in 1972, but I understand Fogerty is still going strong, still rocking.

Other favorites...

"Woodstock" - Crosby, Stills and Nash

"Hotel California" - The Eagles

"Imagine" - John Lennon

"Taking Care of Business - Bachmann Turner Overdrive

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2011. Building Personal Strength . (Photo used in accordance with terms of Wikimedia free use)

Fear and Courage - Memories of Vietnam

I was watching the gritty documentary Restrepo, the story of American soldiers serving in an outpost in Afghanistan, and it caused me to remember some of my combat experiences in Vietnam. During my year there, I was involved in over 200 ground combat missions. As the memories came back to me, I realized that many of them involved incidents that happened on the front end of my tour, before I actually had my first combat experience.

I remember the first time I thought seriously about what might happen to me in Vietnam. I was still a cadet at West Point, sitting in a class on military history. In 1966, American soldiers had already seen some serious action, but most of the history of that war hadn't happened yet. At the time, it was politically incorrect to call it a war. They called it a "conflict."

So they found this instructor who had been there and asked him to talk to us about it. He was a tough-talking colonel. Back then, colonels and generals talked tough about Vietnam because the worst hadn't happened yet, and because they experienced the war mostly from inside of Tactical Operation Center bunkers inside the perimeter of a base camp - far from where the action was actually taking place. Whenever they wanted to get closer to the action, they'd do it in a helicopter at 2,000 feet. Anyway, this tough-talking bozo said this: "Y'all are going to get your chance soon enough. It isn't much of a war, but it's all we've got."

My West Point class was small - only 583 graduated in 1967. Three years later, over 30 of them had been killed in Vietnam.

My first memory of Vietnam was of a peculiar smell. The plane that brought me there landed at Tan Son Nhut airport outside of Saigon. As I stepped out of the plane, I was hit by a blast of hot air. I looked into the blinding sunlight and saw several Vietnamese men squatting next to some shack-like buildings. A darkish smoke rose from behind the building, and it had a harsh, unnatural petroleum smell to it. It was pretty strange. Men weren't supposed to squat in a row in the heat, and air wasn't supposed to smell like that. I later learned that the smell was the result of disposing of human feces by mixing it with diesel fuel and burning it.

My first duty was to attend a school for advisors. But I would stay in a barracks in Saigon for a couple days before reporting. At night, I heard the sound of helicopters coming and going and the loud thunk of artillery. The war sounded close and my untrained ear didn't know if it was incoming or outgoing. This uncertainty, plus the humidity, made it hard to sleep that first night.

The advisor school lasted a month. I learned a little Vietnamese, and I thought fine, time in school is time I won't have to spend in combat. During my last week there, they explained how to properly fortify a bunker. As an illustration, they told the story of Mobile Advisory Team 84, which had recently come under attack. An RPG (rocket propelled grenade) had blown into the team's bunker in the middle of the night, killing two of them and injuring two others.

On the last day, we got our assignments. I would be the new team leader for guess what - Mobile Advisory Team 84.

I was transported from the school to my assignment aboard a small, single-engine Air America plane. I sat next to the pilot, a tanned fellow who wore aviator sunglasses. He was all business. I watched the terrain below as we flew above 2,000 feet. About 20 minutes into the flight, he said, "We're here." Then he banked the aircraft hard and headed straight downward towards the ground. At the last minute, he pulled out of the dive and we landed in an open field out in the middle of nowhere.

"This is it," he said. I got out of the plane and he quickly took off. I wondered if there had been some mistake. I was a little nervous, because there were no buildings and no one was there to meet me. I looked around in all directions. It was quiet, but I wondered what might happen next. A half hour later, a jeep showed up to collect me.

Before going on to Team 84, I met the District Senior Advisor, an infantry major. He had some bandages wrapped around his left arm. "You're replacing Lieutenant Silliman. The captain was killed and he's standing in. He's a good man. I'm putting him in for a Silver Star for his actions a couple days ago. Bravest thing I ever saw. You're here just in time." He grinned. "It's Saturday, and your team has a party every Saturday night."

After introducing myself to my team members, I asked them about this Saturday night party. Both my sergeants had been in Vietnam continuously for over two years. "Yeah, that's right," one of them said. "We come under attack every Saturday night. It's a real blast, all right."

And that's what happened. About ten o'clock that night, mortar rounds started landing around our small compound. I didn't know what was appropriate. Were we supposed to take cover? I decided to watch and learn. My team members started hooting and hollering and grabbing weapons. "The party is starting," one of them said, and they all ran out of the bunker. I grabbed a grenade launcher and followed them. They were all firing in one direction into a tree-line about 300 meters away. They continued firing even after the incoming mortar rounds stopped. Not to be left out of the festivities, I let loose a couple grenade rounds into the darkness.

The next day I would accompany one of the sergeants on my first combat mission. There was a firefight and three Vietnamese solders were wounded. My sergeant took charge of the battle, walking around exposed as if he were invincible. In retrospect, I think he wanted to show me how brave he was, and his behavior was tacit coaching that I was expected to bring a similar level of courage.

It was an interesting year. To me, the most amazing thing about it was that I returned home without a scratch.

But those first few weeks must have made an impression on me. I was introduced to fear, and the message was that I would have to learn how to deal with it.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2011. Building Personal Strength .

Crosby, Stills & Nash - Great Classic Rock from 1970

When it comes to rock, I'm pretty retro. The music from 1965 to 1975 is what I'm talking about. The music was original and complex. Not a bunch of no-talent performers fading in with their back-up singers. Not computer-generated. Not a bunch of stupid tough-guy rhymes shouted by low-life cheerleaders.

And the lyrics weren't dumb. They meant something. And they related to an intense time of my life, when I had just returned to "the world" from a combat zone. Imagine going out in the hot sun looking for people who want to kill you, every day for a year. What kind of music would work for that?

For me, it was this. "We have got to get ourselves back to the garden..."



Bob, thanks for the link!

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2011. Building Personal Strength .

1969 - "Hotel California" Conjures Up a Miracle Year

The Grammy Awards were last night. I never watch them. The reason is my attitude - I think pop music these days sucks in every way possible. I know, it's my problem, it's my attitude. The young people today may very well be rocking to these tunes and will remember them with feeling all their lives. Or not. I wouldn't know.

But there are classic rock songs that make me stop and listen, listen real close, and feel the feelings I had "back in the day." Real music like this 1977 Grammy Record of the Year award-winner: "Hotel California," performed by the Eagles, written by Don Felder, Don Henley and Glenn Frey.

I heard it again recently. When the song got to the part, "We haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine," memories of an exciting time of life blossomed in my mind.

1969, man. War, race, space, sex - everything was being turned upside down, and no one knew which end was up. It was in the music. Woodstock. It even seemed to be in sports.

In 1969, the New York Jets became the first AFL team to beat an NFL team for the championship - in Super Bowl III. Joe Namath audaciously predicted victory against the great Baltimore Colts, led by legend Johnny Unitas. And then he delivered. It was considered one of the biggest upsets in sports history. It was magical.

In 1969, the New York Mets defeated the Baltimore Orioles in five games to win the World Series for the first time - another biggest upset in sports history. They were called "The Miracle Mets.

In 1969, Apollo 11 landed on the moon, and human beings stepped foot on another planet for the first time. And the event was broadcast live on television. Miraculous.

I observed these events from afar, from my bunker in Vietnam. For me, that was the fourth miracle of 1969. I survived my combat experience and returned home a whole person.

The first of Carlos Castaneda's ten books - The Teachings of Don Juan - was published in 1969. And I would begin a learning journey that has endured to the present day. Nearly everything I know that matters I learned after 1969.

Here are the lyrics to "Hotel California" (YT video and soundtrack below)...

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
'This could be Heaven or this could be Hell'
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (Any time of year)
You can find it here

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes Benz
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

So I called up the Captain,
'Please bring me my wine'
He said, 'We haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine'
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say...

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis

Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
And in the master's chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can't kill the beast

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'Relax,' said the night man,
'We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave!'

Later, Henley explained that the lyrics were about the excesses of American life, a typical counter-culture theme. Man, they just don't make music like this anymore.

Enjoy...



Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength .

USAF Captain Ed Freeman - Vietnam War Medal of Honor Winner

You know how people forward you inspiring stories through email? I have a lot of friends, and I get my share of them. Sometimes I read them and sometimes I don't. I never forward them on.

But this one caught my eye and I read it all the way through. It struck a chord, because it was about one of the many courageous MedEvac chopper pilots that I remember from my time in Vietnam.

Back in 1969 I was an adviser to Vietnamese soldiers, and my team lived on the edge of a village. Our job was to train and encourage these soldiers to protect their village and the surrounding countryside from the Viet Cong.

One night, the village and our bunker came under mortar attack. At one point, the villagers brought two badly wounded soldiers to us. One had a bullet wound near his collar bone. The other's body was covered with countless shrapnel wounds. We called for MedEvac. The 5th Mechanized Infantry Division's base camp was not far from us, and the chopper arrived ten minutes later. The village that night was what was known as a "hot LZ," but when the pilot saw our flare he came right in, landing his Huey at a crossroads in the village. It was a tough landing, because his rotor blades missed the surrounding buildings by only a few feet. We loaded the wounded and he lifted off.

I was amazed at the pilot's skill and courage. These men performed similar acts of valor several times a day, mission after mission with little or no recognition. But I honored the pilot in my heart, and I've never forgotten these unsung heroes. 

As I read this email, I recognized that it had been making the email rounds for a couple of years. I got a lump in my throat. So this time I'm forwarding one on...

You're a 19 year old kid. You're critically wounded and dying in the jungle somewhere in the Central Highlands of Viet Nam. It's November 11, 1967. LZ (landing zone) X-ray. Your unit is outnumbered 8-1 and the enemy fire is so intense, from 100 yards away, that your CO (commanding officer) has ordered the MedEvac helicopters to stop coming in.

You're lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns and you know you're not getting out. Your family is half way around the world, 12,000 miles away, and you'll never see them again. As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day.

Then, over the machine gun noise, you faintly hear that sound of a helicopter. You look up to see a Huey coming in. But it doesn't seem real because there are no MedEvac markings on it.

Captain Ed Freeman is coming in for you.

He's not MedEvac so it's not his job. But he heard the radio call and decided he's flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire anyway. Even after the MedEvacs were ordered not to come, he's coming anyway.

And he drops it in and sits there in the machine gun fire, as they load 3 of you at a time on board. Then he flies you up and out through the gunfire to the doctors and nurses and safety.

And, he kept coming back! 13 more times, until all the wounded were out. No one knew until the mission was over that Captain Freeman had been hit 4 times in the legs and left arm.

He took 29 of you and your buddies out that day. Some would not have made it without the Captain and his Huey.

Medal of Honor recipient, Captain Ed Freeman, United States Air Force, died last Wednesday at the age of 80, in Boise, Idaho. May God bless and rest his soul.

I bet you didn't hear about this hero's passing, but we've sure seen a whole bunch about Michael Jackson, Tiger Woods, Lindsay Lohan and the bickering of congress over health reform. Shame on the American media!

Now ... YOU pass this along to YOUR mailing list. Honor this real American hero.

Please.

Ed Freeman was not an urban legend. And his heroism was unsung until several years ago when President Bush awarded him the Medal of Honor.

Whether you agree with the war or not, the young men and women who go and serve make a sacrifice that's hard for most people to comprehend. So the next time you see people in uniform, approach them and give them your sincere thanks for what they do.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength .

"Imagine" - Remembering John Lennon

I had just begun graduate school at Duke University when John Lennon's ballad "Imagine" came out. I was still a little raw from my combat tour in Vietnam, and the words of the song moved me, made me long for the world he envisioned: "Imagine all the people living life in peace." It was a poignant thought.

Forty years later it still moves me, every time I hear it. It's probably my favorite rock song, one of the few songs ever written that had the power move people in the right direction to change things. If it were a requirement of adult life to "have your song," this would be mine.

On this day, today, Lennon would have been 70 years old. I listen to him sing, and I'm reminded of the loss. It reminds me that we should relentlessly imagine such a world, even though it's more ruined and more in danger than it was in his lifetime.



"Imagine" lyrics by John Lennon (1971)

Imagine there's no heaven.
It's easy if you try.
No hell below us,
Above us only sky.
Imagine all the people
Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries.
It isn't hard to do.
Nothing to kill or die for,
And no religion too.
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer,
But I'm not the only one.
I hope someday you'll join us,
And the world will be as one.

Imagine no possessions.
I wonder if you can.
No need for greed or hunger,
A brotherhood of man.
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer,
But I'm not the only one.
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one.

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength .

The Personal Strength of Acceptance - Epiphanies in Vietnam

In previous posts, I've written about being strong to accept the way things are. One of the hardest truths to accept is the fact of our own mortality. In the perilous, faltering journey that is life, eventually each of us comes face-to-face with the fact that our luminous self, which is all we have, does not go on forever. But it’s human nature to deny this truth, and for some, this epiphany doesn’t come until the end.

I remember what it was like to feel immortal. And I remember the moment when that changed. For me it happened when I was 24 years old, a captain in the U.S. Army assigned to advise Vietnamese units about combat operations. 

One day I was on a sweep with an elite Vietnamese platoon, and the leader sent two soldiers to check out a hedgerow. They were doing a painstakingly thorough job. At some point, they found a hole, and the lieutenant told them to clear it with a grenade. The rest of us took cover as best we could behind a rice paddy dike. I still remember the comic image of a soldier trying to pull the pin with his teeth, John Wayne style. He deposited the grenade and ran to take cover with the rest of us. I pressed my head to the ground and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I wondered if the grenade was a dud, and I peered over the top of the dike. At that moment, an enormous explosion blew me over on my back and covered me with a layer of dirt. I have no recollection of hearing the blast. All I remember is being on my back wondering what happened and checking myself for injuries. Concerned about the others, I rose to my hands and knees. What I saw was so surprising that I broke out in laughter. On the other side of the dike was a fresh crater about thirty feet across and five feet deep. When the grenade blew, it detonated a huge arms cache that was buried in the hole. Luckily, no one was injured. I realize now that as we walked back to base camp that afternoon, something about me had changed forever. Not at the level of conscious thought, but what it felt like to be inside my own skin.

As if to ram the point home, not long after that I was returning to base camp one afternoon after a combat operation that failed to make enemy contact. The Vietnamese unit I was with was walking single file along the edge of a village when an enormous explosion knocked all of us down. I fought to clear my head to determine if we were under attack. This did not seem to be the case, but I saw that the soldier in front of me was badly wounded, as was the soldier behind me. I immediately put in a radio call for a “dust-off”—a medical evacuation helicopter. As I surveyed the scene for more wounded, the patrol leader reported that one person was missing. For several minutes, the status of this individual remained a mystery as we probed the area around us. Then somebody pointed to the top of a tree, and we saw the soldier’s web gear dangling from a branch. That was all we ever found of him. Apparently, he had stepped on a large artillery round planted by the Viet Cong as a booby-trap. The force of the explosion had killed him instantly, scattering his atoms all over the village.

Once again, I was untouched. At the time, I concluded that God had a special plan for me. Later in life, I revised that theory. The truth of the matter is that the random pattern of shrapnel that day caused the hot, sharp metal fragments to pass me by.  That’s the long and the short of it. But in the immortality department, I had lost my innocence for good. 

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength . ("Long Range Patrol," 1969 watercolor by James Drake, public domain photo at www.history.army.mil.)

The Personal Strength of Focus - A Time Management Secret

In an earlier life, I was a West Point cadet, served a combat tour in Vietnam, and retired as lieutenant colonel after 20 years’ service. In other words, I studied the principles of war and had the opportunity to apply them.

One of the principles was called “Mass.” I think today it might be called “Concentration of Force.” The idea is to discover the enemy’s vulnerability and then concentrate overwhelming force at that point. The disruption and disarray this causes leads to other opportunities.

As a young man it was fascinating to analyze wars throughout history using the principles of war. But it’s pretty grim stuff when you apply it on the modern battlefield. As I said, that was another life. Today I use the Principle of Mass to work through my “To-Do” list.

I wasn’t always so successful. My typical workday went something like this…

I’d start my computer and check my three email accounts for urgent messages. If there were any, I’d answer them. I’d check my blog, Facebook and Twitter—got to engage, or what’s it all about? While I was doing that, I got a couple instant messages from my coworkers. One wanted me to check a text file. The other asked for information. We ended up talking on the phone instead. My To-Do list has about twenty important projects. Daunting. I noticed a yellow post-it on my desk: “Return Bob’s call after 9.” I did that. The call took longer than I thought it would. I answered an instant message query while talking to him. Bob asked for some original text. After the call, I wrote it and sent it to him. I opened a file I was working on the day before and refined some of the language. I got a call from my business partner, so I closed the file to talk to her. My coffee was cold, so I went to warm it. When I returned, I decided to work on the file. But first I checked email for more messages. Several needed attending to. I looked up and realized that it was time for lunch. The afternoon went pretty much the same way. I finished the day exhausted and with a feeling that I didn’t make progress on any of my priorities. The pressure of time bore down on me harder than before, and I vowed that tomorrow would be different.

This, of course, is miserably frustrating. It’s the way of failure. But I have the answer. It was given to me by a productivity expert named Eben Pagan. In one of his programs he outlined a brilliant approach to achieving focus and getting things done during my day.

It starts with the day before…

Before shutting down for the day, decide which project you want to spend concentrated time on the next day. This should be the most important project you have. Ideally, it’ll be the one you’re most passionate about. Schedule two hours—with a half-hour break in between—to work on the project. Then find everything you’ll need the next day to support your work. Arrange it in your workspace for easy access. Go to bed early enough to rise refreshed.

Start the next day with stretching, exercise, hygiene and a healthy breakfast. Eben recommends making this a life habit. Arrive at your workspace a half-hour before the scheduled time for working on the project. Take care of anything urgent. Review your task objective and support materials. Remind people that you’ll be in “prime time” for two scheduled hours and can be reached after these periods. Then at exactly the appointed time (plus or minus five minutes), start a one-hour timer. And begin work. Do nothing but your task during the hour. When the timer alarm goes off, stop. Take a half-hour break. The idea is to recharge your energy for the next hour, so relax, meditate, check email--whatever works.

At the appointed hour, reset your timer and resume work. Again, do nothing but work on your priority project. When the timer goes off, stop. Now you can deal with all the things that used to distract you from getting things done.

This may sound like an unnatural or unfamiliar level of discipline. A timer? Yes, a timer. Get one at your office supply store for $10.

I’ve always believed in the axiom, “Structure will set you free,” and Eben Pagan’s method really puts it to the test. He contends that if you take this approach, you’ll get far more done in these two hours than you used to during a typical unstructured day. All I can say is, it’s hard to argue with him, because it works. I’ve been using this time management method, and I’ve discovered there are no downsides. Only positives. The lesser important things are put in their place. They no longer distract me. I’ve been getting a tremendous amount of work done. It’s how I deploy my energy at work using the Principle of Mass. And I’ve won some battles!

If you’re plagued by the inability to focus and get important things done, I recommend you try structuring your mornings like this. Do it every day until it becomes routine. Later, if you want to, you can structure your afternoons like this and get twice as much done.

I’ll say this. The method makes sense, but it’s different. It’s easy to talk about it and think about it, but changing a work routine is like making a lifestyle change. You won’t find it comfortable at first. That comes later.

Here's another Fortune Cookie for you...

Go off in every direction, and you’ll end up nowhere.

 More Fortune Cookies...

The story behind the Fortune Cookies...

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength . (License to use photo purchased from istockphoto.com)

A Tale of Integrity

When I was a West Point cadet, integrity was embodied in the Cadet Honor Code, which stated, “A cadet will not lie, cheat or steal or tolerate those who do.” Honor violations were reported by fellow cadets and thoroughly investigated. Cadets found guilty were dismissed immediately. I had a classmate who broke the rules by getting married while he was a cadet, a fact which he kept secret. The problem was, he signed a statement every time he returned from leave declaring that he wasn’t married. Eventually, this lie bothered him so much that he turned himself in the day before graduation. It was an honorable thing to do, but he wasn't allowed to graduate or to be commissioned as a second lieutenant.

But that didn't stop him from serving. He joined the Army and earned a commission through Officer Candidate School (OCS). He became a helicopter pilot, but he was killed soon afterward in Vietnam when his aircraft was shot down. I grieved his death along with more than 30 of my classmates who paid the ultimate price there.

“Honor” and “integrity” are common terms, but I’ve found that most people have a vague understanding of them. For example, I hear the terms honesty and integrity being used interchangeably. Sure, they’re closely related, but to me they’re two different things. Honesty has to do with communicating the truth—what you say. Integrity has to do with living the truth—what you do.

So I believe it’s important to define “integrity.” The more clearly you understand what it is, the more likely you’ll be to act honorably and the less tolerant you’ll be of people who act dishonorably. 

I’ll start by putting my working definition on the table:  Integrity is doing what you’ve led others to believe that you’ll do. 

This definition applies whether you sign a written contract, make a verbal promise, or present yourself to others as someone who lives according to your core values or a recognized code of ethics. It applies whether your actions are consciously planned or triggered by impulse or emotion. 

I think of integrity as a personal strength because doing the right thing often means doing the hard thing. It may be inconvenient or difficult to keep your promise. You may be tempted to do something else.

Here’s a question for you. What would you do if no one was looking? Would you do the right thing even if you knew for sure that no one would ever know the difference? 

Say you’re at a convenience store and you buy a lottery ticket for a dollar. You hand the clerk a $10 bill. Distracted by her conversation with the other clerk, she puts your money in the register, gives you the ticket and then counts out $19 in change. Clearly, the honorable thing is to point out her error and get the correct change. But many people would rationalize that no one is harmed by the error and that it’s a bit of luck that balances out all those past lottery losses.

Integrity hangs in the balance.  

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., , Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength .

Fire You Up on Monday Morning - Rock Classic "Takin' Care of Business"

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die. 

Back in 1973, a pop tune called "American Pie," written and sung by Don McLean, dominated the charts for over a year. The lyrics were symbolic and obscure. Nobody knew what they meant. Maybe that's why the song was so popular. People listened to the song over and over, and they could never agree on what McLean was singing about.

My interpretation - Don McLean was singing about "the day the music died," the end of the music of the Vietnam era - the golden age of rock and roll.

An expert has confirmed this theory for me. When I was living in Miami Beach in 1997, I used to get my hair cut by the same high-priced stylist that my wife used. One day Robert was busy making me look like a million bucks when a middle-aged music producer took the seat next to me. Robert played lead guitar in an old-fart rock band on the side, and he was talking to this guy about their favorite rock music.

The producer said: "All the great stuff happened before 1973. Nothing worthy has been produced ever since."

Maybe his opinion was a bit overstated. Still, I identify strongly with the music of that era, and I stopped paying attention to pop music after 1975.

Anyway, my youngest son, who loves music, was born the year "the music died." So he never knew about it. All that great music is just waiting for him to discover it. He grew up on Prince, though, so I wonder if he'll appreciate it the way I do. 

Here's one of my favorites, "Taking Care of Business," written by Randy Bachman, recorded by Bachman Turner Overdrive, aka BTO. I love the loud, blue-collar take on work, the ironic blend of necessity with the dream of an easier, more playful way to make money. 

Enjoy!


There! Was that enough to get you fired up for business on Monday morning, or what?

Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength .

The Personal Strength of Loyalty - The Glue of Relationships

In his book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell attempts to explain why some people are remarkably successful. His method is to focus on how they’re different from everyone else.  In one story, he describes Roseto, a town in Pennsylvania populated almost exclusively by immigrants from Roseto Valfortore, a small village in Italy. In the 1950s, doctors around Roseto noticed that almost no one under the age of 65 had heart disease. Also, there was almost no suicide, alcoholism, drug addiction or crime there. In fact, the major cause of death in Roseto was old age. After decades of studies, researchers found that none of the usual variables made any difference: not diet, not exercise, not genetics, and not the environment. 

To everyone’s surprise, the evidence showed that the major contributing factor was relationships. “You’d see three-generational family meals, all the bakeries, the people walking up and down the street, sitting on their porches talking to each other, the blouse mills where the women worked during the day, while the men worked in the slate quarries…It was magical.” They had transplanted their unique Italian village culture to create a close-knit community of caring relationships. That, far more than anything else, caused them to live long, healthy lives. 

One force that strengthens relationships is a dynamic we refer to as loyalty. But what is meant by that, exactly?

Our company has a great relationship with our banker, one that has endured more than ten years of high-flying and recession free-falling economies. A practical and personable businessman, he’s been loyal to us all that time. His most recent act of loyalty was to restructure our credit to our advantage, to help us thrive during the recession. He did this of his own initiative, even though it involved some risk to his bank. Naturally, we’ve been loyal to him, too.

So loyalty is earned, and it’s a two-way street. Being loyal means giving a relationship the higher priority. Simple enough—if you care about someone, then be there for them. Be true to them. Do what’s in their best interests. Based on your choice, a relationship will grow—or atrophy. The problem is, most people have many loyalties, including loyalty to oneself. And loyalties can sometimes conflict with each other. So it may be hard to choose one over the other. 

Our landlord, on the other hand, has consistently chosen not to give our company a high priority. The latest incident involved the dishwasher in our kitchen, which no longer works properly. Even though the dishwasher came with the property, he refuses to fix it. Based on his actions, we know that our relationship as a customer isn’t as important to him as the cost of repairing or replacing the appliance. As a result, we’ve started having creative discussions about becoming a virtual company when our lease is up.
 

Sometimes loyalty to a friend can conflict with loyalty to a principle.

Forty years ago, when I was an advisor in Vietnam, I was on a sweep through the countryside north of Cu Chi. On this occasion, I was riding on top of a mechanized infantry assault vehicle next to an old friend, who was the commander of the U.S. infantry company. On that day we had teamed for a joint mission—my Vietnamese counterpart’s infantry platoon and Butch’s mechanized infantry company. All the soldiers rode on top of the vehicles instead of inside in case one of them hit a booby trap. Together, we hunted for Viet Cong.

Actually, the Viet Cong were smart enough to hear our vehicles coming a mile away and hide until we passed. So Butch had arranged for a Cobra helicopter gunship to fly ahead of us looking for anything suspicious. Mid-morning, my friend got a call from the chopper that a “suspect” was running away in an open field. The pilot asked for permission to open fire. 

“How do you know he’s an enemy?” I asked Butch.

He smiled at me. “The friendlies don’t try to run away.”

“That’s not always true. You need more info.”

But instead, he gave the order for the pilot to engage him. Immediately, we heard a long, loud burst of the mini-gun fire. Butch then gave the order for his company to check the area ahead for more enemy.

We came through the trees to witness a scene that I’ll never forget. A dead body lay in the middle of an open field. The Cobra’s accuracy had been deadly. A young boy came running, screaming and crying. By the time I got off the track, the boy was crying over his father. When I removed the man’s ID card from his shirt pocket, it was covered with blood. But it confirmed that the man was a local farmer, not the enemy at all.

A terrible mistake had been made. An innocent man had been killed. It shouldn’t have happened. It was the result of an impulsive, callous decision. I felt certain that the boy’s sorrow would transform into hatred, and he would eventually join the Viet Cong. We hadn’t destroyed an enemy; we had created one.

This incident bothered me. I felt conflicted. Should I remain loyal to my friend? Or did the value for human life and humane treatment represent a higher loyalty? Later that week, I reported my friend to the authorities. It was a hard call, one that had repercussions. My friend was relieved of his command, a consequence that ruined his career. He and I never communicated again after that. Forty years later, I googled him and discovered that he’s now the CFO for a big company and a benefactor in his community.

For me, this experience had a hard lesson—that loyalty is an issue in every relationship and that loyalty decisions are sometimes hard to make. Also, it’s easy to make bad choices, especially if you aren’t conscious of how loyalty works or sensitive to this element in a particular relationship.

Also this: Doing the right thing usually means doing the hard thing.

INSIGHT

Be there for those you care about, and you’ll never be alone.

YOUR ACTION ASSIGNMENT

Think about someone close to you, such as a best friend, a business partner, or a spouse. Then do this:

1.    Assess how much you care about this person.
2.    Then make a list of anyone or anything that might take precedence over this person if you were faced with a conflict of loyalties.
3.    The next time you’re forced to choose between something this person needs and something else, analyze which loyalty is more important before you make your decision.
4.    Make your choice, take action, and make note of the consequences. 

*     *     *

Nurture relationships, and the garden of your life will flourish.

“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.” - Oprah Winfrey

"Ah friend, let us be true to one another!" - Matthew Arnold
 
Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., , Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength .

My Guilty Pleasure - A Steak Sandwich

Recently I treated myself to a guilty pleasure that I allow myself only once or twice a year: a Steak Sandwich. It's not particularly healthy; but man is it delicious! Nothing fancy. I just slice some grilled steak and add thinly sliced onions, tomato and lettuce. I prefer toasted sourdough bread, coated with mayonnaise and horseradish.

When I married Kathleen, she didn’t make or eat sandwiches. For some reason, she didn’t consider them “real food.” After trying out some of my concoctions over the years, she'll eat sandwiches now. She even likes my steak sandwich, I think partially because I told her this story.

When I was 22, I had the opportunity to attend the Army’s Ranger School, where I learned the skills that probably saved my life in Vietnam. The experience was so physically and mentally demanding that I later thought combat was like a daily walk in the park. Except for getting shot at, of course.

During the Georgia mountain phase in late November, 1967, we were on a 13-day patrol. In a typical day we would navigate all day and all night up and down hills with thick underbrush, no matter what the weather, carrying 50-pound packs and weapons, and then attack an objective just before dawn. If we didn't get lost, there might be time for a couple hours of sleep, usually on the cold ground under a poncho curled up next to my Ranger buddy. Food was dropped by helicopter at prearranged coordinates; one day’s rations consisted of the equivalent of a can of beans, four crackers and a candy bar. It was a physical ordeal, and towards the end of that patrol, I discovered I was hallucinating.

You get the picture. We were deprived of all creature comforts. So when we had time to rest, guess what my buddies and I talked about. No, it was never about women or sex. The only thing we ever talked about was food—what we were going to eat once we were back home. Each of us described in detail a favorite food. When it was my turn, I described a steak sandwich. We did this over and over again in a kind of verbal ritual.

After graduating from Ranger School, the first thing I did was to find a restaurant in the Atlanta airport. Still in uniform, I walked up to the waitress and asked her if she could make me a steak sandwich. I described it to her exactly the way I had described it to my buddies so many times out in the boonies. "There's no steak sandwich on the menu," she said. But I gently reached out and touched her shoulder and told her it was important. She gave me a look, and then she disappeared into the kitchen. What she produced was exactly what I had imagined. I ate it with great relish.

On the plane I was served a hot meal, which I immediately consumed. I asked the stewardess if she had any more meals, and she brought me another. Flying was a lot different back then. I arrived in El Paso at midnight and was greeted by my wife, whom I hadn’t seen in three months. She said, “What are you up for?” I considered my options and said, “Let’s go get something to eat.” I ate a big breakfast at Denny’s. She didn’t seem that hungry, so I ate most of hers, too. The next morning, I ate another big breakfast. I had a lot of catching up to do in the food department.

Ever since, I've never been late for dinner. I'm blessed to be married to a beautiful woman who thinks cooking is a form of creativity and fun. But every now and then, I've just got to have my steak sandwich.


Post by Dennis E. Coates, Ph.D., , Copyright 2010. Building Personal Strength .