Knowledge and Zeal

Man portrays General Ulysses Grant at Civil War encampment in my town.

     I arrived late. An encampment of Civil War reenactors was breaking up. Tents were disassembling. Union soldiers no longer spoke in character as though the year was 1863. They were speaking in a normal fashion.
    I struck up a conversation with a man portraying General Ulysses Grant. He bore a resemblance to the actual general. This guy was more than an actor, he was an expert on the life of Grant.
    “I’ve spent twenty-four years studying Grant,” the man said.
    Testing his knowledge, I mentioned my visit to the battlefield at Spotsylvania, Virginia. Some historians consider that battle the most ferocious of the war. Grant was in charge.
    During one assault, a union officer (not Grant) ordered his men to attack a Confederate line, and do so without firing weapons. This ‘bum rush’ strategy was unprecedented. Troops always fired their muskets while advancing. The officer calculated that time spent while firing was detrimental to the prospects for success. Better to make haste and shoot later.
   The bum rush succeeded. Union troops overran the Confederate position. Granted promoted the officer. The bum rush tactic was adopted by the Army.
    General Grant—the actor standing before me—knew about that assault. He said, “You don’t fire to get there. You get there and then you fire.”
    I asked him for the name of the innovative officer. Grant couldn’t recall it.
    Not wanting to take up any more of Grant's time, I thanked him for the conversation. He ducked into a trailer. For several minutes, I busiest myself taking photos.
    Then, out of the blue, General Grant addressed me.
    “Emory Upton was his name.” Grant identified that officer whose name eluded us.
    I nodded toward Grant’s trailer. “Did you look up the name?” My question suggested that Grant had internet access inside the trailer.
    Grant touched his head, “It’s all in here.”
    I’m not easily impressed, but this man impressed me.
    When someone reveals depth of knowledge and zeal, he earns respect.

Canvas tents, authentic to the period, at the encampment.

Indignation

    I showed up early, as I always do.
    The location was a hotel in downtown Boston. My assignment was a portrait session with two magicians (seen above). They were in town for a show. A newspaper reporter accompanied me.
    A room was chosen. I set up equipment—light stands, umbrellas, flash heads, and a powerpack.
    So far so good.
    Next, I’d perform a lighting check. That would require me to plug a power chord into a wall socket.
    An employee of the hotel told me to wait. There was a safety concern.
    Huh? I inspected the socket. It looked fine.
    The employee said that he’d summon the house electrician. That person, not me, would plug in the chord. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. But okay, bring in the electrician.
    Silliness gave way to seriousness. I was told the electrician would charge me a fee.
    I expressed outrage. It was absurd to pay someone for such a routine task.
    The employee said the policy was a union rule.
    Safety had nothing to do with it. The policy was a shakedown for money.
    The electrician arrived. I refused to cooperate. I told him I’d take the portraits without artificial lighting, even if it meant the quality wouldn’t be as good. I also conveyed my disgust.
    The electrician backed down. He told me to go ahead and plug in the chord.
    I’m not sure why he relented. Was he afraid the reporter would publish an account of the situation? Was he uncomfortable after being the object of derision? Or had he been trying to scam me and didn’t want his bosses to know?
    I’m glad I stood my ground. Righteous indignation, whether it succeeds or fails, strengthens one’s character.

Male Camaraderie

High school football players pose in town near my home.

    When teenage boys gather together, they express whatever is on their minds. They do it without drama. Their candor builds camaraderie. In turn, this camaraderie boosts the confidence of boys. It helps them mature.
    When boys enter manhood, this camaraderie takes a hit. Speech codes inhibit free expression in workplaces and colleges. Family life take precedence over hanging with buddies. Some elements of society frown upon tight bonds between heterosexual men.
    Some guys, myself included, still value close friendships between males.
    Most of my best friends are guys that I hung out with during high school. We still live near each other. Our get-togethers are like time warps. We speak with candor to each other, just as we did during adolescence. Our bond contributes to our happiness.
   Male camaraderie is good for men and good for culture.

Unpredictable Happiness

    The scene was tranquil.
    A waterfall gushed over a spillway. Geese dozed near a bystander. Just another day along the upper Charles River in Massachusetts. How could anything go wrong?
    Over the years, lot of things have gone wrong at this river and its tributaries. I’ve capsized several times while canoeing. My brother’s friend drowned while swimming. I’ve fallen through the ice with a dog. In the adjoining woods, a fellow hiker fell off a ledge and broke his foot. A blizzard of snow disoriented myself and a friend as we snowshoed.
    Good things have also happened, like wildlife sightings and spontaneous acts of fun with companions.
    Whenever I venture forth into nature, unforeseen circumstances occur. Most incidents are pleasant. Sometimes they’re bad. This unpredictability is welcomed. It relieves me from the humdrum of my life.
    Exposing oneself to unpredictability--now and then--contributes to happiness.

Grass as a Metaphor

    Something predictable is happening to a bare patch on my lawn. Shoots of grass are sprouting with vigor on one half of the patch. (The right side in the photo.) The grass on the other half isn’t doing well. Bare spots remain. Grass is growing slowly.
    Why the difference?
    The unhealthy grass is over-exposed to sunshine, especially during this time of year when daylight lasts the longest. Too much sunshine dries the soil.
    The healthy grass is shielded by a bush. There, grass is exposed to fewer hours of sunshine. The soil retains moisture.
    We’re all like shoots of grass. Some of us achieve our potentials. Others fall short. What determines our prospects?
    The answer, in part, is the people we associate with. Do we spend too much time with people of bad character? If so, it’s like grass being overexposed to sunshine. We’re held back.
    Good people bring out the potential in us. Bad people inhibit us. To achieve our potentials, we should consider the people we hang out with.

Dodging the Truth

My mother visits the fresh grave of my father.

    “Should I give your father last rites?” a priest said to me over the phone.
    Dad was sick in the hospital. Terribly sick. But there was still hope for his recovery. The hospital staff was suggesting rehab clinics. They also mentioned hospice care at home if Dad’s condition became terminal.
    I didn’t wanted to dispirit Dad. He would have been demoralized by the administering of last rites, a sacrament associated with death. Better to save that ritual for when the end was near. I told the priest to hold off.
    Shortly thereafter, Dad died.
    Now I’m troubled with guilt. Dad was Catholic. He would have wanted his last rites. And I denied him that sacrament.
    Surely the staff at the hospital knew—or suspected—that Dad was dying. He looked awful. His condition was terrible. They never told me that Dad was near death. I don’t think they’re allowed to make such statements. Revealing pessimism, even if it’s truthful, might rub patients and relatives the wrong way. Better to keep hope alive.
    As a result, I was deluded by a false optimism. I inspected rehab clinics where Dad could transition to. What a waste of precious time. I could have spent more time at Dad’s bedside. Perhaps I could have been present when he died. (My brother was thankfully there when the moment arrived).
    The hospital should have been forthright about Dad’s condition. Reality over hope. That way, Dad would have gotten last rites. And I wouldn’t be burdened with regret.
    Dodging the truth eventually leads to negative consequences.