Micro-managers' manifesto & guide, chapter 1

(Based on experience, observation, and stories of victims of micro-managers)

• You must be in charge of every aspect of your subordinates' jobs
• Trust no one
• Boost your own ego and importance
• Act like you're an expert in fields you have no experience in
• Lie about directives coming from higher up
• Demand complete agreement
• Surround yourself with "Yes" people--sycophants who have no backbone
• Increase your staff with such people, so you have more time to micromanage others
• Overrule, and get even, with anyone who disagrees with you
• Be vengeful; double talk and fear rules
• Only give credit to others when it increases your stature
• No independent thought or actions allowed
• Master all the acronyms of your organization, so that nobody knows what you're talking about
• Keep plenty of slogans handy, about being good for the students, or customers, or whoever
• Always demand recognition for what you do from your subordinates
• Always demand they recognize how great you are
• Never allow independent thoughts or ideas without your prior approval
• Insist on multiple, frequent, long meetings, without agendas
• Use the code  words for control:  "We want to help you" 
• Insist on uniform rules and forms for everyone
• Lavish praise and big words on those above you
• Always defend those above you
• Always act like you're really on the side of the others
• Always come up with "new" initiatives and paperwork, to keep your underlings occupied with busy work and away from meaningful, creative work
• Always smile 

My heritage of veterans in three countries

Do you have favorite veterans in your family, in your life?
I started out to write simply about my two favorite veterans, but the more I thought, and looked at photos and memories, the harder and more emotional it became. 
I come from a long heritage of veterans from three countries. 

My favorite veteran, M/Sgt. Vance Clark, USAF

Two years ago I sat in the Albuquerque airport, sketching the Manzano mountains, a day after burying my favorite uncle and one of my favorite veterans, Mike, in the Santa Fe National Cemetery. Search this blog for veterans or Mike, and you'll find numerous posts over the past few years.
But he's not my favorite of course. First-born son, M/Sgt. Vance C. Clark, USAF, holds that rank. There's no way I can put in words how proud I am of him, of his patriotism and loyalty.

And I have known many veterans as other relatives and friends in my life, including many former students. If I try to list them all, I'll leave some out, but they have been blessings to me, not necessarily for their service, but for just who they are. But some have to be mentioned, and every time I think of one, another name comes up. 
Stop and think about how entwined veterans lives are with this country, with our lives. I won't use the overused word "hero" to describe them, because most would decline the term. But it is appropriate to honor them today and tomorrow for what they mean to all of us, in so many ways.

Cdr. Steve Curry, USN

I'd have to add Col. Charles Fleming, USMC, who was a colleague at OSU, and helped me earn my doctoral degree. He's since paid the price for Agent Orange, but I so remember having to celebrate the Marines birthday every year. 
I've been blessed with many former students who were veterans. They are more mature and focused on their studies that most students. They don't gloat nor wave the flag, and in fact, if the enrollment sheet didn't specify "veteran," you wouldn't know it in most cases.
 Near the top would be Commander Steve Curry, US Navy, a former student who has remained a good friend, and two years ago booked me on the USS Abe Lincoln for a Tiger Cruise. More recently there has been Andy Jensen, who shares Ray Bradbury and a love of reading and writing. There have been many more. 

Petty Officer 2 Mike Clark, Grandmother, Dad

Uncle Mike was my Dad's favorite brother, hence my middle name.  But two other brothers served, Rex and Champ in the US Army. Dad didn't serve of course, having lost his leg jumping a freight train in 1932, but he spent much of his life drawing portraits of veterans.
I know from genealogy work from Vance, Dad, and my aunt Vera "Sissie" Culp that my ancestors served in The Revolution, War of 1812, Mexican War and Spanish American War. Not sure of WWI.

CSA grave, Vicksburg

And I can't conclude without honoring those ancestors of mine who served in two other countries, the Republic of Texas, and the Confederate States of America.
They're in my blood.
It's little wonder that I am drawn to the POW/MIA flags, and to the veterans' gravestones in cemeteries, or my affection for wandering down the ranks of graves in national cemeteries, whether at Santa Fe, Arlington, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Fort Smith, and elsewhere.
Join me and snap a salute to your veterans, past, present, and for the future.

First day of school duty

Final port of call, Santa Fe

Eternal duty, Vicksburg National Cemetery

Third time is a charm...42 years ago

"It will probably be a boy."
So said the doctor, before ultra sound let parents know the gender and health of a child. We already had two boys, and that was his advice, and what we expected. We had always said we didn't care, but prayed for healthy, normal children.
Sitting down the hall from the delivery room in the Clarinda, Iowa, hospital, those were my prayers 42 years ago today. For some reason, the door to the delivery room was open and when the doctor lifted the baby up, I knew immediately we had a daughter.
"Third time is a charm...a charming little girl," was the headline on the pink birth announcement we sent out. We've been charmed ever since. We named her Dallas Page...Page being an old family name, and we were in Page County, Iowa. I'd wanted to name her Clarinda, but was mocked and outvoted, and Dallas just so fits.

Dallas and Todd Bell

We soon moved back to Duncan, Oklahoma, where she developed an alarming reputation for independence--climbing on kitchen counters, or fences, or opening the door latch and wandering outside. If you didn't hear her in five minutes, you knew to panic, and indeed she scared us more than once. 
I even had to take her outside one night, and walk her around the block, trying to scare her with the dark shadows so she'd not wander. I'm not sure that worked. As far as I know, about the only thing she's afraid of are bugs. So it's fitting where she and her family now live in the country near Canyon, Texas, her house has seen centipedes, tarantulas and rattlesnakes.
One of my favorite photographs--one I can't find now--is of a smiling young daddy, short hair and big ears, on all fours on the floor at Duncan, with the two-year-old daughter clinging to his neck, riding horsey. Her brothers also learned quickly who was in charge, and while they might fuss or fight, it was always prudent to yield to her. "Big D, little D, what begins with 'D,' Dallas...." was heard often. And she always got in the last word.
Her independence grew--she seemed to need a brief spanking about once a month in the early years--which didn't seem to have much effect. She came to love cats and animals. She'd eventually become part of the high school flag team and excel at the piano. At OSU  she met her future husband in church, a smart Arkansas country boy in vet school, who later switched to med school. Dr. Todd Bell now teaches at the Texas Tech med school in Amarillo.
Today, they have three terrific children--Erin Ann, Abby Page and Max Samuel, and they are fortunate to have her as a full-time Mommy. When she was younger, she looked some like my mother, and now she looks much like her Mother. She has her Mother's strong character, genuine faith and goodness, and some of her Dad's sense of humor and determination.
We've been so blessed and charmed because the doctor was wrong. Happy birthday.

A Friday night, 44 years ago

It was a chilly November night in southwest Iowa 44 years ago tonight when I came  home to find a note on the door. I'd been out of town covering a football game between the Clarinda Cardinals and another team, for the Clarinda Herald-Journal, one of my many duties in my first newspaper job.
Our second child was due, but we thought we'd have a few more days. The child had already been nicknamed "Thumper" for a habit of kicking inside the womb.
When I pulled up at the house after 10 that night, a note from my wife Neysa said she'd gone to the hospital and our oldest son, Vance, then just over two, was at our friends the Negleys.
I sped down the street to check on him, before going to the hospital, and there, sitting around the table with smiles, were both my wife and our friends, enjoying the joke.

But the next day, our second son was born, given the name Travis Austin, the first for a cousin-in-law and the next because, because. 
When we brought him home a couple of days later, his brother burst into tears. By Thanksgiving, as we sat down to dinner around a round oak table, with him in a baby seat on another table, he loudly fussed away, until we put him on the main dinner table, meeting his demands to be included. My mother's sister and my favorite Aunt, Sissie, humorously nicknamed him "Lake  Travis," for his active bowels.His nephews and nieces call him "Uncle Ta-Ta."

He's always liked to take things apart, and enjoyed marching to his own tune, gaining a snarky and dry Culp sense of humor, and independent Clarkiness. He's come to love basketball, survived ups and downs, become a computer jock,  a passionate motorcycle owner and traveler, and a lover of music.
Tomorrow, he'll be 44 years old. It's  an always interesting journey.

Colors of November

The entrance to our neighborhood

November again, nearing the end of the year, and my favorite time of year, autumn. Driving around our neighborhood reminds me that aging can be beautiful, that there is more to this world than work and mere existence.  In the ugliness of the world, in the turmoil of life, in the worry of uncertainty, in the anger of people who don't get along, it seems to me that what is missing is an acceptance of the beauty of life, and the tranquility that comes from appreciating our existence. Time to breathe deeply of the season.