The Importance of Mentors

As a follow-up to a previous post about intentional friendship, I want to offer one quick thought this week about the importance of mentors.

A while back I interviewed Dr. Robert Coleman for an editorial project I’m working on for some other authors.

Dr. Coleman, to say the least, is one brainy guy.

He studied at Princeton University and holds a PhD from the University of Iowa, and for the last several decades has worked as a distinguished senior professor at Gordon-Conwell Seminary in South Hampton, Massachusetts. He’s written more than 20 books, mostly about theology and pastoral ministry, that combined have sold more than 7 million copies.

As part of his work at the university, Dr. Coleman mentors a lot of students. Each week he meets at 6 a.m. one morning with a group of younger men who want to learn more about their profession, as well as to grow personally.

He explained that mentoring younger people is one habit all successful leaders must undertake.

I asked Dr. Coleman to tell a bit about his personal learning habits. One of the most important things he’s done personally, he said, is dedicated himself to being a lifelong learner.

He is not only a mentor himself, but he still seeks people to mentor him.

To that aim, he said, he purposely meets with people older than he is. He continually wants to learn from people who have been down the road before him.

Out of curiosity, I asked Dr. Coleman if he’d mind telling me his age.

“84,” he said.

“And you’re still intentionally meeting with people older than you so you can learn from them?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I will never be too old to not be mentored.”

Question: Talk about a mentor you’ve had. How did it benefit you?

In Memoriam: Joe Lesniewski

Joseph “Joe” Lesniewski, one of the original Band of Brothers, died May 23, 2012, at age 91.He was one of the last surviving Easy Company members and featured in my 2009 book, We Who Are Alive & Remain.

Joe was born in Erie, PA, on August 29, 1920. His mother and father were first-generations Americans who originally met in Poland, then came to America separately where they re-met and married. The family spoke fluent polish in the house, and Joe taught his parents English.

Joe was an athletic young man. From age 13 on went for 10 mile runs up to four times weekly.

In 1939 he graduated from Erie Technological High School where he studied electricity and ran machines for the school. For a year he worked in a CC (Civilian Conservation) Camp, then for a year as a tool-and-die maker for General Electric.

When the war broke out, Joe initially volunteered to be in the Air Force, wanting to be a pilot. He learned how to repair plane engines and boxed on the base’s team. He took the military’s exam to be a pilot and ended up with high marks, but the military lost his records and denied entrance into the program. In the meantime they trained him to repair self-sealing fuel tanks.

Joe didn’t want to spend the war stateside, so he volunteered to be an Army paratrooper. Seven months later, the military found his records to be a pilot, but by that time he was already in the Airborne.

The records for Joe Lesniewski's examination to become a pilot were lost, so he applied to be a paratrooper instead. Later, the records were found noting he passed the exam with flying colors. [photo courtesy Joe Lesniewski].

Joe went overseas with the 541^st Infantry Regiment and was sent to London on special assignment to be an interpreter attached to the Polish resistance. For this assignment, Joe and 5 others were made members of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the wartime intelligence agency that eventually became the CIA. The assignment was eventually cancelled.

Joe was given his choice of joining any outfit. He’d heard good things about the 506^th regiment of the 101^st Airborne. Joe joined Easy Company late 1943, when they were in Aldbourne, England. Two of his first friends in the new company were Alex Penkala and Skip Muck. Together, they started an informal Western singing group. Alex and Skip were both later killed in Bastogne.

Joe parachuted into Normandy on D-Day and landed next to Ed Joint, who was from the same hometown. (Ed and Joe remained lifelong friends—Ed died this past May 12, 2012).

Joe fought in Carentan, and was one of the five men on patrol when Albert Blithe was shot by a sniper in the neck (as seen in the HBO series). Joe packed a clean tee-shirt around Albert’s wounds, and, still under fire, helped carry his friend back to medics.

Joe parachuted into Holland for Operation Market Garden. He was wounded in the neck by grenade fragments while out on patrol in an area called “The Island.” (In 1994, he went to the hospital again, and they still found a piece of shrapnel in his body.)

Joe rejoined Easy Company in Mourmelon, France, just prior to the battle of Bastogne. In Mourmelon, Joe turned in his boots to get new ones. The military didn’t have the right size boot for him. When the call came to fight, he still didn’t have boots, so Joe tied burlap bags around his feet and fought in the ice and snow of Bastogne anyway.

Joe was wounded in both legs during the battle of Foy. He kept fighting, and his wounds festered. By the time the company reached Haguenau, a serious infection had set in, and doctors wanted to amputate both Joe’s legs. A kindly Major intervened and prevented the amputation, and Joe’s legs eventually healed.

While Joe was in the hospital in Belgium, Captain Ron Speirs mistakenly sent mail home to Joe’s parents marked “killed in action.” A sister intercepted the letter and didn’t show the parents. Fortunately Joe was able to write a letter to his parents, letting them know he was still alive.

Envelope sent home to Joe's parents marked "deceased."

Joe rejoined Easy Company in Austria, which is where he was when the war ended. He was a high points man and was sent home right away. Joe won $298 in a dice game on the ship ride home, but was robbed back in the States while hitch-hiking from base to home.

Following the war, Joe worked for GE for a short time, then for the United States Post Office for 34 years. He and his wife had 6 children and 9 grandchildren. Later, he was married a second time.

Joe was a lifelong avid fisherman. For years following the war he owned a fishing camp in Canada with some friends.

Historian Rich Riley, who personally knew Joe well, described him as “a warrior on the battlefield—a tough guy of the first order, as he often had to let his fists do the talking.”

At the same time, Rich said, “Over the years I saw a thousand acts of random kindness come from him. He had a heart of gold. He never stopped giving, as he was proudly involved in numerous charitable causes in his community.”

When I interviewed Joe for the book I asked him about his thoughts on heroism.

“Being a hero?" Joe said, "I don’t even care for the word. The work had to be done. I was asked to do it. So I did. I give talks to kids in school, and I tell them the same thing: don’t brag that you’re anything more than you are.”

The Great American Road Trip: Thoughts on Driving Across the Country (+Book Giveaway)

The good folks at The Art of Manliness e-zine are running an essay of mine today, plus doing a book give-away for the soft cover version of SHIFTY'S WAR (just released).

To read the article or enter the contest see the link HERE, or cut and paste the URL below into your browser.

 http://artofmanliness.com/2012/05/24/the-great-american-road-trip-thoughts-on-driving-across-the-country-book-giveaway/

Why You Need Intentional Friends

Every couple of weeks for the past five years, I’ve met late at night to hang out with two friends—Pete and Roger.

“Late at night” means 9-11 p.m. for us. We eat steak and nachos at Bob’s Burgers & Brews, a joint our wives don’t like much. And we talk about all the manly things we can think of—Mustangs, bass guitars, movies, books, fights, God, and our families.

Pete and Roger and I have known each other since college days when Roger played basketball for the school team, and Pete windsurfed the hugest squalls he could find on the Columbia Gorge. These days, Pete is the tech director at the law school of Seattle University, and Roger is a partner in one of the city’s top insurance firms.

We meet to share laughs. But we also meet with intentionality.

All of us take seriously the adage that iron sharpens iron. We meet to spur each other forward to become better men.

What does it take to do that?

For one, we’re bluntly honest with each other. Over the years, I don’t think there’s anything we haven’t talked about.

Two, we ask each other hard questions. We’ve given each other permission to speak into each other’s lives, and we’re not above saying, “Dude—you’re being an idiot in this area. Smarten up.”

And three, we genuinely encourage each other. We also say things like, “You’re doing exactly what you need to do in this situation. Keep up the good work.”

There is no specific agenda to our meetings. We don’t go through a workbook or have a list to check off. It’s all organic, and the conversation simply flows. But we do meet for a reason.

The other day, for example, Roger asked a question from out of the wild: “When you guys were kids, at what times did you feel most loved from your parents?”

It was a good query for men to wrestle with—men who are continually seeking ways to strengthen the love for their own families.

I was thinking maybe the gifts parents give, or the time parents spend with us. But before either Pete or I could answer, Roger answered from his own experience.

“I felt most loved from my parents,” he said, “whenever I was going through a hard time, and I knew my parents were there for me.”

You can’t buy that kind of practical wisdom.

It only comes face to face from the other men around you. The everyday soldiers in the battles of daily life.

That’s why men need intentional friends.

You need your band of brothers.

Question: Do you purposefully meet with friends? How has it benefitted you?

Ed Joint: In Memorium

Edward Joseph Joint, one of the original Band of Brothers, passed away of heart problems May 12, 2012 at age 89. He was one of the last surviving Easy Company members and featured in my 2009 book, We Who Are Alive & Remain.

Ed was born February 18, 1923, in Erie, PA, the eighth of eleven children. His father delivered coal, and the family grew up poor in the middle of the Great Depression. 

Ed enlisted in the Army at age 17, a few weeks after the attack on Pearl Harbor. “You had to be 18 to join the service,” he said. “I didn’t lie about my age, but no one ever asked.”

He went through basic training at Camp Walters in Texas, then trained to be a paratrooper at Fort Benning, Georgia. He joined Easy Company at Camp McCall and sailed to Europe together with the men.

Ed parachuted into Normandy on D-Day and landed in a field next to Joe Lesniewksi, also from the same hometown of Erie, PA. On the first day of fighting, Ed was knocked unconscious by an exploding shell and received a concussion, but wasn’t hospitalized. Troops were scattered all across the peninsula, and Ed and Joe fought alongside troops from the 82^nd Airborne for two days until rejoining Easy Company.

Ed parachuted into Holland for Operation Market Garden and later fought in the snow and ice of Bastogne where he was severely wounded by shrapnel in the right arm. He was taken to a hospital in Paris and told his war was over, but twenty days later he broke out of the hospital and hitchhiked back to his company.

Ed Joint, age 6, photo courtesy the Joint family

“What made me want to go back and fight?” he said. “I don’t know. They thought I was nuts. But as a young kid you’re not scared. They asked me why I wanted to go back, and all I said was, ‘It’s my outfit up there.’”

Ed fought through Germany and helped liberate Berchtesgaden, Hitler’s hideout in the Alps. When the war ended, Ed was a high points man, so he was one of the first to be discharged and sent back home. Among other medals, he was awarded the Bronze Star for valor and the Purple Heart for being wounded.

Ed and Sally Joint, photo courtesy the Joint family

After returning to America, Ed worked as a mail carrier for the United States Post Office for 33 years. He and Joe Lesniewski remained lifelong friends. While Ed was at the post office, he took a part-time job as a stage hand in the Warner Theater in Erie and worked a second job for 30 years.

Ed married his wife Sally in 1948. Together they had 4 children, 9 grandchildren, 16 great grandchildren, and 1 great-great grandchild. A lifelong Catholic, Ed remained active at St. Julia’s Catholic Church, most recently serving as an usher.

When asked what it meant to be successful in life, Ed answered simply: “Everybody defines it differently. But I got a house, a nice wife, four good kids, and my health. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

An Efficient, Effective Leader

Have you ever thought through the differences between being efficient and being effective?

Some leaders, particularly in this day and age of technological wonders, aim to be efficient above all else. The problem is that efficiency can become synonymous with busyness. And in the fray, effectiveness can become forgotten.

Years ago when I worked in a newsroom, one of the main evaluations for our stories was word count. We were a free newspaper and didn’t use any wire services. That meant we had to generate all the content ourselves. Each reporter needed to produce 1,000 researched, written, and edited words per day.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad discipline. We quickly learned how to be good, fast writers who never balked at the sight of a blank sheet of paper. There was an additional expectation that our stories had to be written well, or at least passably well.

But here’s where it got tricky...

Because of that daily mandate, I confess there were moments—particularly when I was tired or stressed or tight up against a deadline—when all I really wanted to do was hit my word count and go home for the night.

During those moments, I technically fulfilled the requirements of the job—I was busy getting a lot of words written.

But I didn’t always produce the best writing I could do. Effectiveness was sacrificed on the altar of efficiency.

I don’t fault the newspaper owner. He wanted us to be competent, quick writers who wrote a lot of stories so his business could stay afloat. And to his credit, his business persevered through some very tough years in the newspaper industry.

Down deep, I knew he also cared about producing effective writing. Just like me, he wanted to help people lead better lives.

Have you ever felt that tension?

You need to be efficient,

but you also want to be effective.

Being effective means you work to accomplish a purpose. You produce an intended result. You create actual and significant change. You truly get things done, and done well.

When you evaluate your work habits with an eye to effectiveness, important questions must be asked:

·         How much lasting and significant change did my activity produce?

·         How well did I connect with people?

·         How many people actually read my reports?

·         How many people interacted with my Tweets, blog posts, or Facebook status updates?

·         How many products were genuinely improved by my attention to them?

·         How much progress was truly made in the meetings I was in?

·         Was there a good reason for doing what I did?

And yes—in the midst of asking all those good questions—is my business staying afloat? 

A leader must be efficient, but he must also be effective. In my writing these days, I aim to be both. Yet in the long run, effectiveness should always trump efficiency, never the other way around.

That's a pledge I make to myself. As well as to my readers.

Question: In what ways are you efficient? In what ways are you effective? Do you lean toward one or the other?

You'll Figure it out, Daddy-O

What follows are a few carefully chosen thoughts about advice—both giving and receiving it.

The specific context is parenting, but if you’re not a parent, just substitute for parenting whatever category of life you’ve sought advice for recently—business, marriage, book marketing, the best brand of donut. It doesn’t really matter.

Picture a Sunday morning nearly 9 years ago. My wife and I lay in bed. Our 4-week-old baby girl lay beside us. I should have felt rested, cheerful, set for an early walk with the dog.

Instead, my shoulders hurt and my eyes bagged. Addy, our colicky newborn, had taken us through another loud and edgy night.

If you’ve never experienced a colicky newborn, just imagine a tomcat tied in a burlap bag with a ferret and a bagpipe. At one point my dear wife had actually banged her head against the wall.

My wife and I needed some advice—and quick! How were we ever going to figure out this new crazy stage of life?

My older brother and his wife had two children already, and I phoned him up, looking for an action plan to success.

“You’ll figure it out,” was all he said.

That didn’t seem like enough advice to me, so Mary and I read books, phoned parenting advice lines, and phoned up other friends with older children.

We heard some good stuff. But one problem.

The advice we received was all over the board. In fact, the advice often pointed us in different directions, and few of the recommendations matched up.

For instance, a few weeks after we’d brought our daughter home from the hospital, a neighbor and his wife visited. The man spoke of child-rearing with the voice of an expert. He had five children and reassured us right away we parents are an easily manipulated lot. With cool certainty, he painted pictures of the disasters that would strike if we didn’t organize our baby’s agenda around the clock.

“Scheduling is the only sure way!” he said. He scanned the horizon with steely eyes.

As he talked, the man’s wife stood behind him shaking her head and mouthing the word no. On the way out she hissed, “Everything he told you is completely wrong!”

Whose advice were we supposed to follow?

My approach to giving and receiving advice about parenting was solidified one day soon after Addy’s birth when I went shopping for pacifiers.

Addy had been howling nonstop for a few days. One book encouraged profuse pacifier use. Another insisted pacifiers were the root of all evil.

We decided to give a pacifier a shot, so Mary stayed home with Addy, while I went hunting. Back in 15 minutes, I thought.

At the baby super-duper store, my jaw dropped. Columns of pacifiers stretched for 30 feet. There were traditional nubby-looking plugs. Organic-composites. Dentally-certified retainers. Titanium-alloy, high-tech marvels. I stood in the pacifier aisle for half an hour, reading boxes, scratching my head.

In the end I bought three different kinds of pacifiers, and Addy hated them all.

Clearly then, I concluded, child-rearing experts don’t exist. If they did, the advice would have been clear in the first place, and at least one of the pacifiers I’d bought would have silenced the child.

In the years since, the plethora of pacifiers has put advice giving and advice receiving into perspective for me.

I know now that in most gray areas of life, such as parenting, book marketing, business, marriage, and which donut to buy, some advice works, and some doesn’t.

In the end, my older brother’s advice continues to ring true—for me, and I’m sure it will for you, too.

His straightforward words put the responsibility back on us and our intuition. That helped when the only constant about the advice we were receiving was its inconsistency.

His advice again?

You’ll figure it out.

Question: What advice have you received lately? Did it work? Or not?