Masters of the Craft

My second paying job out of high school was as an apprentice scientific instrument maker in the machine shop at the National Bureau of Standards. I was the first candidate accepted into their apprenticeship program. Once accepted, I spent the next four years learning the art and craft of using hand and machine tools to make useful items out of metal. When I graduated four years later as a journeyman, I knew how to grind my own tools and mount them correctly in the machines. I knew how to operate the machines themselves, some of which had seemed as complex as a multi-engine aircraft when I first saw them. By the end of my time, I was able to build complex assemblies from scratch. Moreover, at the end of the day I was able to point to or hold something in my hand and say with a degree of pride "There it is. I made it. And it's right." I owe my trade to a succession of senior mechanics who were entrusted with the responsibility of passing their skills to me. These men would show me how something was done, and stand by to see that I did it right. They showed me how to check my own work and then followed through by checking it exactly as they had taught me. And they exercised extreme patience when my fumble-fingered first attempts produced not the desired item but a useless piece of scrap. As I worked under the guidance of my instructors, I learned that each of them had at least one person whom they considered to be a better craftsman and to whom they would go for guidance when faced with a difficult set up or fabrication challenge. My instructors were quick to point these men out and to introduce me to them; they wanted to be sure I learned how to do things right, and they wanted me to learn from the best. My instructors were equally quick to point out those from whom I should not learn, lest I pick up bad habits. Through their actions, those who gave me my trade made me want to be like them, a master of the craft. Mostly by example, my instructors taught me the truth of words first spoken by Aristotle: "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then is not an act, but a habit." My apprenticeship not only gave me a trade; it taught me to practice excellence, to make it a habit, and in all things to become a master of the craft. And that has made all of the difference in the world.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

The last time my wife and I visited Alaska, we were privileged to ride the White Pass and Yukon Line from Skagway, Alaska to the top of White Pass in British Columbia. The scenery was magnificent; the rail road, built in 1898, a marvel of engineering. During our excursion, we passed through two tunnels inside of which the rail cars are immersed in obsidian darkness. I, for one, was glad to emerge once again into the light. The image of light at the end of the tunnel is a popular one. People experiencing or emerging from hard times speak of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Others speak of hope that the light at the end of the tunnel is not an oncoming train. Still others opine that "due to the current crisis, the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off," and "things always look the darkest right before the light goes completely out." The vision of light at the end of the tunnel says that darkness and gloom are temporary, that we can hope one day to emerge into glorious light. I've spent time in the tunnel. All of us have. I've stumbled forward and cringed as each hint of light proved to be an oncoming train of some sort. And I've survived. And then, one day, as I saw a light and stepped to the side to avoid the oncoming train, I discovered that was no wall. I looked up and saw sky, and twinkling stars and realised I was no longer in the tunnel. When and where I had emerged were lost to me. I was out of the tunnel, and free to go left and right at will. It was night and still dark around me, but there was light ahead. The light wasn't at the end of the tunnel -- I'd left the tunnel long ago -- but ahead, on the horizon, the dawn of a new and promising day.

Looking Forward, Looking Back

With the coming new year, I find myself joining a lot of other people looking forward by looking back. Doing so, I find the year two-thousand and nine to have been a year of mixed results. I accomplished much; achieved some of my dreams. -- like starting this blog -- but have much left that I want to accomplish. I got rid of some of my mountain of stuff, but the mountain appears to remain undiminished. The cycle of assessing, evaluating, and purging stuff will continue. I attended funerals and grieved with family and friends. I celebrated weddings and new beginnings. I celebrated survival with those I flew with in Vietnam and remembered those no longer with us. I met new friends and renewed acquaintances with some I had not seen for nearly half a century. I am extraordinarily blessed to remain surrounded by wonderful people. And I laughed, and cried, and lived and loved life as it came. Looking forward I could wish for no better. My priorities for 2010 will remain pretty much what they were in 2009 (except that I do plan to experience and explore the interior of Alaska!) and my continuing goals will not change. In 2010, I plan to meet life head on and to savour every moment given me to its absolute fullest. I can do no more.

Pearl Harbor Remembered

7 December 2009: It amazes me that some sixty-eight years after the fact, the nation remembers Pearl Harbor and continues to view images of the attack with horror and outrage. Yet a mere nine years after the attacks of 9/11, images of airplanes striking the twin towers, of the towers burning and collapsing are deemed "too disturbing" to show on the six o'clock news.

In the years following 1941, images of the devastation wrought by the attack at Pearl Harbor galvanized the nation to act with resolve in the years to follow. During the dark days immediately following, and throughout the long slog from island to island in the Pacific, the battle cry was "Remember Pearl Harbor." And even today, on the anniversary of the event, the nation pauses to remember. In the weeks following 9/11, images of the devastation wrought by the attacks galvanized the nation to unity and action. Unlike the situation in 1941, such unity was short lived as our elected officials acted like the petty politicians that they are rather than the statesmen that the nation needed. National unity was squandered in the name of momentary political advantage. And the images that could have united us disappeared from view. The news media labelled them "too disturbing." Where is the horror? Where is the outrage? Where is the resolve to see justice for the wrong done on 9/11? Sixty-eight years after Pearl Harbor, the images of December 7, 1941 still unite us. And eight years after 9/11, in the absence of appropriate images and resolve, we find ourselves back to business as usual as if 9/11 had not happened. Where is the horror? Where is the outrage? Where is the resolve? On the brink of losing all sense of national resolve and our will to survive, we are on the brink of losing our culture and our freedom. Where is the outrage? Where is the resolve? Have we become a nation of wimps?

Plant a Garden!

In an interview, pro-blogger Merlin Mann (http://www.43folders.com/) asked the following question of fellow blogger Leo Bobauta (http://zenbabits.net): "If you had 60% of the time and resources you needed to do anything you want, what would you do?" I don't remember the answer, but the question has gnawed at me for months. What would I do if I had 60% of the time and resources I needed to do anything I wanted? In my engineer's mind, the question quickly became "How can I achieve acceptable results at something I want to do with 60% of the time and resources that I need?" The answer is "Do something that will successfully scale back to 60%" and "Do something that is less dependent on external resources." And then I remembered growing up on the farm. My Dad never had the resources he needed. Yet every year, he plowed, planted, and cultivated, and every year we harvested. Every year, Dad did all that he could with the resources he had. And it was always enough. If I had 60% of the time and resources I needed, I'd plant a garden. (My wife would sew a quilt!) Instead of 100 square feet, I would prepare, plant, cultivate, and harvest a garden of sixty square feet. By scaling back, I would need to expend only sixty per cent of the time required to prepare the soil and cultivate the plants. I would only use 60% of the seeds, 60% of the fertiliser, and 60% of the water to make my garden grow. And I would still reap a harvest! If conditions are favourable that harvest may even produce better than 60% of what would have been produced with full resources. Perhaps, my garden would even produce the seeds for a somewhat larger plot next year! Half-way toward forming my answer to this question, I realised that we never have all of the resources we think we need. We could always use more. At the same time, I realised that people have been doing awesome things for years and years with very limited or no resources. My Dad raised four children on a subsistence level farm. We all grew up to be reasonably responsible and productive adult members of society. From the day my children entered this world, I never felt that I had the time and resources I needed. No parent ever does. Nonetheless, my children also became reasonably responsible and productive adults. Pareto's law of work says that you generally need only 20 per cent of the resources to get 80 per cent of the results. Life isn't about what you can't do with what you don't have; life is about doing great and wonderful things with what you do! Do something great and wonderful. Plant a garden. Make a quilt. Raise a family. You may not even need sixty-percent.

Remember; Be Angry

I choose to remember 9/11. Eight years ago this morning, on September 11, 2001, I was in the Pentagon. I was at Staff Call in an office on C Ring between Corridors 5 and 6. Shortly after sitting down, we were jarred as American Airlines Flight 77 slammed into the building. My friend who was with me swears that he heard jet engines accelerating before impact. Those I was with and I evacuated safely through the smoke, dust, and debris outside of our office door. I remember that several hundred feet from where I sat, Brigadier General Maude was in his E Ring office. He was being briefed by three Booze-Allen contractors. His office was very near the point of impact. All four occupants perished. I remember that two secretaries were taking a smoke break in the area between B and C ring. One had just flicked her Bic to light up when the right engine came crashing through C ring. Her first thought was that she had caused an explosion. Both she and her companion evacuated safely with a true story to tell the grandchildren. Remember. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, President Roosevelt proclaimed it to be a day that would forever live in infamy. We were outraged as a nation, and, for the next four years, our battle cry in the Pacific was "Remember Pearl Harbor!" Black and white images of wreckage burning, and the tower of the Battleship Arizona silhouetted against a cloud of black smoke fueled our outrage and strengthened our national resolve to achieve victory. September 11, 2001 is no less than December 7, 1941 a day that will live forever in infamy. Yet one year afterward, images of the twin towers burning were deemed "too disturbing" to be shown on the evening news. Now, eight years later, our national resolve to triumph can barely be detected. Have we forgotten the images of our fellow citizens casting themselves from the towers rather than burn up inside? Have we forgotten our obligation to those who perished? Remember. Remember that these attacks were evil and be angry. Remember that on September 11, 2001 our nation was attacked without cause. Be angry that , unlike Pearl Harbor, these attacks were mostly directed not against our military but against innocent and unsuspecting civilians. Remember that on September 11, 2001 we were peaceful and secure. Be angry at those who took our peace and security from us. Be very angry at those who forced us now to live in perpetual distrust and wariness. Remember that the attacks of September 11, 2001 were evil acts perpetrated by evil men with evil intent. Be angry at the perpetrators and those who support them. Be resolved to defeat them and everything they stand for. Remember that we owe a solemn obligation to those who perished. Be angry at those who would reduce what should be a day of solemn remembrance and renewed resolution into a day of service similar to Earth Day or Arbor Day. Be angry and resolve to oppose those who continue to plan acts of evil against our nation and our freedom. Resolve to oppose them until your last breath. All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. Remember 9/11. Be angry and maintain your anger. Resolve with me that evil will never be allowed to triumph.

Labor Day: It's About Work

My Dad always took a somewhat dim view of Labor Day. Falling at the peak of the tobacco harvest, Labor Day happens during the season of maximum effort in the fields and tobacco barns. Housing tobacco is not a task that can be easily accomplished by one person. Dad's view of Labor Day was made no brighter by the fact that on the day after all of his teen aged helpers would disappear into the bowels of the education system and become unavailable except for the hours between school and dark. Most of Dad's helpers, my friends, were also unavailable on Labor Day as they did things with their families who were not tobacco growers. I wanted to be like my friends. Dad's answer to my requests for Labor Day off was always the same. "Labor Day means it's a day extra hard labor." And, although we usually quit early so I could be ready for school the next morning, we spent most of the day working hard. Over the years, I have come to realize that Dad was right even if I'm still not sure that the best way to celebrate Labor day is by working. Labor Day should celebrate work. Labor -- work -- is required for human survival. And, whether we choose to admit it or not, labor -- work -- is also required for human fulfilment. If God created Man and placed him in the garden "to dress it and to keep it," then we are made to work. Scripture tells us that work did not become a burden until man sinned and, in punishment, God cursed the ground so that it would produce its fruit only as a result hard work. "By the sweat of your brow you shall eat your bread," He said. So this Labor Day, I choose to celebrate work -- the work I do and all of the honourable and productive work that other people do. Work: it's part of a full life. "This is the Gospel of labor. Peal forth, ye bells of the Kirk! For the Lord of Love Came down from above To live with men who work. And this is the seed that He planted, Here in this thorn-curs'd soil. Heaven is blessed with eternal rest; The blessing of life is toil." Have a great Labor Day. Celebrate work!