When the crawl moves across your television screen, and you hear a dull, duck-like buzzer sound coming from the speakers, it’s a signal to look up to see where the severe weather —tornados, floods or blizzard conditions— will be hitting next. The National Weather Service lets us know when it’s coming… minute by minute.

On the 4th of July, we rode around the Allegheny River on my kid’s boat as I checked moving radar maps on my cell phone, but as a kid, we weren’t so well tuned in, and we were more dependent on our instincts.

In a discussion with one of my board members today, as I described some inclement weather of sorts that was approaching, he laughed and said, "But before I go after those varmints, I’m gonna sing you this song."

At first I hesitated and was a little concerned that he had lost it until I asked, "Gene Autry?" "Yep," he said, "He’d jump on his horse and say those famous words." For those of you who are half a century too young to know who that was, Google Gene Autry. He was a famous movie, radio and television cowboy who looked a little like my Uncle Bill… or anyone’s Uncle Bill, for that matter.

A review of one his movies described this scene: "There was a bust-up-the-joint fight and a furious stagecoach chase at the end, and then Gene sings the title song When the Bloom Is On the Sage." Yes sir, that about sums it up: Punch ’em out, shoot ’em up… and then sing. Those were the days when macho-manhood and the arts worked well together. Now, our society is all about bust-up-the-joint and take no prisoners. We see it everyday in all aspects of life. The unspoken rules have become really unspoken and, in most cases, completely ignored. The lines of ethical consideration are so blurred they remind you of a child’s finger painting efforts. What ever happened to Rules of Civility?

Well, we are not in a position to discuss varmints here, but we are in a position to discuss the challenges of inclement weather. It’s something that we all need to prepare for… because we know it’s just a matter of time until the blue clouds move away and the thunder heads move in from the West.

It’s not enough to have a flashlight, batteries and candles ready. You need to have a commitment. Thirty years ago when the Johnstown Flood hit, I was a volunteer. I worked at first aid centers and shelters for the first few days and then moved into the ugly volunteer job of cleaning up mud and debris.

Well, that experience has made me mindful of the forces that surround us on this earth and has helped me to realize that they can reap great havoc on our existence, and, like the flood, are capable of wiping out our possessions. But the reason that we are still here was not because of our stuff, it was because of our spirit, our willingness to stick with it, and our commitment to creating a future that will be better than our past.

Of course, there will always be varmints and thunderheads, and all forms of pestilence that can be brought down on us, but we need to smile, look directly ahead, and prove that we have the power, the will and the determination to withstand anything that is thrown our way. That’s what made it all work in ’77: attitude. If we get knocked down, we get back up, dust ourselves off, and get on that horse again.

Like Gene used to profess:

I’m Back in the Saddle Again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly gypsum weed
Back in the saddle again

Sometimes, when I am dealing with my human frailties —the comb over, the slight paunch or the aching back— I wish that I could have the wisdom of Yoda from Star Wars.  He’s green, kind of scaly, with three fingers on each hand, and surely not a candidate for GQ in his hooded robe, but he’s sooooooooo smart and together that none of that matters to him or anyone else.  I’m not sure how he does with the ladies, but I’m guessing that they overlook his appearance to share in his wisdom.

Because I’m not yet in a position to share deep wisdom or secrets with anyone about anything, let me quote a passage from one of Yoda’s scenes where he describes the journey ahead for his young student, Anakin Skywalker:

YODA: Good, good, young one. How feel you?
ANAKIN: Cold, master.
YODA: Afraid are you?
ANAKIN: No, sir…
YODA: See through you, we can…
ANAKIN: (a little angry) What’s that got to do with anything?
YODA: Eveything. Fear is the path to the dark side… fear leads to anger… anger leads to hate…hate leads to suffering.
ANAKIN: (angrily) I am not afraid!
YODA: A patient-centered health care professional must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind. I sense much fear in you.
ANAKIN: (quietly) I am not afraid.
YODA: Then continue, we will.

Continue we will indeed, and the future will be everything positive that we decide to make of it.  There is a book or CD called “The Secret” that is flying through the hospital right now, and the secret to the secret is what we all know it to be.  Common sense that is all too frequently uncommon. If you are positive, think positively, work toward good endings, surround yourself with positive people, avoid even thinking about negative situations and keep focused on your goals, you will be embraced by the positive because fear is the path to the dark side, and the truth is, everything we have achieved, accomplished, and completed has been from a spirit of positive commitment.

Watch the movie  Seabiscuit again, or the Miracle on Ice, the tale of the 1980 U.S. Olympic Hockey Team or  The Little Engine That Could. Read about the winners in history.  What you will see is that we are guided by universal laws:  The Law of Intentions states that Your Intentions Will Be Fulfilled.  The Law of Manifestations states that You Will Manifest What You Imagine, but remember the Law of Actions because You Must Act Upon Your Intentions.

My brother constantly talks about what he is going to do when he hits the lottery, and when I ask him the key question, “Did you buy a ticket?”  He always say, “No, I forgot, but when I do…”   Remember, you must play to win.  I had a priest in high school who, in reference to the Catholic sacrament of confession, used to jokingly say, “Remember, you must sin in order to be forgiven.”

Will we make mistakes?  Yep.  Will we hit speed bumps?  Of course.  But will we prevail?  If we focus, stay positive, and realize that we are A TEAM, we can and will prevail.

We need to imagine that all of our dreams have come true.  Imagine that our future will be exactly what we have dreamed of, then move toward those goals, act upon those goals, and your/our intentions will be fulfilled.

As song writer Johnny Mercer, wrote in his lyrics for the 1944 Bing Crosby movie,  Here Come The Waves, “You’ve got to accentuate the positive… Eliminate the negative… Latch on to the affirmative. Don’t mess with Mister In-Between.”

The future is ours.

“May The Force Be With You.”

Yoda Jacobs

Have any of you noticed how bad customer service has become in recent years?  It is absolutely inconceivable when you place an order for three things and all three are incorrect and/or incomplete.  It’s unconscionable, but, unfortunately, more and more it is becoming a daily reality in our lives. 

Most of these problems seem to have been created by individuals who suffer from a very common disorder, the delusion of adequacy.  It is difficult to explain to people that this state exists; in fact, we Baby Boomers may have unwittingly contributed to it through our child rearing experiments. 

The everyone gets a trophy syndrome was intended to ensure that no child was made to feel like a loser.  A noble experiment intended to produce happiness all around. The problem was, everyone felt like a winner  . . . even when they weren’t, and now we are all suffering from it because, like it or not, there are hundreds of thousands of people who have not honed their skills, not adequately practiced their craft, not developed their knowledge base who, worst of all, go blindly through life believing that they rock.  Heck, they have the trophies to prove it! 

This delusional state doesn’t just exist with kids.  Unfortunately, many adults have their trophy rooms filled with decorative examples of their prowess, yet they can’t write a complete sentence, finish a job on time or ?and this is especially difficult ?are incapable of introspection and blame everyone else for their shortcomings.  Delusions of adequacy.

This is not intended to be a scathing indictment of all of mankind, but it is just pointing out a challenging situation that is becoming more difficult for managers and leaders everywhere.  How do you get six sigma results if the people that you need to do the job have determined that two and a half sigma is perfectly okay. 

Maybe, just maybe, we should let people know when it’s not working.  Maybe we have been politically correct for too long.  Maybe we should stand up for ourselves and demand better service, better products or better care . . . or maybe we need to take a nap, chill out and learn to be more accepting of this condition because it sure doesn’t seem to be going away.

On the Beach . . . no, not the famous book by Nevil Shute about the world slowly dying from the effects of an atomic war.  My version of on the beach is about the next four days of my life.  Actually, it’s about the lives of 22 people, most of whom I don’t really know or have only seen a few times, living under one BIG ROOF at the beach. This house is so big, it even has an elevator, and because you split the rent 22 ways, on a per person basis, it works out to about the same as a seven day stay at the Comfort Inn.

The trip started out a little rough when the four year old got a fever.  We got him checked out and then started him on antibiotics for strep throat, but that quickly caused lower GI distress.  Because there are four babies here, there is great fear and trepidation that the disease will spread and wipe out the youth of Australia. No, sorry, that was On the Beach, the book again.

Kids are running everywhere, I’ve been on the phone and e-mail now since about 9 AM dealing with ISSUES, and, on Monday afternoon, I get to jump into the car, drive half a day and head back to Washington D.C./Frederick for an all day meeting Tuesday with the scientific leadership from Ft. Detrick.  Then I get to spend the rest of the afternoon with our attorneys and head back to Windber for a board meeting or two dealing with SPECIAL ISSUES.  (Someday, I’ll be able to write about the Special Issues thing, but for now…)

Okay, okay, it’s not a real restful vacation, but, at least I don’t have to go deep sea fishing for Father’s Day with the other Dads.  We did that about 26 years ago and I threw up things I had eaten in First Grade.

Back at the hospital, babies are everywhere, our surgery suites are booming, anesthesiology and the OB nurses are going bonkers from the patient load, the accounting staff is dealing with lots of auditors ( just cause it’s time of the year) and we are heading toward a whole new fiscal year and $45M of new challenges.

So, unless I find a tanning booth, it looks like I’m going to remain pasty white and pleasantly plump as I watch the sun set over the Atlantic Ocean from the windows of Seasar’s Palace, our zillion dollar home away from home.

What was that I just heard?  Oh, it was the sound of a cold beer calling me.  “I’m here, . . .   Over here.”  Gosh, I miss the mountains, deer and work . . . NOT.

The end of the Don Imus Show is the latest in a continuing saga of events generated by our continuously morphing society. What did Imus do? He went where numerous other shock hosts have gone before him, but society reacted more profoundly this time as we continue our collective struggle to define our emerging consciousness.

Collectively, we are clearly approaching a major paradigm shift internationally that has been fashioned by the enormous technological advances that our world has been experiencing during the previous decade. Predicated upon the fact that we are now totally and completely tied to each other world wide for the first time in history, this transformation has resulted in the broadest societal change that the Earth has ever faced.

We are hooked up on multiple levels. From the mountains of Afghanistan to the deserts of Saudi Arabia, from the Arctic to Siberia, our fellow human beings have wireless communication devices that provide contact capacity where it had never existed before.

We now have the ability to commune through the Internet, through cell phones, through Treos and Blackberries with almost anyone anywhere in the world. When teenage kids join each other in chat rooms across continents, nothing goes unchallenged. Regardless if it is the misstatement from leaders, from clergy or from a shock jock, they now have the ability to confirm, verify and validate immediately and completely by tapping some keys or simply calling each other. This quantity of massive change has resulted in anger, fear and a certain amount of chaos as we struggle to define new pathways in our culture because this connectedness creates new truths and new accountability.

What Imus did, either intentionally or unintentionally, was demean a portion of our society, and, even though it previously cost us half a million lives to determine the actual definition of a human being during the Civil War, and in spite of the fact that Women’s Suffrage is long over, our civilization seems to finally be emerging in a positive manner in that it is no longer interested in supporting hurtful comments that degrade or humiliate our brothers and sisters.

The rules are changing. Don selected the wrong string of words from an old belief system that, even in jest, has now cost him his $10M a year salary. It is clear that many of us do not want to continue to support a philosophy of meanness. It seems that our civilization is in the long process of learning to be kind, and it is the duty and responsibility of our leaders and icons to be honest brokers of the truth. For that miscalculation it was determined that Imus has failed, and now we will move on to determine what our new societal standards will become.

THE BEESON COUSINS, CIRCA 1950

My mom’s family had eight siblings, and this picture was a representative sampling of their offspring.  It looks like at least a few were missing: Joe, Bill, Eddie and Bobby were already starting families of their own or were on their way to Korea.

That was me in the front row trying to make a getaway.  My brother and my cousin Ray, the blonde guy, were holding onto me.  If you look to the right, my cousins Wallace and Elaine are just watching in pure wonderment at my silliness as Kenny, the baby in the top row, is looking for a choo choo train.  (He is an extremely successful computer programmer now.)

That group went on to become nurses, teachers, a librarian, railroaders, technologists, carpenters, musicians, store owners, and a dozen other professions.  Only three or four of us got to go to college, and at least half moved away to places like California, Pittsburgh, Chicago, and Florida.  About five of my cousins have passed on, but the rest try to stay in touch in different ways on a regular basis.

We came from a family that started a town called Uniontown, south of Pittsburgh, founded by a Quaker named Henry Beeson in 1769. The town was so named because it was built on two farms, and our Uncle and great great great Grandfather had a dispute over whose name the town would bear.  This is a riot since the farms were owned by Henry and his brother Jacob.  Let’s see: “We’ll name it Beesontown. No, we’ll name it Beesontown.”  They decided to end the argument by naming it Uniontown, the union of their two properties.

Some of our ancestors had done alright: one was a Senator; there were officers and soldiers in the Continental and Union armies; one was a friend of the Marquis d’ Lafayette; another was the Owner of the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City, Kansas; another a philanthroper who started the Beeson Divinity School at Samford University (I always thought it was Stanford); and one even taught a young man to play piano who would later become the President of the United States (and be impeached).

My favorite story, though, was the cousin who became an Indian Chief.  He was kidnapped by a tribe of Native Americans from Florida.  After ten years he had become so involved in their culture that they made him the chief.  As chief he was permitted to do anything he wanted.  He decided to come back home.  After a few months back home, he then realized how good Florida had been and went back to his tribe.

It’s kind of ironic to me that, even at this young age, my goal was to break away and have a shot at making a difference.  It’s certainly been an interesting journey these past few decades because the spirit that existed in that little boy in the picture still burns brightly in me.

How interesting it seemed to me that, after all these years of fighting the wave, all I really wanted to do was to help to redirect the energy of that wave to make the health care experience more meaningful, more human, more purposeful, more dignified and more nurturing.

The great unifiers, love and respect, are really what it’s about.  So, as we move into our 123rd month of working here at Windber, it is with a better view of a very old picture.  It’s about doing all that we can to encourage respect for every person who works here, visits here and is treated here.

Thanks, Jacob, Henry, Wallace and Mary Beeson for giving me a good pad from which to launch.

Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) said, “Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.”

As one of my former CEO’s used to take great pride in saying, “The secret is there is no secret.”

So, who would’a thunk it? Readership of this blog is increasing dramatically. I suspect that we will see even more activity this week-end as people tune in to find out what happened at Friday and Saturday’s Health System Board meetings.
…
Okay. So, I’ll just tell you that the secret is there are no secrets.

Finally, in the “Facts from Florida” column. Here’s one of the most disconcerting things that I heard at my ACHE course last week. If you are a child today, there is a 30% chance that you will develop Type II diabetes. One third of our children today will be afflicted with Type II diabetes and the devastating impact of that disease. Now, besides the fact that we are overweight, underexercised and nutritionally bankrupt, here’s one of the other reasons why: We are spending 2.2 trillion dollars this year on health care in the United States and only about 4% of those monies are being spent on preventative medicine.

Think about it.

I‘ve written a slew of Christmas blogs, stories and memories.  This week’s blog is about S. I. Hayakawa and his book, Language in Thought and Action.  It was written in the late 40’s, and hadn’t made it to the general college curriculum until the 1960’s.   As a freshmen college student my impression of the book was that it was about thought and mind control through the use of disinformation. 

"The original version of this book, Language in Action, published in 1941, was in many respects a response to the dangers of propaganda, especially as exemplified in Hitler’s success in persuading millions to share his maniacal and destructive views. It was the writer’s conviction . . . that everyone needs to have a habitually critical attitude towards language — his own as well as that of others — both for the sake of his personal well-being and for his adequate functioning as a citizen.  Hitler is gone, but if the majority of our fellow citizens are more susceptible to the slogans of fear and race hatred than to those of peaceful accommodation and mutual respect among human beings, our political liberties remain at the mercy of any eloquent and unscrupulous demagogue."

What took me back to former Senator Hayakawa’s book was the happenstances of this week’s reported events.  At a Holiday Party, I had the distinct misfortune of sharing a passionate conversation with someone who agrees with only about 1% of my personal views of the world. He was very upset that anyone would have accused Marines of having massacred citizens of Iraq. Just a few days later, it was publicized that the Marines were held for trial for that massacre by the Marine Corps.

According to an indictment approved Dec. 13 by a grand jury in Orlando, the brother-in-law of a former PA Congressional candidate was arrested on child pornography charges .

Finally, I received a telephone call from a reporter from a prominent Washington newspaper who wanted to write a story about his view of perceived inappropriateness of a relationship between our Congressman and two lobbying firms in Washington D.C.  This story emanated from our own area.  Someone from the Johnstown area called the reporter to initiate this slanted, investigative reporting. He freely admitted that to me.

What struck me about all of these stories was not their content.  After all, sadly, soldiers have been accused of inappropriate massacres since the beginning of mankind and of war.  Although child pornography is upsetting to all of us, it was not the disturbing nature of that story that was bothersome, it was the lack of coverage of the story.  Finally, my perception of the very solid role lobbying groups have played in helping our area begin to emerge from near economic ruin to some infinitely small amount of economic viability was not the issue here. Rather, it was the blatant attempt on the part of the reporter to block out the truth, to turn the truth into his perception of truth, and it was about his lack of desire to hear the truth.

What brought back Dr. Hayakawa’s book was the way the different wings of the press handled or attempted to manipulate these stories.  Some papers decided either that they weren’t stories or that they were very little stories.  Some thought they were important BIG stories, and some tried to make stories out of nothing.

As someone who has had to respond to the press for nearly 30 years, I can tell you that, when you run into a sensationalist, it is rarely a pleasant experience.  You can always be sure that your words will be twisted and turned to his liking.  You can usually tell in the first thirty seconds where the reporter is going with the story, and when they constantly reject the truth in your statements and push and push toward their point of view, you quickly realize that it is NOT going to be a good or honest story, not a true story, not an accurate story. 

The part that made me most uncomfortable and has continued to make me uncomfortable is that our media, and many times our legal system doesn’t seem to care about the truth, the correct or honest answers, or the moral high ground.  They care about THEIR story, their slant, their spin, their political view.  They care about readers, and sales and settlements.

So, as S.I. Hayakawa said, "Cow one is NOT cow two."  Look carefully at the cows.  Decide what you’re seeing, and try to objectively differentiate the realities between them.  I had five witnesses in my office during the story with the Washington reporter, and that’s what thirty years has taught me.

As the Holiday Season swings into full gear, it always becomes a time of anticipation and reflection. It just seems like yesterday that I was asking for that Allied Van Line toy truck as my last Santa present, which, by the way, he screwed up and gave me a Wyandott Moving Van instead. It took fifty years, but now I can say that it was the thought that counted.

The Holidays were always a time for hot chocolate, cookies, turkey and ham barbecues?  What do I know?  It was just our tradition?  The family would go to midnight church services and come back, open one present each, eat, and go to bed to await the coming celebration. It was lots and lots of work for the moms, and lots of curses for the dads as the presents were constructed, reconstructed, or deconstructed.

Dad and mom didn’t drink, but on this very special occasion, a tiny glass of Mogen David elderberry wine was consumed and for the next twenty minutes all they complained about was how hot their cheeks were.

Well, this year we have plenty of things to be thankful for…starting with our health.  We have plenty of things to look forward to as well, but, of course, the usual Holiday tensions abound.

Tonight, three more holiday gatherings, and a continuing argument by some of our contracted employees over holiday work coverage.  We have political maneuvering going on in every direction over numerous topics, and it’s my job to sit back, take a deep breath or seven, sort through what’s real and what’s not, dig to the bottom of the story, and make a decision based on the facts.  Yeah, that’s the holiday spirit.

Wonder if the guy who said, “There’s no room at the Inn” ever had any second thoughts?  Nah, it was planned that way.  As a former Quaker, Presbyterian, Catholic, and secular humanist, my mom always thought that everything was predestined.  So, maybe this is a cute little play that is just moving along one page at a time.

Well, let’s enjoy our families, our friends, our loved ones and our neighbors.  Let’s forgive and forget.  Let’s look forward to a better New Year, and be good, for goodness sake.

A song from the seventies always replays in my mind by the brother and sister group, The Carpenters:

Sometimes not often enough
We reflect upon the good things
And those thoughts always center around those we love
And I think about those people who mean so much to me
And for so many years have made me so very happy
And I count the times I have forgotten to say “thank you”
And just how much I love them

It’s no secret that my first forty-plus years or so were totally wrapped up in music.  Actually, it all started when my Aunt Mildred gave me my Cousin Jack’s drum sticks at the age of eight.  You see, Jack and Uncle Bill were great drummers. So, my private lessons began when I was two years short of a decade, and continued through graduate school. There were tens of thousands of dollars worth of private, one-on-one instruction from all makes and models of teachers. 

This blog, however, was intended to give you an idea about goal setting and accomplishments related to that end. 

At age 15, my professional trumpet teacher in Pittsburgh informed me that it was time to prepare for the Carnegie Mellon Honors Band auditions.  This 100+ member band was made up of only the area’s very best musicians.  Literally hundreds and hundreds of music students from all over Western PA, Ohio and West Virginia converged on the CMU campus and stood in front of the region’s top teachers to compete for the highly prestigious positions available in this phenomenal band.  For example, a couple of hundred trumpet players would vie for the 10 or so seats available to trumpet players.

So, what was the drill?  First, those individuals who studied with the top music professors in the City of Pittsburgh had an edge.  It was important for me to get a spot with Carnegie Mellon’s Anthony L. Pasquarelli who, for many years, was the most sought-after free lance trumpeter in Pittsburgh.

What else did it take? It took disciplined practice, hours and hours of practice.  It took discipline to also keep from over extending myself during the normal, daily musical endeavors, i.e., don’t blow  your brains or your lips out at the football game or the Thanksgiving parade. 

The other very very big requirement was to select the proper solo.  Typically, the solos were professional level, and required months to learn and then to memorize.  Actually, the solos were usually written by Herbert Clarke, who is widely considered one of the greatest cornet soloists of all time. and, believe me when I tell you that this guy was a freak of nature.  It was ALMOST impossible to even get through one of his solos. 

Then came the intangible, development of self-confidence.  Tony taught us how to appear self confident. He taught us how to carry ourselves when we walked into the room.  He taught us how to take out our horns and look confident and self assured, and then, as a back-up, he insisted on our carrying in a glass of water in case we got dry mouth from nerves.  We also performed in front of our peers for practice to help us get over the nerves thing.

When the day came, you stood in line for a long long time, went into the room, played pieces of your solo for the judges, and waited for a week or so to hear who made it. 

Here’s the part that made music real: After three years of trying and trying, practicing and practicing for literally hundreds of focused hours and a total commitment of heart, mind and soul I took my best shot.  After three years of work to make sure I had the right, professional trumpet, the best possible lessons (that were twice as much as we could afford), you were armed and ready.  After driving back and forth to Pittsburgh every Saturday for three years and memorizing the impossible solos, you knew you were on the right track.  After mastering my nerves and my ability to play the required music, the results came back three times that I had not made it.  The last year, I believe that I made alternate.  That meant that, if one of the kids on last chair got sick, I would have had a chance to get into the band. I never got into the Honors Band. 

Why, you may ask?  It was because of God or nature or fate.  Talent was the only uncontrollable thing that kept me out.  It might have been the fact that my teeth were a little crooked and my folks couldn’t afford braces.  It might have been because I was the work horse of my high school marching band, and this all took place during football season when my lip felt like chopped liver most of the time, but, most probably, it was because at least ten of the players were just more talented.

What a great life lesson/s.  Getting into that band was the single most important thing in my life at that time, and my efforts never were good enough to get me in.  Practice was never the problem.  Commitment was never the problem.  Sensitivity to the music was never the problem.  Pure, raw, unadulterated talent was most probably the problem.  Regardless, the discipline, the persistence, the training, the hard work, the desire have all stayed with me for my entire life.

So, let me end by saying, "Keep music in the schools."  It really can make a positive difference in plenty of lives, and it’s also good to remember that the people who don’t make all of their goals have plenty to prove the rest of their life.  Hence, my total commitment to all of my jobs these past several decades. I’ll show those yum yums . . .