A gentle morning...

“What sweetness is left in life, if you take

away friendship? Robbing life of friendship

is like robbing the world of the sun. A true

friend is more to be esteemed than kinsfolk.”

– Marcus Cicero

I had a full schedule and hadn’t told her I would be in town. On Friday afternoon, it looked like Saturday morning was going to be open. My flight wasn’t until noon. I made the call.

“Hey Drislinger (or something close to that),” she said. – She has caller ID and enjoys butchering my name.

“Hey Ann,” I replied. “Want to go to breakfast in the morning?”

“Are you in town?” she asked with delight.

I told her I was in, but hadn’t called, because I was sure we wouldn’t be able to see each other.

The morning was glorious with sunshine and cool temperatures. This was Southern California, after all. She sat across the booth as we ate breakfast at the Broken Yolk near Pacific Beach in San Diego. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air. Most customers had fresh fruit with their fare, and as is the custom in this restaurant, several of them were toasting one another with Mimosas (Champagne and chilled orange juice). It was a place we frequented in another day, and while it had been several years, it was as if we had been there the day before and the day before that. Isn’t that the way it is with old friends?

We reminisced in quiet tones about people and organizations we had in common, and the years we spent on shared pathways. We talked about individuals who had influenced our lives and smiled when their names popped into our consciousness and conversation. We wondered out loud how we had been so lucky to have known, befriended and walked with people who were true giants…folks who had changed the lives of millions of people.

Giants, yeah that’s it. 

While we continued recounting stories about some of those folks, I was in the presence of one of them right across the table! Without her, I would not be writing this blog. I would not have had a career in spine, nor would I have been honored by her loving heart lo these many years.

In the late 1980s, I had just begun working for an orthopedic surgeon in Columbia, Missouri. He hired me from university teaching to ghost write. We built the largest objective measured spine rehabilitation center in the country – 15,000 sq./ft. (1,400 sq./m) on two campuses. The therapy staff was managed by my co-director, Janet W., a brilliant physical therapist. Protocol development, treatment by strengthing, endurance and outcomes, was my responsibility.

One day the Medical Director, handed me an announcement flyer and told me I needed to attend a spine meeting in Dallas, Texas. I called, only to find the conference was closed. “Call again,” he said.

I did, and this time the phone was answered by the conference organizer, “Hello, this is Ann Carlton.” I explained the dilemma, to which she said, “Honey, you just come on down here. When you get to the meeting look for the grey-haired lady at the registration desk.”

Being an obedient man I did just that. 

When I got there, we chatted for a few minutes and then she smiled and said she needed to talk to someone. She returned and told me there was a conference later in the year in Chicago that she knew my boss was attending. She had spoken with the organizer of that meeting and told him she thought I should come along. He agreed, but since I was basically nobody anyone had ever heard of, I could listen, but not participate. “I really think you ought to go,” she said.

Who was this woman? We had just met! I fumbled around a little and said I would ask my boss. Little did I know this Ann Carlton woman would influence the rest of my life.

As it turned out, Ann worked for a Dr. Mooney, a famous orthopedic surgeon who organized a small task force on musculoskeletal pain, for the American Academy of Orthopedic Surgeons. I went to that meeting and unbeknownst to me at the time, would begin a life-long relationship with him.

Over subsequent years, I learned that when Ann suggested I call someone or go to specific meeting, it was the right thing to do. Behind the scenes, she crafted and shaped so many things that made my professional life a success. It wasn’t just me. I wasn’t special. It was her gift. She believed she was doing what she was called to do. There were no quid pro quos, no expectations. When she saw opportunity, she acted – plain and simple. In the process, she changed people’s lives – too many to count really. More importantly, she welcomed me into her personal world, of which, to this day I am honored to be a part.

The key to her brilliance was her uncanny peripheral vision…professional and personal. No wilting wall flower, she had the moxie to follow through with the things she saw and in so doing, changed so much.

So here we sat on this lovely spring morning, our mutual admiration society rich and over flowing. Well into her eighties, with many things to deal with daily, she remains a queen of optimism. “Change,” she says. “Change is a part of life.” She would say you can’t avoid it…deal with it.

After breakfast, she drove me to the airport. We continued to chatter like a couple of magpies until she stopped the car and I got out. “See you dear heart,” she said. “I love you.” I replied in kind.

Breakfast at the Broken Yolk was excellent as usual, but as she drove off, it was my heart that was full.

- ted

Franklin and perfection...

Be ye, therefore, perfect even as your

Father which is in heaven is perfect.

– Matthew 5:48 – Bible

It is surprising the number of times the Christian scriptures admonish people to be perfect.  Perfection, at least in the Biblical sense, DOES NOT mean reaching a point of spiritual enlightenment whereby one never makes mistakes, nor is vulnerable to error, but rather “…mental and moral completeness….” This suggests being fully grown, not invincible.

I’ve been reading the autobiography of Ben Franklin, one of the signer’s and architects of the Declaration of Independence. Josiah Franklin, his father, was married twice. Before the death of his first wife, Anne Child, she gave him seven children. His second wife, Abiah Folger, delivered ten. Benjamin was the eighth of that brood, making him one of seventeen.

There is much to be said of the remarkable man who, absent much formal education, taught himself French, Italian and Latin. He founded or organized many American institutions that we take for granted such as book lending libraries, fire-fighting houses, public hospitals, insurance companies, and literary societies. His inventions included bifocals, swim fins, lightening rod and flexible catheter, to name a few.

The topic here, however, is not the astonishing things he discovered or enhanced during a lifetime of boundless curiosity, but rather his interest in perfection. He was a Presbyterian, and while supporting the church a good part of his life, he stopped attending services, because he felt more time was spent on doctrine defense than enhancement and quality of parishioner’s lives.

Before the age of twenty, he took it upon himself to attempt moral perfection. Because he understood the difference between right and wrong, he felt it was just a matter of choice. He writes,

“…I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection. I wished to live without committing any fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into…But I soon found I had undertaken a task of more difficulty than I had imagined. While my care was employed in guarding against one fault, I was often surprised by another…”

The result was a failure. Failure of the task did not mean failure in the pursuit. Because of this genuine and diligent attempt at moral perfection, he devised a system whereby he might accomplish the goal of a better-quality life. His mental industry led him to review philosophic writings related to virtuous life. He says,

"In the various enumerations of the moral virtues I had met with in my reading, I found the catalog more or less numerous, as different writers included more or fewer ideas under the same name…"

The following is the set of virtues Franklin determined would make his life better.

·     Temperance – Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.

·      Silence – Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.

·      Order – Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.

·      Resolution – Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.

·      Frugality – Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself, i.e., waste nothing.

·      Industry – Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.

·      Sincerity – Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.

·      Justice – Wrong none by doing injuries or omitting the benefits that are your duty.

·      Moderation – Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.

·      Cleanliness – Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.

·      Tranquility – Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.

·      Chastity – Rarely use venery, but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.

·      Humility – Imitate Jesus and Socrates.

From his failure to become perfect through the process of always choosing the right over the wrong, he determined he should concentrate on one virtue at a time. Having mastered one he would move on to the next and so on. To ensure his best effort, he created a book whereby he daily recorded and reviewed the specific virtue he was attempting to master. Understanding these things take time, he allotted one week per virtue. To master his goal Franklin worked in thirteen-week cycles, repeating them four times a year. Over time, the diligence of these recordings diminished, but not his deliberate attempts to keep them foremost in mind.

In the end, he writes that he was not able to perfect each of them, but the very effort of conscientiously working of them made the quality of his life immeasurably better.

Franklin’s experience and the results he achieved provide us a lesson in the value of deliberately exercising moral principles. They should be prized – maybe more so in this day and time.  They remind us that diligence, character and virtue count, not for pointing to other’s faults, but for strengthening ourselves…a mirror, so to speak, by which we reflect our lives.

Moving toward perfection is the key…accomplishing it? I can’t speak for you, but it is above my pay grade.

-ted