When You Speak...I Should Listen

Interrupting when someone else is speaking is bad manners, bad form, rude, whatever.  We don't like it when somebody does it to us.  They don't like it when we do it to them.  Unhappily, many of us don't even realize we are doing it. My pal David says I have been interrupting since we were in high school a thousand years ago. It is a very hard habit to break.

Why do people interrupt others? The reasons vary but certainly include thinking we have a more important point to make than the speaker.  Sometimes we are trying to be helpful by agreeing and then launching into an example of our own to reinforce the speaker's thought.  Once in a while we view our own interruptions as public service to lessen the perceived (or real) pain being inflicted on those already listening. In any case when we interrupt we are thought of as someone who would rather speak than listen.

The late Ed Roach was a masterful storyteller who often held court around the better bars in Avalon, New Jersey.  His 1000 watt smile plus familiarity with the names and faces of the crowd gave him unbeatable weapons to deal with interrupters. “Let me finish this joke first, Tony, then I'll turn the mic over to you so I can have good manners and listen.”  

A conference speaker memorably dealt with an interruption by asking: “Sir, excuse me, how did the Middle of my sentence run into the Beginning of yours?”                                         

I don't usually watch morning television, but I learned a lot recently from the cast of NBC's Today show.  That otherwise likable group simply could not control themselves when on camera together. For a good bit of time every one was speaking at the same time, talking over each other and robbing viewers of a clear message.

On that day theirs was a showcase on how not to do it.

Good Manners

A thousand years ago there was a song titled “Little Things Mean a Lot”.  The gold standard for that tune was recorded by a girl from Philadelphia by the name of Kitty Kallen, a former big band alumna. The lyrics Ms. Kallen sang in that song have eternal legs. They remind us that little things DO mean a lot. Examples like “please and “thank you” cost us a heartbeat in time but yield appreciation many times over.

Society used to place great emphasis on good manners. Our parents taught these lessons at home. In most cases they also served as models for same. Today we are less as a society for not keeping that good manners bar right where it used to be. Overall we've slipped down a slippery slope to everyday vulgarity.

 “Treat others as you would like to be treated” is easy enough to handle. Most times that is. There will always be those who make a lot of money which leads them to believe they are superior beings. Not true of course for being a bore as well as a boor is almost always the end result. A lot of people - particularly our young ones -  think materialism is the end game when it's not.

Out to breakfast last Sunday, I was impressed by the courtesy a visitor from New Orleans extended to the servers working in that restaurant. It was a nice example of what we are talking about here. We are not living in Jolly Old Britain where class consciousness is so inbred it was at least a partial cause for our break from the Mother Country. Consistent graciousness is also good practice for the mandatory moment when each of us will show up for The Final Review.

Now that she is “retired”, my wife volunteers for causes that assist the less fortunate. Some of the “combat stories” inflicting on volunteers at one charity re-sale shop defy belief.  I put on my old reporter's hat to check things out. Amazingly, some very well-to-do customers exhibit outright haughtiness, slam down their credit cards, rarely say “thank you” and in general treat the volunteer staff as if they were serfs. And the women working in this charity are volunteers! One can only imagine the misery of retail employees who must work for a living in a miserable setting. They don't have the luxury of walking out singing the words of David Allan Coe's memorable 1977 song “You Can Take this Job and Shove it.”

                     

I find myself humming that tune on behalf of these volunteers.                           

Spring

Floridians feel that “Spring Break” runs from Christmas Eve until the 4^th of July each year. It certainly seems so. The break inflicts endless streams of palefaces rushing to our beaches to toast themselves. Not a good move since down here the sun spares none.

On the other hand, how can we blame the snowbirds for trying to gain quick relief from what has been one godforsaken winter up north of the Mason-Dixon Line? One of my correspondents told me it was snowing in Waverly, Pennsylvania, just as his family gathered around the dinner table for the traditional holiday meal. Brrrrr, not the way Flopsie, Mopsie and the other bunnies envisioned things at Easter time. It's near impossible to think about such up and down weather when you're here in the Land of Eternal Sunshine.

Before we left Philadelphia's Main Line and moved south, my wife and many another flower-lover looked forward to the coming of Spring when color returns to barren or brown/gray lands. Yes, snow covered cottages make for memorable Christmas cards but weeks and weeks of snow can break hearts as well as shoveling backs. Boston deserves all the sympathy it can get. Now that we are retired here in Florida we are surrounded by glorious color all year.  It makes for a happy visual time in the Lives of Reilly. We are very thankful for that.  And not so incidentally, we no longer sit by the television set gloating at the misfortune of frozen family and friends in the Northland. Life brings along opportunities to count blessings.

There is truth in the memorable lyrics of Frank Loesser's great song, “Spring May Come a Little Late This Year.” It will eventually come however, along with Summer and its bouquet of graduations, marriages and brand new chapters in the lives of our young people.

To one and all up North – happiness, good health, and a hope you will remember to make the best of the gifts God has given you. See you in September.

Commercials

A lady of my acquaintance was bemoaning television commercials the other day.  Whatever happened, she asked, “to the happy, clean fun ones we used to see?”  Well, sez I, “they're still on the air but harder to find in the mix of horrific computer-designed violence and over the top volume that assaults the eyeballs, ears and normal minds.”  While I didn't put it quite that way, let's just say I shared her disappointment.

Just about everyone agrees that the Super Bowl commercials were, once again, the best show on the tube (they should be with their airtime price tags.) Still it's hard to wait a full year before that broadcast treat rolls around again. Budweiser stole the 2015 show with the little lost puppy being rescued by their Clydesdales, but there were other great ones too. Some even better than the Katy Perry half-time extravaganza.

Advertising keeps in step with the times; essentially going down the drain along with long-honored social graces like table manners, saying “thank you” and other happy memories from earlier days.  I'm not big on government interference in our lives, but next to what goes on with motion pictures in theaters, television programming is, thanks to a certain federal oversight of the public's airwaves, a paragon of virtue. The movie theaters “coming attractions” alone are enough to damn all values of decency. The USA exporting this violence and trash all around the world has renewed the tag of “Ugly Americans”. It's just plain sad. America is far better than this.

Tailoring television ads to the demographics of the viewer population is an art form of sorts.  Here in Florida (“Heaven's Waiting Room”) we are inundated with commercials for retirement homes, surgery for back problems, stairway power chairs and erectile dysfunction. The latter with its constant warning to “call your doctor if you experience an erection lasting four hours.” The standard answer among the over-80 group is: “I will call my doctor, but only after I've announced it to all my golfing buddies at the club.”    

Medications are so widely promoted on the TV tube, it's silly to spend all that time in the doctor's waiting room. The answer for whatever ails you is most likely just a click away on the remote.

Oblivious

My son is in broadcasting. Like many another working soul he commutes daily from leafy suburbia to an office in a major city.  He is also among those hardy souls who drive daily, a group I especially admire. In my day we commuted by train where each of us had our very own seat location, much like an Episcopal church on the tracks. And we let the choo choo do the driving.

Radio and television run in the veins of our family. These media are very competitive, exceeded in my son's case only by the stress involved in highway driving to work and departing from there back to home again. As Charles the Younger navigates his long long trail a winding, highway danger lurks five-fold with inattentive drivers on cell phones. There for a while it all appeared to be a conspiracy against him. But it's not. More than one driver has rolled down the car window to bellow: “Get off the phone!”  It's a plot against all of us and the key word is “oblivious.”

Recently I had rare opportunity to observe a lot of this insanity firsthand when I was a front seat passenger in a car well-driven by a friend. Instead of focusing on bumpers and turn signals ahead (when drivers choose to use them) I had the luxury of observing what was going on all around our vehicle. It was an enlightening experience. Whether automobiling or walking, virtually everyone in sight was on a cell phone. There is no safety on the sidewalks either; not paying close attention to the “walk” signals is dangerous for sure. High noon when folks are going to or returning from restaurants is a particularly hazardous time. Still driving in a ton of steel is much more risky. We all know that and we also know that using a cell phone (let alone texting) while behind the wheel is risk-extreme.  Why do so many do it?  Because we are in our own little bubbles, in a word “oblivious” to the world around us.

The zenith of cell phone mania is found in and around supermarkets. We are pretty much used to endless chatter inside the market (“I’m in the vegetable aisle right now heading over to the pastry counter”) but the real challenge comes when conversations continue on the way back to the car. Pushing a cart while continuing a cell phone conversation is double jeopardy. Doing so while also balancing an $11 Starbucks is a medical trifecta.

Turn your cell phone off.  Call later when you are at your desk or back home. Nothing is worth losing you.

Football 2014

Another season of football is winding down with the Super Bowl just around the corner.  What were your impressions this time round?

In this corner of the couch my thoughts were fourfold: Injuries, Disrespect, Idiocy and Hope.

.Injuries. There for a while I thought I was the only one thinking that gridiron warriors were being wounded at an exceptional rate.  As the season went by however it became crystal clear that violent clashes between hardened men was taking a more frequent and terrible toll on the lives of  players at every level, particularly professional football. Watching a player ”slow to get up”, or seeming to be “shaken up” started to sound like commentators were engaged in some sort of plot to keep real danger away from the public mind. I keep thinking not only of injury to players in the here-and-now but also the disabilities that will plague their tomorrows. Constant pounding of bodies, even the helmet smacking and chest bumping of teammates after stellar plays starts to make you wince.

.Disrespect. Attitude toward opposing players was never a love-fest - nor should it be - but the level of trash-talk and even threats to officials has descended to an all-time low. I also wonder if constantly living violent lives on the field isn't linked somehow to the rash of domestic violence and spousal abuse that dominates the conduct of so many after the game is over.

.Idiocy. “Celebrating” touchdowns by gyrating in the end zone has certainly gotten out of hand.  Officials have cut players far too much slack. We deserve a new look at how long a time period such nonsense should be permitted, or if they should be permitted at all. And far worse is the invitation such idiotic behavior extends to those of racial bias when displays of chest-thumping and other mannerisms of the jungle are considered part of the game.

.Hope. By now just about everyone knows of the seriousness of concussions.  Some recognition and some steps – one forward, two backward – have been made by officialdom. But positive action must be accelerated all across the board. For starters by having truly competent medical personnel treat downed players from the very moment the injury whistle is blown. Parents are already having their youngsters opt out of football for less dangerous sports. Let's hope that next season and the years that follow will see a lot of improvement in these four areas.

Officiating

Making the call in any sports is NOT a no-brainer.  And having to do it within milliseconds is not for the faint-hearted either.  Officiating is a combination of personal self-esteem, experience, objectivity and practice, practice, practice.

No matter what the sport, referees, umpires, linesmen and all others who officiate at games are committed to providing level playing field for the competing athletes. In so doing they face a lot of stress. Is it tougher to work a major league baseball game than to help out on a Little League playing field?  That's a question for the ages. No one has yet compared the howling anger of adults fueled by stadium beer to the outrage voiced by a dozen or more soccer moms.  In long years in both settings, I would lean toward fearing soccer moms a tad more.

All of us who make the calls have searing memories of one game or another.  My personal Waterloo came when calling a service line for a tennis match in Philadelphia. I had just gotten off a red eye flight from California and gone directly to the grass courts of the historic Merion Cricket Club in nearby Haverford. Here is where the aforementioned self-esteem ran into Irish ego. When the referee Brooks Keffer asked me to “take the service line” I should have refused the honor right then and there because of fatigue from the cross country airplane ride. But I was cursed by the “I can do anything” Irish mentality.  I made several bad calls and a couple of them were against Vic Seixas, the Hall of Famer and perennial U.S. Davis Cup stalwart. Seixas was a big fan favorite in those days. All the more reason for those in the grandstand wanting to kill this linesman. None of course was more upset than Vic who could have wrapped his racquet around my head. My own story had a happier ending a week later during the U.S. Nationals at Forest Hills when I was complimented for exceptional work by the umpire.

Of all the stories about officiating, none is more trauma-inducing than a call the NFL's Ed Hochuli made in the nationally televised 2008 Chargers-Broncos game. Bronco quarterback Jay Cutler dropped back to pass and the ball slipped out of his hands to be gobbled up by a Charger.  Hochuli ruled it an incomplete pass, not a fumble. The play was not reviewable because the whistle had blown. The Chargers went on to win the game. Hochuli, a highly regarded official (and former president of the officials association) was devastated.  He received dozens of irate Email complaints, each of which he answered personally. His officiating ranking was downgraded.  He was quoted as saying “officials strive for perfection – I failed miserably.  Although it does no good to say it, I am very, very sorry.”

Hochuli has been back in action since then, still highly respected.  His son is a NFL official as well.  As for the rest of us, we lesser lights, making the right call is still the name of the game.

When we don't, we too are very, very sorry.