Hot Dogs, Hitchcock and the Honor of Spending Time with Roger Ebert

I am pretty sure I escorted Roger Ebert out of the Virginia Theater for the very last time at the end of Ebertfest.  For those who don't know, Roger created a film festival in Champaign Urbana 15 years ago.  Originally called "The Overlooked Film Festival", the event was a celebration of the four things Roger loved the most: His wife Chaz, Movies, Champaign/Urbana/the University of Illinois and Steak and Shake.  The festival brought actors, directors, screenwriters, movie executives and thousands of other friends together to celebrate all of the things he loved the most.

I was on "Roger duty" for this last day of the 2012 Ebertfest.  That meant I needed to help him in and out of the theater, help him to and from his seat and just make sure he and his wife Chaz had what he needed.  The festival was showing "Citizen Kane" one of Roger's all time favorite movies.  And for the first time the version being screened was the "director's voice over" which in this case, was the voice of Roger Ebert himself talking through every scene of the projection.  It was a magical afternoon just to hear Roger's voice again in the theater.

For those that don't know, Ebert has battled cancer for at least the last 10 years.  Eventually he would lose his jaw and vocal chords and with that his ability to "tell us" about the movies he loved and hated so much. Even the loss of his voice couldn't quiet Roger though, adapting his computer with a "Hal like" speech adapter.

While on "Roger duty", Ebert needed to take a short break and we escorted him into the theater office to rest.  On his way back to his seat one of the patrons was complaining loudly to the staff about how he had assumed the original movie would be shown and not a voice over by Ebert.  While at his loudest, Roger walked by.  Roger displaying grace, looked into the man's eyes, nodded as a grandfather might nod trying to calm a disrespectful grandson, extended his hand and gave a look of understanding. 

I don't want to imply in anyway that Ebert and I were close friends.  Like thousands of others I had the opportunity to spend time with him and have a few brief conversations.  We both have two loves in common, movies and the UI College of Media.  And we would talk about both when we shared time.

The most notable of our encounters happened at the San Diego Airport in 2004.  Roger was in San Diego for treatments for the cancer and I was there for the national convention of my national fraternity.  Standing in  the airport security line, I noticed Roger was standing in front of me.  We shared greetings and once through the line he invited me to join him to get something to eat.  He noticed Nathan's Hot Dog's in the food court and we started our adventure.  

Now Roger loved to eat.  He is famous for taking friends to Steak and Shake in Champaign and leading debates about how the burger, bun and fixings at this fine establishment was the finest in the world.  If you didn't know any better you might think Steakburgers deserved the same notoriety as the finest of French wines.  But this was Roger, if he believed something, it was important for his friends to believe the same thing.  His long time sparring with critic Gene Siskel grew out of this stubbornness.  And of course the rest is history.

The first time I met Ebert was shortly after he had reviewed "Chinatown".  Ebert loved the movie as did I and my closest lifetime movie critic friend Brenda did.  But Siskel didn't.  I was in the CBS studio in Chicago interviewing Brent Musberger and Siskel was there doing his weekly on air review for the station.  I argued with Siskel about how wrong he was about the movie and he shot back "if I liked every movie, no one would read my columns!"  I shared this with Roger when I met him later that summer and he thought Gene's argument was just childish.   That was Roger.  Adults agreed with him, children...well they were just children.  

So I return in this story to Nathan's Hot Dogs.  We both had an hour until our flights.  Roger bought us 4 dogs and fries.  He spent the first 20 minutes admiring the hot dog.  The casing was perfection.  The bun toasted just right.  The fries while not quite Steak and Shake thin fries but were the next best thing.  And the toppings were just heavenly.  He reminded me the San Diego Nathan's was no near as good as the original at Coney Island, but still, well worth the investment!

We spent the rest of the time talking about movies and in particular Hitchcock movies.  I told him one of my favorite classes at the UI was a Hitchcock and his works class where we read the screenplay or books the movies were based on and then critiqued the movie.   We talked about my favorite Hitchcock movie, North by Northwest, and got into Psycho, Notorious, The Birds, and finally Rear Window, which he was hoping to show at the festival soon.  It was truly amazing to "pick a topic or a movie" and then let him lecture about the history of the movie.  

I mentioned before Roger has hosted a film festival in our area the past 14 years.  Roger grew up in Urbana and loved to come back.  Over the past 14 years he has shown over 100 movies and offered insights into each of them before and after the screening.  For those of us who have attended every year I think we might be eligible for a doctorate in film studies.  For me at least, I have a much better understanding of what it takes to make  and distribute a movie.  It has been fascinating for sure.  

And a huge part of the festival has been his friends who have come back to be celebrated by Roger and Chaz.  Standing on Park St you might bump into actors, directors, producers, writers, and masters of all of the elements of film making.  And most if not all would tell you a story about how Roger changed their lives with a review he wrote or a call or letter of encouragement they had received.  As I said if he liked you and liked your work, he stubbornly argued for you.

So today I remember that afternoon in San Diego I spent with Roger Ebert.  I'm taken back to the last day of Ebertfest as I escorted Roger out to his car after the lights were back on from the last movie.  As he held my arm going out of the theater I mentioned that afternoon at Nathans.  He squeezed my hand to tell me he remembered and gave a look to Chaz, they must have had same discussion before,  as if to say  "see Chaz, I told you Nathan's was the best!".  Another debate won by Ebert for sure.

My heart goes out to Chaz and all of Roger's true friends across the country but especially here in Champaign Urbana.  The 15th Annual Festival is in two weeks.  This will be the perfect memorial for all of his family and friends.  Four days of movies, of Steak and Shake, of boasting about the University of Illinois being the best university in the world, of comforting Chaz and who knows, maybe we can fly in some Nathan's Hot Dogs for the day.  We'll all miss you Roger Ebert. 

This month, from April 21 – 27, National Volunteer Week will be held across our country.  Many of us make time to volunteer when our schedules are free.  National Volunteer Week though is an event not all of us take time to put on our schedules due to the natural acceleration of our markets in the spring.  However, this is perhaps the most important time to serve as role models for the people we know and serve. 

Jen Knieram schedules volunteers and cooks many of the meals at the Time Center in Champaign.  For those who don’t know, the Time Center is a men’s shelter offering meals, lodging and counseling to men hard on their luck. Recently a group from my office and another group from Centennial High School took on hour and a half on two different weekdays to serve lunch to 50 or so men and women.  Jen describes the average client as low income, who typically has a job, but primarily homeless.  For many, this is their only hot meal of the day.  Most of the food at the Time Center is donated including fresh vegetables, fruits and meats by members of our community who just “want to help.”  Jen offered, “One man will go to the local grocery store, see what’s on sale, and bring a few pounds of bananas, or apples or whatever is available.”  She continues, “These acts of selflessness don’t go unnoticed by the Time Center.  Without them, we wouldn’t even begin to have the variety of meals we can offer.” 

However Jen noted when their core volunteers, the UI students are out, their ability to serve the people who need our help the most is challenged.  “We have many groups who pick a day here or a day there and send over people to help.  However, we need help 365 days a year, twice a day. “ 

This is true of just about every non for profit agency in our town.  They all have needs for people to roll up their sleeves every day, not just when the “business is slow.”  Knieram suggested, “If every organization in town, every church, every service group, every fraternity, sorority, student volunteer group, trade association, etc., volunteered for one hour every month, our community would have more volunteers than we have need.”

So my challenge to you this month is to do just that.  Set aside one hour this month, and every month to give back to the community.  Challenge your family, your friends, and your co-workers to commit to do the same.  All of us work hard to make Champaign/Urbana a great place to live.  Part of that work is to help those less fortunate to enjoy the community as well.

If you need a project, you can sign up for Austin’s Day, held April 20 in conjunction with the university’s Campus/Community Day of service.  More than 20 local agencies will be served by over 1000 volunteers that day.  The UI alone will pack 146,000 meals for the Eastern Illinois Food Bank.  You can register at www.austinsday.org.  While you’re at this website, read about Austin Cloyd, a remarkable young woman dedicated to serving our community every day of her life, whose life was cut short at Virginia Tech 6 years ago.

Or call the United Way or any of the many agencies in C/U and ask what you can do to help.  I hope to see you with your sleeves rolled up giving back this April.  More important, I hope to see you doing the same in May, June, July and every month of the year.  Busy or not, the community needs our help.

On my dad, UCLA, Weber grills and the things that make me who I am

My dad passed a few years ago.  I was asked to give one of the eulogies at a memorial service.  I realized a few weeks ago I had not posted it on this blog.  So in tribute to my father, Stan Salen, I'll post it now.

Hi, my name is Todd and I was one of my dad’s sons.  I fit somewhere in the middle of the three families my dad was a part of.   I was the youngest of the first family, in the middle for the second and I’m not sure where I fit now!  I want to thank each of your for joining our family today for this service.

My father was shaped very much by the times he grew up in.  Raised on a farm in a small town in Pennsylvania, in the middle of the depression,  he was an athlete and very popular in school.  Over the years I have heard many stories of dad and his brother Lou driving around town looking for trouble.  Like many dads, he told me that he walked 5 miles to school in the snow uphill, both ways….. I believed him … until one time when I was visiting my grandmother and she pointed out dad’s school which was down the block a ways.  Still a nice walk, but hardly 5 miles.  Oh and the road was flat too…both ways.    You could only believe so much of what my dad would tell us, he had a sarcastic streak in him, just like I do.

I think he learned at an early age that hard work was a requirement of life.  He grew up in an era where the father was the head of the family, provided for everyone, while the wife stayed home to manage the children. 

I had heard he planned to attend Ohio State before he enlisted in the navy.  Like many of the Greatest Generation, he served proudly, but rarely talked about his experiences with his family.  I learned more about his service in the last 5 years than I ever knew in my first 45. 

After the war he enrolled at UCLA through the GI bill.  It was in Los Angeles he met my mother.  I’m not sure why she was in LA, except that I’m sure anything was better than Duluth Minn. where she was born. My mother used to say that Duluth had 9 months of winter and 3 months of poor sledding.  But, she was a looker!  At least that was how dad described her.  My mother was the second of 5 children.  Her father emigrated from Greece in the early 1900’s. 

Dad loved UCLA.  He loved all of the glory years of John Wooden and loved his Bruins.  He especially loved it when the Bruins beat up on USC, Illinois or Wisconsin.  After the 84 Rose Bowl when the Bruins destroyed my Illini, dad kept a subtle reminder hanging just outside the guest room,  a Rose Bowl pennant.  He loved to poke you just a little to remind you that no matter what, the Bruins ruled. 

With the help of Dan and Paul we took dad to see the Bruins play the Fighting Illini a few years ago.  Dad had begun to lose his mobility at this point.  I told him we would need to walk a bit at the stadium, so I persuaded him to do his exercises in the months leading up to the game so he would be strong enough to walk from the car to the stadium.  I knew this would be his last chance to see them in person and I arranged for tickets in the UCLA section.  Cheerleaders and the Bruin band and many fans decked out in blue and gold lifted dad’s spirits for weeks to come.  It was a special day for all of us that were there.

Let me share a couple of the happiest days in dad’s life with you.  His wedding days were happy days.  He loved having everyone share them with him.  Another really happy day was the day that my sister Kris was born.  He got a big stack of “It’s a girl” cigars and he handed them out at work and all through the neighborhood. 

  

He was always happy whenever we were driving to Pennsylvania.  There was something about going back to the farms and the fields he spent so much time in as a child that revitalized him.  He loved spending time with his sisters Eileen and Bonnie and Peggy.  And he even tolerated all of the newborns he had to hold.  He especially loved his mother, my grandmother.  She was a special lady, who managed a house and all of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.  She was the only person that could put dad in his place.  All she needed so say was….”Stan….” and he would sink back in his chair and end whatever mischief he might have started. 

But the happiest day in dad’s life?  The day he got his first Weber grill.  Sunday’s belonged to dad.  Not because he was an avid church goer, or because he loved the NFL or anything like that.  No, it was because on Sunday he got to cook dinner.  And he loved that so much.  It didn’t matter whether he was cooking the most expensive steak, or the cheapest of hamburger, dad loved to fire up the grill.  And when they introduced the Weber grill, he had to have one.  I am certain he took better care of his Weber grill than any car or appliance he ever owned.  Oh and he loved to experiment on that Weber grill.  There was something about the circular flow of heat in a Weber that fascinated Dad.  I had more varieties of kabobs, and meat pies and the like from his experiments.   I don’t remember that any of them were great creations, but I know that dad thought they were. 

For most of his life dad hated holidays.   There was only one thing dad liked about Christmas, filling the stockings.  He would find the best little toys and trinkets to fill each of our stockings and take great pride as we sorted through them on Christmas morning.  But after the stockings were emptied, we needed get the gifts unwrapped, the paper in the garbage and move on to the rest of the day.  Thanksgiving?  Forget it, too many people running in and out of the kitchen and through the house.  He would camp out in his chair, and bite his lip, and count the minutes until dinner was over and the dishes were put away. 

Yep, he hated the holidays….that is…..until he learned you could cook a turkey in his Weber grill.  From that day forward he LOVED the holidays.  I remember him getting up early on Christmas morning to start the grill.  Oh my, that made the day so much better.  He was sure his grilled turkey was the best ever!  And he told us that every holiday.  “Have you ever had a better turkey…it’s just perfect!”  …..

Eventually, with the help of my sister Kris and his loving wife June, dad learned to enjoy the holidays.  He would patiently sit back and watch and listen to each of us.  I think he just savored the moments with his children, even if we weren’t cooking a turkey!

Dad grew up in the era where the man of the house went to work everyday and the woman took care of the family and the house.  He rarely missed a day at work his whole career.  He would be gone before we woke up in the morning and when he got home, he would head to his chair to read his paper and unwind from the day. 

Dad loved his family, although I don’t think he was ever comfortable letting us know that. I don’t remember seeing him hug any of his children, except for Kris.  But he connected with us in different ways.

Each of us had our own way of dealing with him.  My oldest brother Steve was dad’s favorite to argue with.  If you sat in the room and listened to the two of them you could be certain that it was possible that neither of them cared whether what they were saying was accurate or not, they just liked to argue.  And in the end, they would both truly believe they had won the argument, although watching from the outside you were certain it was possible they both lost!

My next brother Greg was dad’s golden boy.  Greg was a gifted athlete and channeled his gifts into an athletic scholarship.  Dad loved to tell stories of Greg’s successes and beamed with pride whenever the subject came up. Greg was also a charmer, marrying his high school sweat heart.  He used his charm on dad a lot, always nodding in agreement to everything dad said while crossing his fingers behind his back and doing things his way rather than dad’s. 

I learned a lot about dad watching Steve and Greg deal with him.   I always tried to be factual with dad.  I soon learned that facts where not what made you right or wrong though.  Eventually as I got older I adopted Greg’s style of letting him be right even when I thought he wasn’t.

 

It was interesting though, it was ok to take sides against dad, but if you ever bad mouthed the other brothers in front of him, he let you know that wasn’t permitted.  He protected each of us from each other and from the world around us.

Dad loved the women in his life.  My mother Muriel, Roberta and June all were very important to him.  He was someone that really loved being married.  He loved shopping for just the right birthday card or anniversary card or Christmas present.  And all three women changed him.  Roberta and June especially.   Roberta taught him patience and June taught him about family.  

There are a couple of things that I am certain about when I think about Dad.  I’m certain that he wouldn’t want us making a lot of fuss about all of this.  For the most part, he would have wanted us to get on with our lives and not look back.  That is what he always tried to do.  Dad was someone that had a good life.  I think it was the kind of life that he wanted.  A good job, a family, a home, and children that all finished college and found happiness in their lives. 

He had some tough bumps in his road.  Losing two wives to cancer was hard. My brothers and sister had our ups and downs and he took each of them personally.   I know the last time I saw him he was paranoid about putting all of us through the nightmares that he had been through with his two wives and cancer.  He was trying to fight a good fight for June’s sake, but he knew that the end was near. 

In the end though, he wanted all of us to be happy.  He also wanted all of us to know that he loved each of us very much.  The last time I spoke to him he made a point of reminding me that our lives had to move on.  We needed to deal with losing him the same way that he dealt with those rough times in his life.  We all needed to pick ourselves up and get back to living our lives. 

I don’t know what heaven looks like, I can’t even imagine what comes next.  But somehow, I have this picture of dad wearing a UCLA sweatshirt, cooking over a brand new Weber Grill and asking God…..”Have you ever had a turkey cooked on a grill??”  

There are two mottos I have borrowed as “my own.”  The first is “Dream out Loud!”  A reference to the idea far too many store their aspirations in a vault somewhere, never letting others know what they want or want to be.  The second is “Make a Difference Everyday!” 

A close friend of mine has achieved incredible success, starting over 40 companies while mentoring hundreds of college students all over America.  He was leading a discussion about his life when someone in the room asked “when did you know you had achieved success.”    My friend answered, “I don’t measure my success by the companies I start or the money that comes in as a result.  I measure my success one day at a time.  If at the end of the day I can honestly say I’ve made a difference in someone’s life, I know I have been successful.”

That remark stuck in the back of my head for many years.  It was something I wanted to aspire to achieve, but not something I really thought I was capable of achieving.  And then, my life changed.  Well not totally, but at least in terms of realizing how even the most seemingly minor situation can be monumental. 

Another friend, Rob, was in town from Texas and wanted to meet.  Rob lived across the hall from me in the dorms when we were freshmen in college.   Over coffee Rob asked me if I remembered the talk we had in the dorms one night during finals week.I was studying near 2 AM and Rob came back from being out all night.  I yelled through the door about what “trouble” he might be causing at such a late hour but he ignored me.  A few minutes later he came out of the room, headed to the shower ,and again I tried to provoke him.  Then, after his shower, the exercise was repeated and again he chose not to respond.  A few minutes later he came out of his room and into mine and sat down.

We talked all night and when daylight arrived, headed for the cafeteria for breakfast.  I don’t recall anything earth-shattering being discussed.  However Rob did.  In fact, now fast-forwarding back to our coffee meeting, he said, “that night changed my life.”  He continued, “That day was horrible for me.  I had gotten my final grade in an architecture class and it wasn’t good.  After a night drowning my sorrows I had decided to end my life.  Our talk helped me realize life was worth living.  I have a great job, a wonderful wife, terrific children, and I owe it all to you.  If you wouldn’t have been there, I probably wouldn’t be here now.”  Needless to say I was floored.  And in retrospect what was more amazing was that I did not do anything profound, I just talked and listened.   I certainly did not realize I was “saving a life.”

As REALTORS@ we change lives every day.  We help our clients find the perfect homes.  We lead some to their first offices or retail stores.  While others count on us to sell their homes to venture off to a new dream.  And in the process we “make a difference” in the lives crossing our paths.  

My challenge for this month is to remind you that while we remember the significance of the interactions with our clients, we sometimes forget the “Robs” of the world we encounter throughout the day, every day.  There are 6 magic words I’ll share.  I hope you’ll burn them in your memory and use them with everyone you meet throughout the month.  Those words are “what can I do to help?” 

(The previous story is an excerpt from the February CCAR Knothole)

A Farewell to my "life advisor"

If you know me well you know I am very stubborn when I have my mind made up.  In fact, changing my opinion is often an excruciatingly painful experience for those charged with the task.  However there are  a few people in my life who can affect that change without too much of a fight and two who could change it just by the suggestion.  The few who have had a minimal challenge are my sister, my former fraternity chapter advisor Jim Acheson, my step mother June and the managing broker at our real estate firm..  The two who changed my mind by suggesting or  just telling me to change it were my dad and Jill Acheson. A few years ago my father was taken by cancer.  And today, Jill Acheson is gone as well, taken by the same cruel disease.

Mrs. "Ache" was a remarkable woman who with simple grace and hospitality changed the lives of nearly everyone she crossed paths with.  She never stood at a podium and swayed large audiences to see things her  way.  She wasn't the type to sermonize in public.  Jill held all of her debates in one of two places, her living room or her dining room table.  She was the master of "divide and conquer."  Because to hear her explain the answers to life's most challenging questions would result in a sometimes radical change in your own life's learnings.

We met first at her home.  Her oldest son Bill was my pledge brother in the Phi Kappa Psi chapter at the University of Illinois.  Bill would invite guests to his house nearly every Sunday for dinner.  And those guests were most often his Phi Psi brothers.  Each of us were treated to the finest of meals, always a meat and potato preparation far exceeding the best meal any of us had been served in fine restaurants.  And accepting this invitation meant were were brought into the circle Mrs. Ache so carefully maintained.

She was a grand and glorious woman of Phi Kappa Psi.  Again not because she came to the house and lectured, but because her family was and is a Phi Psi family.  Husband Jim initiated into the chapter in the 1950's.  In his life he served on the house corporation and as chapter advisor.  Even today "Ache" is serving on the capital campaign to renovate the chapter house to the tune of $3.5 million.  He is and always will be a loyal member of the fraternity.

Her two sons, Bill and Steve, pledged and initiated into the chapter.  Daughter Suzanne was a "little sister, pledge mom and Phi Psi advocate when she was in school. Her second daughter, Amy, sat at the dinner table and listened to Mrs. Ache question us all her entire life.  By the time she was in her teens "Ames" was a fraternity expert, just in what she had absorbed at the table.  And now her grandson Adam is an undergraduate member of the chapter.  For over 60 years Jill Acheson has been loyal to our chapter. But it's her loyalty to me I want to talk about today.

I lost my mother when I was 12.  While my dad remarried a wonderful woman, she wasn't able to break through my barriers to consul me in a maternal nature.  In meeting Mrs. Ache I found someone who would have a profound influence on the rest of my life.  You see she wouldn't accept your opinion at face value.  Mrs. Ache had "Mike Wallace" like charm, pealing away your layers question after question until she exposed the core of your beliefs.  And once exposed, she would pick away until she truly helped you restructure those opinions.

She was fascinated by fraternity culture as well as leadership development challenges.  Twenty years ago I replaced her son Bill as chapter advisor who had replaced his dad who held that position before.  In fact Jim was chapter advisor when I was an undergraduate officer.  And as if the torch had been passed to me from her family she insisted I update her regularly in all of those years.  As recently as last year I sat a few hours in her living room and provided details about the chapter as it is today.  I would discuss problems I was having, challenges I faced with the undergrads and goals for fixing the problems. I have truly been more accountable to her for the chapter's future than to the university or any alum.

Interestingly enough as her husband Jim and I were in the early stages of planning the current capital campaign he insisted I meet with "Jillsy" before he could commit a pledge from his family.  She was the matriarch of all things Phi Psi in the Acheson family.

But for me at least, while the fraternity was a part of all of our conversations, it was hardly the substance of our friendship and love.  You see, Mrs. Ache and I shared something even deeper.  We both love a well written story.  Whether it was books, theater or movies, we talked at length about great stories.  I have read over 50 books in my life she suggested.  She introduced me to James Michener, John Grisham, Nelson DeMille and Ken Follett as if she knew them personally.  In her house on Clark St, "The Garage Mahal" so named because of an addition they built in a 100 year old plus home equal in size to the original house, she had a vast library with 100's of books.  At a dinner she might hand me one for the month and then once completed we would discuss plots and characters and the paintings these authors had crafted on their canvasses word by word.  She loved to read and she loved to share the experiences she had.

This summer I'm producing Les Miserables.  I first saw this show over 20 years ago when Mrs. Ache and I saw it at the Assembly Hall.  I have seen the show over 30 times since then, most recently on the big screen. And this summer I will experience the show again live on stage with the Champaign Urbana Theater Company.  Needless to say it's my favorite theatrical story.  Thank you Mrs. Ache for opening my eyes to great theater.

There have been many a time I have met with her privately.  She knew I was a dreamer and I shared many a dream with her.  Sometimes they were about troubled kids who needed a hand to make a difference.  Sometimes it was about changing the course of the fraternity or of my life.  She walked through every condo I looked at before I bought it, careful to tell me "this one isn't right for you."  We talked about job changes and supervisors and relationships and life.  We talked about politics often, one of her favorite topics as long as you were a conservative,  and we talked about me.  And more than once she took out her check book, writing me a check so that I might help someone else reach their dream.  She knew I was committed to helping others and this was her way to play a part in it.  And each time she would say, don't tell them this is from me, and "don't tell Ache."

She loved her family more than anything.  She protected her children like a mother lion might protect her cubs.  She lost a son, Steve, at age 18 in a tragic accident.  Mrs. Ache never fully recovered from it, a piece of her heart was taken when Steve died.  But life moved on, and as it did, she had grandchildren to take the place of what she lost.  When we met she would tell me about every one.  She loved each one of them the most and everyone equally.  Grandmothers can do that somehow.

And while Mrs. Ache wasn't my real mother, she was as much of a mother as I could ever have hoped to have in my life.  I got to say goodbye to her before she passed into heavens gates.  And I got to thank her for what she meant to me and just let her know how much I loved her.I'm thankful for that. I know she is happy to be reunited with Steve and I know that heaven is a better place to be just because she is there. I'm certain she has a living room or a dining room and in it she is calling in each of God's angels one by one and questioning just why they might believe what they believe.

So this summer I will think of her every single day as we are preparing Les Miserables.  The last line in the show is given by Jean Valjean who sings, "to love another person is to see the face of God."   Because in her, and through her charm and wit and grace I have seen God's face, each and every time I looked into her eyes.  Thank you Mrs. Ache.

Brothers vs. MEmbers

I  became a member of a fraternity when I was a sophomore in college.  As a member I have done about everything anyone has ever asked of me, donating my time, my talents and a lot of money.  I was a "live in" pledge with about 20 other guys in my pledge class.  Like most pledges of the 70's I was hazed during pledgeship, called lots of names and told to do 1000's of push ups and lots of other calisthenics all in the name of becoming a better brother.   And I did everything I was asked to do and can honestly say that no matter how much I hated it at the time, there's nothing I did then I can't talk about publicly now.  I was lucky in that regard and I know hundreds of members of my fraternity and other fraternities who don't want to talk about their pledgeships publicly.

Every pledge class has an active member who is in charge.  He may be called the pledge "trainer", "educator" , "chairman" or "boss."  This was true then and it's still true today, although the name may have become more politically correct.  Something like "membership education director".  Typically this guy is someone who's sole value to the fraternity is having a big mouth and acting tough.  Usually they are not great students, they have no clue about the values the fraternity was founded on and are more knowledgeable about the local bar scene than the bar exam.  

They got the job because they promised to make the pledges better "brothers".  You see every fraternity has a group of members who think it's their job to make sure the traditions of the fraternity are carried forward.  And completing pledgeship is a critical right of passage for the sake of the "house" to succeed.  It doesn't really matter what those traditions are, whether they be "total cans of beer consumed, most women hit on, or trash left to rot in the living room."  Rarely are these traditions based on the core values of the fraternity.  Things like education, community service and common decency are often left off the list.  

Ok so what does that have to do with brothers and members.  While everyone who initiates into a fraternity becomes a member, I am suggesting that not everyone becomes a Brother.   I'm not trying to confuse you here.  We all know members of fraternities are called "brothers".  In this argument I'm going to distinguish what I call members from what I'll call Brothers.  Let me define the difference:

MEmbers:   Initiated into the fraternity.  Usually hold offices like social chairman, athletic director, pledge educator/trainer.  Have an underlying belief the fraternity founders had them in mind when they held their first party.  Usually behind in house payment, social payments, t-shirt payments, etc.  Never pay required out of house fees as those are for someone else.  First to complain when a scholarship chairman indicates there should be sanctions for not having at least a B- grade point average. Picture themselves coming back to the fraternity after they drop out and teaching the pledges how to play Pong.   fraternity motto:  What's in it for me?

Brothers:  Initiated into the Fraternity.  May or may not hold an office as titles are not why they joined.  Think about the chapter reputation everyday.  Constantly evaluate the ideals of the Fraternity and compare them to their own.  Are amazed the founders could chose values that translate so well into today's society.  Know the national Fraternity history, local history and have met many of the more renown alumni.  Can't believe others compliment them for community and campus service as service has always been a part of their life.  Fraternity motto:  Service before self. 

So here's my theory.  We waste way too much time teaching our pledges how to be MEmbers.  How long can that take?  An hour at a table with flippy cups?  Maybe another hour at the local pub trashing the women?  So let's have a 3 hour pledeship for members.  About 85% of our initiates are lifetime MEmbers.  And except for waving at the house as they walk by on football Saturdays between tailgating and Kams, we probably never see or hear from them.  They don't donate to the Foundation of the chapter or the university, instead leaving their money behind in liquor taxes. 

As for Brothers?  Well no amount of pledge ship really matters.  These guys already understand the values of the Fraternity.  They will learn about the Brotherhood for the rest of their lives, attending reunions, and homecomings and conventions, constantly striving to become a more dedicated contributor to the Fraternity.  They will donate their time, their money and their passion to the chapter, the university and their communities.  And they will uphold the visions of the Founders in everything they do.  

Fences or Ambulances? Let's start the discussion today.

In light of the event that happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School on Friday and all of the other tragedies we have had to deal with in the past years, our Pastor opened our church service with this poem today.  Isn't it time we had a serious discussion in this country about the topic of guns.

A Fence or an Ambulance

'Twas a dangerous cliff, as they freely confessed,
Though to walk near its crest was so pleasant;
But over its terrible edge there had slipped
A duke and full many a peasant.

So the people said something would have to be done,
But their projects did not at all tally;
Some said, "Put a fence 'round the edge of the cliff,"
Some, "An ambulance down in the valley."

But the cry for the ambulance carried the day,
For it spread through the neighboring city;
A fence may be useful or not, it is true,
But each heart became full of pity

For those who slipped over the dangerous cliff;
And the dwellers in highway and alley
Gave pounds and gave pence, not to put up a fence,
But an ambulance down in the valley.

"For the cliff is all right, if you're careful," they said,
"And, if folks even slip and are dropping,
It isn't the slipping that hurts them so much
As the shock down below when they're stopping."

So day after day, as these mishaps occurred,
Quick forth would those rescuers sally
To pick up the victims who fell off the cliff,
With their ambulance down in the valley.

Then an old sage remarked: "It's a marvel to me
That people give far more attention
To repairing results than to stopping the cause,
When they'd much better aim at prevention.

Let us stop at its source all this mischief," cried he,
"Come, neighbors and friends, let us rally;
If the cliff we will fence, we might almost dispense
With the ambulance down in the valley."

"Oh he's a fanatic," the others rejoined,
"Dispense with the ambulance? Never!
He'd dispense with all charities, too, if he could;
No! No! We'll support them forever.

Aren't we picking up folks just as fast as they fall?
And shall this man dictate to us? Shall he?
Why should people of sense stop to put up a fence,
While the ambulance works in the valley?"

But the sensible few, who are practical too,
Will not bear with such nonsense much longer;
They believe that prevention is better than cure,
And their party will soon be the stronger.

Encourage them then, with your purse, voice, and pen,
And while other philanthropists dally,
They will scorn all pretense, and put up a stout fence
On the cliff that hangs over the valley.

Better guide well the young than reclaim them when old,
For the voice of true wisdom is calling.
"To rescue the fallen is good, but 'tis best
To prevent other people from falling."

Better close up the source of temptation and crime
Than deliver from dungeon or galley;
Better put a strong fence 'round the top of the cliff
Than an ambulance down in the valley.
-- Joseph Malins (1895)