From the Ipswich Chronicle, Thursday, February 24, 2005
Energetic ending
It was the last bus ride home from the Reggie Lewis Center for the Ipswich-Georgetown co-op boys track squad.
Was it sad, considering no one from the team will advance to All-States on Saturday? Not at all, 38-year head coach Ken Spellman said.
"We were kind of happy coming back on the bus," Spellman said. "Hopefully, [the performances at the Feb. 20 Class C championship] will give us a spark for the spring."
Indeed, in two of the boys team's three events they took part in at the Class C championships, runners from Spellman's team picked up personal bests - in their final runs ever.
Ipswich senior Cameron Lovell finished off his indoor track career by posting a career fastest time in the 55-meter hurdles with a 8.34-second run in the preliminaries. Though his time dropped a bit in the semifinals of the event to 8.61 to finish outside the finals cut, Spellman was delighted with Lovell's performance at the very swift championship meet.
"He ran well, he did a really good job," Spellman said. "Cameron's made himself into a real fine hurdler. He's going to be with us in the spring."
The highest-ranking performance came from the 4 x 400-meter relay team of Ipswich's Parro, Lovell, Franklin Pike and Georgetown's Kevin Duncan. They finished seventh overall (two spots out of the All-State cutoff) with a 3:39.07 time.
"They didn't run their personal best, but they ran really well," Spellman said. "I'd love to have seen them come out with a medal, but it didn't quite work out that way.
"They had a really good year, they set the school record in the relay," Spellman added. "They're obviously a talented bunch."
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Songs: Eric Merrill
A musical interlude: our 17-yr-old son Cameron came across this lovely Eric Merrill song one Saturday as WGBH's 'Celtic Sojourn' show played on radio on our way to the Rockport dump--Allison and I have now taken to singing it together: The Louvin Brothers' "Every time you leave"
And here's another of Eric's marvelous renditions of a song now more than a century old: "Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still"
And here's another of Eric's marvelous renditions of a song now more than a century old: "Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still"
Monday, February 21, 2005
News: Ipswich High School Boys track
From The Ipswich Chronicle, Thursday, Feb 17, 2005:
Boys track
The boys track team captured a couple of impressive first place All-League finishes at the Cape Ann League Championship track meet. While they were at it, they set a new school record, too.
The new mark for the 4 x 400-meter relay at Ipswich and Georgetown is 3:36.8, set on Feb. 8 by Ipswich's Franklin Pike, Brian Parro, Cam Lovell and Georgetown's Kevin Duncan.
Lovell walked away with two first-place finishes on the day, capturing All-League honors in the 55-meter hurdles as well at 8.2 seconds.
"It's excellent," coach Ken Spellman said of the team's success at the meet. "Everybody had their best day of the year by far."
Taking All-Star honors for a third place finish was Georgetown's Shaun Jackson in the shotput (34-foot-7.25-inches).
Other finishers included Duncan (600, 1:27.8) and the fifth-place 4 x 200-meter relay team of Kevis Reid, Dan Small, Clay Gritz and Cory Cunningham (1:42.8). Parro made the best of his last chance to qualify for the 300-meter at the Class C meet by finishing with a personal best of 39.5 seconds.
"He's had an excellent year for us," Spellman said. The team will send select members to Sunday's Class C meet at the Reggie Lewis Center, where the Cape Ann League Championships were held.
Boys track
The boys track team captured a couple of impressive first place All-League finishes at the Cape Ann League Championship track meet. While they were at it, they set a new school record, too.
The new mark for the 4 x 400-meter relay at Ipswich and Georgetown is 3:36.8, set on Feb. 8 by Ipswich's Franklin Pike, Brian Parro, Cam Lovell and Georgetown's Kevin Duncan.
Lovell walked away with two first-place finishes on the day, capturing All-League honors in the 55-meter hurdles as well at 8.2 seconds.
"It's excellent," coach Ken Spellman said of the team's success at the meet. "Everybody had their best day of the year by far."
Taking All-Star honors for a third place finish was Georgetown's Shaun Jackson in the shotput (34-foot-7.25-inches).
Other finishers included Duncan (600, 1:27.8) and the fifth-place 4 x 200-meter relay team of Kevis Reid, Dan Small, Clay Gritz and Cory Cunningham (1:42.8). Parro made the best of his last chance to qualify for the 300-meter at the Class C meet by finishing with a personal best of 39.5 seconds.
"He's had an excellent year for us," Spellman said. The team will send select members to Sunday's Class C meet at the Reggie Lewis Center, where the Cape Ann League Championships were held.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Photos: 'A wind that passes...'
The days are just packed and fly by--here are some remnants of some of those times:
Sean and Tra, RHS prom, 2003
Lovells at Huntington Beach, 1999
Jessie, 2004
Cam: high jumping, 2004
Sean and Tra, RHS prom, 2003
Lovells at Huntington Beach, 1999
Jessie, 2004
Cam: high jumping, 2004
Poem: 'Lay it out flat'
One of Cam's exquisite poems...
Lay it out flat,
In words that give life to this day,
and rain for tomorrow.
Lets live for the present
like there wont be a next time.
Give meaning to the now,
for its the substance of your futures past.
In an instant
the present is now just a memory,
locked in your mind,
behind this face,
in this body--
a balustrade that fades out the color
of this monotone existence
and amplifies the longings of
my red-beating soul.
--30 Jan 2005
Lay it out flat,
In words that give life to this day,
and rain for tomorrow.
Lets live for the present
like there wont be a next time.
Give meaning to the now,
for its the substance of your futures past.
In an instant
the present is now just a memory,
locked in your mind,
behind this face,
in this body--
a balustrade that fades out the color
of this monotone existence
and amplifies the longings of
my red-beating soul.
--30 Jan 2005
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Story: Jessie's 'My Life'
In the first waking hours of October 15th, 1989, a new and fragile baby girl was born. That little bundle of screeches and life was I, Jessie Allison Lovell. Even though it is impossible for me to remember such an instance, I imagine it to have been quite a surprise. It’s not usual for a baby girl to be born on her mother’s birthday.
Our family lived in Gloucester, Massachusetts, in a quiet house, shaken only by great rushes of blizzard winds, with a striking view of marsh, and ocean trickling through the marsh. I had two brothers, a father, and a mother. This ocean-view luxury soon had to come to a “financial-scream-of-help” stop, and renting prices finally became our reason to move. I had only been three thriving years old, and I stuck beside my family loyally, continuing to contain my toddler energy, as we moved to my all-withstanding house in Rockport.
When you have love gently surrounding you and safely carrying you through your life, it turns into the oxygen you breath, the blood pumping throughout your body, or the tasting, touching, seeing, hearing, or smelling that we can take for granted. But I was confident and knew I had the greatest fortune or treasure in the world—the understanding from my family.
At our house in Rockport, I was very lonely as the only girl-- and as the spunky six or seven year old. And if I was six or seven, this means my youngest brother, Robin, was born. The night my parents went out to the hospital to give birth to Robin, all the kids fixed up the pullout couch and watched TV, waiting for the call of how mom was. I just knew it was going to be a girl and that I was going to have a sister. My oldest brother, Sean, picked up the phone (which hadn’t rung more than once) and told us the news as the receiver was hung up. “We have a new baby brother!” I cried and cried and told my brothers, “ I don’t want another brother!”
From that moment on, I was determined to find creative things to do to satisfy my want for a sister companion. At seven or eight I realized not even my mother wanted to play Barbies, and I got frustrated and tried to do my brothers’ activities. But playing with them and their friends didn’t make anyone happy, always ending in a tantrum, a disagreement, or a whole day of misery. It took little time before my parents decided to get a pet. A pet that we could play with, blame, get mad at and the pet wouldn’t mind (not hit or hurt), and that I could feel satisfied with without them having to give birth to another child.
We knew of a woman who bred dogs, and sold cats as well, and lived nearby. We drove over, uncertain of what we would say, ask, or determine once we got there, but we were desperate. As my mom knocked on the door, I heard scrambling inside—dogs barking, birds chirping, and a woman shushing them. The door opened and a disheveled woman threw her arm back to invite us in. I was so excited that I could hardly think properly, and all animal noises came to a stop. I stood, waiting for someone to say something, but then as the woman called “kitty- kitty- kitty”, a beautiful, bouncy Tonkinese kitten stepped out, answering with a questioning meow. As they talked it over, I wasn’t sure if this charming kitten would ever want to come home with us. By the end of ten minutes, Malcolm was in the car with us, with no idea of his fate at the Lovell’s house.
Four weeks before Christmas of 1998, our family was getting ready to travel from our eastern Atlantic Ocean home to the western Pacific Ocean home in California. From the time we had brought Malcolm into our house, we had brought a sweet black cat, Midnight, from a shelter and a dog, Meggy.
We shot over to that known friend of ours who bred dogs, and we sat in her living room filled with a roomful of hand-sized Dalmatian puppies. There were all kinds of fresh Dalmatian puppies: spotless ones, girls, blind ones, boys, and hand count more. Couldn’t we take them all home? Not an option. Finally when we became doused with too many decisions to make, we asked our friend if she had any encouraging advice so we wouldn’t have to make the painful determination of our future house pet. She pointed out a puppy that she stated was just as calm and kind as her mother, and she recommended her. Her face shined and glowed, and the woman continued to get her attention by saying, “Come here, Meg” or “Hey, Meg!” So as we carried her home with us in the car, Meggy was her name.
So, as we were getting prepared for the trip to California where all my grandparents lived, a dog and cat were added into the family. Not only did we have a teeny house with all the people packed in like sardines, but also we had a few animals to stick in with us. I packed all my things and double-checked my backpack to see if I had enough things to do for the long six-hour plane ride. I exhaustedly plopped myself down on my bed and stroked my gorgeous Malcolm, who was only a mere eight months old. He purred and stared into my eyes with his loving, brown, warm eyes. I said, “ You’re such a cute kitty” with a ga-ga voice, and took my hand away to stand up to go eat my dinner.
After dinner, I went upstairs into my room, wanting to settle the food that was churning inside me, and my loyal friend lay asleep on my bed, as he was before. I gave him a swift kiss on his soft head, but his tiny body just continued rising and falling, and he slept.
The next morning, I was gently woken by my mother’s hand smoothing tenderly across my shoulder at three o’clock in the morning. I awoke and no sun warmed my face, and my companion lazily slept on. I was slow to rise, but as I thought about going to my grandparents’, adrenaline rushed more quickly and I was the first ready. As everyone was soon ready, I went to Midnight and pat him, but he walked away. Meggy was sniffing here and there—the patrol dog— and made sure that we all had our share of licks. I walked to her and scratched her sides, but she wanted to go greet my mother. I searched around for that friend of mine, and he soon pranced down the stairs into the living room with his head high, and I scooped him up and cuddled him in my arms. He was so toasty from sleeping the longest out of all of us, and he buried his delicate head into my coat. I gave him a peck, and we brought our bags into the car. We were on our way to California!
We got there sleepy-eyed unready and unexpected to make an effort to be polite, and so laid our tired bodies down to sleep.
One week before Christmas, our family and grandparents were eating our tuna salad sandwiches, potato chips, and sodas outside on the patio. I finished my food and decided I was still thirsty, and I announced I was going to fill my cup with some water. Everyone else decided they should go in anyway, so they followed me back to the house. My dad wanted to check his e-mail, and everyone else went off to do, as they wanted. My brothers stayed with me to gulp down some water, and my mother stayed beside my dad. My mother gasped. What might have happened? I thought to myself. My mom crept over to me and said, “ Come with me, sweetie”. She and I went alone into their guestroom and we sat down on the twin bed. She said, “ I’m sorry, honey, but I have some bad news. Auntie Jen just e-mailed us to tell us her story. She said that Hannah [our cousin] had let Malcolm out to play outside. At 5:00 p.m., she said that Hannah had called for Malcolm, but he wouldn’t come. Finally, they found his body in the road. He had been hit by a car and was dead.”
As the words hit my ears, each one shot like nails on a chalkboard. I was frozen in doubt, not confusion, and I wanted to rewind the trip just to see him one more time. My mother and I held each other in our arms, and we stayed that way for a long time. My best friend disappeared from me, and I hadn’t been there.
When we returned home in January, I opened the door, as I had time and time again in the past. The house was cold—no one had been inside this house for weeks. I sat down on the couch, uncertain of what I should do, or if I should just sit. No cat galloped out of hiding to greet me. I stared ahead, not thinking, and just felt a sadness sweep over me. I started to cry—I just couldn’t help myself. I curled up into my coat and held it tight. I closed my eyes that pinched the tears, and imagined Malcolm’s warm, brown eyes staring back into my own. But then a tear came and washed him away from me, and he was gone-- my loyal companion, and cheerful friend.
As I grew older, the love I received and gave, strongly and weakly, thinned out. I began to expect love more from others than I expected to give affection and caring, because I was experiencing difficult changes. Therefore, others needed a little more effort from me to enjoy looking after me and helping me. More understanding and returning what was given was what I needed to show to others.
Sometimes I sit down and watch videos and flip through pictures of our once (if not still) laid-back, mismatched, and thrown-together family and think about how I actually fit in with all of them, how I fit in with these past routines shown in the pictures: my mother constantly holding a tiny baby on her hip, almost glued for good, or my dad resting his aging body on his faithful green chair, aging along with him— warming memories that I know I was a part of. My brothers crunching carrots in my ear or, I, being the girl in the dress in sneakers climbing the rocks with them-- these are all things that my mind will search for in my last years of living, and they will give me peaceful comfort, comfort in youthful simplicity. I take each day as a growing day, not a continuing day or another day, because tomorrow holds many reasons for growing and progressing.
Our family lived in Gloucester, Massachusetts, in a quiet house, shaken only by great rushes of blizzard winds, with a striking view of marsh, and ocean trickling through the marsh. I had two brothers, a father, and a mother. This ocean-view luxury soon had to come to a “financial-scream-of-help” stop, and renting prices finally became our reason to move. I had only been three thriving years old, and I stuck beside my family loyally, continuing to contain my toddler energy, as we moved to my all-withstanding house in Rockport.
When you have love gently surrounding you and safely carrying you through your life, it turns into the oxygen you breath, the blood pumping throughout your body, or the tasting, touching, seeing, hearing, or smelling that we can take for granted. But I was confident and knew I had the greatest fortune or treasure in the world—the understanding from my family.
At our house in Rockport, I was very lonely as the only girl-- and as the spunky six or seven year old. And if I was six or seven, this means my youngest brother, Robin, was born. The night my parents went out to the hospital to give birth to Robin, all the kids fixed up the pullout couch and watched TV, waiting for the call of how mom was. I just knew it was going to be a girl and that I was going to have a sister. My oldest brother, Sean, picked up the phone (which hadn’t rung more than once) and told us the news as the receiver was hung up. “We have a new baby brother!” I cried and cried and told my brothers, “ I don’t want another brother!”
From that moment on, I was determined to find creative things to do to satisfy my want for a sister companion. At seven or eight I realized not even my mother wanted to play Barbies, and I got frustrated and tried to do my brothers’ activities. But playing with them and their friends didn’t make anyone happy, always ending in a tantrum, a disagreement, or a whole day of misery. It took little time before my parents decided to get a pet. A pet that we could play with, blame, get mad at and the pet wouldn’t mind (not hit or hurt), and that I could feel satisfied with without them having to give birth to another child.
We knew of a woman who bred dogs, and sold cats as well, and lived nearby. We drove over, uncertain of what we would say, ask, or determine once we got there, but we were desperate. As my mom knocked on the door, I heard scrambling inside—dogs barking, birds chirping, and a woman shushing them. The door opened and a disheveled woman threw her arm back to invite us in. I was so excited that I could hardly think properly, and all animal noises came to a stop. I stood, waiting for someone to say something, but then as the woman called “kitty- kitty- kitty”, a beautiful, bouncy Tonkinese kitten stepped out, answering with a questioning meow. As they talked it over, I wasn’t sure if this charming kitten would ever want to come home with us. By the end of ten minutes, Malcolm was in the car with us, with no idea of his fate at the Lovell’s house.
Four weeks before Christmas of 1998, our family was getting ready to travel from our eastern Atlantic Ocean home to the western Pacific Ocean home in California. From the time we had brought Malcolm into our house, we had brought a sweet black cat, Midnight, from a shelter and a dog, Meggy.
We shot over to that known friend of ours who bred dogs, and we sat in her living room filled with a roomful of hand-sized Dalmatian puppies. There were all kinds of fresh Dalmatian puppies: spotless ones, girls, blind ones, boys, and hand count more. Couldn’t we take them all home? Not an option. Finally when we became doused with too many decisions to make, we asked our friend if she had any encouraging advice so we wouldn’t have to make the painful determination of our future house pet. She pointed out a puppy that she stated was just as calm and kind as her mother, and she recommended her. Her face shined and glowed, and the woman continued to get her attention by saying, “Come here, Meg” or “Hey, Meg!” So as we carried her home with us in the car, Meggy was her name.
So, as we were getting prepared for the trip to California where all my grandparents lived, a dog and cat were added into the family. Not only did we have a teeny house with all the people packed in like sardines, but also we had a few animals to stick in with us. I packed all my things and double-checked my backpack to see if I had enough things to do for the long six-hour plane ride. I exhaustedly plopped myself down on my bed and stroked my gorgeous Malcolm, who was only a mere eight months old. He purred and stared into my eyes with his loving, brown, warm eyes. I said, “ You’re such a cute kitty” with a ga-ga voice, and took my hand away to stand up to go eat my dinner.
After dinner, I went upstairs into my room, wanting to settle the food that was churning inside me, and my loyal friend lay asleep on my bed, as he was before. I gave him a swift kiss on his soft head, but his tiny body just continued rising and falling, and he slept.
The next morning, I was gently woken by my mother’s hand smoothing tenderly across my shoulder at three o’clock in the morning. I awoke and no sun warmed my face, and my companion lazily slept on. I was slow to rise, but as I thought about going to my grandparents’, adrenaline rushed more quickly and I was the first ready. As everyone was soon ready, I went to Midnight and pat him, but he walked away. Meggy was sniffing here and there—the patrol dog— and made sure that we all had our share of licks. I walked to her and scratched her sides, but she wanted to go greet my mother. I searched around for that friend of mine, and he soon pranced down the stairs into the living room with his head high, and I scooped him up and cuddled him in my arms. He was so toasty from sleeping the longest out of all of us, and he buried his delicate head into my coat. I gave him a peck, and we brought our bags into the car. We were on our way to California!
We got there sleepy-eyed unready and unexpected to make an effort to be polite, and so laid our tired bodies down to sleep.
One week before Christmas, our family and grandparents were eating our tuna salad sandwiches, potato chips, and sodas outside on the patio. I finished my food and decided I was still thirsty, and I announced I was going to fill my cup with some water. Everyone else decided they should go in anyway, so they followed me back to the house. My dad wanted to check his e-mail, and everyone else went off to do, as they wanted. My brothers stayed with me to gulp down some water, and my mother stayed beside my dad. My mother gasped. What might have happened? I thought to myself. My mom crept over to me and said, “ Come with me, sweetie”. She and I went alone into their guestroom and we sat down on the twin bed. She said, “ I’m sorry, honey, but I have some bad news. Auntie Jen just e-mailed us to tell us her story. She said that Hannah [our cousin] had let Malcolm out to play outside. At 5:00 p.m., she said that Hannah had called for Malcolm, but he wouldn’t come. Finally, they found his body in the road. He had been hit by a car and was dead.”
As the words hit my ears, each one shot like nails on a chalkboard. I was frozen in doubt, not confusion, and I wanted to rewind the trip just to see him one more time. My mother and I held each other in our arms, and we stayed that way for a long time. My best friend disappeared from me, and I hadn’t been there.
When we returned home in January, I opened the door, as I had time and time again in the past. The house was cold—no one had been inside this house for weeks. I sat down on the couch, uncertain of what I should do, or if I should just sit. No cat galloped out of hiding to greet me. I stared ahead, not thinking, and just felt a sadness sweep over me. I started to cry—I just couldn’t help myself. I curled up into my coat and held it tight. I closed my eyes that pinched the tears, and imagined Malcolm’s warm, brown eyes staring back into my own. But then a tear came and washed him away from me, and he was gone-- my loyal companion, and cheerful friend.
As I grew older, the love I received and gave, strongly and weakly, thinned out. I began to expect love more from others than I expected to give affection and caring, because I was experiencing difficult changes. Therefore, others needed a little more effort from me to enjoy looking after me and helping me. More understanding and returning what was given was what I needed to show to others.
Sometimes I sit down and watch videos and flip through pictures of our once (if not still) laid-back, mismatched, and thrown-together family and think about how I actually fit in with all of them, how I fit in with these past routines shown in the pictures: my mother constantly holding a tiny baby on her hip, almost glued for good, or my dad resting his aging body on his faithful green chair, aging along with him— warming memories that I know I was a part of. My brothers crunching carrots in my ear or, I, being the girl in the dress in sneakers climbing the rocks with them-- these are all things that my mind will search for in my last years of living, and they will give me peaceful comfort, comfort in youthful simplicity. I take each day as a growing day, not a continuing day or another day, because tomorrow holds many reasons for growing and progressing.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Poem: 'If you want to come with me'
Here's a poem 9-yr-old Robbie wrote this month:
If you want to come with me
We'll fly away out to sea
The skies are twinkling,
See that star
It's just as beautiful as you are.
It's a beautiful night to fly away.
We would be seen if we traveled by day.
I need your love
You shining dove.
I'll do whatever I can
To be your man.
-Robin M. Lovell
If you want to come with me
We'll fly away out to sea
The skies are twinkling,
See that star
It's just as beautiful as you are.
It's a beautiful night to fly away.
We would be seen if we traveled by day.
I need your love
You shining dove.
I'll do whatever I can
To be your man.
-Robin M. Lovell
Book notes: How would all this strike a Mbuti tribesman?
Book notes: 'The Servant' by James C. Hunter
1. Notes on leadership, or How I Spent the Superbowl Pregame, 2005
I spent the afternoon of Superbowl Sunday reading a great little book entitled "The Servant, A Simple Story About the True Essence of Leadership", by James C. Hunter.
The writing at first seemed somewhat aphoristic, the story contrived and lightweight. But gradually I realized it wasn’t lightweight in the sense of some trivial pablum--it just wasn’t heavy or ponderous: it was spartan and intellectually athletic as it focused on some essential verities of leadership.
The book slowly began to develop the discussion of the way we lead—-the paradigms, patterns, models of leadership we use. It unpacked some common hierarchical or ‘player/coach’ administrative models. But the focus steadily began to target a variation of what in the past 20 years have been called ‘servant leadership’ models.
The book is about successful leadership, but starts out portraying miserable failure. At his manager's suggestion, an overworked, stress-tattered fellow called John Daily reluctantly attends a leadership seminar at a remote monastic retreat center.
The monk leading the seminar is well known to John Daily: he is a former Wall Street legend, the picture of a successful business executive. The monk slowly guides the participants of the seminar to a simple realization: that at heart authentic leadership is not coercive power but is instead authority, alluding to a distinction Max Weber made last century.
And this authority in turn is built upon loyal relationships, service, sacrifice, and, of all things, loyal love. “Ancient Greeks had a number of words for love—-one of the words specifies an unconditional love rooted in behavior toward others without regard to their due. It is the love of deliberate choice. The word in Greek is ‘agape’.”
The core of leadership resides in this concept of agape love, which is “the act of extending yourself for others by identifying and meeting their legitimate needs.”
The book relentlessly reiterates that agape love is “a verb describing behavior, not a noun describing feelings.” This behavior is not a mushy feeling—-it is instead a conscious decision to hold others in high regard. It is a behavior of will and intellect, not based on fickle emotions that may vary from day to day.
The book claims that this kind of loyal love characterizes good leadership, which will demonstrate these leadership qualities:
Honest, trustworthy
Good role model
Caring
Committed
Good active listener
Held people accountable
Treats people with respect
Encourager
Positive, enthusiastic attitude
Appreciates people
The leader driven by this behavior becomes a servant to the needs of his employees, not a slave to their wants. He listens and brings them what they need--not what they want--to be successful.
The good leader develops the skill of influencing team members to work enthusiastically toward a common good. Healthy, honest successful relationships rooted in trust are critical for the long-term health of any organization.
In short: the good leader serves those he leads with respectful and responsible authority, not coercive power.
2. A distillation of quotes from ‘The Servant’:
Leadership: the skill of influencing people to work enthusiastically toward goals identified as being for the common good.
I contend that leadership, influencing others, is a skill set that can be learned and developed by anyone with the appropriate desire coupled with the appropriate actions.
Power: the ability to force or coerce someone to do your will, even if they would choose not to, because of your position or your might.
Authority: the skill of getting people to willingly do your will because of your personal influence.
Leadership begins with the will, which is our unique ability as human beings to align our intentions with our actions and choose our behavior. With the proper will, we can choose to love, the verb, which is about identifying and meeting the legitimate needs, not wants, of those we lead. When we serve or sacrifice for others, we build authority or influence... And when we build authority with people, then we have earned the right to be called leader.
Ancient Greeks had a number of words for love—-one of the words specifies an unconditional love rooted in behavior toward others without regard to their due. It is the love of deliberate choice. The word in Greek is ‘agape’.
[Agape love] could be defined as the act or acts of extending yourself for others by identifying and meeting their legitimate needs.
Praxis: positive feelings eventually follow from positive behaviors.
I don’t necessarily have to like my players and associates but as the leader I must love them. Love is loyalty, love is teamwork, love respects the dignity of the individual. This is the strength of any organization. –Vince Lombardi, p. 91
3. How would this all strike a Mbuti tribesman?
Something funny happened while I read this book. The discovery made me laugh out loud.
For a number of years now while reading new books, as a mere reality check of an author’s claims I’ll ask myself “What would a Mbuti think of this?” This fascination with Mbuti pygmies began when I was first introduced to the anthropologist Colin Turnbull’s study of the Mbuti pygmy tribes.
And so, while reading ‘The Servant’, I found myself wondering what patterns of leadership existed in a primitive tribe like the Mbuti, and how they would probably dismiss the ‘servant leadership’ notions of the book.
And I found something that proved otherwise: in an online article outlining the "Models of Leadership in Preindustrial Societies", I found this description of Mbuti leadership:
“Headmen: Headmen are often found in contemporary foraging societies, like...the Mbuti. What's impressive about this type of leader is that he or she is the antithesis of the Alpha Male that is sometimes imagined as "natural" for human societies. A headman is a very helpful modest individual. He or she works through suggestion, consensus formation and mediation. He or she has no power to enforce a decision, and he or she is not noted for leading with flamboyance and/or charisma. The headman's leadership comes into play only when needed, and between these situations, the headman is difficult to distinguish from anyone else in the group. Archaeologically, the headman's house and burial could not be distinguished from those of other group members. This type of leadership leaves no imprint on the archaeological record, except a lack of imprint.”
1. Notes on leadership, or How I Spent the Superbowl Pregame, 2005
I spent the afternoon of Superbowl Sunday reading a great little book entitled "The Servant, A Simple Story About the True Essence of Leadership", by James C. Hunter.
The writing at first seemed somewhat aphoristic, the story contrived and lightweight. But gradually I realized it wasn’t lightweight in the sense of some trivial pablum--it just wasn’t heavy or ponderous: it was spartan and intellectually athletic as it focused on some essential verities of leadership.
The book slowly began to develop the discussion of the way we lead—-the paradigms, patterns, models of leadership we use. It unpacked some common hierarchical or ‘player/coach’ administrative models. But the focus steadily began to target a variation of what in the past 20 years have been called ‘servant leadership’ models.
The book is about successful leadership, but starts out portraying miserable failure. At his manager's suggestion, an overworked, stress-tattered fellow called John Daily reluctantly attends a leadership seminar at a remote monastic retreat center.
The monk leading the seminar is well known to John Daily: he is a former Wall Street legend, the picture of a successful business executive. The monk slowly guides the participants of the seminar to a simple realization: that at heart authentic leadership is not coercive power but is instead authority, alluding to a distinction Max Weber made last century.
And this authority in turn is built upon loyal relationships, service, sacrifice, and, of all things, loyal love. “Ancient Greeks had a number of words for love—-one of the words specifies an unconditional love rooted in behavior toward others without regard to their due. It is the love of deliberate choice. The word in Greek is ‘agape’.”
The core of leadership resides in this concept of agape love, which is “the act of extending yourself for others by identifying and meeting their legitimate needs.”
The book relentlessly reiterates that agape love is “a verb describing behavior, not a noun describing feelings.” This behavior is not a mushy feeling—-it is instead a conscious decision to hold others in high regard. It is a behavior of will and intellect, not based on fickle emotions that may vary from day to day.
The book claims that this kind of loyal love characterizes good leadership, which will demonstrate these leadership qualities:
Honest, trustworthy
Good role model
Caring
Committed
Good active listener
Held people accountable
Treats people with respect
Encourager
Positive, enthusiastic attitude
Appreciates people
The leader driven by this behavior becomes a servant to the needs of his employees, not a slave to their wants. He listens and brings them what they need--not what they want--to be successful.
The good leader develops the skill of influencing team members to work enthusiastically toward a common good. Healthy, honest successful relationships rooted in trust are critical for the long-term health of any organization.
In short: the good leader serves those he leads with respectful and responsible authority, not coercive power.
2. A distillation of quotes from ‘The Servant’:
Leadership: the skill of influencing people to work enthusiastically toward goals identified as being for the common good.
I contend that leadership, influencing others, is a skill set that can be learned and developed by anyone with the appropriate desire coupled with the appropriate actions.
Power: the ability to force or coerce someone to do your will, even if they would choose not to, because of your position or your might.
Authority: the skill of getting people to willingly do your will because of your personal influence.
Leadership begins with the will, which is our unique ability as human beings to align our intentions with our actions and choose our behavior. With the proper will, we can choose to love, the verb, which is about identifying and meeting the legitimate needs, not wants, of those we lead. When we serve or sacrifice for others, we build authority or influence... And when we build authority with people, then we have earned the right to be called leader.
Ancient Greeks had a number of words for love—-one of the words specifies an unconditional love rooted in behavior toward others without regard to their due. It is the love of deliberate choice. The word in Greek is ‘agape’.
[Agape love] could be defined as the act or acts of extending yourself for others by identifying and meeting their legitimate needs.
Praxis: positive feelings eventually follow from positive behaviors.
I don’t necessarily have to like my players and associates but as the leader I must love them. Love is loyalty, love is teamwork, love respects the dignity of the individual. This is the strength of any organization. –Vince Lombardi, p. 91
3. How would this all strike a Mbuti tribesman?
Something funny happened while I read this book. The discovery made me laugh out loud.
For a number of years now while reading new books, as a mere reality check of an author’s claims I’ll ask myself “What would a Mbuti think of this?” This fascination with Mbuti pygmies began when I was first introduced to the anthropologist Colin Turnbull’s study of the Mbuti pygmy tribes.
And so, while reading ‘The Servant’, I found myself wondering what patterns of leadership existed in a primitive tribe like the Mbuti, and how they would probably dismiss the ‘servant leadership’ notions of the book.
And I found something that proved otherwise: in an online article outlining the "Models of Leadership in Preindustrial Societies", I found this description of Mbuti leadership:
“Headmen: Headmen are often found in contemporary foraging societies, like...the Mbuti. What's impressive about this type of leader is that he or she is the antithesis of the Alpha Male that is sometimes imagined as "natural" for human societies. A headman is a very helpful modest individual. He or she works through suggestion, consensus formation and mediation. He or she has no power to enforce a decision, and he or she is not noted for leading with flamboyance and/or charisma. The headman's leadership comes into play only when needed, and between these situations, the headman is difficult to distinguish from anyone else in the group. Archaeologically, the headman's house and burial could not be distinguished from those of other group members. This type of leadership leaves no imprint on the archaeological record, except a lack of imprint.”
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