Country Club or Radical Mission

 

 

A month later, I am still resonating with a sermon at the church I attend. The Bible passage was the one where crowds are following Jesus and he abruptly turns around and says that everyone who wishes to follow him must consider that the cost of following will be that they must hate their family members and take up their crosses. This was, in that cultural setting, a severe statement. To abandon family in that context was akin to abandoning your very existence, social network, and personal identity. And to carry the cross was to literally participate in one’s own public and gruesome execution. 

For a modern church fixated on the seduction of growing numbers (or avoiding declining enrollment unto oblivion), it is shocking how confrontational Jesus is, how uncaring he is (and perhaps even actively wishing) about reducing his follower count. Indeed, the crowd likely thinned out considerably when confronted with the need for a radical break from their present lives, leaving family and taking up crosses and giving up all possessions.

Very little of the modern American church actively expresses this sort of winnowing sentiment. Sunday morning too often resembles a country club setting in which a socio-economically homogenous group dresses respectfully and comes together for songs, intellectual stimulation, and social engagement. What it looks like on the outside may depend on the denomination or main ethnic make-up, but on the inside there does not appear to be any of the desperation, raw emotion, and undivided devotion to mission that characterized the first followers of Jesus and the early church that sprung up from that. 

It horrifies me to think that were Jesus to show up at many of our church services this Sunday morning, He would similarly turn around and give a call to radical mission that leaves many of us deciding the cost too steep to proceed. He has made clear what it means to truly follow Him; what will we do with that call? Will we accept the invitation and boldly go forward? Will we accept the severity of the cost we have to bear and decide to stop following? Or, perhaps worst of all, will we deny that to follow Jesus requires such a radical departure from the norm and keep up the appearances of our country club version of Christianity?

Are You Not Entertained

 

I recently listened to Mark Cuban on the Lex Fridman podcast. He was talking about how when he bought the Dallas Mavericks basketball team, he made a fundamental shift in how the organization was run, in that he took it from “our objective is to win games on the court” to “our objective is to give fans a memorable experience.” As it turns out, he helped turn around a perennial loser into a league champion, so maybe the best way to achieve the former is to pursue the latter. But that’s not the point of my post today.

What I want to explore is how multiple sports are having an existential crisis about how teams are playing to win (the former) is leading to an inferior product for fans (the latter). Blame analytics, I guess. In basketball, teams have figured out that drawing fouls and shooting threes is the way to success, which is sometimes exciting but often dull. In baseball, “manufacturing runs” through bunts and stolen bases has given way to the “sit on your ass” strategy of drawing walks and swinging for the fences. Even football, the darling spectator sport of the moment, is raging at the reigning Super Bowl champion Philadelphia Eagles reliance on the decidedly unaesthetic “tush push” play and pish-poshing their starting quarterback Jalen Hurts for not racking up gaudy stats like Brady and Manning once did. 

Athletes are motivated by a lot of things – popularity, money, stability – but almost everyone is extremely wired for championships, and the best teams have deep buy-in on that singular goal. What happens when the means to that end doesn’t make for good viewing? 

Leagues can tinker with the rules, of course, but that’s risky. Anti-tanking and “load management” restrictions in the NBA have been tricky to implement. The “tush push” was up for banning and barely passed. Interestingly, baseball, perhaps the most tradition-bound of the three sports, seems to have found success with things like a pitch clock and instant replay (although perhaps less success with trying to deaden and then liven the ball). 

We have become such an entertainment-saturated society that in many cases how entertaining something is has become more important than how successful it is. But despite what we may consume on social media, the path to financial stability and physical health and romantic love often consists of boring, uniform, and unglamorous steps. 

Maybe this is all sour grapes. If our teams win championships and our lives are prosperous, we tend to complain less than other team’s fans and others not doing as well. Ultimately, it is a truism about anything in life: if you figure out what you’re trying to achieve, and then do the things that help you accomplish that, you will be more likely to accomplish what you set out to do. And, if you don’t care whether that path is sexy or popular or applauded, then that too will increase your chances of success. The question is, whether it is a fan of a sports team or living out your own life: is our goal to be a success or to be entertainment?

In a Parallel Universe, I'm Not as Fulfilled

 

Picking up on my previous post, I was telling Amy about the good time I had at the Wharton dinner I attended where we were able to celebrate the impact of our college advisor Dr. William Whitney. I told her that but for the time he made for me when I did my campus visit my senior year in high school, I would not have come to Penn, which meant I would not have met Amy or done any of the things I’ve done in my personal and professional life in Philadelphia. Rather, I would have gone to Berkeley, hung out with my high school friends, and probably stayed in the Bay Area near my parents. 

Amy and I have been married for over 25 years, and like many couples who’ve been lucky enough to be together so long, we have been through, individually and as a couple, some major ups and downs. She let me finish sharing and then, in response to my wondering about an alternate universe in which I go to Berkeley and stay in California, she said, “that would’ve been a good life and probably an easier life than you currently have.” And she’s probably right. Philadelphia, our marriage, and my career pursuits, are metaphorically far away from the life I imagined when I was a teenager growing up in sheltered suburban Northern California. 

I agreed with her statement, but was quick to reply, “but it wouldn’t have been as satisfying a life.” Aside from the surface ways in which I live a charmed life, I think there’s something profound about a life path that unlocks parts of you that you didn’t even know were there or were important. Maybe any marriage involves uncharted waters, but Amy and my journey has truly been a wild ride that I could not have anticipated, asked for, or wanted when I was younger, but cannot possibly fathom living without now that I have gone this route. Similarly, any location and career will have its surprises, but who knew I would fall so madly for Philadelphia and for cities, when I had had such limited exposure to anything like it during my childhood. 

As a person of faith, I believe deeply in a God who knows and loves us in ways we can hardly grasp, one manifestation of that being the preparation of a path, and of the person for the path, that leads to great enrichment. Importantly, my faith framework acknowledges and even embraces the existence of suffering and pain and loss in that rewarding journey, which perhaps I could’ve avoided had I taken a different path but then I would be found lacking as a result. 

As a society, we are becoming bloated and insufferable. It is easy to wish for a parallel universe in which something is different about our lives – we have more money or power or good looks or popularity, for example – rather than be profoundly grateful for the universe we do inhabit, warts and all. I am not above wishing for more or better or different. So it was heartening that, when considering how close I was to going somewhere besides Penn when I was 18, my main thought was gratitude for the path that I did take, a path that has not been without its heartache and devastation and hardship, but one in which I have been richly blessed, including in activating parts of me that I now cannot fathom being without. Which makes me a lucky guy.

Thankful for My College Advisor

 

Last month I attended a dinner celebrating my Wharton undergraduate advisor, Dr. William Whitney. It was amazing to hear and tell stories about how Dr. Whitney invested in our wellbeing during college, and how in the process he shaped our university experience and career moves and therefore the entirety of our professional lives. Dr. Whitney’s son was there and promised to bring all these accolades to his father, although I hope someday to be able to tell Dr. Whitney himself. 

It is no exaggeration that without Dr. Whitney I would not have even come to Penn let alone have the career I have had. I was dead set on going to Berkeley, a really great school less than hour from where I grew up, where I’d already spent many days and where many of my closest friends would also be attending. My parents took me to the East Coast after I got into schools but before I had to decide, and our Penn stop was on a dreary April day that was a far cry from the sunny and mild California weather I was used to. 

Dr. Whitney took the time to meet with me, and explained to me the perks of the Joseph Wharton Scholars program I had qualified for, particularly the small class sizes and that he personally taught the Econ 101 class that was identical to the version he taught MBA students (and he was quick to say the undergrads always did better than the graduate students). He also impressed upon me the many non-business offerings available at Penn, which he strongly encouraged me to avail myself of and that he would personally advise me on what was worthwhile and help me secure those opportunities. The personal touch, of small class sizes and of access to him my future advisor, was very compelling. 

While I was in his office, a student of his burst in and said she’d gotten a random invitation to study marine biology in Hawaii for the summer. Dr. Whitney enthusiastically said she should go for it. “But I’m a Finance major,” she protested, to which he said something to the effect of “those classes and experiences will always be there for you; do something wild and crazy now, and you won’t regret it.” 

The fact that I can recall this conversation, which I wasn’t even a part of, almost 35 years later, is a testament to the impression it left on me, about Dr. Whitney and about the kind of college experience and personal enrichment I could have. To that point, I had had a pretty standard high-achieving student experience: straight A’s, class valedictorian, laundry list of extra-curriculars. The fact that I was even entertaining traveling 2,500 miles from home to go to school reflected the high regard I held for Wharton, and if I were to pursue this path, surely I would want to max out on all this elite institution had to offer by way of business instruction and business opportunities. To hear him speak of growing my non-business sides, and then have this impromptu exchange with one of his students to practically insist that she spend the summer underwater in Hawaii, was truly a record-scratch moment for me. 

I did decide to go to Penn, and Dr. Whitney served as my Wharton advisor. He got me into every class I wanted to take and suggested many I never would have considered. He even, as an outspoken atheist, encouraged my newfound Christian beliefs, insisting that I use my senior thesis project to explore the intersection between faith and business, an academic assignment that has profoundly shaped how I carry myself to this day. 

I will pick up this topic in my next post, but let me stop here. Dr. Whitney, thank you for taking the time to instruct and advise and inspire me. Last month’s dinner reinforced for me the impact he had in my life, and that he positively touched so many before and after me. We are lucky to have people like this in our lives, and all we can do when given such a blessing is be thankful for it and try to pay it forward to others.

Leadership Lessons from Following Jesus

 

Christianity is of course a religion, a worldview, a set of rituals that bind you with others and with history. Christianity is also based on the teachings and person of Jesus of Nazareth, who most (not all) consider to be a historical figure and who some (not all) believe to be Lord and Savior. To speak personally for a minute, to know and follow Him is life-altering, taking you to places you never would’ve expected to end up and changing you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. 

But this post isn’t all the way deep. In my own personal faith journey, to be sure I have observed profound shifts in my values and views, as it should be. But, on a more surfacy and secular level, I have also observed that my definition and manifestation of leadership has also been significantly influenced. So I present to you some random thoughts on how Jesus models leadership in ways that we who seek to lead ought to emulate: 

1. Investing in a small number of followers. It’s crazy to me that a religion that numbers into the billions has as its primary source a person who spent the vast majority of time influencing 12 random individuals (to say nothing of the fact that one of them betrayed him, one of them denied him, and all of them fled him in his time of greatest need). But there is a leadership lesson here, that reach of influence often comes not from wide and shallow but from narrow and deep. 

2. Telling culturally relevant stories. I say this as someone who crunches numbers and does research for a living: leaders lead, not by throwing their titles or resources or data points or obscure arguments around, but by telling vivid tales that everyday people can understand and that inform and inspire. 

3. Staying on message. Leaders can easily assume that because they’re smart and respected in one thing, they can contribute on other things. Jesus never deviated from an unwavering focus on His life purpose, something that anchors the next point. 

4. Bearing hardship without wavering. Commitment to His life purpose, for Jesus, meant suffering and isolation and death, not as an unfortunate byproduct of fulfilling His objectives but as the very fulfillment of His objectives. As leaders, are we willing to bear the heat that comes from our tough decisions, our uncomfortable conversations, and our bearing the anger of others? 

Many more examples, but those four are a good primer for leadership excellence. Easy to understand but hard to live up to.

The Divided State of America

 

I grew up in Silicon Valley and now live in a big East Coast city. I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree from an Ivy League school and have been a white-collar worker my whole professional life. I am, by any definition, a “coastal elite,” and as such I am in a bubble no matter how hard I try to break out of it. We lament the divided state of affairs in this country, a segregation that seems to increase in intensity as our algorithms feed us drastically different content customized to enrage us and further entrench our differences. 

Let me take a step back. Many of us don’t lament this division. We may give lip service to the need for unity. But we are unwilling to extend enough humanity to “the other side” to engage with them, learn from them, give honor to them. Why should we, goes this sentiment, when they are so ignorant and disrespectful; they deserve nothing from us, not our sympathy and not our time. It is enraging to be told to consort with and even give respect to and learn from others who actively desire to oppress us. It is horrifying to contemplate intimate discourse and circulation with those whose life views and life choices are so abhorrent.

And yet we are in fact a United States of America. "E pluribus unum," in the Latin, translated as "out of many, one." We have a shared destiny as a nation. We embrace that, unlike all other nations that are far more homogenous, we are a diverse people, in skin color and sexual orientation and life experience and political beliefs. Practically, there are public sector functions like safety and infrastructure and health that require that we work together as a singular body. Will we summon the will to behave as though we are all Americans, that we are all humans deserving of respect and voice? Will we crack open a sliver of daylight that allows for the possibility that others we disagree with are not as evil, dangerous, and derelict as we imagine them to be?

I’m not sure, politically or culturally, what is the path to such unity, especially given a growing unwillingness to even desire unity. What I want to use today’s post for is to speak to those like me who are coastal and urban. Suspend your reflex disdain for a second, and ask yourself if you are any of these categories of people (let's call that 5 points), or have anyone close to you in these categories (3 points), or even if you have peripheral connection in person or via social media (1 point) (much of this is informed by an actual “bubble” quiz by the libertarian think tank American Enterprise Institute, which confirmed for me that I’m pretty bubbly myself): 

1. Active military

2. Avowed atheist who does not participate in any religious activity

3. Black

4. Blue-collar worker

5. Evangelical Christian who regularly attends church

6. Formerly incarcerated

7. Full-time farmer

8. Full-time religious job

9. Gay

10. Hispanic

11. Intellectually disabled

12. Make less than $50,000 a year

13. Make more than $500,000 a year

14. No college education

15. Parent of 5 or more kids

16. Physically disabled

17. Registered Democrat who holds socially progressive views

18. Registered Republican who holds socially conservative views

19. Regularly hunt or fish

20. Regularly watch daytime talk shows or soap operas

21. Resident of a big city

22. Resident of a small town

23. Sex worker

24. Stay-at-home parent

25. Trans

The lower your score, the less contact you have with people very different from you. Which makes it easier, when you do have contact, to assume the worst or at least find them strange, backwards, or worse. I can’t say that the feeling is reciprocal, but I’m not surprised when it is, because absent contact with differing opinions we are inclined to find those opinions ignorant, evil, or dangerous. This is not good, especially as we are one country and one people that need to work together to get things done. Would that we had more contact and less disdain. 

It is worrisome to me that, not only do people not mix, but people don't want to mix, and perhaps even more worrisome that it isn't just because we disdain "the other side" but that we don't even want to be pleasantly surprised that they are actually smarter and kinder and deeper than we imagine, so invested are we in digging into our divisions. But what is America, if not a place where we are very different and yet choose to get along, work together, and even embrace and learn from one another. If there is hope for a future that moves in that direction, surely it rests with having some contact with others different from us, keeping an open mind and extending common human respect.

Intentionally Seeking Out, Talking to, and Learning from Those Different from Me

 

 

Many of us would lament that we have become an irreversibly divided society, and would assert that the blame lies with social media and specifically the algorithms that feed us what we want to hear and thus cocoon us more rigidly in our non-overlapping echo chambers. All of that is probably true. But I would argue that our isolation is more tactile than digital, and that we actively participate in it rather than it happening to us. 

Personal preferences may be changing, but the default living arrangement for many people in America today is a newly constructed subdivision in a far-flung suburb. The long commutes to work are a small price to pay for having a new and large home, and the lack of random pedestrians passing by your place is a feature and not a bug. In this form, there is no socializing from home to work (you surely hope not to literally run into another person or car while driving in!). Nor is there any small talk during kid pick-up, that morning and afternoon task involving an elaborate process that optimizes efficiency and safety but excludes making chit chat with fellow parents. Even if we do work hard to build relationships with people who live in our subdivision or send their kids to the same school, almost by definition these fellow humans are similar to us in socio-economic status, since the very purpose of most suburbs is to homogenize who lives in them, a bulwark against diversity enforced by things like minimum lot sizes even if former ways of excluding people have been rendered illegal. 

Cities offer the opportunity for more diversity. The same city block can include a palatial 6-bedroom rowhouse and a building the same size that includes 8 2-bedroom apartments. Public spaces like parks and food halls can be equally enjoyed by people in suits and those who are homeless. Going to city hall to protest a parking ticket or speak at a council meeting likely means passing by white-shoe CEOs and construction workers. 

But, the possibility to interact with others different from us does not necessarily lead to true and meaningful interactions unless we actively seek them. For it is not hard for us to find our people even in a big and diverse city, and never really engage with people whose lived experience or political worldview is different than ours. It is possible to avoid any contact altogether. Perhaps even worse, it is also possible to have contact but never meaningfully engage or be influenced. 

Ask yourself: when was the last time you had an extended conversation with someone fundamentally different from you…and actually listened to them and drew out their perspectives out of curiosity? I suspect that for most of us, most of our conversations are with people who agree with us, about topics that we agree on, and that the rare occasion we’re presented with those who disagree with us, we minimize or shut off any disagreement rather than sit in and even draw out that opposing perspective. 

If I may wade into a contemporary flashpoint example to prove the point. Let’s say you are a fan of or at least sympathetic to the work of Charlie Kirk. When you are told by a friend that he was a hate-mongerer and intentional provocateur who makes them feel unsafe, what is your knee-jerk response? Is it to say that his most controversial quotes are taken out of context and that he worked hard to give discussion space to those who disagreed with him? Or is it to express sympathy for that feeling of danger and ask for more information on what that’s like? The former negates your friend’s lived experience, the latter gives room to learn from it. Which is our impulse to think and do? 

Many such examples, which represent a hardening of our dividing lines rather than an opportunity for true human interaction and perspective-enhancing. What choices will we make to put ourselves in places where we can physically interact with people different from us? And what will we do with those opportunities? Or are such engagements not important to us, even something to run from?

The Agony of Defeat

 

Last week, the playoff run of the Philadelphia Phillies, picked by many experts to win it all, came to a painful and abrupt ending. In a tense pitchers’ duel, Orion Kerkering bobbled a grounder and threw wildly to home, allowing the winning run to score. Kerkering immediately bent over with the physical pain of having blundered away a routine play and with it his team’s chance of surviving and advancing. To their credit, his coach and teammates immediately rallied to him, offering encouragement and letting anyone willing to hear them that they lost as a team and not as a result of one play (an admirable level of genuine sportsmanship which we will come back to in a minute).

 Baseball can be cruel. Fourteen Octobers ago, Phillies slugger Ryan Howard not only made the last out in the game that eliminated his team from the playoffs but tore his Achilles in the process. Thirty-two Octobers ago, Phillies closer Mitch Williams came in to protect a lead to force a World Series Game 7 and instead gave up baserunners and then the Series-winning home run by Joe Carter. Kerkering, Howard, and Williams know all too well just how awful and alone it feels to make one mistake and have it bring a sudden end to a joyous postseason run. 

That’s how baseball is. I have a friend who I play golf with who used to play professional basketball and is also a big baseball fan. He tells me greatly prefers to play basketball over baseball, and not just because he’s really tall and good at hoop. Basketball, in his telling, is a sport in which, if you make a mistake, you are immediately able to redeem yourself and in the process let go of your mistake. Badly miss a shot? Hustle back on defense and try to get the ball back. The person you were guarding just blew by you? Now you have the ball and can make something happen. Baseball, on the other hand, is the sort of sport in which you might strike out and then you have to stew for an hour before you have a chance to hit again, or you can commit an error and then you just have to stand there while everyone boos you (and there’s no guarantee the ball will come your way again so you can redeem yourself). 

We agreed that golf is more like baseball than basketball, which is what makes having a strong mental game so important to that sport. But that’s a thought for another post. Coming back to the lonely and abrupt consequence of failing on the baseball diamond, unfortunately life often resembles baseball (and golf) more than basketball. Sometimes we fail, spectacularly and publicly, and there’s nothing we can do to reverse the damage, make amends, or even hide from the negativity. I wish it weren’t say, but such is life. 

They say many things you need to be happy in life you learn at an early age, in places like kindergarten and the ballfield. I think there’s some truth to that. Losing hurts because winning is amazing, and to say otherwise is to negate the fact that in life sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, and it matters whether you win or lose. (You will not be surprised that I’m not a big fan of participation trophies, or of Little League games in which parents are afraid of keeping score.) It’s a good life lesson to feel the sting of defeat, for it to hurt a little it or even a lot, because it is practice for understanding that contests have stakes and that there’s a big difference between winning and losing. But it’s also a good life lesson to learn how to be a gracious winner and a gracious loser, the former being easier and the latter requiring having respect for your opponent and for the game. And, it’s also a good life lesson to know that, in a greater sense, as important as winning and losing is, there are still more important things than that. Which is why Orion Kerkering’s teammates rallying to him in the moment and then in the press is so heartwarming, that despite the deep disappointment of the sudden end to their season of promise, they valued their teammate even more. 

In life, we will lose a lot, sometimes quite publicly and sometimes quite decisively. It may not feel like it in the moment, but those are necessary life lessons and we are better for bearing them.

Cherishing Chinatowns

 

 

  

This CNN article profiles a book that is coming out later this month, by Morris Lum, a photographer who has documented 20+ Chinatowns across North America. Even better than a singular time capsule of a culturally unique phenomenon, Lum shoots Chinatowns multiple times over several years, in the process capturing the almost constant churn in retailers and therefore in composition and aesthetic. 

Many urban neighborhoods evolve rapidly and markedly over time, reflecting the broader societal, cultural, and economic forces that impel such turnover. Chinatowns are a particularly interesting case study, as are the reasons for their changes – and, unfortunately, in many cases, their decline and even death. 

To begin with, Chinatowns are, at least in some part if not in their totality, a function of the historical anti-Asian bias that has existed in many parts of this continent. For many Chinese and Asians in general, the birth of Chinatowns in their area reflected the fact that there were very few places where people that looked like them could safely live, work, worship, and play. Most Chinese and Asians who chose to come to America were not fantastically wealthy and in some cases were quite poor, but when they arrived in the Americas they were almost universally consigned to lower-class status in terms of social pecking order and economic comfort level. They scraped together a practically subsistence level of living, serving their own enclaves and doing their best to stay out of trouble. 

As myself a child of immigrants, albeit from upper middle class families who came here for grad school rather than for menial labor, I can safely assert that a dominant theme in the Asian immigrant mindset is working hard to provide for the next generation so that they may thrive in this land of opportunity. For most people, including those whose predecessors hail from Asia, that means a college degree and a professional job. From my place of privilege, this was achieved immediately: my college-educated parents worked white-collar jobs and helped make possible that my sister and I could also attend college and set ourselves for white-collar jobs. 

For others, like those who took up residence in homes and storefronts in Chinatowns, this path may have taken multiple generations. The kids worked the shop, then took over from mom and dad, and in turn their kids grew up in the shop and eventually took charge themselves. This is a lovely aspect of independent retail and particularly in culturally defined places like Chinatowns – the literal “mom and pop shop” – and it is truly a wonderful benefit to the outside world and point of pride for the family itself. But, in many cases, the generational continuity reflected a shutting off of other options that may have been preferred but could not be accessed due to lack of resources, cultural norms, or outright racism and oppression.

Conversely, many of these families succeeded in their great, oftentimes multi-generational objective, which was hustling enough in their challenging existences and creating enough margin in their lives to send Junior off to college. It may have taken a painfully long time to actualize the ultimate aim of coming to America, but eventually Junior did in fact go off to college, and became a lawyer, and got married and went off to the suburbs to raise a family. I’ve read some newspaper accounts of just this phenomenon, and of the elders feeling extremely conflicted about this: extraordinary pride in what they’ve accomplished, relief that their children achieved more than they were able to given their circumstances, and yet sorrow at the loss of continuity in the family business. (And, perhaps, in some cases, sadness that their children have become more Americanized, perhaps marrying outside of their country of origin, not speaking the native tongue, not being steeped in key touchstones in home culture.)

Whether it is gradual or steep, the closure of mom and pop shops in places like Chinatown can be traced to outside forces like gentrification and bad public policy and greedy businesspeople. And, it can also be traced to these inside dynamics, where the inter-generational continuity of family business ownership was a function of restricted opportunities due to racism, and in turn the opening up of avenues for the children and grandchildren to chart new paths is both an indicator of societal progress and yet also a loss of a culturally important through line. 

There are many things we can and should to celebrate, protect, and uplift our Chinatowns. Municipal policy can provide advantages and resources and attention to amplify these incredible places of historical importance and cultural enrichment. We as individuals can contribute our foot traffic, our spending dollars, and our word of mouth endorsement to our circles of influence. I say all this knowing that a lot of why many Chinatowns across this continent are struggling is due to the greater opportunities made available to the children and grandchildren of these long-time storefront owners, opportunities that are a function of both societal progress and a lot of parental blood, toil, sweat, and tears. Lum’s book is, like the Chinatowns in each of our communities, a treasure to be treasured. Let us take the opportunity to treasure our Chinatowns, and to hold in our heart all of the complex and in some cases conflicting forces that compel the changes occurring in them.

Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 495

 

Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, ""Harry Truman's Excellent Adventure: The True Story of a Great American Road Trip" by Matthew Algeo.

Harry Truman was the last president to leave the White House and return to something resembling a normal life. And in the summer of 1953 he did something millions of ordinary Americans do all the time, but something no former president had ever done before—and none has done since. He took a road trip, unaccompanied by Secret Service agents, bodyguards, or attendants of any kind. Truman and his wife, Bess, drove from their home in Independence, Missouri, to the East Coast and back again. Harry was behind the wheel. Bess rode shotgun. The trip lasted nearly three weeks. 

One night they stayed in a cheap motel. Another night they crashed with friends. All along the way, they ate in roadside diners. Occasionally mobs would swarm them, beseeching Harry for an autograph or just a handshake. In towns where they were recognized, nervous local officials frantically arranged “escorts” to look after the famous couple. 

Sometimes, though, the former president and first lady went unrecognized. They were, in Harry’s words, just two “plain American citizens” taking a long car trip. Waitresses and service station attendants didn’t realize that the friendly, well-dressed older gentleman they were waiting on was, in fact, America’s thirty-third president.

A month later, Roosevelt invited Truman to the White House for lunch. Truman, who hadn’t even seen the president in a year, was shocked by his appearance. “I had no idea he was in such a feeble condition,” Truman confided to a friend. “In pouring cream in his tea, he got more cream in the saucer than he did in the cup.” In photographs taken of the two men that day, Roosevelt is hunched and haggard, with dark bags beneath his eyes. Truman is beaming, vibrant. It was hard to believe that Roosevelt was only two years older than Truman. 

The Roosevelt-Truman ticket won the 1944 election in a landslide. Roosevelt died on April 12, 1945. Truman had been vice president eighty-two days. Apart from cabinet meetings, he had met with Roosevelt just twice.

Yet his only income would be a pension for his service as an officer in France during World War I. That pension amounted to $111.96 a month, after taxes. Ironically, he did not receive credit for his nearly eight years as commander in chief.

Back in Independence, Harry soon settled into a routine. He awoke every morning at five-thirty, dressed, read the morning papers (on the back porch when the weather was nice), picked a cane from his collection of a hundred or so, and took his walk. His route varied. Sometimes he would walk down to the town square, passing the Jackson County Courthouse, which had been built in 1934, back when he was the county’s presiding judge. Other times he would meander through the residential neighborhoods around his home. An old newsreel shows Truman enjoying one of his walks when a small boy in a cowboy costume suddenly jumps out of the bushes and “shoots” the former president with a toy gun. Truman laughs and pats the irrepressible tyke on the head. Today, a Secret Service agent watching the film would likely suffer a heart attack, and the unlucky youngster who attempted such an ambush would perish in a hail of gunfire.

Harry’s interest in fuel efficiency was largely financial. Like most Americans, he was concerned about skyrocketing gas prices. Why, just that day, Standard Oil had hiked prices a penny a gallon—to 27.1 cents. The company blamed the increase on rising crude oil prices, which were approaching three dollars a barrel. On Capitol Hill, though, some lawmakers accused the oil companies of collusion and price gouging. The House Commerce Committee had launched an investigation. 

Before pulling away from the station, Truman asked the attendant to recommend a good motel in town. “We’d never stayed at one,” Truman later explained, “and we wanted to try it out and see if we liked it.” It would also save them a little money. A night in a motel only cost about five bucks. The attendant recommended the Parkview Motel and gave Harry directions. Then, as soon as the Trumans were gone, he called the local newspapers. 

The Parkview was quiet when Harry and Bess pulled up. The clerk didn’t even recognize them when they checked in. But within minutes the motel’s parking lot swarmed with reporters, photographers, and curious locals. Harry, who had “expected to enjoy the pleasures of traveling incognito,” was dismayed by the carnivalesque atmosphere. It was just what his friends had warned him would happen. 

When Decatur Police Chief Glenn Kerwin learned the former president and first lady were traveling by themselves—without even a single bodyguard—he was aghast. What if something happened to them while they were in his jurisdiction? Kerwin immediately dispatched two officers, Francis Hartnett and Horace Hoff, to the Parkview. The Trumans, Kerwin ordered, were to be shadowed around the clock until they left the city. “I don’t need any protection,” Harry pleaded when Hartnett and Hoff showed up at his motel door. But orders were orders. The former commander in chief was outranked by Chief Kerwin. The cops stayed.

Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 494

 

Here are a few excerpts from a book I recently read, "Last Team Standing: How the Steelers and the Eagles—'The Steagles'—Saved Pro Football During World War II," by Matthew Algeo.

The Steagles were the only pro sports team to require its players to take war jobs. On the whole, the players did not object to the extra work. Most of them needed the money anyway. In the NFL, a salary of $200 a game was typical. At the Budd factory in North Philadelphia, experienced workers were commanding as much as $73 a week. Annualized, the factory job was more lucrative.

One of the most unusual bond drives took place at the Polo Grounds in New York on June 26, 1944, when the Yankees, Dodgers, and Giants played a three-way baseball game. The Dodgers and Yankees played the first, fourth, and seventh innings, the Dodgers and Giants played the second, fifth, and eighth, and the Yankees and Giants played the third, sixth, and ninth. The price of admission was a war bond. The exhibition raised more than $56 million. The final score was Dodgers 5, Yankees 1, Giants 0.

The weather was perfect, but on the night of Saturday, October 2, barely 11,000 fans came to Shibe Park in Philadelphia to watch the Steagles take flight for the first time in a regular season contest. The game had not been as heavily promoted as the Inquirer-sponsored exhibition game against the Bears, but the main reason for the low turnout was competition. Earlier that afternoon, 30,000 fans had packed Franklin Field to watch Penn rout Yale, 41-7. (Penn led the nation in college football attendance in 1943.) Then there were the baseball A’s, who had played a doubleheader against the Indians earlier in the day at Shibe Park, losing their 103rd and 104th games of the season. With all that going on, it’s not surprising that so few Philadelphians were willing to shell out $3.50 for a reserved seat to watch a team that was only half theirs. The Steagles’ opponent was a factor, too: The Dodgers, who had been shut out by Detroit 27-0 a week earlier, were not exactly a big draw.