PLAYING WITH FIRE
Playing With Fire
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Mind your secrets my love
Each one weighs you down
A small leak in the bilge
It’s nothing
Until it’s something
..
Some like a dragging anchor
You stand watch
Lest you’re dashed upon the rocks
..
Each waits for the misstep
The drunken slip of the tongue
The friend that didn’t know
You weren’t supposed to be there
Caught unawares by the squall
You’re left stranded, desolate
..
Each one has a price my love
You’ll know it when the bill comes due
..
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
Lots of people want to be leaders. Just check LinkedIn. Leader leader leader. This can be a difficult job, mostly because to be a leader one must have followers. Face it, without the followers, it would be a walk in the park. But, according to LinkedIn, followers are a mandatory thing. Apparently.
Fortunately for you, there are tons and tons of followers on LinkedIn that are willing to tell you exactly how to be a leader. They will also tell you how not to be a leader. You can find these tips in helpful posts and memes so clear and simple even a five year old can understand. That’s because a five year old wrote most of them. Luckily, we get to see them over and over again as grownups post them them over and again.
Now on to being a leader!
Lets look at the negative side first, because, it’s always good to leave things on a high note. See there? That’s a leadership thing right there. I mean even King Henry V in his band of brothers spiel before Agincort snuck the whole we’re probably gonna die thing in and then wrapped it up with they were all gonna be famous and how it would be easy to find dates when they got back to England. The Agincort battle was real but I’m pretty sure Shakespeare made up the the whole ‘band of brothers’ speech thing. This begs the question of whether it was Henry or Wild Will that was the real leadership expert.
But I digress. Writing tip: It’s okay to digress when writing, as long as you say “But I digress.”
The most important thing that you can never ever ever ever do is be a manager. Like ever. Apparently a manager is a very bad thing to be. Nero, for instance, was probably a manager.
Boss is also very very bad, though to be honest, in the cartoons that people use to illustrate important points on LinkedIn, bosses look like they are having much more fun than managers. Bosses get to do things like be carried around like Cleopatra and whomp people over the head with a club. So I guess if you have to be one or the other I would go with Boss.
Something else you should never do is remind your followers that they are being paid. But isn’t that why they come to work you say? Ha! Ha! That’s rich, you simpleton, and just illustrates why you are not yet ready to lead. People want meaning, they want to make a difference. Meaning they want to see a difference in their bank account on pay day. You could stop paying them for a couple of weeks and they will leave to find meaning and making a difference elsewhere which only illustrates my point about their need for meaning and making a difference.
Now that we have covered the top three no-nos lets look at some things you should always do.
You should provide a nurturing environment by making sure each and every employee feels like they are living their best life. Remember, before storming the beaches at Normandy, General Eisenhower asked each and every one of HIS followers what he could do to help them live their best life. Interestingly, most decided living their best life involved running onto a beach while being raked by machine gun fire and flamethrowers. But “Ike” believed in giving his followers “options” so he made sure they understood that they could always be stood up against a wall and be shot by a firing squad if they didn’t like the whole storming the beach thing. It really made no difference to him. I think those soldiers were feeling extremely nurtured as they hunted down Nazis and helped them live THEIR best lives. All because Ike set a good example for them. Shadow of a leader stuff right there.
Another important thing to do is to have empathy. Nobody understands what the hell this actually means so maybe an example would be best. Let’s say your follower brings his big-ass pet spider into the office and you jump up and down screaming “Get that thing the hell out of here!” Not only would that not be empathetic, it will also scare the bejesus out of the spider who will run and hide. Then she will make hundreds of big-ass spider babies and you will have to burn down your entire 250 acre headquarters complex; even the vegan climbing wall. No. Empathy would be telling your employee you understand and that you like having big-ass spiders in the office. This will make them feel nurtured and valued and they will probably head down to the cafe for a soothing cup of free chamomile giving you the opportunity to pound the spider into the carpet with a shoe. (Most office carpet patterns are designed to hide dead insect smears so they’ll never find the body.)
Then there’s development. Everyone wants a leader that will help them grow to their full potential, even if their potential isn’t all that full. Thank goodness this is another fuzzy one that can mean almost anything from learning to write code in Middle English to how to avoid making idiots feel like idiots. That makes it easy to apply the old business adage of “what’s loosely defined is easily achieved.” Share this post with your whole team via your slack or chat channel and put it down as leadership development. If they object tell them they’ve apparently missed the point and they’ll need to read another asinine post to reinforce the lesson.
Finally, and most importantly, you have to give people the opportunity to fail. Apparently no one can succeed without failing so it’s very important that you help people fail. An important aspect of helping people fail is teaching them how to brag about it on LinkedIn. For full impact you should brag about how you helped a subordinate fail. This will make people realize that you are a great leader because you understand that succeeding at something is really besides the point. I have to be honest though, you are going to run into some naysayers here. They will commonly use arguments such as “what if you’re doing brain surgery or flying an airplane with 450 people on board?” It’s sad really. This type of negative attitude can create a toxic environment and ruin the failure vibe you’ve so carefully nurtured.
In conclusion (because this is the end) if you focus on these principals, you will find, that over time, you will be able to write great LinkedIn posts about leadership.
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
You’re never too old to cry for that which is lost
The pieces of my life are woven together with the thinnest of thread. I don’t think there is anyone that even remembers Cambria Heights. Especially Cambria Heights. I have few living relatives, and I see them rarely, if at all. None of them would remember Cambria Heights. This is the first place I lived, in a house that my parents owned. A little brick house; the blue collar post-war dream. Then my father became an alcoholic and so much for Cambria Heights. So much for dreams.
I have some pictures of the that house; inside and out. Me and Elisabeth, a little girl from the block I hung out with. Everyone said “they’re so damned cute.” And “Aunt” Marie, who watched me when my mother couldn’t. Mom couldn’t because she’d lost her partner and her financial security and had to go to work at Drakes Bakeries every day, leaving me with whoever she could get to care for me. Maria was an older lady and was kind. She taught me to like tea and would give me hot tea with milk and some Stella Doros to dip in it. Then we lost the house and I lost Aunt Marie, and Elisabeth, and Jeffry, and the retired couple next door.
I have met some friends from Queens Village on one of those Facebook Old Neighborhood type pages. (Cambria Heights is part of Queens Village you see.) I didn’t know them growing up but they remember my cousin and an aunt. But they don’t remember me.
No connections to Cambria Heights though. No Maria, no Elizabeth, no Jeffrey. The most tenuous connection to Queens Village and none to Hollis where we moved after losing an apartment in Queens Village. I had just turned seven and had lost two homes already. Not to complain, just a fact; a minor trauma. I always had a roof over my head no matter how small the roof.
I can remember the names of some of the kids in Hollis: Cindy, Ricky, Robert and Claudia. There was also a James and his crazy sister, and tons of tons of kids that were on the periphery but whose faces and names I can’t remember. By ten years old , I was a wild kid which made me popular. Robert told me “my mom and dad said you’re not allowed in our house.” Of course this meant that I was invited over at lunchtime at every opportunity. (Most of us were latchkeys and the kids with nice houses would walk home and eat lunch.) The same with Claudia, though the benefit with Claudia was that she fed me. A fifth grade girl sneaking the fifth grade troublemaker over to her house and making him lunch. I don’t remember much about Claudia, other than she was tall, but I imagine that even today she must be a kind soul.
Meanwhile, Ricky and I fed off each other as we raced to the bottom, to see who would get picked up by the cops first.
I went to live with someone else and left Hollis behind, winding up back in Queens Village. The people I lived with were good folks and I felt welcome. I got in a lot less trouble there but school, especially this new school, was a death spiral.
Now I’m twelve years old, sent to DeVitte Military Academy in New Jersey. I had two friends there that carried over to High School as we plotted and schemed to go to school together in Virginia. Good friends. But they are lost to me. One has passed on and the other is off the face of the earth. To understand how my mother, poor as we were, could afford Military School you’ll have to read another one of my stories.
That takes me to 15 and now I have some connections. But nothing in the first 15 years of my life. What about relatives? Completely lost touch on my father’s side, though I loved them deeply and was loved in return. There is only an uncle and a cousin left on my mother’s side. No one else.
There are photos of contemporaneous places and events. My grandparents and their house on Broad Channel, Rockaway’s Playland, cowboy outfits and Christmas time. All of these, the places and family that are lost to me…they live only in photographs and my memories.
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
Japanese General Masaharu Homma was in charge of the invasion of the Philippines at the start of World War II. The mistreatment of Allied prisoners of war and Bataan death march must be laid at his feet because even though none of it was his intent, he still presided over the disorganization and lack of discipline among his troops that led to it.
As for his his treatment of civilians he was under constant pressure from Tokyo to crack down on dissent and generally rule with an iron fist. This was not in his nature as he believed Japan needed the cooperation of the Filipinos and he saw first hand that brutality would only harden their loyalty to the United States in general, and Douglas McArthur in particular.
Perhaps the final straw came when, in keeping with his nature and beliefs, he allowed a Filipino band to march in the Japanese victory parade through the streets of Manila. The crowd that lined the streets were sullen, but other than that things went fine. That is until the band approached the viewing stand packed with Japanese dignitaries whereupon they broke into a rendition of “The Stars and Stripes”. This ignited a joyous reaction from the crowd and Homma being relieved of duty.
For his troubles, he was executed by firing squad for his role in the treatment of allied prisoners of war. He was certainly overwhelmed as the Americans and their Filipino allies fought longer and harder than expected, and his best troops were reassigned before the job was done. But in the end, he was in charge.
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
I run because because I’m frightened.
I run because I’m being chased.
Always adjusting. Always coping. Always running.
Packing experiences into every open space.
I wish someone could hug me.
I can’t let go of impossible.
You’ll leave me. I’ll leave first.
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
Image by Ulrike Leone from Pixabay
One of the major male role models in my life was Hugh Knorra. Mr. Knorra, as I called him was my mothers boyfriend for a number of years. He was president of the NYC area local of the Tool and Die Makers Union. His office was a storefront beneath our apartment. I remember having my Jr. High graduation party in that office. He also let me set up and run my train set in a spare office.
He drove a big Dodge Polaris and I was very familiar with it as we made plenty of road trips. On school breaks he would take me with him as he made his rounds to the little Tool and Die making operations around NY, NJ, and CT. He would always check in with the plant manager or owner and then he would chat with the machinists. This was before CNC lathes or any type of automation. It was all jigs, files and electric tools. These were talented workers who were always happy to see the Union President and just as happy to show me how they worked.
He offered an apprenticeship when I graduated high school but encouraged me to go to college. He came over a lot and we would watch I Dream of Jeannie and Hockey. He was a Rangers fan and there were only 6 teams at that time. He hated every other team.
It was Mr. Knorra that paid for me to go to school in Virginia. He also paid for an expensive summer camp one year…not one of the camps for poor kids I normally went to.
That all came crashing down when I came home from High School on break. I told my mother I was going to see him and she started crying and told me he was dead. She found him on the floor with a brain hemorrhage. To this day I think he was killed over something or other. My mother assured me that was not the case but then what else could she say. I could be wrong, but it still seems feasible.
He was steady, had integrity and treated me like a son. Not much more you can ask.
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
A lot can happen over the course of an entire summer, it seems like a short time now, as an adult, but to an adolescent it seems like it will go on forever…until it doesn’t. You know that any relationships are transitory, but somehow that makes them more vivid, more intense. It’s why you remember them so clearly today; you remember how she looks with her hair wet coming out of the swimming pool, you remember how you felt when she grabbed your hand for the first time, you remember, the first thing she ever said to you. You remember because it ended without an ending
From the time you get up in the morning, you wonder where she is. You pay a little extra attention to yourself getting ready. That means putting on your least dirty t-shirt and slapping a little extra water on your face. It’s camp. You’re not going to stay clean for long anyway. She’ll take more trouble, but she’ll be sweaty before long as well.
As you wait for all the cabins to gather for the flag raising, you look for her. You’re shifting back and forth on your feet trying to stay warm in the cool morning air, the dew still on the grass and the mist still rising off the lake. The lake is quiet, the frogs and night birds having made their exits, resting up for another night of cacophony. The only thing you hear is the murmur of half-awake campers. Even the counselors, who are NEVER quiet are subdued.
Now you can see her counselor, who is pretty, but you look right past her. There she is, her blonde hair in pig tails today. Now she sees you and a look passes between. You both wish you could spend the day together, doing all the camp things side by side; summer camp doesn’t work that way. You’ll both ride horses, but not together. You’ll both eat three meals in the dining hall, but with your own cabins, and you’ll play softball, volleyball, take swim lessons; but your paths probably won’t cross.
But you find ways to steal time together. There’s always a bit of planned “free time” and given it’s brevity who you spend it with is vitally important. By some miracle she always chooses to spend it with you. Spending your free time together is the top rung of the summer camp romance ladder.
The flag has been raised, the day’s first camp songs have been sung and it’s time for breakfast. As if drawn by some invisible force you naturally wind up next to each other walking into the dining hall. “It’s movie night” she mentions casually as you take her hand.
As if you hadn’t been thinking of that long after you should have been asleep last night. That’s a solid two hours where you could sit wherever and with whoever you wanted. The counselors will make loud speeches about no messing around, and how they will be watching and how they can see you even in the dark. But you know they aren’t looking; they’re just older teenagers themselves and even they will pair off.
” I know. See you then?”
“Of course silly!” She squeezes your hand a little harder and that’s both the signal to head for your cabin’s spot in the dining hall, and her telling you she’d be thinking about you until tonight.
But could she possibly be thinking about you as much as you are thinking about her?
Image by philpace from Pixabay
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
A blazing hot day on a treeless city street
The sky so bright it hurts your eyes
Heat bakes off the pavement
Broiling the air
Midwestern summer
.
A couple walking their dog
Laconic, saving their energy
.
There is no traffic
You can hear the quiet
.
Then a buzz saw sound
Carbon wheels on pavement
A girl speeds by on a bike
Sandy hair pokes out beneath her helmet
She is wearing wrap around glasses
Her cycling kit advertises a Belgian flooring company
.
The dog, noticing her, finally
Gives a half-hearted bark
Like it’s written into his contract
.
But she is already gone
Zipping by on some errand
The air rending, then closing after her
Oblivious
.
Now it’s quiet again
.
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
Street Image by Pexels from Pixabay
Cyclist Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay
Image modifications by Glenn R Keller
They’ll tell you to take it easy
To slow down
To be careful
You’re not what you once were
You could hurt yourself
Or others
You’re vulnerable
You’re harder to teach
Naturally
You should get rid of some of that old stuff
It’s just clutter
Just memories
Just your memories
Just your memory cues…the things that center you
They look back on a life worth living
And remind you of things undone
Things you’ve yet to do
They’ll tell you its because they care
They’ll tell you to be realistic
But when were you ever
You should tell them you’ve more
You should tell them you want to live all of your years
You should tell them you have so much yet to learn
You should tell them to fuck right off
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
It was a small place, right off campus in an area they called the University Village. “Off campus” but the school surrounded it on all sides. All the usual stuff was here; the pizza joints, the combo undergraduate/biker bars and the unofficial book stores with the “Ball U” shirts.
This place was dimly lit, quiet other than the soft hum of conversation, and they checked ID. So it was frequented mostly by professors and staff, a few denizens of the local neighborhood and grad students. It was a place we went with our friends to solve the problems of the world, complain about our love lives and talk sports. We had real conversations over Molson and Moosehead: sometimes inane, sometimes deeply intimate.
We were a clique of ex-pat New Yorkers, a few folks from Jersey and Connecticut, a couple of international students and some like minded Hoosiers. Drifting around the fringes were girlfriends and boyfriends who came and left depending on the vagaries of our romantic entanglements. And yes, being a coed group, we became entangled with each other. But those relationships started and flamed out during the first few months of knowing each other. It’s complicated when you all basically live together. So most of our amorous activities were directed at people outside the group; other grad students in the dorm, or older undergrads. Occasionally, we would wind up together but it was always a passing thing. We mostly lived in two suites of 12 people each…one male and one female, across the hall from each other. So everyone would know; but on the other hand, no one would care.
Back at the pub, this was all fodder for analysis and speculation. What’s up with Claire and Stevie? Nothing. Was Enya with Jeff last night? Ha! What do you think? It was just an accounting, nothing more…no judgement; necessary to maintain the equilibrium of the group. Everyone got their space..
We were intensely cool (just ask us), worldly (we’d tell you that too) but also insular. It was like we took Long Island and transferred it to Muncie, Indiana and anything that didn’t fit that mold was deemed of little value, love interests excepted. Those outside boyfriends and girlfriends were welcomed but judged with critical eyes. Little was held back, and no, it was not always negative.
I don’t want to over-romanticize it…not everyone liked us and a couple of the women on their side of the hallway wanted nothing to do with the lot of us. Still, I have kept a few letters and cards that we exchanged during special times, and they remind me that the affection among us was real. We also had each others backs in a variety of ways.
One time I brought an under-grad into the graduate student dining room. She wanted to study together, even though we had no similar classes and it seemed like a good place for someone I had only gone out with once. One of the other graduate women hissed an objection “she doesn’t belong here.” We both heard and my study date turned beet red. I glared at the big mouth. But Lydia, one of us, was there too and overheard it: “he can bring whoever the fuck he wants in here. Butt out.” For good measure, she threw in a few choice insults as well. My date went from almost crying in embarrassment to trying to suppress her giggles.
Our little group was together for two years. But in the vibrant intensity of youth it seemed like it went on longer and it imprinted deeply. We commuted to New York and back together, we visited each other at our homes back east and we carried on for awhile after we got our graduate degrees and went our separate ways.
Stevie, making his dates identify the different types of saxophones…which of course could only be done in his room with his records. Our resident Sikh who acted mysterious to impress undergrad girls. The Greek who we never saw study but got straight ‘A’s. Lydia, who we never saw without perfect hair and makeup. Enya, who had lots of drama but was super sweet and always up for hanging out. And finally, Dow, who we swore would get us all killed in a bar fight.
When I grew up a little more, I thought of all the relationships and friendships we might have missed out on because of that insularity. But then I grew up some more and realized we would have never had the deep connection, the intimacy and the craziness without it. I am pretty sure if I ran into any of them again, we would pick up right where we left off.
The graduate dorm is gone now, along with the entire complex of eight other dorms, the cafeterias, snack bars arcades and common areas. Our dorm was ahead of it’s time with coed suites, private bathrooms and very little keeping young men and young women apart.
I wish I had been a picture taker at that point in my life. Although I still remember all of them and exactly what they looked like. I miss them all.
© Glenn R Keller 2022, All Rights Reserved
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Glenn Keller 