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By Benjamin Whitlock, Class of 2015
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| Benjamin Whitlock |
Introduction
According to the Center for Rural Development in Eastern Kentucky, I am an Appalachian. I have always been aware that my family had a unique culture – a culture all its own. My grandfather, a career dairy farmer, and my grandmother, who worked beside him every day until they sold the farm, are an integral part of my life. In the dimness of their two-room cabin (no they don’t live there, the cabin is a merely a part of their prominent antique collection), they recline in rocking chairs, coffee in hand, to tell stories from their childhoods. Likewise, my maternal grandfather, a career Army NCO, extends everyday wisdom to me through stories. Likely, neither set of stories are non-fictional. They are, at times, absurd. Instead of being fact-based, they are entertaining, imaginative, and spew wisdom that few are privy to. If story-telling is a part of Appalachian culture, then – yes – I am Appalachian. I’m proud to be, actually.
The problem with family stories and the art of story-telling is that they are, to most, nothing more than stories. It’s like a language our own, like the story told by my Pa Dennis: of climbing a Cedar tree to rescue a single chicken egg that was laid there, and keeping it warm in his sock drawer . . . wait – no one else knows that story. (There, my friends, is the rub.) The lesson drawn from such stories, though, is universal. Even though Pa Dennis didn’t know how the egg got there and cannot explain why he climbed the mile-high Cedar – not to mention how he knew it was there at all – or how he knew that the egg would even hatch, his grandchildren understand that details are not important. We are not meant to know every detail – we are meant to believe, have faith, and keep the little egg warm until it hatches.
Also, the origins of these stories are unknown. Who told them first? Who knows?
Since I have embraced the ambiguous nom “Appalachian,” I would like to present my own story. I do not know where it comes from, who the characters are, or where I heard it first. However, I ask you to believe, have faith, and wait for the tale to hatch an idea in you. If you do not believe that it happened, please do not shoot the teller – you are reading the story as it was told to me. That’s all I can say. I will, however, also try to provide real-world examples that can be verified – just so you know there’s real wisdom here. I hope you enjoy.
Part One
A boy went to his Dad one day, and said “Dad, what are we going to do today?” The father, who was busily sorting tools in his workshop, looked down at his son with love and tenderness. He said, “Well, I have a whole day planned for you. It won’t be an easy day, I’m afraid, but I think you’ll enjoy it. I’m going to put you to work.”
“Great!” the boy said. “What am I going to do?”
“I’m not going to tell you, Son. You’ll see for yourself. Just believe me,” he said smilingly. “There’s a plan. The first thing I want you to do is go to Mr. Mitchell and tell him you want to help him for a while.”
The boy left his father’s workshop confused, but sure in what he should do. He walked directly to Mr. Mitchell’s house, ready for a hard day’s work and maybe some cookies and lemonade at the end of the day. He was excited about being outside on such a beautiful day and, as he looked about him, he could think of nothing but sunshine and the light breeze that blew his face and shirt-tail. As he walked, though, he began to wonder why his father had sent him to Mr. Mitchell. He didn’t know what Mr. Mitchell needed from him – Mr. Mitchell was a capable man – and he didn’t understand why his father had been so vague. Nevertheless, he approached Mr. Mitchell’s door and presented himself for work.
“Hello Mr. Mitchell,” the boy said. “I’m here to work for you. My father sent me.” The older man looked at the scrawny boy, thought he may have potential . . . possibly . . . and led him to his library. In the library, Mr. Mitchell did not put the boy to any task, but asked him question after question. He made the boy think about things he had never thought of before; he made him think about leadership and responsibility and courage and strength and honor; he made the boy think about what he wanted to do and what was needed of him; and he made the boy think about being a better man. Mr. Mitchell never asked the boy to go outside to work, but kept him indoors to discuss these difficult questions. When the boy left Mr. Mitchell’s, the day seemed different. He wondered why his father had sent him there. Why had he had such a tough time of it with the older man? Why should he, at such a young age, be faced with such tough decisions? One thing was certain, though, Mr. Mitchell certainly put him to work. . .
Another thought penetrated his foggy mind as he left Mr. Mitchell’s: What would he do now? He doubted his father had planned such a busy day, afterall.
(To Be Continued. . . )
The Real World Example
National Public Radio interviewed a Marine Lieutenant named Donovan Campbell in 2004, then followed up with another interview in the spring of 2013 to see how LT. Campbell has developed since returning to a civilian career. The interview is powerful and emotional, and sheds a bright light on leadership and responsibility. If you have ten minutes, please listen to it: http://ttbook.org/book/transcript/transcript-10-years-iraq-donovan-campbell
While deployed overseas, LT. Campbell pledged to bring every man in his platoon home safely. . . but, while in combat, one of his Soldiers was severely wounded and died. LT. Campbell was devastated. As a 20 – something leader, he was faced with questions that very few of us will ever be asked. (Thanks be to God) He returned to the United States, attended the funeral service of his Soldier, and planned to say words of comfort to the fallen Soldier’s family. However, when he approached the Soldier’s mother, he could not say anything except “I’m so sorry.”
The responsibility that LT. Campbell felt toward the loss of a Soldier – someone who trusted his leadership abilities entirely – is, perhaps, even more powerful than LT. Campbell’s leadership or his willingness to put his life at risk for the United States. He said,
I still own my responsibility in the failure to bring him home. It may not have been my fault, but it was my responsibility. I was the leader and there was only one person to look to, when you, for everything that your men do or fail to do, and that’s the leader…That’s the right mentality to have, even though you may err on the side of carrying too much weight. Particularly as I’ve seen leadership as applied in, well, at least in my context in the business world, I think that the Marines get it right, and they got it right by teaching me from the get-go that hey, it is your job as a leader to accept responsibility, that’s what you do, particularly to accept responsibility for failure. And when you’re given these forty young men, we’re going to tell you your life is no longer about yourself, it’s about taking care of them and achieving your mission. That’s a, I realize now that that’s a rare philosophy, and that’s a rare leadership model. We say that life is not about you anymore. The minute you pin on the rank, and the minute you accept that paycheck, you accept responsibility and you accept a commitment to something greater than yourself. And I think that applies just as much now as it did then.
Just like the boy in my story, LT. Campbell had to wonder why, in the prime of his life, he was faced with such difficult questions. “Why” is the single question that resonated for him, just as it did for the boy.
As readers, or in this case, listeners, we also have questions: What type of people do we want to be? What does leadership mean for us? And, Is there a reason? Is there a plan?
Benjamin Whitlock is a junior McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville. He is majoring in History and Political Science.