Rivers of Thought
Life, Leadership, Business & Technology
He was exhausted. Just nine short months ago he stood at the train depot in Grand Rapids, Wisconsin. A young man of 19, ready to join the war and give the Kaizer his due. Now he crouched in a trench surrounded by the smell of death just outside Soisson, France. Mortar fire exploded around him. He had already held too many friends as they died. The Germans had taken the city. The Americans were there to take it back.
That afternoon, like so many others the last few weeks, over what passed for a meal, he reached in his knapsack and pulled out a small envelope. Inside the envelope was a book. A handwritten book. A book written by his sweet Mary, the girl back home. In the book were pictures of friends, family and familiar places. His hands shook as he turned the pages remembering secrets shared with his beloved. What’s that? Orders from Command? Advance on the city? Quickly, he kissed the book, slide it carefully back in its envelope and tucked it in his knapsack.
Over the next few days the fighting was intense. The Germans were falling back. This city was ours! With hardly a moment’s rest they took control, pushing the front lines. All this fighting, all this death for a few hundred meters of gain. Finally, a moment of respite. He reached inside his knapsack longing to stare at her face. But wait…where is it? Desperately, he dumped his knapsack on the ground. The meager supplies scattered in the mud. No envelope. No book. -Summer, 1918 A year later, the war was over, the soldiers mustered out and returned home. The postman walks his route. He delivers a lone letter, addressed to young Mary, the school teacher, postmarked New York. Mary was curious. Since her Hal returned six weeks ago from defeating Germany, she rarely received a post. She tore open the envelope to find a letter…and a book…a handwritten book…a book lost somewhere along the front, near Soisson, France. Tears streamed down her cheeks, she could hardly call Hal’s name. Thinking something was horribly wrong, Hal raced to her side. Seeing the book, her took her in his arms and held her tight. -Summer, 1919I sat just off the main square of Soisson, waiting. Waiting until my mother would be awake back in the 
states. Finally, it would be 7AM back home. My dad answered. “Hi dad, can I talk to mom?” “Hello?” “Hi, mom, can you guess where I am?” “No….where are you?” “Mom, I am sitting at a restaurant in Soisson.” Like her mother 85 years prior, she started to cry. She could hardly call my dad’s name. “Gene, Jeff is in Soisson. Soisson?” “What’s he doing in Soisson?” “The book, Gene, the book. Dad’s book from the war.” -Summer, 2004
Dad got on the other phone as I told them about my excursion. I had been traveling back and forth to France for the last several years for my job. This trip required that I stay over a weekend. So, rather than being a tourist around Paris, I rented a car and headed north. I had heard the story of the book for years. My grandfather was a Doughboy in World War I, The Great War. My grandmother had sent him the handmade scrapbook to help get him (and her) through the time apart. Somewhere in battle he lost the book. A Sergeant Doss from New York found the book and carried it all the way home with him. Within days after arriving back in the states he sent it to my grandmother stating “I can write about only hoping to get an answer some time in the future pertaining to this young man as I don’t know whether he got through this awful worlds (sic) war.”
Eighty five years later, I wanted to follow in his steps.
So, after getting lost trying to leave Charles DeGaulle Airport, getting stuck while a peloton from a local bike race had the road closed, dropping my cell phone (and my safety net) in the middle of a highway while crossing to a military cemetery and having it hit by a motorcyclist, I was finally in Soisson. I wandered throughout the city. It was a beautiful summer day, a group of men were playing Pétanque in the park, women bustled in and out of the shops. No one gave notice to American snapping photos of the monuments. That afternoon I stood at the Oise-Aisne American Memorial, among its 6,000 crosses, so many crosses. So many names. So many stories.
Later, after getting lost again. Later, back at my hotel. Later, after learning “Ne pas retirer le disque du lecteur” on the dashboard of my rental car meant there was a Nav system (NOW they tell me!). I thought about that young couple, about their love, about their sacrifice. I thought about the thousands of men, the thousands of women who sacrifice. It is not only the dead who sacrifice. Anyone who serves gives of them self. Anyone who loves those that serve give of themselves. We can never repay our debt to those who sacrifice for us. Today is Veteran’s Day…Armistice Day. On the 11th hour, of the 11th day of the 11th month there shall be peace. Take some time today to remember those who sacrificed. Take some time to say thank you to those you know who have sacrificed.
Greg Friend, thank you! Jason Matthews, thank you! Tommy Brinkman, thank you! Nick Justice, thank you!To all who have served or are serving, thank you for your sacrifice!
Author’s Note: The Donut Man was a Doughboy – Many who know me and those that read Rivers of Thought know of my annual “day of remembrance” of my grandfather, who I knew as “The Donut Man”. Through this handwritten book, I have come to know him as a Doughboy, as well.
It has been a wild, adventure filled ride down the #RooseveltRiver. There have been many twists and turns; rapids; calm, still waters; fast water and waterfalls. No matter the type of water, there have been lessons to learn. I think one of the most important lessons I learned is, that like a river, the lessons are always changing and never the same. The gift of a great teacher is a lesson that teaches anew as life changes around you and as you change with life.
There is an often misquoted line from George Santayana from his book “Reason in Common Sense” that goes “Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.” As Dan Miller will remind you, history DOES repeat itself. It is those who do not learn its lessons that are condemned to repeat the mistakes of the past. And what worked in the past, may not work this time around.
“Train for the future”. Think about that for a minute. On the surface, it seems to contradict the premise of this whole series. How do you “train for the future” if you are studying the past? Personally, I am a business technologist (ok, I am in IT, but I am not an “IT Guy”, I am a business person that understands technology and how to apply it to business). Our roles are dramatically changing and at lighting fast speed. If we don’t have an eye on the future, we will become irrelevant overnight. If we don’t understand the past and the lessons it provides we will become dinosaurs. If we don’t provide solutions today we will fail. “Train for the Future”…what does that mean for you, in your world?
Lessons from the #RooseveltRiver
2013 – The Year I Canoed with Theodore Roosevelt – A (somewhat) introduction to my study of Theodore Roosevelt and some of the lessons of leadership I encountered.
6th Grade and my Journey on the #RooseveltRiver Begins – Accenting a strength can help you overcome a weakness.
Lola Takes a Walk on the Wild Side of the #RooseveltRiver – A lesson in persona from my dear brother Mitchell (and Teddy, of course).
Rapids on the #RooseveltRiver – Living Life on the Edge – A leader lives life on the edge, pulling those around her out of the center.
Blue Bloods’ Frank Reagan Paddles the #RooseveltRiver – TV imitates life and teaches us all a lesson in leadership.
Two Keys to Great Leadership – The Rough Riders Join #RooseveltRiver – Lessons from history can reveal the keys to Leadership (sorry, you have to read the post to find the keys…didn’t think I was going to tell here, did you?)
1,000 Words vs. an Image – Snapshots from the #RooseveltRiver – Great leaders know the power of using images to convey ideas.
Dad Paddles the #RooseveltRiver – My REAL hero joins Teddy and I on the river for a lesson in leadership.
Marty McFly Changes History on the #RooseveltRiver – Travel “Back to the Future” to learn about decision points and how great leaders leverage them.
The #RooseveltRiver Flows into the River of Doubt – Poor planning can lead to catastrophe. A great leader plans and organizes before executing.
Death Along the #RooseveltRiver – Relationships formed along the river are vital to us as leaders and as human beings.
www.whitehouse.gov
A river, like life, comes to an end. Some rivers simply disappear into the ground, all of its energy drained away. Some flow into lakes or oceans becoming indistinguishable. Many join with other rivers to create new, even more powerful rivers.
So many lessons…ever changing lessons. I would love to know which of these lessons stand out for you. Please leave a comment or send me a note. Please share the lessons with your network. Remember, “Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.”
#RooseveltRiver is my year long exploration with Dan Miller of Historical Solutions into leadership using the backdrop of history and the life of Theodore Roosevelt. To read more in this series, select “Roosevelt River” from the Category drop down on the right.
If anything you read here or in other posts strikes a chord, I would love to hear from you. Leave a comment, hit me up on Twitter (@jtongici), find me on LinkedIn, or Google +.
It was a cold, gray January day. The wind picked up the dusting of snow from the ground and flung it into their faces, stinging like needles. Tears froze to wind burned cheeks. The casket was slowly lowered into the frozen ground. A lone bugler played taps. Slowly, one by one, the people who had gathered, made their way down the 26 steps, down the long hill, and out of the cemetery until a lone figure remained. He stood motionless. His gaze locked on the hole before him. Tears stained his ruddy cheeks. His long coat flapped in the wind. His lips moved as if talking. Was he saying goodbye? Was he saying a prayer? Was he saying words of forgiveness to his now dead friend?
Theodore Roosevelt, the 26th President of the United States, died in the early hours of January 6, 1919. Now, two short days later, William Howard Taft, the 27th President of the United States, stood over his grave, weeping. Slowly he gathered himself, blinked away tears, and trudged down the pathway.
Once dear friends and allies, the men had not spoken in the last seven years. Taft served as Roosevelt’s Vice President. Hand-picked by Roosevelt to succeed him as President. During his term of presidency, disagreements arose between the two men. Roosevelt, then out of politics began to counter Taft in the press. Roosevelt, still popular with many, publicly lambasted Taft. The chasm between the two former friends widen as Roosevelt decided to run against Taft for the Republican nomination in 1912. The break became insurmountable when, after losing the nomination to Taft, Roosevelt decided to run as a third party candidate, essentially splitting the vote and giving the Presidency to Woodrow Wilson. Roosevelt shut Taft out of his life with hardly a second thought. Had Taft died first, would Roosevelt stood over his grave?
Yet, Taft made his way graveside that cold day in January. Later, in a letter to Edith Roosevelt, he would write, “I loved him always and cherish his memory.” A love and a friendship that survived, at least for Taft, despite the chasm created by words and deeds.
Reflecting on the relationship of Roosevelt and Taft really causes reflection on my own relationships. Is there someone with whom such a rift is present? Will someone be standing over my grave saying their peace to me or their god? Or, will I be standing over someone’s grave doing the same? It’s not hard to imagine in a lifetime of relationships that we have all been Taft and we have all been Roosevelt. What would you say on that cold wintry day? If you were aware of such an injured relationship, would you try to repair it before the end?
When I first heard the story, my mind immediately leapt to my sister. Our relationship had been fractured for many years. Incidents, actions, and words had created schism between us that I saw no hope of ever closing. At times it has felt like the Grand Canyon. However, in the last year we have started, with the help of my wife and my sister’s husband, we have begun to build a bridge. Over time, with continued conversation and understanding, the bridge will be fortified. It isn’t quite a Taft-Roosevelt moment, but it very well could have been.
As I think back over my professional life and reflect on the relationships formed there. Over the years I have had to have many of those “life altering conversations”, either because of downsizing, performance issues, or the dreaded “the company has outgrown you”. I tried to treat each person with respect, dignity and compassion. Some of those conversations were with colleagues that I considered friends. One such friendship survived the downsizing conversation at two different companies (yes the friendship survived, but I am guessing he won’t come work for me again!). Another relocated his family to accept a job offer from me and a year later we had to have the downsizing conversation. Amazingly to me, that friendship survived as well.
The one relationship that comes the closest to a Taft-Roosevelt relationship (and I am mortified to say, I was the “Roosevelt” in this situation) was with a friend. She and I had worked together for almost to a decade. During this time, we had become very close and developed a deep caring for each other. I can honestly say, I loved her (not in a romantic way, mind you). We shared many of life’s trials, tribulations, and celebrations. As my career progressed and I started moving in different circles, we grew apart. Still working for the same company, but no longer interacting on a daily basis. Some of it was the natural outcome of no longer working together on the same projects, but some of it was intentional on my part to “distance the relationship” as I first became her boss, then her boss’ boss, then her…well you get the idea. Years passed. Then…then she got sick. Very sick. Dying sick. The day I went to visit her in the hospital, no one was with her. Her husband, must have stepped out. The nurses were off doing their nursing-thing with other patients. It was just she and I. The only sound in the room came from the machines attached to her. She was in the final stages and was not conscious. I stood by her bed, stroked her hair, and told my friend I loved her. Did she hear me? Did she know? I was too late.
This series is about leadership and the lessons about leadership I learned while traveling with Teddy Roosevelt. What lesson can
AP Photo
be learned from the lone figure alongside the grave? Perhaps the lesson is to value the person, value the relationship, even when delivering bad news, or even when circumstances pull you apart. Lead from a position of empathy for the impact your words and deeds have on those around you. Perhaps the lesson is the old adage “you can be friendly, but you can’t be friends” just isn’t true.
#RooseveltRiver is my year long exploration with Dan Miller of Historical Solutions into leadership using the backdrop of history and the life of Theodore Roosevelt. To read more in this series, select “Roosevelt River” from the Category drop down on the right.
If anything you read here or in other posts strikes a chord, I would love to hear from you. Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts!
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Insights is the weekly, thought-provoking newsletter from Jeffrey S. Ton.
Every Tuesday – Delivered to your inbox.
A different focus each week:
Leadership Thought – A lesson-learned, an insight shared
Leadership Q&A – A response to a reader’s or a connection’s question
Leadership Spotlight – A highlight of a person or company helping others to grow their leadership
Rivers of Thought – A more personal thought, observation or musing
