Sleeplessness

Sleeplessness

By Jeffrey Bowen  (November 2019)

I lie awake in darkness.

My mind discovers a life of its own.

Images roll in like waves,

And problems float to the surface

With help or hindrance

 From unpredictable characters.

Nothing is resolved, everything unraveling.

I remember my first night in this room,

Wrapped in a sleeping bag before we moved in.

The humming of the city still echoed,  

But out in the country

The silence was surround sound.

I could actually hear it.  

The dark was a disquieting cloak.  

Tonight a sweet tragic song from my teenage years  

Plays in my head like a scratched up 45.

I hear the words again and again

To a point where the record skips.

 I forget the lyric, but I know it rhymes.

As my night mind wanders,

I dream that I am never quite on time,

Never packed but urgently due somewhere.

I wander through familiar offices

But don’t really know where to go.

Often I meet the bastards who made life difficult.  

In the semi-dark I trace the shreds

Of cold snowlight peeping through the window corners.

The furnace comes to life.

The pipes creak as their water veins swell.  

The dog sighs and shifts positions.

 So do I.  

But there is little comfort as my shoulders

Complain to each other,

And my legs refuse to rest.

 A distant train gains volume

As it works it way from town to town

And then recedes as it always does on schedule.

I remember my preset.

imprinted long ago when I had to mind the weather.

Retirement never stops me from awakening

Precisely at 5 a.m.

But that is two hours away.

 So I lie in stillness half aware,

And I wait, then wait some more.  

The images, my urgent mission,

 My teenage angst, the furnace,  

And my strange dark life

Recycle as I shift and toss.

Then gradually, but without warning,

I disappear.

 Later I can never remember when.

Life in A Paradoxical World

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

A paradox gets our attention because it upsets logic and expectations.   By definition, it states a proposition that seems self-contradictory, yet really expresses a possible truth.

Some examples are deceptively simple.   For instance, I could tell a friend that nobody goes to a particular restaurant because it is always too crowded.  A boy could be warned not to go near the water until he learns how to swim.  Or a parent might complain to a teacher, I know you haven’t taught my child anything because he hasn’t learned anything.  

 Various puzzlers can be found throughout literature, science, and religion.   In his classic Animal Farm, George Orwell tells us that “all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.” Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu makes us hesitate by saying, “If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.”  Historians explain how history repeats itself.  Still we selfishly manipulate the obvious.   In medicine, drugs we develop to reduce pain can cause death.  Ironically, we must invent other drugs to reverse our addictive demise.      

Revealing truths lie behind many of these apparent contradictions.   One tries to convince us that learning is a lost cause.  The more we learn the less we know.  What?  Should it not be the reverse?  Why would we spend billions of dollars and years educating ourselves to know less?

 The answer is that knowledge is endless.  The more we study to acquire and use it, the more we discover how much we don’t know.  Maybe this is why all of us should become lifelong learners.    

To continue with learning, common sense suggests that delving deeper into a topic and becoming a specialist is the best way to become an expert.   In some ways it certainly is.  When the pipes break, I want a plumber who really knows what they are doing.

 On the other hand, generalists excel as innovators and predictors of the future.  Those who build competencies across a wide range of fields as the world grows more complex can deduce their way to creative conclusions.  Too much knowledge may hamper versatility and ingrain fixed habits.

   Another paradox tempts us to think we are making progress toward some important goal because we are learning more and more about the method to get there.  Not so fast.  This conclusion is shaky for two reasons.

 First, we accumulate biases and misconceptions along the way, and as others regularly add new ideas to the mix, it becomes necessary to unlearn before we can learn.  By reorganizing or updating our knowledge base, we can clear our mindset and restart.

  A second problem is the tendency for goals to become our final destination.  Once achieved, we sort of forget about them.  The better approach, say experts, is to focus on habits.  They are self-renewing, and they compound themselves into lasting results.

Entire books are written about the paradoxes of health and medicine.  Unquestionably we are producing miracles by means of gene therapy, lifesaving drugs, and innovative diagnostic equipment.  But are we all victims of medical extortion?   We spend nearly a fifth of our gross domestic product on healthcare, amounting to $3 trillion annually.  On average, other countries spend half of what we spend per person, yet we deliver worse health care outcomes than any other developed country.  There are no easy political answers, but this much we know:  When profits trump compassion, we confront an unhealthy paradox.    

Budgetary reality also impinges on the field of education.   To illustrate, class size has been debated for years.  Reducing class size should verifiably improve student achievement using standardized measures.  It does, particularly when instructional methods are tailored to the change.  However, smaller classes require more teachers which is a comparatively expensive solution.  Besides, improvements in standardized test results are a suspicious measure of real learning.  As a result, debates about cost efficiency and effectiveness heat up during budget season.   

 Looking beyond these particular examples, our paradoxical world plays havoc with emotions.  One of my favorites is about loving because it tests our understanding of who or what we may try to control.  Think about this:  if you love someone, let them go.  If they return, they were always yours, and if they don’t, they never were. 

The Unity of Time

The Unity of Time

by Jeffrey Bowen

May the winds of spring remind you

Of the leaves that blew last fall,

And the summer sun send warmth

When winter gives you none at all. 

Let the seasons send a message

Write like patchwork on a quilt,

When squares are stitched together,

They show something more is built

With foresight to its purpose,

And beauty of design,

A scheme of vivid reasons

For the Unity of time.

The Social Inspiration That Came From Away

The Social Inspiration That Came From Away

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Recently we attended an awe-inspiring musical titled “Come from Away”.  The play interprets the true 9/11 story of 7,000 jet passengers whose flights from abroad were diverted to and delayed for several days in the isolated rural community of Gander, Newfoundland. 

With the help of just a dozen actors and a few props, we felt the shock and uncertainty of the passengers, followed by the compassionate response of a community whose population had instantly doubled.         

The wonder of this play comes from of the way people connected with each other.   In the midst of tragedy, social bonds were forged by heart-warming cultural exchanges, unique celebrations, lifelong friendships, and eventually even a marriage.  Shared inspirations about how to solve practical problems seemed to ignite continuously.  

It does not take a crisis or a play to experience the healing power of the Gander phenomenon.  Our need to connect socially is just as compelling as our need for water and food.

 In the grocery store recently, I stood beside a lady who was looking over a display of apples.  She remarked, “You know, I have always loved the Granny Smith apples because they make the best pies.”  Suddenly this reminded me of the neglected, unpicked tree that stands in our back yard.  I told my fellow shopper, “Wow, thanks!  My mom made the best apple pies ever, without using a recipe, but my wife’s are even better.  I have this tree with big green apples, but for years we have never picked it.  Now I will!”  

My point is that every day, and everywhere we venture, there are connections waiting to be discovered.   Some involve people and relationships, while others are triggered by ideas.  The two types tend to cross paths.  The key is to create or at least respond to inviting circumstances.   By sharing ourselves, asking questions and listening, we open doors to understanding ourselves and others.  Wise decisions and choices usually follow.

Research on our brains strongly suggests that social pain caused by alienation or loneliness produces actual physical pain that can damage every aspect of our health.  By the same token, positive social contacts are intrinsically motivating and gain strength from exercise.  Uniquely, humans are able to focus on the thoughts and feelings of others.  Doing so produces a potent advantage when we collaborate on a common goal.

As a retired school executive, I have often reflected on the kinds of social connections that produce the best results for our school community.  Often they thrive in extracurricular activities where relationships can be less formal and teamwork is essential.  What is more, I have concluded the following:  newer teachers benefit immensely from a mentor or induction program; students learn best when they teach each other; and when we lock curriculum into separate disciplines, we discourage curiosity and creativity.  Interdisciplinary learning sparks connections.

 in a journal I maintained for several years, I combined these thoughts into a philosophy: “Academic learning is surely important, but no more so than the social and emotional learning needed to develop positive interpersonal relationships and to collaborate to solve problems and get things done.  School is a society.  We have to make it become a community for ourselves and our students.”     

In Gander, a sense of community prevailed.  The stranded passengers gratefully funded a scholarship for the children.   Their future education sets the stage, but ultimately our children’s success in life, and our own as well, takes root from the social lessons we witnessed in Newfoundland.  

How We Discovered the Real Treasures of France

How We Discovered the Real Treasures of France

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

  On a recent trip to France, my wife and I realized that its impressive places and works of art came alive when we took a closer look at the stories of their creators.   Here are three of those stories about people whose historical dimensions gave purpose to our travels.  

In May of 1770 a 14-year-old winsome teenager named Antoine was escorted to France by an entourage of 57 carriages and 376 horses.  Awaiting was her future husband, a 15-year-old named Louis, the king’s grandson and heir apparent to the throne.   Soon known formally as Marie Antoinette, the young Austrian beauty had ash-blond hair, grayish blue eyes, and a radiant complexion.  She was lighthearted, frivolous and extravagant.  The public immediately embraced her like a latter-day rock star.   

Before long Marie learned how to celebrate wealth.  She thrived on the social whirl while her subjects increasingly suffered from high taxes and poor harvests.  Nor did she understand her public’s growing demand for democracy.  Although she never did say “Let them eat cake”, Marie was rather unfairly vilified and blamed for her country’s bankrupt treasury.  Just 23 years after her coronation, France’s last queen was publicly humiliated, beheaded and thrown into a commoner’s grave.   By 1793 her fairy tale became a tragedy beset by revolution.

  Nearly a century later, as the centennial celebration of that revolution neared, a unique wrought iron framework was taking shape on the city’s military parade ground of Paris.  Nowadays known as the Eiffel Tower, the so-called Iron Lady was roundly denounced as ugly, oversized, and likely to collapse.   Few believed it would be permanent.  But its talented designer, Gustav Eiffel, insisted the 984-foot tower would stand strong against the winds of time and serve as an enduring tribute to his country’s economic and technological rejuvenation.  Tragically, in the next century the limits of that renewal would be sorely tested twice in world wars.

     

 Gaston Huet was one of thousands of French and British soldiers trapped between Hitler’s Wehrmacht and the sea at the northwestern corner of France in May of 1940.   His home was the Loire Valley, and his lifelong commitment was to his vineyard in Vouvray.  Both would become an impossible dream over the next five years as Huet and his mates tried to survive in a POW camp for 4,000 officers in Silesia, Germany. 

After returning starved and near death from the war, Huet’s first words were, “The vines, what about the vines?” This legendary vintner went on to become one of France’s greatest winemakers as well as the mayor of Vouvray for 46 years.

The story of Gaston Huet reflects the extraordinary survival of French wines and vineyards despite the stubborn efforts of the Nazis to steal, secretly store, or transport back to Germany millions of bottles of the yields of France.   However, by sealing their precious wines behind brick walls in cellars, burying them underground in family gardens, and storing them in caves, or as a last recourse diluting them and giving Nazis the dregs, the French winemakers preserved their best wines for posterity.     

  France’s love for wine grapes is unquenchable.  Today the country produces

seven billion bottles annually across seven different wine-producing regions.  Rules for growing are strictly enforced by the state so that top quality is preserved.  Anyone who travels the rural roads of France, just as we did on our trip, must come away believing that vineyards and wine are the heart and soul of France.

Our trip included dining in Paris on the lower platform restaurant of the Eiffel Tower.  Coincidentally, the restaurants and elevators above us were closed due to 50 mile-per-hour gales.  Even though we felt a slight sway, we silently thanked Gustav Eiffel for building a monument that welcomes the winds.    

Finally, our visit to the City of Light would have been incomplete without a visit to Versailles, which is really comprised of the palace, gardens, and on the same grounds just outside the city, a magical chateau called the Petit Trianon.  This Disney-like fantasy land was really Marie Antoinette’s private domain, given by her husband as a hideaway.  There she and her companions could isolate themselves from the prying eyes of the hoi polloi and enjoy magnificent décor, musical plays, and a unique hamlet with quaint cottages, ponds, and endless flower gardens.  Marie and her friends loved the idea of pretending to farm.  

Our trip reached beyond the stunningly elaborate décor of Versailles, the dominating Iron Lady of Paris, and miles of vineyards.  No question, the sheer natural beauty of the landscape and cultural sites were a delight.   But our experience was more deeply enriched by characters who told us their stories.   The individuals I have introduced -- Marie Antoinette, Gustav Eiffel, and Gaston Huet – embody the destinies, accomplishments, and fates that reflect the real treasures of France.  

Introverts Face Challenges in an American World of Extroverts

Introverts Face Challenges in an American World of Extroverts

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Are you an extrovert, introvert, or somewhere in between?  Your personality type dictates a likely answer. Each type has a particular way of interacting with the world, acquiring information, and deriving energy from their surroundings.  Neurological studies suggest that our hard wiring has lots to do with it.  To be sure, neither style is wrong.  They are just different.      

At one end of the spectrum is the extrovert, typically said to have a dynamic and positive personality. These people are energized by the external environment and tend to be gregarious, sociable, assertive, and comfortable in the spotlight.  Risk takers and quick decision makers, they enjoy team efforts.

 At the other end of the spectrum are introverts.  They enjoy alone time and are more introspective.  Typically serious and quiet, their strengths include independent thinking and listening.  Although they often make excellent scientists, artists, or writers, their contributions may be overlooked because they avoid attention and prefer to stay to themselves.

Why is it important to recognize and account for the differences between extroverts and introverts?   The dominant American “culture of personality” definitely rewards extroverts, but since at least a third of us are introverted to some extent, the traditional social demands of daily life in this country can be stressful, exhausting, and a cause of low self-esteem and guilt.   

 Our bias toward extroverted personalities is obvious in worlds of media entertainment, organizations and business, and quite dramatically in national politics.  In her best-selling book Quiet (2012), Susan Cain explains how Dale Carnegie and Toastmasters have historically promoted extroversion a trainable skill.  Terms like “smoozing”, being a go-getter, selling yourself and thinking on your feet are prized in the American business world.    

Introverts find it difficult to act this way. Social anxiety disorder is a term doctors use to describe their fears.  In particular, fear of public speaking is considered by many second only to dying.  Deep roots can be found in school settings.  Curriculum may be differentiated, but progress toward goals depends greatly on group projects, presentations, and social relationships.  Social and emotional learning may seem effortless for extroverts, but the teamwork it demands can literally sap the energy of introverts.

 Of course, there are ways to overcome this, for example by encouraging individual initiatives and independent down time.  Many educators and organizational leaders are realizing that this practice helps everyone, including extroverts, become more imaginative and creative.  

Let me hasten to caution that introversion and extroversion lie on a continuum.  Different situations produce different outcomes.  Thus many introverts who prefer quiet evenings at home with family or a couple of very close friends become adept at creating an extroverted persona that appeals to a large circle of colleagues at work.

Besides adaptability, complementary relationships show winning results.  When one partner is an introvert, and the other an extrovert, if they adjust to one another’s habits and preferences, and communicate openly, the dynamic can be productive.  Famous examples include Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt, Barack and Michelle Obama, and Steve Jobs with Steve Wozniak as co-founders of Apple, Inc.

Are extroverts happier and more successful as leaders?  The answer may depend on the strength of an individual’s self-confidence, the context, and in the eyes of the beholder as well.  Analyses of business leader styles suggest a lean toward extroverts, while recognizing that both types can be very capable and effective.

Extroverted leaders thrive in a group of people and make immediate connections and friendships.  They tend to be quickly decisive.  They may be strongly committed to causes and vocal about it, so passion counts.  However, as Susan Cain points out, “There’s zero correlation between being the best talker and having the best ideas.”

On the other hand, introverted leaders can be great listeners and thus may be more approachable.  Their style encourages employee loyalty, and they get lots of work done.  Introverts are socially sensitive and may be insightful when conflicts arise and arbitration is needed.

In short, there is no ideal personality when we try to relate to one another.  We are bound to encounter every variation in school, work, or life.  What matters the most is accepting your predispositions and building on the strengths they represent.      

     

Keep Your Emotions in Perspective

 Keep Your Emotions in Perspective

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Do emotions control our decisions?  At times they can.  My first reaction to many situations is how I feel about it.  I think this is only human.  Remember Spock from Star Trek?  His stone-faced lack of emotion originated from another planet.   This came in handy in emergencies, but it drove the volatile human Dr. McCoy (Bones) to distraction.

 Bones had a point.   Real-world life without emotion is impossible.  Neuroscientists and other experts agree that perceptions, reactions, and motivation are shaped by our emotional presets.   When exposed to certain situations repetitively, we experience emotions that become habitual predispositions.  Often these become a lifelong feature of our identity.

To illustrate, in high school I was fortunate to compete in many speech contests.  Having an audience and getting positive reinforcement produced an memorable emotional high.   Accordingly, I chose a career that depended on public speaking.  Standing before a group, I always felt an adrenaline rush, but never fear.

On the other hand, years ago, a long period of river flooding caused a massive bridge on the state thruway to collapse without warning, drowning several families.   I get a creepy feeling every time we cross that bridge.   Similar mishaps, dramatized by media photos of cars teetering on the edge, stoke my fears of unrepaired bridges.      

When emotions galvanize action and are purposeful, they can be quite productive.   Anger, for instance, can prompt us to join a political campaign, while love may nurture caring and forgiveness.   The problem is that fears driven by negative experiences leave lasting emotional scars.

 My wife’s anxiety about moving is linked back to the seven disruptive times her family had to move when she was a child.   My own fear of boating in the fog derives from my dad’s terrifying nautical habits.   As for high school algebra, I won’t even go there.   Although reason and logic may temporarily overrule such fears, our emotions embed themselves in our views of the world.  Bad judgment and bias, mental or physical illness can result.

Why is this apt to happen?  In his current best seller, “Factfulness”, Dr. Hans Rosling stunningly documents how instant news coverage sets off alarm bells.  Journalists and activists typically focus on bad news.   Even though reported violent crimes in the U.S. have declined by about six million since 1990, the media mission to report worst case scenarios makes us feel just the opposite.

 We don’t stop to think that natural disasters, plane crashes, murders, nuclear leaks, and terrorism explain only a tiny proportion of deaths annually, compared to causes dominated by diseases, infections, and strokes.   Yes, the big causes are serious, but we confuse imminent danger with fear.  Despite minimal odds of exposure, we stress more about spider, snake, and shark bites than most anything else.    

The paradox of all this emotional upheaval is the plentiful factual information available to counteract our sense of crisis.  Dr. Rosling marvels that our data-based knowledge of world trends is worse than random guesses by chimpanzees.   Of course bad things happen out there, but in recent years virtually every indicator of our social, economic, physical and psychological health has dramatically improved.

 Our depressing insistence that the “world is going to hell in a hand basket” stems from the fact that we persist in remaining ignorant, misremember the past, or cling to outdated knowledge  in a world that is changing much faster than we realize.  I live in the present, but my data biases are locked in the 1950s and 60s.

Emotional control responds to strategies of mindfulness.  Here are a few suggestions that might help:

Ø  Avoid the “chicken little” trap.  Remind yourself in any stressful situation, it is unlikely that the sky is really falling.

Ø  Step back and don’t rush to resolve emotional situations.  Give them time to resolve themselves.

Ø  Blame bad situations on a gremlin, especially small emotional hassles.  Gremlins are always hovering about.  Displace blame in ways that don’t do harm to others.

Ø  Don’t fight your emotions.  Identify them, and apply reason of course, but denying the emotions just makes those worse.

Ø  Remember that your emotions are influenced by your past and often misremembered experiences.  These tend to become your vulnerabilities.   Accept this, and remain alert to it. Your emotions are you.

Ø  Practice reading other people’s emotions as it will attune you to your own.

Ø  Go to your happy place, get a good night’s sleep, put food on your stomach (especially ice cream), and remember intently those people who made you feel good, and just when that was.

Accept emotions as a big feature of life.  When we realize that our feelings are more about us than anyone else, we can change them.  On balance, we live in a world that is improving all the time.  Let’s feel good about it.

The Magic Powers of Water

The Magic Powers of Water

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

The final test for beginning swimmers at Opechee Park was to jump off the raft into deep water and then to swim over to me as I treaded water about 10 feet away.  All went well until the last child, a five-year-old boy, jumped in and just disappeared.  In a panic, I dove to the bottom and started feeling around in the murkiness.  No luck.  After a moment I glimpsed a shimmering shadow suspended halfway between me and the surface.  There he was!  Still under water when I reached him, this beginner seemed to be calmly looking all around.  

Back on the raft, I blurted, “Are you OK?  Why didn’t you swim to me?”  Never will I forget what he said: “Oh I was just looking at everything.  It was really beautiful!” 

This long-ago event reminds me how the neurological imprint of certain emotions can last a lifetime.  I am not sure my brain chemicals ever returned to normal, but this child’s simple observation left a profoundly positive mark on my psyche.  It is all about water.

Step back and consider a much bigger picture.   From millions of miles away, the world looks like a big blue marble.  It has been said that instead of being called “earth”, our planet really should be named “ocean” because the surface is at least 70 percent water.  On a more personal level, our bodies are about 60 percent water, and our brains are about 20 percent more than that, so I guess we are fairly close to becoming watermelons!  All that liquid is a tonic that courses through every aspect of our lives.

I grew up around beautiful lakes and streams, and spent every summer on the ocean.  After years of sometimes stressful city living, we purchased a rural New York home that features a big pond we just love to look at.   Fortuitously, we are never far from showers, a swimming pool, a hot tub, Lake Erie and many trout streams.  I am inspired by what I can do with this ubiquitous substance – drink, wash, hear, smell, play, walk, swim, fish, write about and photograph it. 

Marine biologist and best-selling author Wallace Nichols has summarized much of the research cited here.  He tells us what novelists, poets, painters, sailors, and, nowadays cognitive neurologists, have understood all along.  We adore water, not just because we must swallow it to live, not just because the sound of it helps us sleep, but because it makes us feel good.  Nichols calls this the Blue Mind – the title of his recent book.  

Why do you suppose about 80 percent of the world’s population lives within 60 miles of coastlines of some kind?  Why do at least 500 million people depend on water for their livelihood, while well over half the world’s economy involves water?  By no coincidence, most communities find some way to connect themselves to water, often a river, but maybe just fountains.  Waterfront property is disproportionately expensive because it is in such high demand.  Eons ago humans evolved their way into existence by emerging from water.  When we explore other planets, before all else we look for water.

Neuroscientists confirm that certain parts of the brain resonate to the emotional and physical magic of water.   Whether found in lakes, streams, or the ocean, usually it has a calming effect.  As a result, we tend to become happier, peaceful, more focused, less anxious and more reflective than in virtually any other setting.  The presence of water even surpasses the calming effect of rural greenery.

Admittedly, fear of water from a negative experience can override its many benefits.  One shark attack can cause widespread panic.  It is scary that 95 percent of the ocean bottoms remain unexplored.   At least half of our population never learns to swim, so understandably they shy away from dipping into most bodies of water.  Ruinous floods are unavoidable, and drought confronts us as well.  Climatically, water or the lack thereof can spawn fear, chaos, and death.  

Fortunately, water is my friend.  As a youngster, I spent hours fishing with my dad on the lakes of New Hampshire.  Later on, as a teenager, I lifeguarded and taught swimming, including beginners.  To this day I enjoy swimming laps.  Every part of the body benefits from this exercise, yet it also works on the mind and mood.  The sight, smell, hearing, and touch of immersion in a pool make floating or paddling around almost meditative.

 All those years ago, a little beginner at Opechee Park instinctively knew this.  When he told me what he saw, I never forgot.    

Stories Are Sticky Notes On Life's Bulletin Board

Stories are Sticky Notes on Life’s Bulletin Board

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

The best stories weave together the past with imagination and emotion.   They tell us a lot about who we are.   Often repeated in family histories or at gatherings, titillating tales make us want to learn what comes next.  Somehow, they create a more personal connection than either a single anecdote or a string of facts.   All the better if they embed a curious mystery or two, or even so-called skeletons in the closet.    

   Besides their content, stories need an adept delivery.   Often a cherished holiday tradition, the best stories are told aloud with dramatic pauses.  The skill can be learned, but I submit it is something of an inborn personality trait.   If you are blessed to have a relative with this talent, you may forget what they say, but you will never forget how they made you feel.     

 Saving skeletons and skillful oral deliveries for another day, I am happy to share a mind picture of two characters whose story lines have entertained me for decades:  my maternal grandfather Albert G. Suttill and my paternal grandfather Henry Bowen.       

  Albert Suttill left behind just one memento, an ivory slide rule engraved with his name and the date January 7, 1914.    Known as “Bertie English,” and always in frail health, he died at 52 around 1950.   His treatises on mechanical engineering can be found in the annals of Cambridge University.  He designed the historic seal on Hood milk trucks, as well as one of the earliest stateside hook and ladder fire engines.

  A nervous disposition discouraged Albert from driving vehicles.  Yet he often rode an Indian motorcycle with my infant mom in a sidecar.  His temperament was overlooked by those who insisted he drive the hook-and-ladder prototype of his fire engine in a town parade.  When he crashed it through a department store window on main street, the parade sponsors probably regretted their decision.

There is more.   His early unpatented designs for the Austin mini were apparently stolen by his partner, never to be recovered.  Given such talents, the U.S. government had to protect him from being kidnapped by spies from a German submarine lurking off the coast of New Jersey during the first World War.  Mysteriously, while Albert Suttill possessed valuable technical knowledge, the actual operation of machinery intimidated him.   So why did he end up as a boiler company engineer in Massachusetts?

According to my mother, when he was a young boarding school student, Bertie English was bullied and knocked to the ground on a soccer field.  When he looked up, a tall American student pulled him up and scared off his attackers.  At this moment, he vowed  to move to America.

My paternal grandfather Henry Bowen lived a uniquely different life on the Maine coastal island of Chebeague.   His father Hugh co-owned a so-called “stone sloop”, and at 23 years old Henry was the cook.    These ships transported granite from coastal quarries to locations that included the Washington Monument.  Mainly Hugh and Henry repaired lighthouses and spindles or markers.   I have seen photos showing Henry’s name embedded in the concrete footings of coastal lights.

 A story from 1885 surrounds one spindle that was much larger than most found along the coast.  It was due to be set on a treacherous ledge, seldom exposed by the tides, about two miles north of Monhegan Island.    First, the Bowens had to purchase a steam drill to core out a hole in the rock where they could set the spindle.   A mistakenly closed safety value nearly blew up their vessel.  Then using a boom derrick, the Jenny Lind crew had to lower a four-ton piece of iron in place quickly, from an awkward distance, without tipping their sloop over.    Although they managed to do so, no doubt Henry thanked God more than once in the little church they eventually built on Chebeague. 

Stories are certainly a  captivating way of describing whole lives or episodes with their many conflicts and harmonies.  Whether in workshops or in life generally, I have found that stories send memorable messages.   Long after we have gone, the sticky notes we leave on our personal bulletin boards will define our legacy. 

The Lasting Legacy of Our Railroads

The Lasting Legacy of Our Railroads

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Something about trains makes them utterly fascinating.  They are an iconic feature of our country’s history, serving since the mid 19^th century as a sturdy, economical, and appealing way to move us and our possessions across the countrywide.   

Today’s tourists adore them for their capacity to dramatize the past and the picturesque.  Intercity rail routes efficiently transport us to and from work.  140,000 miles of rails link 600 common carrier freight lines and generate $274 billion in American economic output annually.  Even after they disappear, the trains leave behind architectural gems that become everything from pharmacies to community centers.  And ever-growing miles of discontinued routes give us rails-to-trails.  But for many of us, above all else, trains produce nostalgic memories.      

 Growing up in the 1950s I remember some of the last steam trains huffing and clanking into our imposing granite station at the apex of town.  Later in the same decade, my Christmas present was an electric train that looked just like what I had seen.  My pals and I would argue about which kind of track worked better (American Flyer versus Lionel), and our dads shared our hobby enthusiastically.    

By the time I reached high school, diesels with plenty of amenities dominated the tracks west of Chicago.  A travel highlight for me was a cross-country “vista dome” trip with classmates to Montana in 1962.  As we saw virgin country under starry skies, while traveling in silver-sided comfort that featured dining tables and Pullman compartments, I was definitely impressed.

Many years would pass before I took another train ride, but in the meantime, I taught American history in public schools.  Thereby I came to appreciate the instrumental role of railroads as an engine of industry during the Progressive Era.  My students and I discovered the pivotal role of rails during the Civil War, and afterward in helping unify the country.   

Train stories carry an unsurpassable mystique.  Countless novels and films have built plots around train robberies, break-neck chases, and monumental disasters usually staged on wooden bridges.  Every time we start to forget “Murder on the Orient Express”, a remake appears!   One historian aptly described the American railroad’s imagery as comparable to the churches of Europe in the Middle Ages.

At the same time, trains explain many innovations we now take for granted.  Just to illustrate, consider the railroad’s unifying effect on how we tell time.  In post-Civil War days, historian Seymour Morris tells us, cities and towns across the country relied on the clocks of church steeples. There were 300 different times across the country, thus creating scheduling chaos for train travelers.   Railroad authorities tried to solve the problem with a daunting 600-page compendium of schedules.  Fortunately, an 1883 General Time Convention rescued the railroads by adopting the time zones we use today.   

Two personal impressions of trains leave me awe-struck.  First, work used require me to travel by rail regularly from Albany to New York City.  The expansive beauty of the Hudson River always kept me glued to the windows, followed by the shock of a bustling beehive known as Penn Station.

My second impression comes from a hugely entertaining chronicle titled “Last Train to Paradise”.   Written by Les Standiford in 2002, the book describes how a wealthy oil executive named Henry Flegler stubbornly funded a railway from Miami to Key West, despite crippling hurricanes, across well over 100 miles of scrub brush islands, mangrove swamps, coral kays and keys, and open ocean. Flegler put Florida on the recreational map in the early 20^th century, but by 1935 the Florida East Coast Railway had gone bankrupt.  A modern highway covers much of the railway’s old route.  I look forward this spring to learning firsthand about the remains and myths created by this “railroad across the ocean”.   

Hundreds of miles northward, we have our own historically celebrated railroad where I live near Arcade, New York.  The Arcade and Attica line, fully launched in the early 1900s, boasts a diesel and the last operative steam locomotive in New York state.  It carries passengers, cargo, and stages an array of appealing special events throughout the year.

 My personal reminder of railroad life comes from the wail of a distant whistle as a daily commercial freight train wends it way north around 4 a.m.  Although it may seem frustrating to wait as miles of boxcars rattle past a crossing, these leviathans remind me of their legacy as a driver of our American destiny.

Choosing Truth

By Jeffrey Bowen

There were no warning labels

On the life I chose to make,

But I knew I’d never find the truth

Unless I made mistakes.

And truth is something better

Than unreasoned certainty.

I believe the truth remains that way

No matter what you think you see.

Science doesn’t always prove a theory,

But at least it goes beyond some claims.

I’d rather learn what’s really real

Than find some fool who I can blame.

So my life will always stay with reasons.

It’s a choice I had to make.

At night I sleep much better

Knowing knowledge isn’t fake.

I am searching for a better world,

With room for joy and wonder,

But meaning lies in simple truth,

Without it we soon blunder

Into making bad decisions

And selling false realities.

I’d sooner hear the honest truth,

That’ssave who I chose to be.

We have to have the will to doubt

Amid the consequences.

After all we’re human,

And sometimes lose our senses.

But always rise above mistakes.

Learn more than what we’ve lost.

Truth belongs with certainty,

It’s always worth the cost.

Should Empathy Become A High School Graduation Requirement?

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­What if we required every high school student to demonstrate empathy in order to graduate?  I can already hear an avalanche of reservations triggered by educators who would object to one more mandate on their instruction, and by parents who might wonder just what empathy is and how to assess its presence in their children.

Let us put the mechanics aside for a moment, and consider the meaning and context of such a seemingly outlandish idea.  First and foremost, what is empathy and why do we need it? 

In current psychology, the term works in three related senses:  first, knowing another person’s feelings; second, feeling what that person feels; and third, responding to someone else’s concerns by word or deed.   Simply put, this means stepping into another’s shoes, both cognitively and emotionally, and really understanding or relating to what they are going through.    

Empathy can appear almost instinctively at a basic emotional level when you read another person’s facial expression and cannot help but mimic it.  On a higher level, it requires social awareness and understanding.  For example, a doctor who is treating a dad’s case of cancer should listen responsively and receptively not just to dad, but to all of the family members who are affected.  After compassionately digesting those collective concerns, the empathetic doctor should reach beyond a clinical explanation and really treat the whole family.  In fact, research has shown that such doctors generate better medical results with their patients.    

Another way of looking at empathy involves considering the effects of its absence. Daniel Goldman, an expert on social and emotional intelligence, calls these effects the “dark triad”.   They include believing that others exist to adore you (narcissism), that selfish ends justify the means, and that emotional pain and remorse in relation to others is meaningless. 

The preceding makes a strong case for empathy as a life skill.  But what difference does it make for our schools and their inhabitants?

 According to growing research evidence, not to mention common sense, a big difference!  Students with high levels of empathy reportedly display more classroom engagement, better communication skills, and more prosocial behaviors than their peers.  Extensive comparative studies document an 11-13 percentile point advantage in test scores for students who participate in focused social-emotional learning programs.  The most recent studies show international consistency of findings and both immediate and enduring effects.   

Consensus is growing around the idea that empathy is best activated when teachers not only demonstrate it themselves, but also build it into their daily instructional practices.  The competencies teachers should nurture include:  effectively reading emotions; recognizing and validating the feelings of others; finding positive ethical compasses; compassionately embracing cultural and historical perspectives; controlling one’s emotions; practicing kindness; collaborating to reduce conflicts and solve shared problems; and community service projects.   

Challenging teachers to inspire student competencies like these is not unrealistic because it already prevails in most classrooms, but may not yet be formalized in the curriculum.

Our state’s newly mandated mental health education requirements promote “attitudes and behavior that enhance health, well-being, and human dignity.”  The implications of social-emotional learning accompany our State Education Department’s extensive written guidance for strengthening the mind-body connection physically and emotionally.

 Extracurricular activities and school community events may foster wonderful opportunities to build empathetic relationships.  The values and practices of parents can set the primary stage for positive mental health in school and community   Principals and district leaders can make the term a watch word and heighten cultural awareness in a multitude of organizational ways.  What is even more, as our students look toward the future, they will find employers prize employees who exercise relevant social and emotional habits.     

The difficulties of measurement work against empathy becoming a graduation requirement anytime soon.  However, widespread attention to positive mental health as a curb to bullying and substance abuse suggest our journey toward empathy is well underway.

A good way for parents to help children think about empathy is to ask them before bed to tell you about a time that very day when they saw a teacher, classmate, or some other individual perform a remarkable act of kindness or empathy.  Try this out on yourself and you might sleep better.

1/16/2019

Lessons I Learned from Teaching U.S. History

 Lessons I Learned from Teaching U.S. History

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

 I learned some unforgettable lessons from my first year of teaching U.S. history to high school juniors and seniors in 1969.   Nearly all of my students were white and economically advantaged in Bethesda-Chevy Chase, Maryland.   My curriculum was framed by a thousand-page tome entitled “The American Pageant”.   A department mentor supplied a course outline, some time-worn mimeographed worksheets, and a cranky overhead projector.  Mostly I was left on my own to journey through the textbook’s exhaustive chronology of political, economic, and military developments.     

Naturally I wanted to help my 125 students remember enough to pass the course and graduate.  Yet I also rationalized that I could use history as a tool for critical thinking and big ideas about American character.  

Was I ever naïve!   I was trying to inspire interest in a textbook crammed with the publisher’s mind-numbing interpretations.   Besides boring my classes with a slew of forgettable historical facts, I was doing little to make our past relate to the present.  

 In 1969 we were passionately, sometimes violently launching the beginnings of the civil rights movement.  I had watched the skylines of Baltimore and D.C. burning the year before, as the national guard patrolled our streets.  There was growing discontent over the Vietnam war, and protests were getting louder and lifestyles were turning psychedelic.   My students and I remained comfortably oblivious to events of the day.  It actually surprised me when just one of my most rebellious students skipped school to listen to the daily reading of the war dead on the steps of the Capitol.  I persisted in disassociating the day’s issues from my teaching though ironically, by Valentine’s Day, I had received my draft notice and would spend the following year in Vietnam.

Another fallibility was my tendency to lecture and harness myself to the textbook as a main resource.  I was only trying to stay one factual step ahead of my most assertive students, but I was defaulting to advice I once heard from a workshop presenter: “I am here to teach, you are here to listen.  Raise your hand if you finish before I do!”  

Finally, our textbook, which still sits on my bookshelf, comes back to haunt me.   The American Pageant has been reprinted 13 times, but it continues to prove its original author’s observation: “Old myths never die – they just become embedded in textbooks.” 

Pageant is just one of 18 current texts examined by historian James Loewen whose best seller, “Lies My Teacher Told Me,” makes it abundantly clear that we are still trapped by Eurocentric misconceptions that “precolonial” native Americans had little to contribute to our culture, lacked technology (including guns), and had no idea what was really meant by property ownership.   Multicultural diversity and mutual accommodation were quite real 300 years ago, but the textbook I used as a resource never let this interfere with the story that white society was superior in every way and sanctioned by God.  

If I were teaching our history today, given adequate primary sources, I would start by coaching students to understand that acculturation works in many reciprocal directions.  I would ask them to enliven their learning by investigating their own ancestry as well as the embedded roots of today’s hot issues.  I would urge my students to ask why questions, the kind that demand the use of primary sources and live interviews.  

As for our native population, these days I would ask my students to consider what is meant by “America First” when we have 326 Indian reservations in our country, each one considered a sovereign nation.  Indeed, I have learned that history is a moving target.  We interact with it constantly, and thereby it changes. Ignoring our past may not mean that we repeat its mistakes, but its echoes send important messages. 

  Fortunately, as my first year of teaching flew by, I began to discover how to make U.S. history an empathetic experience.  An English teacher colleague and I were given time to co-teach a short course on World War I.  By mating historical events with fictional novels, we tried to immerse our students in the emotional grips of war and its devastating consequences.  We sought to help students feel how others felt, and to encourage and integrate different perspectives.   At other times, I staged debates and encouraged my students to present reasoned arguments, so they could advance and defend both sides of issues.  I started to rely on cooperative and differentiated approaches, hoping to individualize lessons and to avoid the one-way street of endless lecturing.

As I gained ground in teaching, I grew to appreciate the challenge of making history topically relevant and fair minded.  It is tempting to grab pieces out of context, but it takes enlightened teaching to help our children see it clearly and without premature and poorly informed judgments.

 Our collective civic future is at risk.  We have let our own history become a stomping ground for publishers rather than fertile territory for critical thinking, for exercising communication skills, for self-discovery and compassion.   There are multiple dots between America’s past and present.   When we connect those dots, we must look between the lines to see and feel the whole landscape with its many different routes to truth.