Tom Collins Online Blog

Nutty Buddy Pie

2009-06-03T10:38:00Z

One of my favorite mental images is inspired by reading the description of the 1st Century believers as recorded in Acts 2:

They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved (NIV).

Believers united in spirit and purpose, gathering together each day to enjoy food and fellowship, and praising God with glad and sincere hearts. What an attractive thought. It is no wonder that Christianity was so contagious and that the Lord added daily to their number.

Life in Jerusalem was not a cakewalk back in those days. Quite the opposite – those were unstable times throughout the known world of their day. Political tensions, economic crisis, social injustice, random violence, religious intolerance, government corruption, random violence and deep-seated prejudice were a part of everyday life. Those were difficult times. But these early Christians found solace and security in fellowship and in worship. We could learn a thing or two from their example …

Last Sunday our church, Calvary Baptist, joined with a neighboring congregation, Enon Baptist Church, for the Fifth Sunday Night Sing. It was an enjoyable worship experience with each choir performing from their repertoire of anthems and praise songs. For the most part, we were singing to each other, but we also had opportunity to join voices and make a joyful noise together. As is our custom, we all gathered for food and fellowship afterward, it was a fulfilling event.

Our Baptist Men’s group decided to spice things up a bit with a pie baking promotion – “The Guys Make the Pies.” While it wasn’t a contest, per se, my competitive spirit compelled me to sample all of the entries. I didn't mind doing my part (for the good of the cause). Although everyone made a respectable contribution, it is my qualified opinion that this entry stood head and shoulders above the rest:

Nutty Buddy Pies

8 oz. cream cheese
2 c powdered sugar
1 c milk
2/3 c crunchy peanut butter
16 oz. Cool Whip
chopped salted peanuts
3 chocolate pie crusts
Hershey’s chocolate syrup

Combine cream cheese, powdered sugar, milk and peanut butter together in a mixing bowl. Mix well. Fold in Cool Whip. Pour into chocolate pie crusts. Drizzle chocolate syrup on top of pies. Sprinkle with salted peanuts. Freeze. This recipe makes three pies.

Note: In the interest of full disclosure, I must add that (1) the Nutty Buddy Pie was my contribution to the pie baking promotion, (2) that this recipe was taken adapted from another source, that Nancy supervised my pie-making venture, and (3) that some bias may exist in my evaluation. These exceptions noted, let me state that I enjoyed both making and eating this pie. I hope that you do too.

An Adult Conversation - An Update on My Dad

2009-03-10T00:38:00Z

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know.” Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?”  Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me... (John 14:1-7)

I grew the son of a Baptist, preacher's son, a PK as we're called. In the days before I received my driver's license, I spent many hours riding with my father, visiting homes and hospitals, and even attending funerals of people I had never met. I learned to sit quietly and listen as dad comforted and consoled people with this passage of scripture and the 23rd Psalm. I memorized them at an early age, recognizing that they were the foundations of my father's faith. The scripture that he relied on in times of sickness, suffering and death.

I can't recall my father trying to explain God, death, or the hereafter to people during these times. I never heard him claim any eschatological expertise. I can't even say for sure whether he is pre-millenial, post-millenial, or what-ever. Dad's usual response was that we humans can't really understand death, "Every time we try, we become like children taking part in an adult conversation." There seems to be so much that we just don't know, so much we cannot understand. Even the Apostle Paul wrote, "For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known (1 Cor. 13).

Oh, we talked about sickness, suffering and death as we traveled. As a pastor and a Navy chaplain in Vietnam, Dad gained more than ample experience in those areas. A picture of my dad baptizing a young marine in a small stream near the Rock Pile, hangs in the Marine Corps Museum in Quantico, Virginia. It is a moving photo, but there is more to the story : The young marine came into dad's foxhole late one evening and shared that he wanted to accept Christ, and be baptized. It was quite a request, given that the Rock Pile was a strategic stronghold for the marines, a high outcropping near the Ho Chi Mihn trail. It was an area surrounded by enemy forces.   Fortunately, the commanding officer was a Christian and, through insistent effort, it was arranged for a patrol to accompany them out to a nearby stream. Marine snipers stood guard as the baptismal service was held. (The young marine was killed on a combat mission a couple of weeks later.) My dad knew firsthand about sickness, suffering and death. As a chaplain, he saw men killed in action, carried the tragic news to their waiting families, and performed their funeral services. As a pastor he visited the hospitals,prayed by their bedsides, and ministered to countless families over a forty-year career. We had those conversations. I just cannot recall hearing him ever trying to explain the "whys."

It is one thing to talk of sickness, suffering and death when it is someone that you don't really know. It becomes painful when it affects a friend or relatives. But when it targets you, your siblings or your parents - that is when FAITH hits home. That is when it is time for some direct communication.

Dad has been in the hospital for about six weeks now. His condition does not appear to be getting better and the doctors are recommending that we move him to Hospice, and "make him comfortable. It was Thursday afternoon when we received a rather grim report from the doctors. Mama, Michele and I were in the corner of the room talking over matters in hushed tones when we heard a frail voice, "He's my Rock My Sword My Shield ..." He repeated the same line over and over.

Recognizing what was going on, Michele joined in the singing. Mama and I soon followed suit and I guess we sang that song through a half a dozen times. It was his way of letting us know everything is OK. He became fairly lucid and talkative, asking where he was going to preach on Sunday.   Encouraging the conversation, I prompted him, "What would you preach on." The sermons had already been rehearsed in his mind -- the 14th Chapter of the Gospel of John, The 23rd Psalm, or John 21 ("Lovest Thour Me?)" He proceeded to review the various Greek words used to describe love - eros, storge, philia, and agape. The message was solid; the delivery - it was strained.

Later that evening, when we were alone, he said, "I am saved." It came from out of no where. "Well, I kind of thought so," I replied.  He continued his discourse, "I have done some stupid things, but I am saved. I am saved by the grace of God. I have never intended to hurt anyone, and if I did, I am sorry. I am sent here to preach the gospel - a pure and simple gospel." "What's that?" I asked, realizing that he was on a roll, I encouraged him to continue.  "It is the Gospel of God's love. We are separated from the throne of God, except for the Grace of Jesus Christ. We accept Him and give our hearts to Jesus. It is a sacrificial love. That's what I did my (masters) thesis on -- I Corinthians 13. It 's the way you love your family. The way you love God."

I knew it was time to say those words that fathers and sons tend to withhold from each other - "I love you daddy."
"A boy couldn't have asked for a better father. You helped instill in me the faith, hope and love we have in our Lord."   There were tears in our eyes. The conversation was complete.

He didn't respond much the rest of the evening. At 5:00 on Saturday morning, I woke with him singing, "In that great gettin' up morning, fare ye well, fare ye well!

"Is that a real song? I'm not familiar with it," I inquired. "That is the victory song. It is what we sing coming over the hill." He pumped his fist and hit a deep note - "It's that great gettin' up morning, fare ye well, fare ye well." He hasn't said a whole lot since then. There is not much more to say.

I don't know much about sickness, suffering, or death. These days I feel like a child taking part in an adult conversation. But I know what Jesus said in the 14th Chapter of the Gospel of John:

“These things I have spoken to you while being present with you. But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all things that I said to you. Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

http://video.aol.com/video-detail/the-kings-heralds-in-that-great-getting-up-morning/3911098415

Turkey Carcass Soup

2008-11-27T14:01:00Z

Thanksgiving Friday (Black Friday) has risen to holiday status in American culture with door-buster specials and red-tag deals for those willing to rise in the wee hours of the morning. It’s mano-de-mano, and I imagine that Nancy & Krystle intend to join the fray. Me? I plan to sleep in. I can not bring myself to begin Christmas shopping until December. And, besides, I’m saving myself for Saturday! I am looking forward to preparing a huge pot of turkey carcass soup, a plate of turkey sandwiches, a bowl of chips & salsa, a bag of pistachios and a pitcher of iced tea. Have you seen the line-up of football games for Saturday? I can’t wait …

(The schedule of college games on tv this Saturday is in the HAPPY THANKSGIVING FEATURE COLUMN. Visit WWW.TOMCOLLINSONLINE.COM

TOM’S TURKEY CARCASS SOUP
Take all that remains of your featured Thanksgiving fare, after everyone has had their fill of turkey sandwiches, (e.g., 1 Turkey Carcass). Place in a stock pot with about 6 quarts of water (use your instincts here, cooking is art – not science). Add the key ingredients:
Chopped Onion (1 large)
Chopped Celery (3 stalks)
Sliced Carrots (3 large)
Diced Tomatoes (1 can)
[Feel free to add corn, peas, beans as your tastes and leftovers allow]
Chicken Broth (1 or 2 cans)
Black Peppercorns (as you please)
Cavender’s All-Purpose Greek Seasoning
A generous pinch of Garlic Powder
A sweeping dash of Salt
A couple shakes of ground black pepper
Bring the pot to a boil while adding the key ingredients. Cover, reduce heat, and allow the broth to simmer for about an hour. Return broth to a boil and add one package of egg noodles. Reduce heat to medium and allow noodles to cook for 10 to 15 minutes.
ENJOY!

Tom's Chicken Bog

2008-11-06T23:02:00Z

My ancestral roots extend back to the fertile soil along the banks of the Pee Dee River in South Carolina and the Lumber River in North Carolina. It is a farming area and, in its heyday, it was home to a thriving tobacco market. The area is also the home to “chicken bog,” a rice dish that has long been the featured fare at barn suppers, church socials and political rallies throughout the region. Known as chicken pileau (per-low) to the uppity people of the low country, chicken bog basically consists of “chicken and rice and everything nice.” Whether it is named for its soggy consistency or the swampy black water region where it originated, I cannot say.

I can say, unequivocally, that chicken bog is my favorite food. Chicken bog is a meal to share with friends, it is almost impossible to prepare in small batches and its very nature suggests a party. It is an excellent choice for holiday gatherings. Actually, it is much more than a meal – it is an experience. Legend has it that, during the “War of Northern Aggression,” one Yankee officer actually switched sides after sampling a bowl of bog.
Chicken bog even has its own festival – the annual Loris Bog-Off. Each October crowds gather in this Horry County (SC) town for a parade, arts & crafts displays, games, musical entertainment and a chicken bog cooking contest. Each “chef” has his or her special variation, usually a closely guarded family recipe passed down through the generations.

Although Nancy and I lived in Loris for three years, I never entered the contest – it remains one of my life goals. Through trial and error, I have developed my own unique recipe that I enjoy sharing with family and friends each fall. I am pleased to share it with you. Enjoy!

1 fat hen (3-5 lb. cut-up whole chicken)
1 large yellow onion (chopped)
1 Hillshire Farms Kielbasa (or other cooked sausage) cut in 1/6 inch slices
2 cans of Cream of Chicken soup
1 can of Cream of Mushroom soup
1 can of sliced mushrooms
Black Peppercorns
2 lbs. long white grain rice
2 packs of Mahatma ® Saffron Yellow Rice
Assorted Secret Spices

Cook hen and chopped onion in large pot of rapidly boiling water. Aggressively season with secret spices and black peppercorns. (You may add your your favorite spices such as red pepper, garlic, salt, etc. according to your attitude and tastes.) Cook chicken until it begins falling off the bone, then remove chicken for deboning. Add Kilbasa sausage slices, mushrooms and soup to the boiling pot. Debone chicken and return meat to pot. When the pot returns to a rapid boil, add the rice and reduce heat. Be careful here because crunchy or scorched rice can ruin a good bog (This is where it becomes an art). The cook may now treat himself/herself to a cup of broth (a true delicacy) as the rice absorbs all of the liquid. Remove from the stove and serve hot. Share with friends and family!

Bravo Zulu

2008-10-17T15:49:00Z

“BRAVO ZULU”
      It was a bit of a shock when William phoned us from college last Fall and announced that he had enlisted in the U.S. Navy. He told us that he was going to leave school and begin training to qualify for a special operations assignment. As you may imagine, Nancy was not overly impressed with this news. I don’t know of many mothers that are particularly overjoyed when their only son makes such a decision, especially in a time of war. Let’s face it – Nancy was rather upset about the matter. William, the U.S. Navy recruiting officers, the fleet and the entire chain of command up to the Commander-in-Chief were all targets of her ire. Although clearly a non-belligerent in this fray, even I was assigned fault in the matter, supposedly this decision was in some way hereditary.
      It’s a free country, and though a man be married, he is still entitled to his own free choice. “He can choose to be right, or he can choose to be happy.” I chose to keep my thoughts and opinions to myself. With hindsight, I believe that I chose well.

      In my heart, it was a different matter. Following my sophomore year in college, I too wanted to embark on a naval career.   I wanted to sign up for ROTC program, go through officer’s training, and serve my “hitch” in the U.S. Navy.   I shared these thoughts with friends and family members who successfully talked me out of it. Of all the things that I have done over the years, of the many impulsive mistakes I have made in life, I regret most that I did not take that opportunity to serve my country. Thus, in my heart, I am glad that William enlisted. In my heart, I wished that I could sign up with him.
      William remained at home following the Christmas break and spent the Spring semester intensely conditioning. He read books and watched numerous DVDs about special operations training. William would talk of being a Navy “SEAL,” and I would joke that I had signed up as a “WALRUS.” “While the SEALs are an elite special operations force,” I explained, “A WALRUS is a uniquely trained, highly-educated combatant. Although they may move a bit slower and not have the “cut” physique of the SEALS, they are the ultimate warriors.” William didn’t really appreciate my sense of humor, and frankly told me that I was annoying. He thought that I was making fun of him. By June, he was ready to go … and I wished that I could go with him.

      “My old man’s a sailor, now what do you think about that …” I can remember singing that ditty riding through the shipyards in Norfolk with my father. My old man was a sailor indeed, he was a Navy chaplain then assigned to the destroyer 701 – the John W. Weeks. I vividly recall those gray ships with their bold numbers, the sailors in their white uniforms, and the smell of the fuel along the docks. At age three, I could salute properly and knew all the words to “Anchors Aweigh.”
       Dad volunteered for service when I was a toddler. He was on a “Mediterranean
Cruise” when my sister was born and on a 13-month tour of duty with the Marines in Vietnam when my younger brother made his debut. My father spent seven years in the Navy, crossing the equator and circling the world on a ship, achieving rank as a Lt. Commander, before returning to civilian life as a pastor. The Navy gave my father an opportunity to “See the World,” and provided him with volumes of stories and sermon illustrations. But, as I weighed my decision to enlist back in 1981, he chose to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself. With hindsight, I believe that he chose well.

    Every young person should be afforded the freedom to make their own decisions, to follow the leading of their heart and their head as they choose their paths in life. While there is wisdom in a multitude of counsel, in the end a person has to determine their own course. My father – an athlete, a sailor, and a minister – never pressured me to follow in any of those endeavors. He taught me, he coached me, he advised me and influenced me. But, in the end it was always my choice to make. Regardless of my decision, Dad was on my side … still is today.
      We travelled to the Great Lakes Training Station in August to attend William’s
graduation ceremony. Words cannot adequately describe my feelings as groups of sailors marched in to the tune of “Anchors Aweigh” and stood at attention before us. As the band played the “Star Spangled Banner,” I was felt honored that my son was numbered among this group of young men and women that have volunteered to serve their country. Our eyes were moist with joy. It was a special time, a special ceremony. I am glad we were there with him.
      Nancy and I were proud as we queued up with the other parents in the gift shop to purchase our Navy memorabilia. In addition to photographs and the requisite “NAVY” t-shirts and bumper stickers, I picked up a couple of books – “The Bluejacket’s Manual” and “A Sailor’s History of the U.S. Navy.” I went ahead and bought a copy for my dad, too.

“Bravo Zulu”
Thomas J. Cutler in his book, “A Sailor’s History of the U.S. Navy,” informs us that the origin of this term can found in the codes used to convey information and orders at sea in the days before radio was invented. A set of signal flags representing letters and numbers were hoisted to relay coded messages. The two and three letter codes remained in effect after voice radio was invented.
      Although radio allowed the signal codes to be transmitted a greater distance, using letters that sound alike (b, p, d, and e) could cause confusion, especially in the heat of battle.   A commodore intending to tell his ships to “engage the enemy” (DCV) might be misinterpreted,and understood to order the ships to “return to port” (TCE). A phonetic alphabet (alpha, bravo, charlie, delta …) was developed for administrative and tactical messages to reduce potential for miscommunication.
      During World War II, a commander would use “TVG” to signal the message “well
done.” The signal code was later revised to “TVC” (tango, victor, charlie).   After NATO was formed in 1949, the phonetic alphabet and signals were standardized so that ships of different navies could readily communicate with each other. Two-flag administrative signals were grouped as “B” signals and the last signal on the administrative page was “BZ” (bravo zulu) – “Well Done.”

      Bravo Zulu! Well Done! Nancy and I are proud of our son’s decision to join the U.S. Navy and wish the best to him and to the other young men and women that have made a commitment to serve our country. You have chosen well.

Trust

2008-03-21T19:03:00Z

My friend Nath Thompson came by to see me a few weeks ago and brought me a couple of books from his library, including the biographies of three outstanding football coaches – Wally Butts, Paul “Bear” Bryant, and Vince Dooley. It was a meaningful gift and I appreciate his thoughtful kindness. Books make such good gifts, and ‘pre-viewed’ books are even more special because they provide a way of sharing your heart, your emotions, with others. Thanks Nath!

My friend Kim Pate gave me a meaningful book for my birthday last year, The Speed of Trust, by Stephen M.R. Covey. Kim and I used to talk about the how truth and trust were such important ingredients for building a successful organization, and it was our goal to make truth and trust an integral part of the athletics department culture at Brevard College. As a big fan of his father’s classic, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, I was anxious to read this publication that was selected by BusinessWeek as one of the top 5 career books for 2006. It did not disappoint me. Although my objectives no longer have any relevance to Brevard College, I intend to make truth and trust part of the foundation upon which I build my new business. Thanks Kim!

Covey writes, “Trust has become the critical leadership competency of the new global economy.” It has a ‘bottom-line’ impact on businesses and organizations. Trust is a measurable accelerator to performance. When trust goes up, speed goes up while costs come down, producing a ‘trust dividend.’ He relies on the banking metaphor to describe actions that build trust – ‘trust deposits,” and those actions that erode trust – ‘withdrawals.’

Unfortunately as one examines the political, business, family and social environments of our society, I am afraid it mirrors the federal budget and my personal checking account. Too many debits and not enough credits. Consider the following:

Over the past 12 months, 76% of employees have observed illegal or unethical conduct on the job – conduct which, if exposed, would seriously violate the public trust.
The number one reason employees leave there is a negative relationship with their boss. Only 51% of employees have trust and confidence in senior management.
1 out of every two marriages in the U.S. ends in divorce.

Covey cites other examples of eroding trust balances while building the case of trust as an economic factor. “Trust always affects two measurable outcomes—speed and cost. When trust goes down in a relationship or in a company, speed goes down and cost goes up. This is a tax, whereas the opposite is true as well: When trust goes up in a relationship or in a company, speed also goes up, and cost comes down. This is a dividend. It’s that simple, that real, that predictable.”

Yes, trust is predictable. Although the word trust has become cliché, a political buzz word freely tossed about in an election year, real trust is something that is built over time through consistent behavior. Roy J. Lewicki, professor of Management at Ohio State University states, “Our trust in another individual can be grounded in our evaluation of his/her ability, integrity, and benevolence. That is, the more we observe these characteristics in another person, the more our level of trust in that person is likely to grow.”

Dr. Richard L. Williams, a specialist in building trust in the workplace, suggests that developing trust is an intentional process that requires both time and effort. He describes a pathway to trust built on communication, understanding, mutual respect and ultimately relational trust that is capable of binding people over time and through trials.

Covey employs the “ripple-effect” metaphor to illustrate the progressive levels of trust. The first wave, is self-trust. You start by asking yourself two key questions: “Do I trust myself?” and “Am I a person others should trust?” The second wave is relationship trust. This involves the amount of trust we have in our various relationships with other people. It is an “inside-out” process because you have a hard time sustaining trust with other people if you don’t even trust yourself. The third ripple is that of organizational trust, the trust that exists within our team or our company or however we choose to define our organization. Then we move out to market trust. This is our organization’s trust with external stakeholders, with the marketplace. Finally, we move out to the fifth ripple, societal trust, which represents the overall context in which we operate. The key is to recognize that it’s an inside-out process. Covey states, “While it’s usually most valuable to diagnose problems and challenges from the outside in, it’s usually most effective to solve these same problems from the inside out.”

Covey identifies thirteen leadership behaviors that build trust. Each compliments the other, thus it is difficult to isolate any one characteristic as most essential. They are obviously all important, however I would like to expand on three for the purpose of defining the trust in this column:

Transparency can be defined as open an authentic honesty. It is telling the truth in a way that people can verify and validate for themselves. Covey suggests, “Transparency is especially important in situations where trust is already low, because low-trust people don’t trust what they cannot see. So let them see it.
Make and keep commitments is a key behavior that merits our attention. Failure to keep commitments depletes trust, and it depletes it quickly. The practice of overpromising and under-delivering creates a sense of disappointment and ultimately distrust.
Interestingly enough, one of the best ways to build trust is to extend trust to others and yet many leaders tend to hoard this valuable resource, trusting only themselves. Trust and distrust tend to get reciprocated. When you don’t trust others, they tend not to trust you back.

“We are never so vulnerable than when we trust someone – but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find trust or joy.” - Walter Anderson

Unfortunately, sometimes trust is lost. We lose trust in other people, they lose trust in us. Research suggests that although rebuilding trust is much more difficult that establishing it n the first place, it is not impossible. There are two important considerations for the victim of damaged trust: 1) dealing with the emotional stress imposed on the relationship, and 2) determining if future violations will occur. If the victim believes that the violator will not make efforts at righting the wrongs and minimizing future violations, the victim has no incentive to attempt reconciliation and restore trust. As in initially establishing trust, behaviors that restore trust are those that demonstrate competence and commitment. Make, keep, repeat. When you say you’re going to do something, and then you go out and do it, that demonstrates both that you can deliver what you say you’re going to do and that you will deliver what you say you’re going to do. If you’ve signaled your behavior to others in advance such that you tell them what to look for, that can even build trust faster. But be careful to not overpromise and under-deliver.

“Trust men and they will be true to you; treat them greatly and they will show themselves great …” -Ralph Waldo Emmerson

Stephen Covey’s 13 Behaviors of High Trust Leaders High Trust Leaders:
1. talk straight and keep their word
2. deliver results
3. make and keep commitments
4. listen and understand first
5. demonstrate concern, respect and caring
6. create transparency through being open and authentic
7. make it right when they.re wrong
8. demonstrate loyalty to the absent
9. continuously improve (and seek out feedback)
10. take issues head-on, even the .undiscussables.
11. clarify and renegotiate expectations
12. create and expect accountability
13. extend trust to others

"Quid Est Veritas?"

2008-03-08T14:56:00Z

What is Truth?

"Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, in the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side”

Abolitionist James Russell Lowell, addressing the troublesome issue of slavery, pinned these words in 1844, lamenting “Truth forever on the gallows, wrong forever on the throne …” What is truth? How do we respond on those occasions when we must face the truth? Can we even handle the truth?

The court-martial scene from the 1992 film, A Few Good Men provides us a memorable movie moment. Tom Cruise plays the part of Lt. Daniel Kaffee who is questioning Col. Nathan Jessup (played by Jack Nicholson). It is a pivotal scene, one full of emotion.

Jessup: “What is it you want?”
Kaffee: “I want the truth!”
Jessup: “You can’t handle the truth …”

Not only is the truth sometimes difficult to handle, it often becomes so twisted and distorted that it is impossible to recognize. The truth is that the truth is elusive. “Look me in the eye, and tell me the truth,” my father used to instruct whenever he thought that I was being less than forthright. My wife, Nancy employs the same technique in her inquisitions. Perhaps that is why I am a terrible poker player – I just can’t seem to hide my lying eyes. Unfortunately, we accept and perhaps even expect our leaders to be 'truth impaired.' They look us eye to eye and say, “I am not a crook.” We read their lips and hear “No new taxes.” They ignore, twist, deflect and spin the truth, for example:

“It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is. If ‘is’ means is and never has been, that is one thing. If it means there is none, then that was a completely true statement.”

The 'Teflon President,' gave us that classic. And while our ex-presidents may have been masters of ‘spin,’ they do not hold a monopoly on the biased employment of figures, events and situations. After twenty-some debates there remains ample ambiguity concerning where the current candidates for the Oval Office really stands.

Thus, the American electorate relies on ‘spin doctors,’ operating in ‘spin rooms,’ to interpret the ‘facts’ and guide our vote. It seems that we have come to expect ‘spin’ to the point that we subconsciously discount almost everything we hear, even the broadcaster who cautions “You are about to enter the no spin zone,” prior to beginning his commentary. What is the truth? I guess it depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is.

Defining Truth
If you want to really exercise your mind, then go online and research the many theories that philosophers employ to define truth. A scholarly examination of the German statement, 'schnee ist wiess,' results in the logic that "snow is white is true if and only if snow is white." Think about that. There are no less than five substantive theories, dozens of lesser theories and hundreds of corollaries, including:

The Correspondence Theory
A statement is true if it corresponds to the facts or to reality. “That is really how it happened.”
The Pragmatic Theory
A statement is true if it allows you to interact effectively and efficiently with the cosmos. “It is true because it works.”
The Coherence Theory
A statement is true if it is logically consistent with other beliefs that are held to be true. “It is true because it makes sense.”
The Consensus Theory
Truth is agreed on by a group. “Everyone believes he is guilty.”
The Constructivist Theory
Truth is constructed by social processes base on history and culture. “That is the way we do it here.”

My understanding of truth is reflected in a print that I recently selected for my new office in Brevard. It is a reproduction of an 1890 painting by Russian artist Nikolai Ge that portrays Jesus being questioned by Pontius Pilate. It strikes a nerve and causes me to think about that monumental encounter of Truth with Falsehood; good and evil.

Pilate thought he had a good handle on the truth in this case, reliable witnesses corroborated the facts, public consensus was clearly substantiated and all of the cultural constructs were in place. Pragmatically anyone that claimed to be a king was no friend of Caesar, and it just made sense to get rid of this troublemaker. That night, in the Hall of Judgement, Pilate looked truth in the eye. He read its lips when Jesus spoke of truth. And despite his best efforts at spin and deflection, Pilate could not avoid the moment of decision.

Ge’s picture is a reminder to me that we all have to face times of decision. We encounter the truth. We can spin it, deflect it, ignore it and rationalize it all we want to, but we can’t wash our hands of the responsibility. Ultimately we have to look the truth in the eye and make a choice. Can you handle the truth?

"Quid Est Veritas?"
The vulgate translation of Pilate's question to Jesus (John 18:38). "What is Truth." This 1890 painting by Russian artist Nikolai Ge was removed from exhibition because of pressure from the Church. Although Ge was inspired by genuine religious feeling, his portrayal of a tired, haggard Jesus was offensive to some religious leaders.

THIS IS MY FIRST SUBMISSION TO THE MOUNTAIN VOICE - A BI-WEEKLY PAPER REFLECTING THE PRIDE AND CHARACTER OF THE MOUNTAIN COMMUNITIES IN NORTH CAROLINA. Pick up a copy at locations throughout Western North Carolina or go to their website www.mtnvoice.com.

Passion!

2008-02-15T01:55:00Z

MY FRIENDS AT THE TRANSYLVANIA TIMES ADVISE ME THAT A COMPUTER GLITCH PREVENTED THIS COLUMN FROM APPEARING IN THIS WEEK'S PAPER. I MUST ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY SINCE BY RE-WRITING IT ON TUESDAY EVENING I MISSED MY DEADLINE. I REALLY HATE THIS - SINCE I AM RATHER PASSIONATE ABOUT THIS PARTICULAR CONTRIBUTION. BUT YOU CAN ENJOY THE UNEDITED VERSION HERE ON WWW.TOMCOLLINSONLINE.COM.

Red is the color for the month of February. Red is the color of the Day for February 14 – it’s the color for valentine’s, it’s the color for love, it is the color for passion. I attended a sales seminar last Friday where the facilitator shared marketing research suggesting that blue and yellow are the best colors to use in sales presentations. “Red stirs up too much emotion in people,” he warned. That presents a bit of an obstacle for us here at Keller Williams – our color is red.

“Passion rebuilds the world for the youth. It makes all things alive and significant.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Felecia’s sister, Gabriella, celebrates her 13th birthday this month; a red letter date in the life of a seventh grader. It coincides with another momentous event - the annual Valentine’s Dance at Brevard Middle School. This fortuitous alignment of the constellations could mean only one thing to the female members of my household – a shopping excursion; and a new red dress for Gabriella (with accompanying shoes and accessories). It is a lovely dress and “Gabby” looks gorgeous in it. For the sake of gender equity let me add that William and Dominick did their part in coaching our Dominican Pygmalion as she balanced books on her head and recited, “The rain in Spain …” Oh to be a teenager again …

Passion is universal humanity. Without it religion, history, romance and art would be useless. - Honoré de Balzac

Passion, it the intense emotional drive that often causes us to behave in a manner alien to our normal nature. Passion manifests itself in forms of love and hate; desire and devotion; anger and affection. Enthusiasm, zeal, lust and rage – you could say that it is our passion that creates our uniqueness as humans. Like the scarlet blood flowing through our veins, passion springs forth to give energy to our lives.

I had this column completed on Tuesday morning, before I left for Rotary. I had to rework it on Tuesday afternoon following our weekly luncheon. Brevard Rotary president, Tracy Love, read us the “riot act” while challenging club members to make a greater commitment to our service activities. With tears in her eyes and emotion in her voice she reaffirmed the purpose behind our organization – “Service Before Self.” Do we just meet each week to eat our lunch? Or are we committed to helping other people. We accepted her rebuke with applause; the club was moved to action by her passion.

“If passion drives you, let reason hold the reins.” - Benjamin Franklin

Bob Bednarek, CEO of Transylvania Community Hospital provided the club with an update on the hospital, including the controversial name change to Summit Regional. Being rather comfortable with the idea of a “community hospital,” I had actually planned to weigh in on the opposing side in this column. Although I have not been asked for my opinion, I am passionate about the importance of having top-caliber medical service, both in terms of personnel and facilities. And you are aware that my paradigm is focused on this community first (My Town, My School, My Team).

Back in the good ol’ days, when I was the director of athletics at Brevard College, it fell my lot to choose how we were going to approach athletics training and sports medicine services for our student-athletes. I concurred then with Bob’s proposition that we should utilize the excellent physicians and medical facilities in Transylvania County. Although the financial arrangements offered by other providers were attractive, there is a lot to be said for the “home team” approach we implemented, it has excellent potential in terms of creating a unique approach to community engagement.
Bob’s credible presentation and his reaffirmation of the hospital’s commitment to the community have tempered my fervor. I have decided to bridle my passion and trust the judgment of the hospital board and administrators in this matter. My best wishes to “Summit Regional Hospital.”

“You taught me to be nice, so nice that now I am so full of niceness, I have no sense of right and wrong, no outrage, no passion.” - Garrison Keillor

Why this passionate outburst today you ask? Originally it was because I got edited. My manuscript covered in red ink. I understand that editing goes hand in glove with the process of having your writing published. It provides for accountability, for checks and balances (and hopefully it eliminates misspelled words, comma flaws and dangling participles). But I hate it whenever it happens. I weigh my words and cherish each of them. Whenever one of them gets cut, a part of my heart bleeds red. But it is a necessary wound. As I rework this column, well past my deadline, I am forced to edit out large chunks myself. Ouch, that hurts. (For pure, unedited copy, you may refer to www.tomcollinsonline.com. Be forewarned, the site also advertises my commercial endeavors.)

I respect the time-honored counsel to refrain from discussion of politics, religion or labor relations. In some states (e.g. Connecticut) the law even precludes conversation on these topics in places of business. It is understandable. People become emotional, passionate and even angry over these issues and equally inflammatory topics such as sports, taxes, scholarships, zoning, electronic signs, health care, the economy and foreign policy. Sometimes there isn’t much you can write about that won’t have someone seeing red. I guess a good camel story every now and then will meet the litmus test – provided no animals or spouses are injured in the process. But, sometimes I want to say more. I am a man of passion, and there are things that I feel strongly about. Oh sure I want to be popular, and I hope to be nice, but God forbid that I am ever in a position where I am so full of niceness, that I have no sense of right and wrong, no outrage, no passion.

“Nothing is so intolerable to man as being fully at rest, without a passion, without business, without entertainment, without care.” - Blaise Pascal

I find that I am never really at rest – my work, my family, my faith, even my recreation are all integrated. There is a significant a emotional investment in each area. Understand and forgive me when I sprinkle in dashes of my religion, my family, my politics, my work or even the pain that I feel from losing a job that I was really committed to. This column is a self-reflection, I am unable to compartmentalize it all – my passion just won’t let me put “Tom in a Box.”

"The union of the mathematician with the poet, fervor with measure, passion with correctness, this surely is the ideal.” – William James

February 20 is Hoodie-Hoo Day in the Northern Hemisphere, when we are supposed to go out at noon, wave our arms over our heads and chant “Hoodie-Hoo” to chase away winter and bring in spring. This is for those people who have lost faith in groundhogs.

Nancy and I celebrate our Silver Anniversary on February 26th. It is no secret that I married well and my bride deserves a golden crown for sticking by me for a quarter century. A fine woman, she is! A middle school math teacher, Nancy provides the measure and correctness necessary to counterbalance my fervor and passion. My life is a roller coaster! It takes a remarkable person to endure my imagination and emotions for 25 years not to mention a dozen moves, four careers, three ostriches, two children, and a camel. While our union is not perfect by any means, for me it is the ideal. Happy Valentine’s Day and Anniversary, My Dear. Love, Tom.

The Day the Music Died

2008-02-11T19:23:00Z

THIS IS MY COLUMN THAT APPEARED IN THE FEBRUARY 7 EDITION OF THE TRANSYLVANIA TIMES. I WILL TRY TO GET IN THE HABIT OF POSTING MY COLUMN ON THIS BLOG EACH FRIDAY AFTER IT IS PUBLISHED. BY SUBSCRIBING TO MY BLOG YOU WILL RECEIVE MY BLOG ENTRIES BY EMAIL EACH WEEK. ENJOY. TC

The official “2008 Year of Tom” calendar identifies February 3 as “the day the music died,” a reference to that fateful morning of February 3, 1959 when a small plane carrying three popular musicians – Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper) crashed near Clear Lake, Iowa. All three, plus the 21-year old pilot, Roger Peterson, were killed.

In 1971, singer Don McLean dedicated his album, “American Pie” to Buddy Holly. The title cut, an abstract anthology of American music in the 1960s, turned out to be a number-one hit for McLean and was recognized as one of the top five songs of the 20th century. Through his lyrics, and reference to “the day the music died,” McLean evokes nostalgia for music of a time long past. Perhaps it was a purer and less sinister time - it’s really hard to say.

Born in March 1961, I wasn’t around the day the music died and am unable to provide any first-hand account of the impact that the crash had on popular culture. I can imagine that it was a catastrophic event to those tuned in to the music of that era. I do remember McLean’s hit dominating the air waves in the early seventies. My friends and I would repeat its catchy lyrics – “Bye, bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry …” Young boys, we had no clue as to what the words meant.

It turns out that we were not alone. Although there have been several attempts to decipher the song’s symbolism, the actual meaning behind all of McLean’s lyrics remains vague even to this day. The artist has intentionally kept it that way. Once asked what “American Pie” meant, McLean replied, “It means I never have to work again.” In a later interview, he said, “You will find many ‘interpretations’ of my lyrics but none of them by me … sorry to leave you all on your own like this but long ago I realized that songwriters should make their statements and move on, maintaining a dignified silence.” I suspect there is a lesson hidden here in this concept of maintaining a dignified silence and leaving individuals to make their own interpretation. “Sorry to leave you on your own like this …” (Think about how that applies to art, religion, culture, politics, relationships and all the other matters that we humans struggle with daily? It is what it is – provide your own interpretation.)

Sunday afternoon, I observed “the day the music died” by researching it on the internet. While the definitive interpretation of “American Pie” remains elusive, there is certainly no shortage of opinion on the matter. Most “experts” interpolate the evolution of rock music (Bob Dylan, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones) with major news events from the 1960s. A couple of video interpretations are (www.youtube.com) that are worthy of mention – a full length version with McLean’s original rendition and an abbreviated cover performance by Madonna. (The Madonna video is a bit racy, so viewer discretion is advised).

Regular readers of these weekly musings will appreciate my fascination with the many subplots that rest beneath the surface of this tragedy. Take Waylon Jennings, for instance. My familiarity with Buddy Holly’s music came by virtue of a tribute medley Jennings included on his “I’ve Always Been Crazy” album (1978). The songs (Peggy Sue; Maybe Baby; It’s So Easy) were classics that took on more significance when I learned that Waylon played bass as an original member of Holly’s band – “The Crickets.”

Buddy Holly, tired of life on the tour bus, arranged for Waylon and guitarist Tommy Allsup to charter a single engine plane for the short trip to Fargo, North Dakota following their performance at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa. (According to some sources, Holly had run out of clean undershirts, socks, and underwear and wanted to do some laundry before joining up with the rest of the “Winter Dance Party” tour in Moorhead, Minnesota.)

J.P. Richardson (the Big Bopper) was struggling with the flu and asked Waylon for his seat on the plane. When Holly heard of Jennings’ decision to give up his seat, his reply was, “I hope your ol’ bus freezes up!” to which Waylon retorted, “Well, I hope your damn plane crashes.” It is said that this exchange of words, though made in jest at the time, haunted Waylon Jennings for many years. (There is clearly a lesson for all of us here – don’t say things, even in jest, that you may live to regret.)

The story of Ritchie Valens is documented in the 1987 movie “La Bamba,” also the title of his best known song. Valens had developed a fear of flying as a junior high student when two airplanes collided over his school playground injuring and killing several of his friends. With his career on the rise, Valens was working to overcome his fear of flying. He had never flown in a small plane before and asked Tommy Allsup for his seat. Tommy said, “I’ll flip you for it.” The coin was tossed by a DJ who was working the concert that night. Valens won a seat on the plane. Is there a lesson here? “Sorry to leave you on your own like this …”

I am off to find new meaning in my observance of the special days remaining in 2008 – The Year of Tom. Friday (2/8) is Kite Flying Day. Saturday is Toothache Day (interestingly enough it is also the date that Hershey was founded). Sunday (2/10) is Umbrella Day. If you are annoyed by all this, don’t fret, February 16 is Do A Grouch A Favor Day. I have marked Thursday, February 14 in red on my calendar. It is a very important date that I must not forget! February 14 is the day that I am going to substitute down at Kiwi Gelato. I invite you to stop by and visit me. (I will gladly remind you to visit the chocolate store and pick up something for your Valentine.)

What Happened to Humphrey?

2008-02-02T17:30:00Z

Never!

I can’t believe that I left the word “never” out of my closing paragraph last week. Little things can sometimes make such a big difference. In this case, my closing point was completely lost because of one missing word – “never.” Let’s continue the tale of “Humphrey and the Big Snow” by correcting this lost point:

To this day, I have no idea what Raeford Johnson saw or hear on the night of the big snow – we’ve never talked about it. But my wife’s screams pierced the tranquility of that cold, January morning–“Get him off me now! I am not going to take it anymore! I’ll kill him this time – I swear.”

Humphrey the Camel had my wife Nancy pinned in the snow and was beginning to “cush,” or kneel down, on top of her. Something had to be done – immediately. Being a former football coach, I delivered a textbook fore-arm shiver to the shoulder of that massive dromedary (Prior experience had taught me the futility of striking a camel with my fist). With all of my force behind me, I barely budged him, but fortunately it created enough diversion for Nancy to make her escape. She took off around the chicken pen and ran toward the feed barn. As I struck this blow to free my bride, the glasses flew off my head and landed somewhere in the snow.

Although my myopic vision restricts my ability to provide a lucid account of the chase, I am certain it was quite a spectacle in and of itself. Best I can recollect, the two blurry shadows completed three laps around the feed shed. Humphrey was closing the gap between them when I had a flash of brilliance – “Nancy, the electricity is off! Get inside the electric fence.” Nancy followed my instructions without demanding explanation and climbed through the strands of wire into the pasture. Humphrey, well schooled in the consequences of violating that electric partition, went around to the open pasture gate to head Nancy off.

“Nancy! Quick! Get outside the electric fence,” I shouted, closing the gate behind Humphrey. Surprising, she complied without elaboration.

Catastrophe averted, I secured the pasture, sawed the corral panel from around Eeyore the Donkey’s neck, and filled the trough with hay for the both of them. Peace and tranquility was finally restored to Camelot. Or so I thought. Nancy was hyperventilating and mumbling under her breath as we walked back toward the house. Although she is not given to profanity, I could tell that she was thinking some pretty vile thoughts.

“You know,” I said, hoping to acquit both Humphrey and myself in this travesty. “That’s a fine animal back there.” Nancy rolled her eyes at me as I began to pontificate. “Eeyore was in trouble and he could have frozen to death in the snow. Humphrey came to get help - to rescue him. That is one smart animal. He is like … well, he is like Lassie.” I believe that she was almost convinced, until we saw the camel tracks leading to the house – from the driveway. “My new car,” Nancy exclaimed, imagining the worse.

It really could have been worse, but it was bad enough. The mirrors were dangling from the side of all three cars and the windshield wipers were turned up with the rubber stripped off of the blades. Nancy whirled around and pointed her finger towards me. “That does it,” she said. “Either he goes … or you both go!” I knew that she was serious.

Later that day, I called Mr. Henry Hampton at the Lazy 5 Ranch, the man that sold me Humphrey the Camel. I considered him to be an expert and my mentor in the camel industry. “That is surprising,” said Mr. Hampton when I told him of Humphrey’s recent escapades. “My camels have never acted like that. You did have him gelded at 9 months like I told you.”

“Well, not exactly,” I replied sheepishly. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it to the old boy. Besides, what if there was run on camels one day? It might be a good thing to have one of the few working males around.” The intensity of his response reminded me of Nancy. “Have you lost your mind? You are keeping a bull camel in your backyard? Think Tom! Think of all the mammals in the world in order of size. Think about where a bull camel fits on that scale. I can’t believe you have a bull camel walking around in your backyard. I keep mine in chains …”

I told Nancy about my conversation with Mr. Hampton. “He just needs to be gelded,” I reasoned while pleading Humphries case. I won’t elaborate on the response, but suffice it to say that her resolve in this matter was steadfast. Convinced that it was not in my best interest for Humphrey to remain at Camelot, I contacted Milton Bass, the proprietor of Jamba’s Ranch near Fayetteville.

Jamba’s Ranch is a petting zoo located on the banks of the Cape Fear River. Jamba’s was a perfect fit for Humphrey. He was placed in a large fenced pasture. Bison, elk and deer roam the land to his right. His next door neighbor to the left is a 12-foot alligator. Groups of children regularly visit the ranch to feed the sheep, goats, pot-bellied pigs and chickens that range free. Humphrey remains at Jamba’s Ranch to this day. I feel like the parent that takes an incorrigible child to camp, and then neglects to pick him up.

These stories bring back some great memories, I like tell them anytime I get an audience. Everyone loves to hear about Humphrey the Camel. Everyone except for Nancy. She prefers not to talk about it.

Humphrey and the Big Snow

2008-01-26T20:18:00Z

According to the official “2008 - Year of Tom Calendar” – today (1/21/08) is Squirrel Appreciation Day. It really should be a day of great joy and celebration here, given our affinity toward white squirrels and their impact on the quality of life in Brevard. If this, or perhaps Global Belly Laugh Day (Thur., 1/24), slipped up on you, perhaps you may wish to reference my website (www.tomcollinsonline.com) for a list of upcoming events. The website also contains a link to my blog, with archived copies of these weekly columns.

Heather Layton, the proprietor of Kiwi Gelato, has joined me in adopting 2008 by creating special flavors for different days. Felicia and I shared a bowl of “Forest Berry” last Wednesday in honor of Appreciate A Dragon Day. I have dropped off a couple copies of the February calendar for her customers to pick up. This coming Friday (1/25) is. Originally, I planned to write about how great it is to once again have a room (office) of my own, and invite everyone to stop in and visit me at 19 West Main Street (above the Keller Williams office). But, I must forebear. The recent snow storm has inspired me to share a camel story – “THE camel story” actually. People are always asking – “What happened to Humphrey? Do you still have him?”

Well, it happened back in January ’02; on the night of the big snow in Buies Creek. More than a foot of frozen precipitation accumulated that evening. We all gathered in the den, warmed ourselves by the gas logs, sipped hot chocolate and watched the huge flakes fall through the double French doors that led to the back deck. It was a quiet, peaceful night, and by the time we were settled warm and snug in our beds, Camelot was covered with a soft white blanket of snow. The entire community lost electrical power sometime during the night, so I am estimating when I say that it was three a.m. when Fudge sounded the alarm. But we will stick with that time for the sake of the story.

Now Fudge, our Boykin Spaniel, was perhaps the best dog that I have ever known and surely one of the smartest. That dog could communicate - actually carry on a conversation. She had a single bark that meant, “Tom, I want to go out.” She had another bark that meant, “Tom, I want to come in.” She had a bark that meant, “Tom, I am hungry” and she had a bark, an alarm really, that meant “Tom, get the shotgun, start shooting and we can talk about this later.”

It was that panicked alarm that caused Nancy and I to simultaneously sit up in the bed at three o’clock that particular morning. “Go see what that is,” I said to Nancy. She rolled her eyes at me, got out of bed and looked out onto the back porch that ran the length of our house. (A fine woman, she is.) Nancy did a double-take when she saw a pair of dark eyes peering back in the window at her. Her eyes were as big as saucers when she came face to face with the intruder. “Tom! Quick! Get your shoes on,” she commanded. “He’s out!” I jumped to her side and, sure enough, peering over the rails of the deck, chewing the Christmas decorations, and grinning like a Cheshire Cat was Humphrey. Humphrey the Camel. I quickly donned my coveralls, went to the kitchen and began lacing up my boots. Humphrey tracked my movements through the back windows and met us at the kitchen door. “He is trying to get in the house,” Nancy exclaimed. Sure enough, he would have joined us at the kitchen table had his padded feet gained traction on those icy steps. (To fully appreciate the gravity of this situation, you must realize that a mature dromedary easily dwarfs the largest horse.)

I grabbed a flashlight, but really didn’t need it. The moon shining bright on fresh fallen snow, gave the luster of mid-day to objects below…and what to my wondering eyes did appear Eeyore the Donkey, with a corral panel stuck around his neck. He was trudging slow circles in the moonlight with ice cycles hanging from his snout. A more forlorn sight you have never seen. You may not realize it, but the donkey has a wedge-shaped head. It can fit between the rails of a corral panel, but you can’t slip it back out. At least not with a live donkey attached to it. I tried several times, but ultimately concluded that a hacksaw was required for this operation. Humphrey, trailing me this whole time, followed me back up to the house. We passed back through the hole in the pasture fence previously barricaded by the corral panel that now adorned Eeyore’s neck. Nancy had dressed and upon learning the details of the situation, she met us in the backyard with a hacksaw (A fine women, she is).

The three of us walked together back toward the pasture with Humphrey nuzzling Nancy all the way. It is important to note here that Humphrey and I were close. I had bottle-fed him since he was a month old and, in his adolescent stage had grown to view me as his parent - both a paternal and a maternal figure. We were very close, but Humphrey loved Nancy! He loved her in a lustful sort of way. While she was the clearly object of his prepubescent infatuation, Nancy loathed Humphrey with equal passion. “Get! Stop! No!” She rejected his amorous advances as we walked toward the pasture. “Back! Down! Stop!” She scolded him as he tried to get close to her. The pathway covered with snow and her attention diverted, Nancy stepped on a chicken feeder and fell face forward. Her fall was cushioned by a snow drift. Humphrey’s eyes got a big as saucers. A huge smile appeared on his face as he crossed his front legs and pinned Nancy to the ground. That beast began to “kush”, on settle on top of my bride.

They say that good fences make good neighbors, and I believe it is true. Two electric fences separated Camelot from Raeford Johnson’s place next door. The Johnson’s were neighbors, the kind that borrow sugar (or horse trailers) and wave hello to each other across the way. They were friendly enough, but generally kept to themselves. Nancy and I sometimes wondered what was going on over at the Johnson place, as I am sure they questioned some of our activities – but we never got into each other’s business. To this day, I have no idea what Raeford Johnson saw or hear – we’ve never talked about it. But my wife’s screams pierced the tranquility of that cold, January morning–“Get him off me now! I am not going to take it anymore! I’ll kill him this time – I swear.”

I have more than exhausted my quota of words for this week’s column. This is a good stopping place. Be sure to read the conclusion of “Humphrey and the Big Snow” in next week’s T-Times. In the meantime – If you know of anyone interested in buying, selling or investing in real estate, please suggest that they give me call or stop by to visit me on Main Street - Brevard.

Tom Collins Joins Keller Williams Realty Professionals

2008-01-17T20:37:00Z

Former Brevard AD Tom Collins joins Keller Williams Realty
Brevard Market Center

      BREVARD, NC (January 17, 2008)> — Former Brevard College Athletic Director, Tom Collins, has joined the Keller Williams Realty Professionals - Brevard team.

      Collins, who has an extensive background in intercollegiate athletics and a widely-publicized fondness for the City of Brevard, is a recently licensed Realtor. As Director of Athletics at Brevard College, Tom Collins was charged with transitioning the NAIA Tornados into NCAA Division II competition, securing membership in the South Atlantic Conference and re-establishing football as a varsity sport.   In addition, he oversaw the establishment of the Tornado Club as a fund-raising vehicle for the athletics program.

      Prior to his tenure at Brevard, Tom Collins was Dean of Students and Director of Athletics at Campbell University in Buies Creek, North Carolina. During that time he also served as a member of the NCAA Division I Academics, Eligibility, and Compliance Cabinet and chaired the Legislative Review and Interpretations Subcommittee.

      Collins has a bachelor’s degree in Social Studies from Campbell and a master’s degree in Athletics Administration from East Carolina University. He has satisfied all required graduate coursework for a doctorate in Higher Education Administration (Ed.D.) and is completing research toward his dissertation. A certified teacher, Collins taught and coached at the high school level prior to embarking on a career in intercollegiate athletics in 1988. He also taught undergraduate classes in athletics administration at Campbell, Wingate University and Brevard.

      Collins resides on Franklin Street in Brevard with his wife, Nancy, a teacher at Brevard Middle School. Their once empty nest has filled back up with Krystle (22) attending graduate school at UNCA and William (19) at home preparing for a career in the Navy.   Collins is a member of Calvary Baptist Church, the Rotary Club of Brevard and the Brevard Recreation Advisory Committee.

      “In recent months I have had opportunity to pause and reflect on what matters most to me – to consider who I am and what I want to do in the second half of my life. I appreciate those trusted friends that provided me with support and those that guided me toward a career in real estate. I equally appreciate the interest that the professionals at Keller Williams have taken in my future. There are basically three reasons why I am convinced that KW is the best fit for Tom Collins:

1. KW’s agent-centric business model provides me with a good balance of structure and autonomy that fits my personal plans. The opportunity to have my own downtown office is a major attraction.
2. KW’s clearly articulated mission and values seem to square with my personal paradigm. Keller Williams has a reputation for integrity and a company culture that is people-focused.
3. KW provides both the training and technology that I believe is necessary to develop my real estate business and to meet my target goals.”

      Dan Hodges, Team Leader for Keller Williams Realty Brevard, serves as Collins’ sponsor and mentor. “Tom is all about sharing and caring for others in his quest for perfection. We at Keller Williams are extremely pleased to have him join our KW team. I believe that Tom will quickly become a contributing ‘factor’ in Brevard real estate,” says Team Leader Dan Hodges. “Keller Williams Realty offers its associates unparalleled career growth and lifelong learning opportunities in the real estate industry. We know that Tom will be a great fit and that our customers will truly benefit from Tom joining us.”

      The Brevard Market Center, located at 15 West Main Street, was established in 2005.
In the three short years since its inception, KW Brevard has become the 2nd largest office in the Brevard board with 37 associates, and already boasts the fourth highest, total closed dollar volume in 2007, with 28 million dollars plus in sales.
      To learn more about Keller Williams Realty Professionals, call Dan Hodges at 828 507 1259 or visit www.kw.com.

Career Connections

2008-01-16T18:27:00Z

Presidents, athletics directors and faculty representatives from across the country gathered at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee last week for the 102nd NCAA Convention. I really wish that I could have been there for that. The NCAA Convention was always a highlight for me – especially in those days prior to restructuring when legislation for all three divisions was voted on during this annual business session. The discussions were lively, sometimes emotionally charged, and they featured some of the most visible personalities in college athletics. Coaching icons such as Tom Osborne, Joe Paterno, Vince Dooley, and Mike Krzyzewski would rise to speak to the issues alongside nationally-recognized academic leaders like Charles Young, Theodore Hesburgh, and Thomas Hearn. The one institution-one vote format provided an interesting dynamic, especially for those issues that directly impacted the big-time football and basketball programs. With deal brokering in the lobbies and parliamentary maneuvering on the floor - it was pure politics in action. Delegates didn’t dare miss a session for fear that some end-run strategy or vote to reconsider would be attempted in their absence.

Reminiscing about past conventions brings back some great memories from my days as a fledgling athletics administrator and gives me cause to contemplate the days ahead as I begin competing in a new arena. One of the most important lessons that I learned from those early conventions was this: To get things done you have to be connected and to make connections you have to be at the place where things are getting done.

The 1990 NCAA Convention in Dallas, Texas was my first exposure to the inner workings of college athletics. As a twenty-nine year old assistant commissioner, my job description was pretty straight forward – I did everything that the Commissioner didn’t want to do. That included preparing legislative reports for conference members, arriving early to reserve our space for the business sessions, and coordinating the group’s evening activities as “social chair” and designated driver. Although not necessarily the type of functions that you normally list on a resume, these responsibilities entitled me to a place at the table and resulted in career connections that ultimately proved valuable to me.

It was in the latter role, as “social chair,” that I achieved legendary distinction during the 1991 Convention in Nashville. By sheer luck I was able to arrange it so that, on three consecutive evenings, the Big South delegation attended the 65th Anniversary of the Grand Ol’ Opry, saw Garth Brooks appear live on “Nashville Now,” and enjoyed a private concert from Lee Greenwood at the “Bullpen Lounge.” It was a memorable week for my entire entourage and a great networking opportunity.

Networking, making connections with people, is such an important part of any professional field. I am blessed in that it is something that has always come rather naturally for me. I would like to think it is my friendly Southern disposition, but it may be that I am just unique. Perhaps it is because my name is easy to remember (“Oh, Tom Collins. Have you seen Bloody Mary? Ha. Ha.” Over the years I have heard them all). Anyways I always enjoyed working the lobby at conventions, shaking hands with old friends and meeting new ones.

The NCAA Convention returned to the Opryland Hotel in 1997, another memorable occasion for me. I was scrambling the day before we were scheduled to leave, trying to get all of my work caught up. As I was rushing out the door for a meeting across campus, Jennifer Brown, my trusted assistant relayed an urgent message. “He’s Out!”

Knowing that could only mean one thing - I made a beeline for “Camelot,” my farm and the home of Humphrey the Camel. I arrived to find my pet dromedary standing on his favorite knoll surveying his empire. I pulled down to the pasture gate and the great “Ship of the Desert” ran to greet me. It was early January, perhaps one of the coldest days of the last century, and I was now late for a meeting. Needless to say, I was not amused. “You get your wild tail in this pen,” I exhorted as I slapped his hind quarter. I immediately realized the foolishness of my pugilistic aggression. It was like hitting a brick wall and the pain radiated down my arm.

I nursed my broken wrist up to my house, which was still under construction at that time. I sat on the front porch and was feeling really stupid. It was very cold and the pain was intense. I wanted to cry. All at once the door to the porta-jon in the front yard opened and the hardwood floor man stepped out. His eyes were as big as saucers. “Is he gone?” the man asked. Through my pain I nodded an affirmation. “I have never been so scared in all my life,” he continued. “I heard something outside banging around in my truck, and came out to see what it was. He was picking up boards and tossing them around. I yelled at him, then got scared and started running. He chased me around the house twice before I hid in the porta-jon. That is where I was when I called your office. That fool was trying to tip me over.” It was cold. My arm hurt. I’m sorry, but I just had to laugh.

The next day I arrived in Nashville with a brace on my right wrist. As I met people in the lobby, I would shake with them cross-handed, protecting my injured limb and inspiring the obvious sequence of questions. “What happened to your hand, Tom?” I broke it. “How did you break it?” I hit something. (Of course, it never ended there.) “What did you hit?” I hit Humphrey. “You hit who?” Humphrey. You know, Humphrey the Camel. “You hit your camel?” Inevitably, as I would share this story with someone, they would shout across the lobby. “Hey, come over here, you have got to hear this. You know Tom Collins. You won’t believe how he hurt his hand.” Now that’s networking.

I may have missed out on networking opportunities in Nashville this weekend. It certainly would have been nice to see some old friends; however I made plenty of new career connections here in Brevard while I searched for a place to hang my newly acquired real estate license. Those of you that have followed the ongoing saga of my quest for meaningful work know what a strange journey it has been, with many twists, turns and setbacks along the way. Fortunately it seems that every time one door closes, another one opens. This morning I signed on with a real estate firm that I believe is a perfect fit for me. If you know of anyone looking to buy, sell or invest in real estate please refer them to me (tccamel@citcom.net). I look forward to establishing new connections in the days to come.

A Factor in Brevard

2008-01-08T21:36:00Z

I recently heard a story about a farmer who lived by himself in a remote part of the county. One winter evening, about sundown, a friend stopped in for a visit. The farmer invited his guest to stay for supper and afterwards, the two gentlemen spent several hours telling stories and enjoying each other’s company. It was nearly nine o’clock, when the friend stood up, stretched, and said, “Well, I believe I shall remain.” “Oh, I’m so glad!” exclaimed the farmer. “Let me get you another cup of coffee.” So the friend sat back down and their conversation continued on.

It was eleven o’clock when the friend stood a second time. “It is getting late. I believe that I should remain,” he said. “Oh, certainly,” said the farmer as he threw another log on the fire. “Make yourself at home and we will watch the news together.”

As the fire died down and the clock struck twelve, the friend rose from his chair a third time. Pausing for a moment and scratching his head, he said “Well, it’s midnight. I have enjoyed the visit but, I really must remain for the evening.” The farmer stood up and said, “Friend, please feel free to remain as long as you like, but I have to get up at sunrise tomorrow. I really must retire for the evening.” “Retire,” exclaimed the guest. “Retire! That’s the word I was looking for. If I had only remembered that word - “retire,” … I could have been in bed hours ago.”

I am not ready to retire, so I guess that I shall remain here in Brevard. I have charted a new career course, and … well, let’s just say that the ship has left the port. We are off on a new adventure. Come and sail along with me.

My chosen occupation is that of a Southern Factor. The concept is based on a mental image created fifteen years ago when I first read Eugenia Price’s Savannah trilogy. Her novels trace the story of Mark Browning. Orphaned at twenty, Browning boards the schooner, Eliza, and sets out to build a life of his own in Savannah, his mother’s birthplace. On the voyage, he meets up with the ship’s owner, Robert MacKay, a cotton factor. The two men immediately form a strong bond. MacKay, recognizes Browning as an idealist, young man with high values and outstanding potential. He takes him under his wing and introduces him to his city and to his profession – eventually Mark Browning assumes his place on "Factor’s Row."

A factor, by general definition, is a professional who acts as the authorized representative of another individual or business. It is a fiduciary relationship parallel to that of an agent or broker. Derived from the Latin noun factoris, meaning “he who does,” the term historically has been applied in a broad range of mercantile contexts. In Scotland, a factor is a person charged with managing properties and estates – sometimes where the owner is unable to or uninterested in attending to such details personally. In the antebellum South, cotton factors located in the larger cities (Charleston, Savannah, New Orleans and Memphis) attended to the business interests of the rural planters. It has been noted, “The factor was a versatile man of business in an agrarian society who performed many different services for the planter in addition to selling his crops.” Cotton factors frequently purchased goods for their clients and arranged for their shipment, hired workers, provided advice on market conditions, and even coordinated placement of the planter’s children in distant schools.

My career objective is to be a factor in Brevard. I want to be a known factor; a decisive factor; perhaps even a major factor in this town that I call my home. I want to be a man of business; “one who does;” a versatile person whose advise is sound and whose character is trusted. Although commodities factors do still exist, in recent years, factoring has become constricted to a specialized field of finance, where businesses sell their accounts receivable (invoices) at a discount. When I tell my friends that I have decided to factor, they give me a strange look. "What’s a factor?"

I came across an 1873 painting by Edgar Degas that depicts factors going about their daily business in The New Orleans Cotton Exchange. A picture being worth a thousands words, I decided to include it on my new web site (www.tomcollinsonline.com). Surely this will help explain what I hope to become. “Nancy, come look at this picture. It is an excellent illustration of factoring.” I shared the good news with my bride as she prepared supper the other evening. “That’s nice dear,” came the reply from the kitchen. “I may want to use it too; we are studying factoring in my sixth grade math class.” Talk about a splash of reality to douse the flames of romantic nostalgia. Like the middle-aged buccaneer in a Jimmy Buffet ballad, it seems my occupational hazard is that my occupation is just not around.

The term is a bit archaic. We are no longer the agrarian society of the 19th century. Technology and the global economy have combined forces to render the industrial paradigm of the 20th century obsolete. But isn’t there a place for “one who does?” Isn’t there a demand for a versatile and trusted man of business? Shouldn’t there be a factor in Brevard?

Enough of my excessive verbiage! I just want you all to know that I passed the North Carolina Real Estate Exam last week and should receive my provisional broker’s license this week. I am joining forces with a local firm and a supervising broker-in-charge (BIC) that will mentor me along this new career path. I desire to become the best real estate broker possible, and I share this image of the factor as a means of presenting the unique approach that I hope will distinguish me in this field of service. Thanks to all that have emailed me or visited my website www.tomcollinsonline.com Your friendship is valued, your advice is welcomed and your business will be greatly appreciated.

2008: The Year of Tom

2008-01-02T03:00:00Z

Well, the Collins family made it through December. It was a wonderful Christmas as we all traveled down East to spend some time with our relatives. We visited with Nancy’s family in Willow Springs on Christmas Eve, before traveling to Lumberton to see my folks for Christmas Day. It was especially good to enjoy some quality time with my younger brother, Tim, who recently returned from a tour of duty in the Middle East. We laughed, ate ice cream, played games, told stories and even smoked a couple of cigars. Now that’s Christmas …

And of course, there are presents to talk about. We were able to share Christmas, American-style, with the Fabian family – our guests from the Dominican Republic. For Dominick (9) and Felicia (6) this was their introduction to candy canes, Christmas trees, colored lights, and wrapped presents. Nancy and I took great joy in selecting presents for our young friends and placing them beneath the tree. Their excitement and anticipation increased daily, but nothing could possibly match the “magic” that we experienced on Christmas Eve when the good folks at Mountain First Bank called to inform us that Felecia had won the drawing for a new bicycle. You talk about excited! Yes, Felecia, there is a Santa Claus.

It gets even better than this! On Christmas Eve, the women in my life joined forces and surprised me with the most unique gift imaginable - a priceless present that will have a special place in my heart for all eternity. It was just what I needed – a year of my own. 2008 has been declared “The Year of Tom.” Nancy said it, Krystle agreed and I have a calendar to prove it; so it must be true. (You should see the calendar they made me – it is a work of genius.)

“2008 – “The Year of Tom” - a year of my own! Now that may seem a bit ostentatious, but I accept this honor with all humility. And of course, I am completely willing to share. You know there is not a selfish bone in my body when it comes to my town, my school, and my team – I wouldn’t dream of hoarding my year. Can you imagine hitting a hole in one or catching a ten-pound bass and not having anyone to share it with? No way! Please consider 2008 to be your year too. Since I am sharing my year with you, let me also share my New Year’s resolutions too:

1. Make Every Day Special!

There are at least 366 unique reasons to celebrate life in 2008. Nancy and Krystle spent hours of research in order to find a special occasion for every single day. (Yes, 2008 is a leap year. I plan to have cake and ice cream on leap day, February 29, in honor of Aunt Alice’s Birthday. Although she is several years my elder, this quirk in the calendar allows my father’s sister to claim that she is still a teenager.)

Every day in 2008 is significant, including Fruit Cake Toss Day (Jan. 4), National Clean Off Your Desk Day (Jan. 8), A Room of One’s Own Day (Jan. 25) and Free Thinkers Day (Jan. 29). I hope that you will join me in celebrating Strawberry Ice Cream Day on January 15. (I plan to have two scoops in honor of the Birthday shared by Dr. Martin Luther King, and my father, Rev. Tom Collins.) My cat, Tubby, is anxiously anticipating Happy Mew Year (Jan. 2), National Dress Up Your Pet Day (Jan. 14), and Answer Your Cat’s Question Day (Jan. 22). Brevard residents may also wish to note Squirrel Appreciation Day on January 21 (this is intended to be an all-inclusive event for gray and whites alike). Look for the entire calendar on my new website – www.tomcollinsonline.com.

2. Find Meaningful Work!

In November, sometime just before Thanksgiving, I made the statement that I was done at Brevard College. While that remains true today, I am certainly not done in Brevard. After days of serious thought and the counsel of several respected friends, Nancy and I have decided we will remain in Transylvania County. It is, after all, our town! We choose to make it our home.

Reading Bolles’ book, What Color is Your Parachute, inspired me to pursue a dream and passion that has been on the back burner for way too long. In 2008, I intend to embark on a new career path – to own my own business. I am resolved that this endeavor will be built on three principles – trust, service and quality. You will certainly hear more about my plans in the days to come.

3. Stay Connected!

Perhaps the most difficult challenge that I have faced during the last quarter of 2007 has been that of staying connected with my friends and neighbors. So much of my day-to-day interaction with people was associated with my position at the college and our work with the Tornado Club. To further complicate matters, my email access, contact records and stored telephone numbers were terminated along with my employment in October. It has been extremely frustrating to find myself cut-off from my community.

For 2008, I am resolved to rebuild and strengthen my connections with the people of Brevard and Transylvania County through purposeful involvement in religious, social and civic activities. I plan to develop opportunities for interaction through a variety of media forms, including these musings in the Transylvania Times, and my new internet site www.tomcollinsonline.com. I hope to reconnect and to stay connected.

4. Experience Personal Growth!

I am resolved to make 2008 a year of personal growth – particularly in the areas of my scholarly pursuits, church involvement and community service. The completion of my doctoral dissertation is paramount on this list; I have procrastinated on this project way too long. As the year progresses, I hope to sharpen my writing and communication skills – developing a unique style that is informative, concise, and yet also enjoyable to read. I plan to devote more time and financial resources to my church and to mission efforts in the Dominican Republic during 2008.

And finally, I am committed to the work of the Rotary Club of Brevard and the Tornado Club. Yes, even though my paradigm of college athletics may differ from that of the BC administration, my rationale for Brevard: My Town! My School! My Team remains. The coaches and student-athletes of Brevard College merit the support of our community. Let’s be great in 2008! Go Tornados.

A Shed of His Own

2007-12-24T20:00:00Z

“I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream …” Virginia Woolf, lecturing to female students at Newnham and Girton Colleges in 1929, presented the idea that a woman must have money and “A Room of her Own,” if she is to write fiction. To Woolf, the money represented the power to contemplate and the locked door the power to think for oneself. Chris Casson Madden’s 1977 book, “A room of her own: Women’s Personal Spaces,” builds on this theme with a montage of sanctuaries, retreats, garden rooms and serene places that women have created to provide solitude for indulging in thoughts, talents and daydreams. She suggests that modern women, “would not be spoiling ourselves if we gave ourselves the gifts of time and space, those elements that create the ‘balance beam’ of life.” Last week I introduced you to Dr. Colleen Wiessner, my professor for an adult education course that I took at North Carolina State in 2002. That course pushed me outside of my comfort zone and forced me to employ alternative paradigms when thinking about how adults learn. During that first class meeting we used crayons and paper plates to construct our image of an adult learner. While the class busied themselves in this seemingly elementary activity, Dr. Wiessner met with us individually to briefly discuss our experiential learning assignment for the semester. “I am building a shed,” I announced to her. “In the process I will have opportunity to learn electrical wiring and other basic construction principles. My plan is to write about my newly acquired skills as an adult learner.” (There, I thought. That’s a manly enough learning project that should meet the parameters for this assignment. She will know that I am not to be trifled with.) Dr. Wiessner smiled then, in her best professorial voice suggested, “A shed of your own. Now that is an interesting concept. Virginia Woolf wrote something about a woman needing a room of her own, perhaps this can become a transformational learning experience for you.” (Virginia Woolf! Transformational Learning! Crayons and paper plates! UNBELIEVABLE! Woman, be for real. I am talking about hammers, nails, sheet rock and wiring here. Real man stuff. If you think I am going to …) Fortunately my better judgment prevailed and I bridled my tongue. The next week, Dr. Wiessner loaned me a copy of Woolf’s book, and I began my research with a broader perspective. While the life experiences of men and women may be extremely different, the opportunity for solitude, contemplation, education, recreation and dreams are requisite if an individual is to achieve complete self-actualization. This is true, regardless of gender. Woolf states, “Life for both sexes – and I looked at them, shouldering their way along the pavement – is arduous, difficult, a perpetual struggle.” Without a private place to repair to, with all manner of interruptions and the seemingly unceasing demands of work and family, it becomes difficult for men and women alike, to think, dream and scheme. While men of position and power may enjoy the advantage of a study or library, and others the privacy of an office to which they can retreat, the common man has traditionally sought refuge in his shed. It is what every man needs – “A Shed of His Own.” I penned those thoughts nearly six years ago as I reflected on that adult learning activity. My shed became a transformational experience indeed. It became a quiet place for me to study, to reflect, to make meaning of my world and to continue developing my mind and spirit toward the man that I wish to be. My shed was conceived and developed during a time of transition in terms of my family, my work, my politics, my faith and my relationships with the world around me. It was during a “teachable moment,” when there was a “readiness to learn,” that my shed became a part of me. That particular essay concludes with the thought that my shed has become a “window to my soul.” I am not alone in discovering the virtues of a shed, although I may indeed be a pioneer in the emancipation movement for my gender, especially in this country where men frequently find themselves imprisoned in their own castles. The New York Times (5/18/2006) reports a tremendous upsurge in demand for prefabricated sheds purchased for male-driven uses such as workshops, offices, poker rooms and workout areas. “Where Men Hide,” a book written by James B. Twitchell, professor of English and Advertising at the University of Florida, examines the trend for men to create private domains in and around their houses as a way of retreating from everyday life. Twitchell himself has build a shed of his own, his “hidey-hole,” which he uses as an office at his summer house in Vermont. Our brethren across the pond and in the land down under have long understood the virtues of a male sanctuary. In the UK, the garden shed was voted into the Millennium Dome display on national identity as one of the top 100 symbols of Britishness. Aussie Mark Thompson, in his pictorial examination of “Blokes and Sheds (2000)” poses the disturbing question, “What about the shedless bloke? Is he inadequate or just unfortunate?” I NEED A SHED! I posted those words on a sticky note above my desk at home last week while trying to study for the Real Estate Exam. I required quiet, a place to concentrate and think. In desperation I escaped to the solitude of the Rodeway Inn. I returned home last Wednesday and looked at the sticky note on the wall. I NEED A SHED! Written underneath, in Nancy’s handwriting were the words – ME TOO!

Adults Learn To Employ Alternative Paradigms

2007-12-17T20:00:00Z

I have said it before, “Sometimes life forces us to employ alternative paradigms.” It is helpful when we can employ multiple frames, when we can view the world through different lenses, when we can walk a mile in another’s moccasins. Whenever we can, as Harper Lee’s Scout phrased it, “climb into another person’s skin and walk around in it.”

It’s a good word - “paradigm,” in fact, it’s one of my all-time favorites. I discovered it in 1986 as a graduate student studying “Pedagogy – Paradigms and Practices.” Pedagogy and paradigms, I have had people express amazement that a former football coach could acquire a literacy level that would enable him to use such vocabulary, and in proper syntax even. Talk about unfounded stereotypes … As I waited in the Employment Security Commission office the other day, attempting to navigate my way through the bureaucratic process required in order to apply for unemployment benefits, I was cognizant of the others in the room with me. Wearing a suit and tie, I felt a little conspicuous and perhaps even out of place. (Interestingly enough, there is a difference in the way that strangers treat me on the telephone when I call to inquire about benefits as opposed to the way that the ladies in the Brevard office treat me in person.) Maybe I am overly sensitive these days.

Anyway, my point is that although there might have been differences in the way that we were dressed, or in our socio-economic background, each of us was there for the same reason. We are looking for work. And not just a job that can help us support our families, although that is crucial, we have common ground in that we are looking for work that we can put our hearts into. Work that can become an extension of who we are. We are all in the same boat.

What a person does is important. I am currently taking a course to improve my knowledge and skills in preparation for State licensure. You would think that with over 130 graduate hours on my transcript I would have more than enough formal education, but the truth is, there is so much more to learn. Learning is a lifetime endeavor – from the cradle to the grave. Those of us certified to teach have had the requisite course work in pedagogy – the science of teaching children. However the science of adult learning is a field in and of itself, they call it andragogy. Adults learn in different ways and for different reasons.

Malcolm Knowles, considered the “Father of Andragogy,” writes that adult learning is closely linked to the person’s social role and that adult learners tend to build on their reservoir of personal experience. Most participation in formal adult education programs (90%) can be linked to job and career motives. Perhaps this is the reason that every course begins with the requisite round-robin introductions – stand-up, give your name, where you are from, and what you do. We have three different instructors for the course that I am currently taking, so I had to repeat the exercise over and over – “My name is Tom Collins, I live in Brevard, and I am a man of leisure.” Not only did I have to endure multiple references to the fact that I share my name with a mixed drink, I also had to explain what a man of leisure does. “I took an early retirement,” is my usual retort. (I started to steal a line from Coach Frank Howard who used to say he had a life-time contract at Clemson, until the Board of Trustees voted him dead.)

Let me wrap these ramblings up with a little story:

I took an “Adult Learner” course as a graduate student at North Carolina State University in 2002. By that point in my academic career I had developed a style to strategically position myself with professors. I always wore a dark suit and red tie, arrived at class ten minutes early, and positioned myself on the front row where I could maintain eye contact. Taking a properly labeled notebook out of my briefcase, and introducing myself as “Dean of Students at Campbell University,” I left little doubt that I was no hand to be trifled with. The strategy was sound, and my confidence level was high …

It was past starting time when my professor entered the room. She resembled Mama Cass in her robes and beads – it was like we had warped back to 1968. She introduced herself as an artist, talked about how her robe represented her transformational learning experiences, and passed out crayons and paper plates so we could draw pictures of ourselves as adult learners. When we made eye contact, I immediately realized that my dark suit, red tie, brief case and administrative title represented everything that she despised.

The course was a required prerequisite and I was in a tight spot. “Sometimes life forces us to employ alternative paradigms.” I learned to appreciate Virginia Woolf and to write from an enlightened feminist perspective. I am more than conversational on the subject of andragogy, and she became one of my favorite professors. More next week …

If We Make It Through December

2007-12-11T20:00:00Z

If we make it through December,
Everything’s gonna be all right I know,
It's the coldest time of winter,
And I shiver when I see the fallin’ snow …

Although this 1973 Merle Haggard tune was not necessarily written to be a Christmas song, over the years it has become one of my seasonal favorites. I have always been able to relate to the optimism expressed by this working-class man facing the economic hardship of losing his job just before the Holidays. During what should be the “happy time of year,” he realizes that he can’t provide his little girl with the type of Christmas experience he would like. While it pains him that his daughter doesn’t understand the financial realities of his situation, there are threads of hope intertwined with his depression. “Everything’s gonna be all right …”
Nancy and I have never really enjoyed the luxury of financial security. Many times we have had to scrape together every available resource in order to “pull off Christmas” for our kids, especially in our early years of marriage and during the time that I was in graduate school. In those tough times, we would often encourage each other with the lyrics from this song, “If we make it through December, we’ll be fine.” Somehow, we have always made it.

Life can be a roller-coaster ride, and for some of us the hills and valleys are extreme, especially during the Christmas season. The Holiday Blues are very real indeed and can range anywhere from fatigue, anxiety and melancholy to full-fledged depression. According to the National Mental Health Association, the underlying causes can be attributed to greater stress, increased activity, financial constraints, family tensions, separation from loved ones and unrealistic expectations. Before I go further, let me emphasize that depression is a serious matter deserving of immediate attention by trained health professionals. Although I have stayed in a Holiday Inn Express, I am certainly not qualified to professional advice in this matter. These musings are not intended to be prescriptive in nature, but rather they represent my strategies for managing my attitudes and expectations this Christmas. This is how I plan to make it through December:

1. Experience Christmas
I am resolved to approach Christmas with the heart of a child experiencing it for the first time. This is the first American-style Christmas for my Dominican friends – Dominick (9) and Felecia (6). They whole-heartedly endorse the blatant display of Yankee consumerism associated with the holidays. Decking the halls and trimming the tree was a major cultural experience for them. When they returned from school one day and discovered presents scattered beneath the branches, their enthusiasm was boundless. Despite the fact that none of the gifts are labeled, Felecia felt compelled to immediately draft a thank-you note to Santa Claus.
The Brevard Christmas Parade and the Twilight Tour received high marks from these young critics as well. We enthusiastically cheered each passing participant (even the protesters), visited O.P. Taylor’s, sampled cookies, sipped spiced tea and absorbed the sights and sounds of Christmas in Brevard. We were especially excited to see Tommy Twister and the Tornados as they twisted their way down Broad Street. My little friends are impressed with my town, my school and my team.
Oh, I would love to share the wonderful seasonal activities that I have already experienced – the “singing Christmas tree,” the Tornado Club gathering, the Rotary Club Christmas Dinner. Food, friends and fellowship – it doesn’t get any better than this. [I promised to write something about the Calvary Baptist Church Christmas Cantata on Sunday, December 16 at 6:30 p.m. Get out – enjoy the Holidays. Please consider this your personal invitation to attend.]

2. Focus on Others During the Holidays
My second resolution this December is to emphasize the needs of others. I used to take delight in teaching my children what Christmas is all about. “It is all about buying presents for your Daddy,” I would remind them as we embarked on a shopping trip. “Make sure your mama gets me lots of nice things.”
It was just a joke! Christmas is all about giving and there are blessings to be realized when we put the needs of others before our own selfish interests. Are you as concerned as I am to read that our local charities are struggling for donations this December? It is an embarrassment to our community. I ask that you consider joining me in making local charitable giving a priority this Christmas. Let’s all do what we can to support the Sharing House, the Salvation Army, and those other organizations that help our friends and neighbors make it through times of hardship.

3. Emphasize the Spiritual Aspects of the Season
December is meant to be the happy time of year. It is a time for parades, parties, and presents. It is a time for friends, families and fellowship. It is also a time for spiritual renewal. So many of the traditions and symbols of the Holiday Season call us to contemplate deeper matters of faith – Who is God? And what does that mean for me?
Lighting the candles on an advent wreath is a Christmas tradition that calls to mind man’s endless quest for meaning and purpose in life. It is the Christ candle in the center of wreath that represents the answer for me. I write from an evangelical Christian perspective and make no apology for my faith; it is the cornerstone of who I am. But please understand my desire to be sensitive to those friends and readers whose religious beliefs differ from mine. Regardless of your faith background, I trust that we find common ground in the universal themes of love, peace, joy and hope that pervade this time of year. May the days ahead be a time of spiritual renewal for you and your family.

4. Think Beyond December
Too many times we put all of our eggs in one basket at Christmas – we expect too much from the Holiday Season. Hungry for the nostalgic feelings inspired by Currier & Ives prints and Bing Crosby tunes we are disappointed when the whole family is unable to gather for chestnuts round the open fire. No matter how gay our apparel, it is not always a wonderful life, and sometimes we just have to deal with a blue, blue Christmas. It is helpful to avoid unrealistic expectations, to embrace our emotions, and to understand that there is life beyond Christmas. I am already making plans for a joyous Christmas and prosperous New Year.

If we make it through December,
I got plans to be in in a warmer town come summer time,
Maybe even California,
If we make it through December we'll be fine.

Make Friends With Books

2007-12-04T08:00:00Z

It has been said that all people can be placed into two distinct groups – number people and word people. If this is true, then I am definitely a word person – one who naturally gravitates towards language and books – one for whom a single picture inspires a thousand words. Some of my best friends, including my spouse, are number people – those linear-thinking types that seem to have no problem with science and mathematics. The quantitative vs. the qualitative, one group searches for answers while the other seeks to find meaning when faced with life’s big questions. But despite our differing perspectives, the two co-exist and even serve to complement each other.

I am definitely a word person. I enjoy taking different ideas, weighing them, studying them and arranging my thoughts on paper. It provides a great release during times of personal turmoil. Writing helps me to organize my thoughts as I contemplate different situations and develop my plans for the future. In recent days I have spent time completing my literature review and preparing my dissertation proposal. Finishing my doctorate is a priority for me in the year to come, thus it appears that there is a great deal of writing and studying ahead. It brings to mind some ancient insight: “Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh (Ecclesiastes 12:12).”

“Make friends with books,” is insight that Campbell University President Dr. Jerry Wallace has offered to incoming freshmen for several years. “Books are friends that will last you a lifetime.” I completely concur with my mentor on this point. But like their human counterparts, the truest literary companions are those that are there for you when times are tough. On sunny summer days by the pool, any light reading will do. On cold, dark, lonely nights you need a book with meaning and substance; a solid and reliable classic; an old friend that you can depend on.

Felicia, my 6-year-old sidekick, and I have developed a ritual of visiting the Transylvania County Public Library each week. On Tuesday afternoons, we return our old books and race through the aisles to find new ones. Felicia holds to the theory that you can indeed judge a book by its cover. She makes friends quickly - red dogs, brown bears, purple dinosaurs, cats in hats and curious monkeys. They seem to just reach off the shelf and grab her attention.

I tend to navigate the Dewey Decimal System a bit more cautiously than my young friend. There is a lot of garbage circulating around out there, especially in the business and self-help sections. Oh, the titles catch my eye – Crazy Bosses, How to Swim with the Sharks Without Being Eaten, What They Don’t Teach You in Harvard Business School, Never Check Email in the Morning, and Lions Don’t Need to Roar. I thumbed through most of them, and checked out a couple to read. They seem nice enough, a few actually had something worthwhile to say, but we didn’t really connect. They end up being mere acquaintances.

But one book was different – we hit it off immediately. What Color is Your Parachute (Bolles, 2007) has been identified as one of the Seven Essential Popular Business Books. Now in its 35th printing, with more than 9 million copies sold, it is considered to be one of the best career guides around. It wasn’t a complete stranger; I knew its reputation and had seen it around on bookstore shelves over the years. But I always passed it by, I had no need for it. After all, my resume speaks for itself; and who needs a parachute if you don’t plan on jumping out of the plane?

Where shall I go? What shall I do? “Oh Fiddle-dee-dee!” As I ponder my next career step, I feel somewhat like Scarlett O’Hara. (And yes, I know the appropriate response to those lines). The common for approach for those of us that are “employment challenged” is to check the job postings, churn out a couple of resumes and wait for the call. “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

Bolles’ book speaks to more than just job-hunting, resume writing, and interview skills. These topics are certainly addressed, but Parachute is about finding your dreams, your passion, and your calling in a restless, unpredictable world. The book even provides useful exercises that guide the reader in prioritizing skills, needs, values, working conditions, and location as they search for the right job. The book is well written and interesting to read. Bolles’ advice appears to be logical, practical and balanced. It is also spiritual. While he writes in a manner that is friendly to a broad spectrum of religious backgrounds, he does not ignore the fact that an individual’s vocation should be connected to their faith. He suggests that we all seek to find work that fits us – mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Add socially to the list – Bowles concludes his book with a thought on seeking wise counsel (from Ecclesiastes): "Two are better than one; For if they fall, The one will lift up his fellow; But woe to him that is alone when he falleth, And hath not another to lift him up."

I am seeking the counsel of my friends these days as I search for meaning and make plans for the future. What is my dream, my passion, my calling? I welcome any ideas or suggestions that you believe will benefit me during this time of transition.

Viva Las Mariposas

2007-11-20T05:00:00Z

I have had this column on my heart since visiting the Museo Hermanas Mirabal in Salcedo, Dominican Republic last June. November 25, is observed as the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women in honor of the Mirabal sisters – three young women murdered in 1961 for their opposition against Dominican dictator Rafael Truillo. For those that find this column interesting, I recommend reading In the Time of the Butterflies, a novel by Julia Alvarez (1994), fictionalizing the lives of the Mirabal sisters. The story was adapted into a feature film in 2001.

¡Yo soy el jefe!
I am the boss! I have organized three mission trips to the Dominican Republic since my first visit to the country in 2002. Each trip, prior to leaving for the airport, I make sure that everyone understands the order of things. Leading a group of young people overseas, visiting impoverished areas where you are unfamiliar with the language, the people or their culture can be a risky undertaking. It requires a very direct administrative style - a benevolent dictatorship if you please. The leader must set the schedule, establish clear expectations, and insist everyone stays together as a group. There can be little room for dissent. I like taking student-athletes on these trips. They are accustomed to taking instructions, being on time and operating within a structure. They seem to understand the order of things. I guess it is because the authoritative style of leadership is rather commonplace in athletics, especially in the team sports. It is the legacy Knute Rockne, Bear Bryant, Vince Lombardi, Lou Holtz and Bob Knight. Even John Wooden and Dean Smith, who are widely viewed as rational, calculative gentlemen left little doubt as to who was in charge. (Just ask Michael Jordan, Lew Alcindor, or Bill Walton if you don’t believe me.) Directive leadership has its place.

On my first visit to the Dominican Republic in 2002, I was intrigued by the impact that one individual, Rafael Leonidas Trujillo, had on the people, the culture, and the history of that country. Trujillo took office in 1936, wearing a sash that proclaimed the motto "Dios y Trujillo" (God & Trujillo). He was widely known as “El Jefe” (The Chief), but privately referred to as “Chapitas” (Bottlecaps) because of his indiscriminate use of medals. (Young children would often emulate El Jefe by constructing toy medals from bottle caps.) I visited “Camp David,” his private retreat in the mountains around Santiago, had lunch in the restaurant that now occupies that site, and viewed his collection of Cadillacs on display there. With flags, a siren, and license plates that proclaimed “Comadante En Jefe,” I am certain that he made quite an impression in the 1950s as he drove the streets of “Ciudad Trujillo” (Santo Domingo). El Jefe was a piece of work, that’s for sure. In addition to changing the name of the capital, he erected statues of himself across the country, named public buildings in his honor, and required churches to post the slogan - "Dios en cielo, Trujillo en tierra" (God in Heaven, Trujillo on Earth). The order was eventually reversed to put Trujillo first.

There are times that I can be a piece of work, too. My authoritarian leadership style earned me the title of “El Jefe,” during my second trip. It was a distinction I proudly embraced, basking in the honor bestowed on me by the people. Imagining myself as a third world dictator, I considered myself to be the benevolent sort. “This is a democracy,” I told my subjects. “Everyone has a vote. El Jefe’s vote counts 51%.” I did make it a practice to reward loyalty by providing ice cream breaks from time to time.
¡Viva El Jefe!

¡El jefe es un tirano!
The boss is a tyrant! In reality, the tyranical rule of dictators is no joking matter. Absolute power corrupts, absolutely. History confirms that it is generally only a matter of time before the selfish interests of authoritarian leaders and their need for control compromises the welfare of the nation, the organization, or the group. The Trujillo regime, is considered one of the bloodiest of the 20th century, easily ranking El Jefe with murderous despots as Adolph Hitler and Idi Amin.
Trujillo promoted a policy of racial discrimination (antihaitianismo), he encouraged European immigration to “whiten” the race, and slaughtered thousands of Hatians in an effort to control the entire island of Hispanola. In an attempt to instigate a revolution, Trujillo’s agents planted a bomb inside the automobile of Venzuela’s Romulo Betancourt, seriously injuring the Venezuelan President. His adulterous escapades were well known and documented, and he made no effort to hide them from anyone. Few Dominicans ever dared to defy Trujillo – to do so would result in imprisonment, torture and quite probably death.

¡Viva Las Mariposas!
Minerva Mirabal was an impressive young woman. Articulate and attractive, Minerva studied law (unprecedented for a Dominican lady in the 1950s), but because she resisted Trujillo’s romantic advancements he ordered that she was not to receive her degree from the University. Her father was imprisioned and died in 1953 from the torture he received there. Minerva and her sisters, Patria and Maria Teresa, ultimately became part of the anti-Trujillo movement. The Mirabal sisters, code-named “Las Mariposas” (the butterflies), and their husbands were were arrested, incarcerated and tortured on several occasions. They became a symbol of encouragement and hope for the underground resistance.
On November 25, 1960 the sisters set out for Puerto Plata to visit their husbands in prison. Trujillo’s henchmen intercepted their jeep and forced the three women into a sugarcane field where they were beaten and strangled to death. Their jeep was later thrown off a nearby cliff in an attempt to cover-up the murders. The newspapers reported the incident as an accident, but the Dominican people knew the truth. The brutal death of these three brave heroines inspired the resistance movement. Within months El Jefe’s strangle-hold on power deteriorated. He refused to go into exile and was assassinated on May 30, 1961 while riding through the streets of “Ciudad Trujillo” in his cadillac.

I’m afraid that somewhere inside each of us is a carnal, self-centered tyrant that desires power and control. That selfish, egotistical spirit that demands its own way and says “look at me – I am the boss.” The Apostle Paul knew about that internal struggle (Romans 7) and I confess that I too fight to keep my “El Jefe” in exile. This Thanksgiving, I am especially thankful for those voices of resistance, the butterflies, that compell me to use a different paradigm. Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance – those are the characteristics of a servant-leader. ¡Viva Las Mariposas!