The Kindness of Cyber-Strangers

Most of us, especially the more senior, are familiar with the phrase “the kindness of strangers”. Handed down through generations, stories center around a person in need and salvation being delivered from an unknown individual. Tennessee Williams wrote of it and the term can be found in film, music, and television. One could argue that, in this age of tweeting, texting, and other technologies used to connect our society, such kindness from strangers is a thing of the past. And you could count me among those arguing thusly.

Always one to admit a mistake, I’m here to tell a story that reaffirms the aged adage and adds a technological twist. Picture a military man, Ryan, in El Paso. He is single and has a dog named Seymour. Our GI finds himself assigned to another locale for a limited amount of time (TDY’d for those of you familiar with the military). Naturally, Seymour cannot accompany his master and is temporarily assigned to Ryan’s mother for daily care and feeding.

Shortly thereafter, mom faces a significant health issue and Seymour is re-assigned to a family living nearby. The family falls on hard times and relocates to the San Joaquin Valley community of Madera, California. After a period of time, Seymour shows up at the Madera animal shelter. He is dirty and has a rope around his neck, apparently chewed from whatever he was anchored to.

Seymour’s fate in the shelter would be questionable, but his master had implanted a chip that shelter personnel scanned. The chip information leads them back to El Paso and Ryan who has been trying to find his companion since returning from temporary duty. But how to find the funds required to get Seymour back home?

A Madera shelter volunteer, DJ, writes a story for the local paper seeking donations. That story is picked up by a nearby television station who posts their coverage online. Someone, somewhere sees the online video and forwards it to a lady, Kate, in Colorado Springs. Kate’s husband is separating from the Army and they are establishing a German Shepherd rescue for soldiers in need of therapy dogs. Now, Seymour is far from a German Shepherd (more of a scruffy, Benji-type if you will), but his Army affiliation catches Kate’s attention.

Kate’s pretty much geographically undesirable in offering direct assistance, but she posts a request for transport on the Pilots ‘n Paws website (pilotsnpaws.org). This request then goes out to member pilots in the appropriate areas and last Monday morning, as I ate my breakfast, I received the transport request in my email inbox. Such requests are an almost daily occurrence and many are not feasible, but this one was different on several levels.

First of all, I was planning to fly from my home in Calaveras County (California) to Wickenburg, Arizona the following day and a stop in Madera was but a small detour. Secondly, this particular mission was different in that it represented a reunion rather than the more common relocation. An email to Kate and a call to DJ in Madera resulted in a workable plan: I would take Seymour to Wickenburg where he would spend a few days with the Arizona Small Animal Rescue, a group based in Phoenix. Ryan would drive from El Paso to Phoenix on Saturday to pick him up and return to their home in Texas.

Delayed a day for aircraft maintenance, I picked Seymour up Wednesday morning from DJ in Madera and flew him to Arizona. Upon our arrival, we were met by Justin whose wife, Anji, heads up the Phoenix rescue. Ryan drove to Phoenix on Saturday morning, reunited with Seymour, and returned to El Paso. Mission complete!

Without the power of the internet, this story would be nothing more than a nice fairy tale told to tykes while tucking them in for the night. Fortunately, for Seymour and Ryan at least, the kindness of more than one stranger found a uniting force in cyberspace and collectively contributed to his safe return. Four people in three states with no prior introduction were able to collaborate, courtesy of the internet. Without that cyber- connection, the best of intentions would have been rendered moot. (And hats off to Ryan who had the foresight to chip his dog. Yet another technological contribution.) While much time and effort seems wasted while online surfing, Seymour’s adventure and eventual return to his owner serves as a shining example that a stranger’s kindness is not only still possible, but, courtesy of the world wide web, on an even wider scale than ever before.

The Power of No

In the last several decades, union membership has declined from 20% in 1983 to just under 12%. And, if you take public sector workers out of the mix, the percentage drops to 6.9%. Ronald Reagan gets much of the credit, regarded as a union buster in ordering the air traffic controllers back to work and firing those that refused. In fact, that strike was an illegal action because the controllers were federal workers and, as such, were prohibited from such a job action. Despite my career as a unionized airline pilot, I am forced to agree with Ronnie's decision.

Nevertheless, the unionized work force has become endangered for other, more subtle,  events. Foremost is this feeling of rugged individualism that anti-labor forces have promoted. The "I don't need no stinking union" mentality has gone a long way in creating today's dearth of represented worker bees.

Added to this is the preponderance of court ordered cessation of other-wise legal job actions. Without the ability to withhold one's services, a union is nothing more than a paper tiger. Why organize and pay dues only to be neutered by a judge?

I'm happy to report that teachers in Tacoma, Washington voted overwhelmingly to defy a judge's back to work edict on Thursday. Their two day strike apparently had an effect. True to form, management turned to the court in an attempt to sidestep meaningful negotiation and, true to form, the court ordered the teachers back to class.

But wait: the teachers said no. A plain and simple, "No". This kind of peaceful defiance has long been lacking in wars between labor and management. And it is long overdue.

Without similar refusals, the level playing field supposedly created by unionization is nothing but a facade and is tantamount to providing an unloaded gun as a last means of defense.

The labor landscape is littered with employee groups that, in the name of civility and reasonability, have acceded to identical court rulings only to find that fruitful negotiation was but a wisp of smoke on a windy day. With such outcomes does it come to anyone's surprise that organized labor is suffering?

Regular readers also know that I am not necessarily a died-in-the-wool union supporter. Unions rise out of untenable workplaces where fairness and dialogue are nonexistent. 

Many companies operate without an organized work force due to an enlightened and engaged management. Management teams of this nature are equally endangered, wouldn't you say?

But given an employee group that is willing to sacrifice much in order to create a better environment for themselves and those that follow, it is incumbent on the courts to allow them to do so. And should the court attempt to restrict that right it is incumbent on the unions to defy.

Creationism

The country is looking for a creator, you know. No, not The Creator. He’s doing quite well these days. I guess most everyone is praying for a solution to the stagnant economy and bleak unemployment figures. Rather, the creator I speak of is the entity that creates jobs for the masses seeking gainful employment.

It is said by many that government cannot create jobs. Tell that to the myriad of workers receiving a paycheck from various and sundry local, state, and federal coffers.  But we’re also possessed with paring down the size of government and, in so doing, only add to the unemployment rolls in a time where we are also trying to pare them down. Confusing, isn’t it?

Government can, however, create an atmosphere more conducive to job openings within the private sector. Lower taxes on business, less red tape and the like, or tax credits for expansion are just a few being bandied about. (Business likes to throw in less oversight, but that’s what created much of the mess the world finds itself in today, so I’d say we may need a pinch more money and personnel on the oversight side of things.)

Unfortunately, we’re witnessing an unparalleled Congressional logjam where any potentially successful program is unpopular because it might reflect favorably on a President the House majority is trying to oust. Without the cooperation of Congress, government has little to offer, job creation wise.

Banks could loan sought-after funding to entrepreneurs, small businesses, and homeowners. But they don’t (or won’t). They claim that credit requirements are tighter than ever, but they’re sitting on historic piles of cash (largely provided by us via TARP) and choose to “loan” their bucks to Uncle Sam for a guaranteed, albeit lower, return on their investment. And guess who pays the return? Yup: you and I.

The corporate world is also awash with large sums to use for investment and expansion. I believe that they’d rather play high stakes poker with the politicos and see how many perks, exemptions, and loopholes their lobbyists can create in the name of promised future growth. And others, still, like to think that their reluctance will be blamed on a Democratic administration that will then be defeated in November 2012. Either way, it doesn’t amount to many jobs, does it?

And there you have it: government can’t do much and the unholy alliance of banks and big business won’t. Each blames the other for being the major impediment to a brighter and bigger tomorrow when, in reality, it is a circle in great need of a knife to cut the continuing cycle of inactivity.

This is where I normally exhort the reader to get involved and change the direction of things, but I’m at a loss in thinking of anything we can presently accomplish. We can send emails to our representatives, but I don’t believe that they’ll change their allegiance to whichever altar they currently worship. And we don’t have the money to take our business elsewhere.

So we hunker down and count our currency, hoping that the great job creator will rise out of the ashes and save our day. I guess that’s why The Creator is finding new customers daily as more and more turn to prayer. Will the tide turn? I think so, eventually. I certainly hope so, anyway. But our society is used to instant gratification and waiting even an extra thirty minutes for a meal is unbearable. Should it come as any great surprise that we’re equally, if not more, impatient when talking about turnarounds that could take several years?

In the meantime, keep an eye on your elected representatives so you know if they chose politics over progress come next November. And be ready to reward businesses that took chances on investment when you once again have a dollar or two extra to spend. Not the best prescription for a happy day, I know, but with a little patience and fortitude we can all live to see the other side of the coin. 

The Last Hurrah

As we move through our chosen livelihoods, most of us form an image of what the final day on the job will be like. Our “last hurrah”, if you will. Some envision accolades and applause while others have less grandiose (and more realistic) expectations. Regardless, that final act takes on a life of its own as the dreamed-of day approaches. And rarely does the reality live up to the fantasy we’ve constructed in our head. So what? No, seriously, so what? Just because the final curtain comes down a bit crooked, does it negate the body of work created over the years? I’d say no and have a personal anecdote for the basis of my argument.

Yes, I’m recently retired. Four months early and I’ll spare you the convoluted rationale behind my early departure. Suffice it to say that a good portion of my retirement money depended upon the performance of the stock market and the August swoon on Wall Street was significant. Luckily, I was afforded a “look-back” of 90 days. And 90 days ago the market was doing pretty good so I took the money and ran.

An airline pilot plans for what is called a “finis-flight”: one last sequence accompanied by a significant other and perhaps a hand-picked First Officer and Flight Attendant crew. A desirable layover is also sought so as to spend it partaking of good food and libation. The icing on the cake includes a water cannon salute provided by the airport Fire Department as the retiring Captain taxies the aircraft between two firetrucks spraying an arch of water. This is generally accomplished after the last landing as the aircraft heads to the gate. Sounds kinda neat, doesn’t it?

I’d be lying if I told you that the scenario I just described did not play over and over in my head as my final flights (to New York’s Kennedy and back to San Francisco the next evening) on August 28th/29th drew closer. I had my F/O (Irene) and several F/A’s that I hold in high regard on the crew list, my wife was ticketed in the cabin, and all was well with the world. My last hurrah was going to be memorable.

Until the “other” Irene raised her ugly countenance. You know...the hurricane? Yup, she was scheduled to arrive in the New York area at just about the same time as I was. Guess who won out on that race? You’re right again: my flight was canceled. My chief pilot offered another flight early the next week, but my wife could not transfer her ticket due to other cancelled passengers filling up any and all available seats. To fly a special trip without her would have been anything but special, so I elected to pass. As a result, my finis-flight was the previous 2 day trip (to Miami and back) and I had little to show for that one save for a look backwards in an attempt to remember as much of it as possible.

Disappointing? Without a doubt. Frustrating? Yes, but, in a twisted sort of way, is there a more fitting end to an airline career in the 21st century than with a cancellation? And, in the great scheme of things, does it really matter? In over 26 years with the airline and almost 20 as a Captain, I did not bend one piece of aluminum nor put any crew member or passenger in harm’s way. That is my body of work and one in which I am most proud.

Athletes do not usually bask in the limelight of a memorable last at-bat or TD catch or buzzer-beating three point basket. Doctors don’t get to save a life on their last day, nor do lawyers win a high-profile case as they walk out the door. Cops don’t catch the crook, either. And many others walk out of buildings with a cardboard box holding the personal remnants of their office or cubicle, victims of bankruptcy and the like. No, many “last hurrahs” contain nothing close to a triumphant cry.

I encourage each and every one of you to allow yourself the fantasy of conjuring up your ideal departure from your life’s work. But don’t be overly surprised when your “Irene” shows up to dash it into the rocks. And don’t be overly disappointed, either. Remember your body of work, built slowly over the years, and never forget the positive impact you had, day in and day out, as you plied your trade and lived your dream. And walk away with your head held high and your eyes on the future. That last strike out or unsuccessful surgery or hung jury or, yes, cancelled flight dims in comparison to the overall effort expended over the years. And, if we’re lucky, the best is yet to come...