Some Remain
/To those who inspire.
————
There are places I remember, All my life, though some have changed.
Some for forever, not for better, Some have gone, and some remain.
Lennon and McCartney –
Those who remain, we remember for the rest of our lives. Some for the large effect they
had on the persons we became. Some others because of some small incident that stayed in our head thereafter, some act of courage, wisdom, or generosity. Whether they influenced us as amentor or influenced us by a single example. These are the people we remember, the ones who have pointed us to new ideas and better behavior.
Our first mentors are family and friends. After that, there’s no real pattern. I’ve been blessed by the influence of many such people. Without them I would be someone else.
Grandad Bill - That’s what we all called him, not Grandfather, not even Grandpa, but Grandad Bill. Maybe because Grandad has a jaunty sound to it that seemed to fit his personality. He was a rake and a rambler – a little wild and a little unbuttoned.
I thought he was terrific.
Grandad Bill told me stories about his travels from Florida to California to Colorado to points between. He also showed me how craftsmanship isn’t dependent on equipment. With no more than a very sharp pocketknife he carved ax handles, walking canes, cups, toys, and much else that I’ve forgotten. I still have one of his ax handles. It looks like it was machined.
I think if he had been born in any other time or place, he would have become an architect or engineer. He had an analytical mind and an appreciation of beauty. Unfortunately, he was born in 1881 Missouri where there wasn’t much need for what he was best at.
He lived with us for several years. I learned a lot from him. I learned about the wider world. I learned about precision craftsmanship. I learned how to think - about thinking.
Grandad Bill was wary of unverified information. He said once about a newspaper story He’d just read, “Paper lays flat, you can put anything you want on it”.
Two Great Teachers - Sadly, I don’t remember their names. I do remember their knowledge, and enthusiasm. My ninth-grade literature teacher loved the great works. He wanted the class to understand why. He read passages from The Canterbury Tales in Chaucer’s own Middle English tongue. He read passages from Shakespeare in the language of Elizabethan England. All of which he acted-out with compelling flair. He pulled us into his world, where history and human behavior blend seamlessly into understanding what makes any work of writing important, or not.
My high-school history teacher did much the same. He once presented the tragedy of St. Thomas Becket’s conflict with Henry VIII by picturing the Kings knights as black leather-jacketed thugs of the Black Board Jungle variety. Suddenly history became human - even to the black leather-jacketed thugs in the classroom.
He would occasionally begin class by plunking a curious historical replica of some sort on his desk asking, “What do you suppose this is”? He made you want to know. He made history personally relevant.
These two great teachers set off me on a lifelong appreciation of history and literature.
Earl - I never knew his last name. I never even talked to him. I watched him. He was a common-labor temporary worker. He showed by example how humble common labor can be a Profession. His professionalism started with the uniform he wore: pressed tan trousers and work shirt, complete with his name, Earl, embroidered on the pocket. The company didn’t issue uniforms. Earl supplied his own.
He was the kind of worker managers dream of. He was never late, or early. He worked at a steady, unhurried pace. He did what was asked of him, no more, no less. He didn’t gossip, complain, or argue. He just did the job – common labor – with more personal dignity than I had believed possible for low-level, grunt work. His attitude and every action proclaimed him a Professional.
Labor might be common; Earl wasn’t. Earl taught me that respect doesn’t come from the kind of work you do - it comes from the way you do the work.
Martha Oliver – I worked with Martha in the Art Department at the Educational Research Council. She was a gifted illustrator, and an equally gifted singer. She often sang as she worked. Though a gentle soul, she would stop anyone who referred to her as Black by Harrumphing politely and correcting the word to Negro. Most Negros in the early sixties considered Black as insult. I’m not sure when the politically correct language changed. It wouldn’t have mattered to Martha. She did not identify herself by race. She identified herself as Christian.
Martha truly lived her life in imitation of Christ, as did my Grandma Ollie. I can’t think of many others that did. Martha never lectured anyone about Christianity, her example was proof enough.
At that time in my life I had been drifting away from my Christian heritage. Martha’s living example made me reconsider my thoughtless drift. I never talked to her about it. I might have except the change didn’t happen overnight. The process took several years. Martha never knew what she inspired in me, but Martha Oliver’s influence begin my return to Christ.
I will thank her in Heaven.
Leonidas Romanos - He was not a man anyone looked forward to butting heads with. His mere presence was intimidating. I am quite sure that he could walk into a room of complete strangers and command instant respect. He was a tall man, and his purposeful bearing made him seem even taller. He brushed his longish white hair straight back in the military manner of the Romanian princes from whom he was undoubtedly descended. Augmenting this were thick, black horn rim glasses that gave him the eagle-like aspect of a predator.
He was always impeccably dressed in suits tailor-made in London. His shirts, ties, and pipes all looking as though they came from the finest craftsmen to be found anywhere.
Moreover, he was charming. His European accent and quick wit projected intelligent sophistication. He kept his resolute eye on every turn and twist of the daily operation of the Educational Research Council. He was quick to upbraid any Director that fell behind schedule, went over budget, or failed to produce test-provable results.
His command outpost was an unassuming small office in the middle of the second floor of the east wing of the Rockefeller bldg. His door was always open. He was within view of all, puffing his pipe, sorting through piles of papers, and sipping his tea. Despite the modest office, everyone knew who was in charge. Real power requires no trappings.
I learned that from Leonidas Romanos.
Bob Sparker - He was Director of the Creative Department at The Jamie Corporation. Despite the name, they were a Marketing and Advertising company. I interviewed for a position,
Bob Sparker did the interviewing. Before I handed him my portfolio, I told him I had designed books, book covers, and education materials, but had never worked in advertising. Bob waved that off, saying no matter, and started flipping through the portfolio. “Good work. What else”?
There was only one thing else. Three books of what might be thought of as sketch books. They weren’t. I never sketched in them. They were pasted-on hodge-podges of small marginal cutouts from layouts I had worked on when designing books. They were odd-ball imaginings created when I was working on projects still forming in my mind. Most were in color, multi-media, and strange. I nearly didn’t bring them with me to the interview.
Bob loved them.
He offered me a salary I couldn’t have dreamed of asking for. He had an understanding of his job that was inspirational. He hired and managed writers, art directors, and designers. He never told any of us how to do our jobs. He hired us, then left the rest to our talents.
His talent was to spot talent.
We did our best to live up to his assessment.
Before leaving The Jamie Corporation, I received several graphic design awards from the Cleveland Society of Advertisers, including my designs for the 100th celebration of Case University. None of that possible without Bob Sparker’s insight and instructive managerial style: Loosen the reins, give them their head and let 'em run free to the goal.
I took it all to heart and have profited by his wisdom many times since.
Whom else - Too many to tell, and not enough space. Those I’ve described have been my most significant mentors. There are so many more that have added to my modest store of wisdom. Some by a single act, others by impressive personalities that have served as models. We are all indebted to special persons who have lifted our view to vistas we might never have seen otherwise. Sir. Isaac Newton said modestly, “If I have seen further, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants”.
So have we all, great and small alike.
Some have gone, and some remain.
We owe them much.
By K. L. Shipley
Website: https://www.eclecticessays.com