The other night I was asked a question for the very first time — which, at age 74, is a rare thing.

The question was: “If you were born and grew up in South Africa during apartheid, how did you come to know things were wrong?”

Not “When did you know.” How did you know.

The setting was quite eclectic. A group of us were at dinner in Casa Cipriani in Milan, having just met at a backgammon event the club hosted — five of us: two Italians, a Belgian, and Anjela and me, regarded as Americans. But as we explored our differing backgrounds and origins, it came out that I was originally South African.

I was born in 1952, near Cape Town. Aside from a brief break from age 3 to 5 in what was then Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), I lived in South Africa through the peak years of apartheid — as a political, social, economic, and cultural system. And to be clear, as a white person.

South Africa was multiethnic and diverse. The Black population was composed of several tribes, all descendants of groups that had migrated to the region over previous centuries — chief among them the Zulu, Xhosa, and Sotho. There were Indians, a smattering of Chinese, Malays, and other Asians. A sizable colored (mixed-race) population. And Europeans, the Afrikaans-speaking descendants of Dutch and Huguenot settlers from the 17th and 18th centuries, and English speakers, primarily of British heritage but with large components from other European countries too.

In terms of daily life, there were Blacks (non-Europeans), Whites (Europeans), and others, usually Colored. Black, White, and Colored were, by the way, legally defined racial classifications. And apartheid meant separating them to the greatest degree possible — separate schools, buses, parks, population centers, water fountains, cinemas, restaurants, bars, hotels. Etc., etc., etc.

There was no single incident that led me to realize something was innately immoral and dysfunctional about the situation. No witnessed brutality, no overt racist violence, no scenes of mass internment. The system just existed. It was pervasive. And around me lives and livelihoods accommodated the rules and the practices because that’s the way it was.

But the system ran on Black labor, so the White population could enjoy generally higher standards of living and reap the economic benefits. From the gold and diamond mines to domestic service, Blacks provided the labor that powered South Africa through significant business, industrial, and technological growth.

And of course, certain institutions were strictly the realm of the white population. Federal, state, and local governments were elected by a White electorate. The military and police were White institutions. The courts and the professions were essentially white collar — literally.

News was controlled. There was no television, and radio and newspapers were all local. Even the so-called progressive media were only mildly chiding of the regime, since too vocal a resistance, or too public a demonstration, could mean arrest and detention. What we knew of the rest of the world came through a select — that is, censorship-passing — trickle of movies, literature, newsreels, and magazines. Glimpses of a world in transition.

And yet there were strange anomalies. Alongside the censorship and repression, South Africa had a remarkable degree of religious freedom. Multiple church sects — both Black and White — flourished. The Jewish community was extremely vital, with both Orthodox and Reform representation. Mosques and Hindu temples existed. University education was considered first-rate.

But to me, growing up in this world, whatever there was, was “normal.” I went to school. I rode my bike. I played sports. I had a great group of friends. I played games of imagination, listened to plays and serials on the radio, read books, went to the movies — the Saturday matinee, cartoons, newsreels, and the main feature. My first 13 years passed in fairly blissful ignorance.

The principal way one learned things were different was through travel. Locally, White South Africans could visit Lourenço Marques (now Maputo) in Mozambique. There we could experience the more racially fluid flavor of Portuguese colonial life, with a population of multiple ethnic groups coexisting without sacrificing their unique identities. For business and leisure, Europe was an open door — Western Europe, that is. In both cases, it was impossible to ignore that societies can be integrated, that stores and restaurants and the post office could be populated by people of color. And that the food and service were fine, and the mail still was delivered.

At 14 or 15 — and I have no idea why — I became conscious of how materialistic so many of my friends and their families were. The car, the clothes, the house, the jewelry, the money. Which is fine. But I also noticed there wasn’t much else. And somehow that observation hardened into an understanding: when a system is biased in your favor, you don’t spend much time questioning its validity. You either accept it or you don’t. Not accepting it left you few choices — stay, and be disgruntled from the shadows; stay, and resist; or leave.

I have no clue about the first. Many did stay, and their struggles against apartheid ranged from silent non-violent resistance to armed revolutionary acts. One of the most visible, and bravest, was the Black Sash — formed around the time I was born, this was an organization of white women who publicly staged silent protests wearing a black sash as a symbol of mourning for the death of constitutional and human rights. The Black Sash still exists, now providing social and legal services to the country’s most vulnerable.

At 15, the decision was taken out of my hands, as my parents decided to move us to the newly independent black country of Zambia. At first I found this about as attractive a proposition as telling a kid from Tel Aviv he’s moving to Gaza. Zambia was where the terrorists came from, and whites were, to put it mildly, not welcome — at least according to the South African media. But we visited, and to my welcome surprise, the country was a pleasant mélange of black, white, and colored. Newly independent, its humanist philosophy offered promise to everyone. So we moved to Lusaka, where I finished high school before going on to college in the US.

Zambia, for its part, fairly quickly degenerated into a one-party state, its ruling clique clinging to power amid corruption, crumbling education and health services, runaway inflation, and political and ethnic repression — an equally negative example of life in modern Africa. But that’s another story.

I realize this is my personal take on things, and that as a White person I was extremely privileged and sheltered. I can only imagine — and even then not really scratch the surface of — what it was like to be on the other side of the color line.

I told all this to Anjela. Her take: “God, you must have been such a dork. Boys at 14 or 15 should obsess about girls and porn, not the meaning of life.” I guess that’s the difference between growing up where I did, and Malibu, where she did. And she may be correct, for what I believe she meant (in Anjela speak) is, “Most teenagers just worry about fitting in”.

I happened to grow up in a place that made me question, “Do I really want to”?

**************

Why do people do Dumb Things?

Such as:

Feed the pigeons

Believe what any politician says

Wear socks and sandals

**************

And

Why do people say, “I’m going to be completely honest with you…”

Wait, does that mean all this time you haven’t been?

Can I respond, “Well, I’d prefer a little dishonesty. No, come to think of it, just lie to me outright.”

**************

That’s life in the trenches for today.

Thanks and keep reading.

Laurence

And thanks to A and G for thoughts on today’s article.

It’s been several months since I’ve posted here on Substack. I placed myself on “pause” for several reasons:

• First, the upcoming election resulted in a degree of national craziness that warranted detached observation rather than ineffectual commentary.

• Then, the election itself revealed the value set of the country at large. It was/is not pretty. It was actually existent all along but I hoped/anticipated/believed (faintly) that the body politic would somehow transcend the mass rhetoric and demonstrate some level of rationality and respect for basic freedoms. Fooled me twice.

• My stepdaughter had her first baby – a glorious baby girl. Anything I could say was insignificant compared to this event.

• Finally, my house burnt down in the Palisades Fire. It didn’t just catch fire - it was utterly and totally destroyed. Both adjectives merited in this case.

So given all the above, where do we go from here. Aside from Italy.

Regarding the elections, the Democratic leadership, including and especially the pundits, are as much to blame for their loss of political relevance as any other factor. Until they develop a message which isn’t “MAGA/Trump/Republicans are bad”, stop whining and act as aggressively as the opposition they are doomed to flounder. And the country suffers.

I am sure that the Fires’ many post mortems will yield a wide range of agents-at-fault, with the usual common denominators of avoidance, evasion, apathy, hubris, greed and incompetence. My wife can’t wait for the class action lawsuits to start rolling in.

I appreciate that for many of those who suffered in the various fires, when they lost their house they did lose everything. Those whose livelihoods depend on the communities that are, to all intents and purposes, indefinitely shuttered, also lose out. It is truly, for so many, a devastating experience.

This is one of several major dislocations I’ve experienced. In late 1970, a little less than a year after I started university in upstate New York, my parents were expelled from Zambia with 24 hours’ notice after my father refused to work for the government which had the afternoon before taken control of his business (along with several other local businesses). This was part of a “Zambianization” initiative the government undertook as a compliment to its migration to a one party state. “Hey, we’re democratic. We have elections. So what if all the candidates are from the same party”? However, they intimated that the reasons for the takeovers were due to these businesses not behaving in the public interest. I.E. Moving currency abroad, not supporting local development, behaving monopolistically, and so on.

My mother, who had offered her teaching services pro-bono to the new Medical School at the University of Zambia was at home for lunch when she heard the news. She never went back to her lecture hall. She packed, and as was her way, decided that she would not leave without some pushback. She wrote a letter to President Kaunda which outlined the many positive contributions my parents had made to the country since they arrived. These ranged from developing and freely distributing nutritional products to regional schools and communities to combat the widespread malnutrition among children, fostering local pharmaceutical and medical infusion developments, going on trade missions to Europe to encourage international investment in the new republic, and of course in her case bringing twenty years of medical school experience to the fledgling local university. She also refuted any accusations about their actions and behavior as being anti-social or anti-government. She arranged for a friend who was President Kaunda’s personal physician to deliver the note that same day. That earned them another 12 hours, and an interview with the President. He stated he would have his trade minister examine the situation further, but mainly he encouraged them to join him and the government by accepting their offer of work for the good of the nation, and that he would understand if that was not their preference and they left.

My father, who had been an air force captain and then worked for others for twenty years so he could be in a position to chart his own course was not about to work for anyone else, especially a despot who had with a single sheet of paper taken over his business, and canceled his right to stay in the country. I guess I should add that they did offer him a 10% stake in the company if he stayed as a way to earn his investment back. FFC (fat fucking chance) of him agreeing. My parents, along with my grandfather, who had lived with us for some years, packed a car and left behind house, business, friends and colleagues, as well as golf clubs, bicycles, mementos, awards, and what had been until then an exciting, pleasant and fulfilling life in a newly independent, multi-racial African republic.

The move by the Zambian government caused barely a ripple in the global news. However, the CIA did publish a paper on it: go here

In summary the CIA concluded that the changes to local ownership and operations could have a minor short-term impact but overall the local economy would be fine. I think the extent of their research and analysis was reading and then paraphrasing the Zambian government’s press release.

Per a report from the International Growth Centre (sponsored by Oxford University and The London School of Economics):

Between 1970 and 2000, the Zambian economy was experiencing unstable and sluggish growth. As a result per capita incomes continued to consistently deteriorate across the entire period hitting the lowest level in 1999. Falling per capita income resulted into high levels of poverty and inequality among the population.

Oh well.

I managed a short visit to South Africa to see my family that year-end, but we didn’t really spend a lot of time on what had happened and how they felt. In my family emotions could run high but discussions about feelings were short and sweet. Also, during that visit my grandfather was ill (he would pass three months later). He and I were very close, and I had enjoyed his companionship during my last years at high school in Lusaka. Seeing him ill and at times helpless was particularly wrenching. The first person I saw after one intensely difficult afternoon of me taking care of him was my brother. Normally not a source of support and empathy, my brother surprisingly was very understanding and helped me through a difficult couple of days when in essence I mourned my grandfather in advance of his actual death.

After a couple of weeks I returned to university in the US and then didn’t see my parents for nearly 18 months as funds were scarce and they were deciding where to reside. Tuition – all $2,500 of it - was covered by a student loan and to support myself I came to know Hamilton NY fairly well. I found work as a gardener, baby sitter, dishwasher, alumni weekend bartender, camp counselor and tennis coach.

My parents ended up moving to London, and thanks to the University’s overseas study program, I was able to join them there. I received permission to live at home, and for a while had the relative luxury of a sofa bed, home cooking and not having to live on $15 a week.

After the Palisades Fire I swiftly went to “mission mode” – learn what needed to be done for insurance, file claims, fill in clothing items, find a temporary place to live, get my hair cut. Friends and acquaintances demonstrated extraordinary generosity of spirit in word and deed. Businesses supported those impacted by the fires with free product and meals, often no questions asked. The community bonded, as communities do after these events, aligned and rallying to understand everything from how this happened to how does this affect me?

The disbelief, disruption, uncertainty, and aftermath following the Palisades Fires resurfaced feelings and memories from my time living in New York City during and after 09/11. The surreal landscapes that with the turn of the head alternated between desolation and the unchanged; streets and neighborhoods being closed to visitors and residents alike. Police and National Guards patrolling and creating checkpoints; corps of remediation and reconstruction crews popping up as if the area had lost a serious game of hardhat whack-a-mole; the streams of trucks flowing in empty and out full as the old is removed and the onlookers wait to see what will, literally, emerge from the ashes – in twenty five years little changed in that regard.

And as we try navigating a path to normalcy, or whatever our new normal will be, the chaos emanating from Washington continues to expand in never ending tidal waves. This may be a stretch for many of you, but what is occurring brings to my mind the comic book world htraE (Earth spelled backwards) or Bizarro World.

For those of you who had better things to do than become knowledgeable in arcane comic book lore – here from Wikipedia:

htraE is a cube-shaped planet, home to Bizarro and companions, all of whom were initially Bizarro versions of Superman, Lois Lane and their children. Later, other Bizarros were added. Among them was Batzarro, the World's Worst Detective. This Bizarro-Batman sported a Futility Belt full of cigarette butts, chewed gum, and other such priceless Bizarro treasures. Bizarro-Aquaman could not swim. There is even a Bizarro-Marilyn Monroe, the ugliest of them all.

In the Bizarro World of "Htrae", society is ruled by the Bizarro Code which states "Us do opposite of all Earthly things! Us hate beauty! Us love ugliness! Is big crime to make anything perfect on Bizarro World!" In one episode, for example, a salesman is doing a brisk trade selling Bizarro bonds: "Guaranteed to lose money for you". Later, the mayor appoints Bizarro #1 to investigate a crime, "Because you are stupider than the entire Bizarro police force put together". This is intended and taken as a great compliment.

Now come on! Isn’t this a picture perfect representation of what is going on with our national leadership? Even if you give them credit for asking the right questions, they are following the Bizarro Code in terms of solutions. What may you ask happened to htarE? It imploded.

In spite of everything, as we approach the end of this first calendar quarter I’m actually excited about the mystery and challenge of what’s to come. Personally, we have a life to restart. Professionally, the companies and people I work with are dynamic and engaging. My friends and family are first rate supporters and companions. All systems are go.

So for more Life in the Trenches …don’t touch that dial (is that still a relevant saying?) …..

*******************

Gene Hackman’s Passing:

An unconventional leading man. He might be smiling but tread lightly - mayhem may erupt at any moment.

My top 10 (plus a few):

1. Mississippi Burning

2. Night Moves

3. Heist

4. French Connection (#2 yes!)

5. Hoosiers

6. The Unforgiven

7. Absolute Power

8. Bite the Bullet

9. Enemy of the State

10. French Connection (#1)

Honorable Mentions:

• Prime Cut

• Crimson Tide

• The Package

• Under Fire

• The Firm // Runaway Jury (I think he plays the same role)

• And … ANTZ

*******************

And since we were talking about 1970, find the time to (re)watch and (re)listen:

• The Commitments (a 1970 film by Alan Parker)

• Sam and Dave – Soul Man and Hold On I’m Coming -

• Lucinda Williams – You are cordially invited A Tribute to the Rolling Stones

• The Sound Track to Bad Monkey (featuring the Music of Tom Petty)

No TV, no podcasts. I do watch a fair amount of TV, but only then sports and either a TV series or a movie.

Anyway, I digress. The focus of my post is the Middle East and the spill over from the catastrophic events there into the US. Do I decry the loss of life in Gaza – yes. Do I believe that Israel should do whatever it takes to assure its existence – yes. Did Hamas thoroughly and carefully prepare for the October 7^th, 2023, acts of murder, sexual assault, kidnapping and exulted in their successes – yes. Did they understand the consequences would be drastic and that multiple non Hamas members would suffer – yes. Did they care – no.

Yes, I do believe that there have been several missteps along the years by the Israeli government in terms of fostering better conditions in the Palestinian areas. Likewise those in charge of Palestinian affairs have diverted hundreds of millions if not billions in funds to enrich themselves, to acquire weapons of mass destruction, and to promote anti-Israeli activities. My long held opinion is that they and their allies have purposely minimized the development of a sound local infrastructure and the overall well-being of their communities to foster dissatisfaction with Israel and the West. And I look at the stockpiles of armaments in Palestinian hospitals and apartments, and the countless miles of concrete tunnels and depots, and wonder how the general population could not have known what these were for. Was theirs tacit acquiescence in the face of a powerful militant ruling bloc that brooks little disagreement, or silent support because at heart they agree with what is being done?

That debate is for another time. I’m pleased to have it. Today I’m focused on the acts of last October, the resultant response and how these events have fractured university life across the US.

My father’s tombstone reads “a kind and gentle man”. And yet he was a bomber pilot in World War II, involved in some of the most drastic actions of the war. His side carpet bombed cities and annihilated hundreds of thousands in a single day’s bombing. He also dropped supplies to partisans fighting the fascists and to those trapped in ghettos awaiting destruction by the Nazis. In his war the estimate of dead approaches 75 million. Less than a third of those were military personnel. According to references, approximately two thirds were civilians of all ages who succumbed to mass bombings, disease, starvation and of course deliberate genocide. For many their only fault was being born on the wrong side of a line drawn on a map, or to have a particular ethnic or religious heritage.

Mao’s Great Leap Forward is judged as resulting in an estimated 40 to 50 million Chinese deaths from starvation, forced labor and mass killings. Stalin by comparison was a piker with six to ten million (non-war) deaths from execution, assassination, labor camps, forced collectivization, and famine.

My unfortunate point is that being innocent offers no protections. Regardless of your own beliefs, whether you remain or you flee, in and out of war you suffer the consequences of the acts of those in power, and the tragedy is that those truly evil individuals rarely pay for their deeds.  

When I arrived in the US for university the Vietnam War was in full swing, and student demonstrations, sit-ins, and protests were rampant nationally. At the beginning, those against the War were “un-American”. Even Jane Fonda (yes that Jane Fonda) accrued vitriol and hatred as she put herself on the side of North Vietnam and endorsed the US withdrawing from the war. National sentiment shifted along with growth of the civil rights movement, the participation of many veterans in anti-war programs, and acceptance among the white middle classes that this was not a conflict where the US and its allies would succeed, regardless of the current government’s pronouncements.

So I am no stranger to what is happening across campuses in the last few weeks. What I do query is how much today’s participants really understand what they are protesting, and what their motivations are. The protests of the 60’s and 70’s were directed at what the US government (or if you took things further, the “military industrial complex”) was doing that directly involved young Americans. And while there was strong enmity between those who supported the war (my country right or wrong) and those against it (my country is doing wrong and we must change that), I didn’t observe a lot of hypocrisy in each side’s beliefs.

The US and many other governments are no angels, not now or previously. Our own lurch to the right is shredding the protections that so many fought so hard to win. Are we too tacit in our acceptance of these changes because at heart we agree with the message that is the source of these restrictions…that being ______ (fill in the blank with a color, gender, sexual orienation, religious or political affiliation) is evil/unhealthy/dangerous if it is different from me?

That too is a debate for another time. And again, I’m pleased to have it.

I have not witnessed any widespread campus protests against Hamas’s atrocities, Putin’s Russia, Khamenei’s Iran, Museveni’s Uganda, Xi’s China or Bin Salman’s Saudi Arabia. These rulers and countries are overtly autocratic and ruthless in squelching political opposition, including repressing any free press or civic protest. Moreover, they are violently misogynistic and dedicated to wiping out all forms of homosexuality (through prison, torture and death). Human rights are not recognized. They have zero moral authority, yet through wealth, power and also a sufficient level of local popular support they have established themselves on the world’s stage. They have refined the art of well-placed disinformation and created powerful public relations, and they are deft at navigating the geo-political landscape to their advantage. They fan the flames of protest in the guise of humanitarian aid, all the while supplying arms and support to like-minded organizations and governments.

So, regarding the present and my primary issue, my conclusion is that the current protests are motivated by antisemitism, plain and simple, and supported by willfully ignorant or hypocritic followers. Hypocrisy because at their root there is a call for genocide of the Jews, and a blind eye to the many other unfortunate issues that should be protested. Antisemitism drives the leadership and it is why they do what they do.

Either way pick a side, and be honest about why you picked it. I accept that my choice means I prioritize the continued existence of the Israeli state even when it means that thousands of non-Israelis will suffer. I wish that the war could be conducted in a more humane manner, but I can’t do anything about that. I also wish this suffering would lead the Palestinian populace to look at their leadership and question whether they indeed have their best interests at heart, but that is unlikely.

In exactly six months we have our own elections, and our own futures to decide. I’ve picked my side and it isn’t doesn’t wear red ties and caps. That too is a debate for another time. And again, I’m pleased to have it.

As usual, thanks for reading about Life in the Trenches.

Some editorial – I grew up in an evolving middle class Jewish household in South and Central Africa. Food influences ran the gamut from British colonial to native South African to Ashkenazi. Evolving because our parents came out of the war years and parlayed their education (my mother) or their wartime experiences (my father) into entry level and then mid-level white collar lifestyles. We didn’t have much but we always had enough. I’ve added links below for you to learn more about certain of the flavors I refer to.

Anyway, back to sandwiches. You didn’t make a sandwich, you carefully constructed it. In addition to the main ingredient you added savory touches – mustards from France, mayonnaise from England (tangy and spicy, not the bland blob that the US gravitated to), relishes and pickles and tomato and lettuce, all in the correct proportions so the final product was as close to perfection as possible and that first bite was greeted with a sigh and that final bite with bitter sweet pleasure.

At school, food was currency. If you didn’t have enough money for the tuck-shop (and usually I didn’t), you survived on what you brought from home. My sandwiches were well regarded and often even a half sandwich could yield another’s whole sandwich plus chocolate biscuits or best, a pop (soft drink). My favorite choices were Hubbly Bubbly cream soda, Coca Cola, or Corona (yeh I wish, but this was an old UK brand from Wales) who made an outstanding ginger beer. In the winter months I saved my pennies or traded sandwiches for cash to buy the one thing the tuck-shop excelled at – hot chocolate. None of the current powdered faux drink muck. Theirs was rich and milky and sweet. Always served in tin mugs. A perfect way to start the school day or to have at recess to get you through the remainder of what was usually a soul sucking ordeal.

Our dinners at home spanned the globe. Curry and rice (India), lasagna (Italy), lamb cutlets (England), roast chicken (from wherever your grandparents had started out), hamburgers (the US), baked fish (back to England). After a few weeks the menu migrated. Curry became beef bourguignon, lasagna became spaghetti, lamb chops meandered to fish and chips, and baked fish to bobotie. Until curry reappeared. As a child going to a restaurant was rare, and governed by budget and pre-agreed rules. My brother and I could order a sandwich (usually grilled cheese or toasted chicken) or a hamburger. Parents could order the main courses – steak or sole or something exotic, such as a kebab.

Many years later, after my parents moved to London, one of my greatest pleasures was going grocery shopping with my father. We would meander through the aisles, adding whatever took our fancy to our cart, and to our delight and my mother’s chagrin return home with a cornucopia of tasting pleasures and no real food. Warm baguettes accompanied by rich butter from France, tins of Scottish smoked oysters or Spanish anchovies, fresh Italian burrata and Israeli tomatoes, acorn fed Jamon Iberico or San Daniele prosciutto, salami and sausage from anywhere and everywhere, and for my father (never for me) a variety of cheeses.

If you really had the spark, leftovers were never a secondary choice. They were a whole new set of possibilities to be remixed and remade into something never done before. How outstanding is that?

Why this mundane topic and reminiscence at a time when the world at large and our own back yard remains tumultuous and at odds with both logic and sanity? Even the Substack platform managed to create its own political shitstorm. For a while I stayed away from Substack while deciding whether to remain or move to another format. In the end I agreed with Kareem and decided to give this one another chance.

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

Substack, Nazis, Free Speech, and Me & Trump Is Popular Among Black Voters?

What I’m Discussing Today: Kareem’s Daily Quote: This quote offers an approach to life that would make us all happier. But is it too hard to do? Substack, Nazis, Free Speech, and Me: Substack has received criticism recently about its policies. I address the controversy…

Read more

3 years ago · 397 likes · 88 comments · Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

As with sandwiches and meals I believe a desire to create something better than average can lead to positive change. We can pay it forward in small doses, and if we leave the world even slightly better than we found it we’ve done OK. Our memories and our histories shape who we are as much as our desires and ambitions. If those memories and ambitions allow me to open my fridge or enter my pantry and see a multitude of challenges and opportunities, that’s pretty cool. And if I manage to pass on some of these tastes to a new generation to remake into their own memories, so much the better.

That’s my life in the trenches for today. Thanks for joining, and let me know about your own recipes - whether for life or for dessert.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gentleman%27s_Relish

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schmaltz

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuck_shop

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corona_(soft_drink)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bobotie

1.     I don’t want to be doing the same thing in the same place for the rest of my life

2.     I much prefer to manage myself than have others manage me

3.     I am ambitious

4.     To succeed I need others to help me succeed, and still others to succeed with me

5.     I really don’t like feedback that is not positive, but I will definitely listen and act upon it

6.     What I may be feeling and thinking is not automatically received by those around me

7.     I am a perfectionist

8.     I am practical and a realist

9.     I look forward

10.  If I tackle the stuff I really don’t want to deal with first, my day goes smoother

In Part 1 I added additional commentary on Learnings 1 through 5. One of the comments I received was that the post was quite deep and serious. OK, but please note that (i) it’s me, and you shouldn’t take what I say too seriously, and (ii) it’s just work.

So, where are we …

6.     What I may be feeling and thinking is not automatically received by those around me

In spite of the fact that I am an empathetic individual this is/was one of the most difficult learnings to accept, and one of the most challenging to deal with. I mean, can’t you just tell by being in the same dimension as me that I am pleased, excited, extremely satisfied, very concerned, wowed, relieved and …. so on? Why should I have to express myself, and also if I do why should I have to do so in a manner each of you understand and can identify with?

Also, by the way, this is Work. Why - again – should I inquire about your weekend, your parents, your dentist appointment, kid’s schools, and …so on? And shouldn’t you be aware that you aced the project, did well with the client, came up with breakthrough thinking without me telling you so?

As per usual, it was because others let me know what’s what that I became aware of this issue and understood what I needed to do. In my first stint at Tumi I may have had a “more important” title but Patti in customer service and Marie the operations manager and Monica in payables and Mrs. Mcquillan who ran our warehouse took me to task for not demonstrating, well, a basic level of human connection. In effect my interpersonal skills were lacking and I needed to ramp up my communication abilities if I wanted to be an effective leader. I needed to pay extra attention to establishing a rapport. I remain conscious today that I need to express myself if I am to be understood and I need to engage if I wish to connect.  

Being open means to be comfortable with being vulnerable. This is a big ask.

7.     I am a perfectionist

8.     I am practical and a realist

Having these traits is both a positive and a negative, often simultaneously. Attaining perfection is not possible. I have it on good authority that Michelangelo walked away from the Sistine Chapel feeling there was still significant room for improvement but that his back was killing him and it wouldn’t be smart to continue the work if he wanted to do any other projects. And if you believe God created the human race it must have been the day they had a bad hangover or after trying to get it right they called time and said that’s about as good as even we can get. Not that I am claiming a god like affinity or even a passing semblance of Michelangelo’s talent, but there you go. Expecting your work to be perfect will tie you up in knots.

Aspiring to perfection - while recognizing that there will always be limitations - is a healthy part of the creative process. You need to dream, and you cannot stifle the dream by letting all the examples of why things won’t/don’t work rule your thinking. Otherwise there is no progress, no breakthroughs. Mapping the pathway to successfully innovate, disrupt, and execute in the real world is something I found I was pretty good at.

I am fastidious – but only in a good way. You should see my closet.

9.     I look forward

By this I mean that I have a good sense of what is possible and over time have a better than average record of making the possible probable, and the probable real. I can deliver a “future state” which is engaging, motivating, relevant and enables an even better future state in the years beyond. Looking forward is about identifying impactful opportunities as well as developing programs to minimize the impact of inevitable reversals. Looking backward is necessary, mainly to assess what has worked or is working or is not working. Then I look forward to plus “it” up / change it / remove it / replace it with something better. The “its” at work are products and services, processes, and people.

You can guess what the most difficult area for me is when it comes to change. I have created or been a part of some dream teams. There were always changes that were made that brought new team members in and took others out. There is a work maxim that states “the people who got you where you are may not be the people to get you where you’re going”. I tried to manage the outplacements with fairness and compassion. In the end I did what I believed was best for the team’s future. I made the decisions but I haven’t always been proud of my role and what it meant for those on the receiving end.  

Don’t talk the talk unless you’re prepared to walk the walk.

10.  If I tackle the stuff I really don’t want to deal with first, my day goes smoother

If you’ve read this far, thanks and no need to over-explain this learning. I make “to do” lists. I found if I addressed the unpleasant, more difficult, highly vexing tasks first, the rest would be easy. This worked for me. More or less. It may have been even smoother if I avoided them altogether and let them go away by themselves.

I have to put “avoidance” on my list.

So that is it. Approximately 2400 words that reflect my learning from over fifty years of teen, college and adult life in the trenches at work. Which is really the final learning. In the grand scheme of things, it’s the rest of your life that counts.

Go make it so.

As always, thanks and keep reading.

Laurence

I had to work. No other choice presented itself if I wanted to eat/clothe myself/educate my family/take that vacation. So I decided to make the best of it. As a teen I worked as the service department receptionist at an auto dealer; at college as a baby-sitter, gardener, dishwasher in the college infirmary and refreshment servicer (bartender) at reunions - a great gig, mainly because the more the alumni celebrating their glory years drank, the more they tipped; and then as an accountant, squash professional, management consultant, and eventually as a CEO.

What I have learned about myself in the fifty or so years I’ve been paid to do a job is fairly thin:

1.     I don’t want to be doing the same thing in the same place for the rest of my life

2.     I much prefer to manage myself than have others manage me

3.     I am ambitious

4.     To succeed I need others to help me succeed, and still others to succeed with me

5.     I really don’t like feedback that is not positive, but I will definitely listen and act upon it

6.     What I may be feeling and thinking is not automatically received by those around me

7.     I am a perfectionist

8.     I am practical and a realist

9.     I look forward

10.  If I tackle the stuff I really don’t want to deal with first, my day goes smoother

That’s about it. Some of these traits I recognized early on in my work life (#1, #3), others were learned. Usually the hard way. By mistakes, not doing certain things and living with the consequences. Fortunately I had help along the way (see #4). This is about work, not about business or sales or brands … there will be posts on these worlds of work in the future. This post is about what I learnt in my work life.

1.     I don’t want to be doing the same thing in the same place for the rest of my life.

I have tremendous respect for the millions who venture forth every day to do whatever they are asked to do. In our society they weather countless slights and sacrifices with scant thanks, minimal support and challenging personal economics. I hope they know they are valued and valuable, as most of us wouldn’t be able to do what we do without them. They are heroes.

I recognized early on that I needed both variety and challenge, and that I would give my best and do my best migrating into roles that allowed me to be creative and impactful.

My work was both an end, and a springboard to something else.

2.     I much prefer to manage myself than have others manage me

I enjoy being around those who, to use and overused phrase, both talk the talk and walk the walk. I have no time for those who believe their own publicity, think they are the smartest in the room, and don’t recognize when they are lucky or privileged and just not that good. There are plenty of good bosses. Unfortunately there are many more atrocious ones. Most of what is screwed up at work is due to those in charge. On reflection, this applies to the world at large as much as it does to work.

Mainly though, I just don’t like authority.

3.     I am ambitious

No question. I want(ed) to excel, to go up the ladder, quickly. I accomplished most of what I aspired to. Memory is tricky, but I hope I managed what I did based more on substance than form, and didn’t screw others in the process. If I did, apologies are in order.

I guess (I know) I have a wide competitive streak.

4.     To succeed I need others to help me succeed, and still others to succeed with me

Looking back at #’s 1 – 3 you can see I wanted to get on, to make something, to stand out. Unfortunately, these three traits are not conducive to succeeding in the corporate work world, where I happened to find myself. Unless your surname is Trump. How I got out of my own way is entirely due to the influence of others. Part of what happened is I looked for those who shared the same personal characteristics as myself and whose careers were advanced or advancing, and tried to discern whether they warranted emulation, and if so why. Ditto, if not, what was the turn-off.

Then I tried to ascertain what other elements had been at play in their work lives. Here is where #4 became evident. If there is one universal truth in my 10 personal learnings, this is it. By good fortune I had senior players who took a vested interest in my success. I made them look good and they helped me along my way. Seems a fair exchange, but without their trust and support I wouldn’t have been presented the opportunities or been given the second chances that I could take advantage of.

With apologies for all the following metaphors…then it was up to me to ensure that I knocked it out of the ballpark, sank the three pointer, scored the touchdown. Just basically nailed it. Or if (actually when) I fucked up, I took the heat and then made it right.

In addition, and equally important, I had friends and co-workers who helped me out. Advising, lending me their experience, and paying it forward.

Later, as I had more to play for, I depended entirely on how well my team performed. If they didn’t believe (not feel) I was vested in their success, no matter how great the plan the results would have been sub-par. So I applied my learning that unless they succeeded, I couldn’t either.

That’s a lot of sports metaphors, but I guess they are they good for something.

5.     I really don’t like feedback that is not positive, but I will definitely listen and act upon it

I mean, who the hell enjoys being told they suck? But I learnt that there may be nuggets of gold in the mountain of shit that my reviews generally consisted of. Feedback truly was a gift. And if I genuinely wanted to migrate up that career pole and not slide gracelessly down, I should listen, be more self-aware, and try adopting the behaviors, styles of effective communication, and leadership characteristics that would help me along the way. Not just to look good, but be good. Not just to be right, but to do right. I would not, could not, influence others and affect the outcome without improving my behaviors and controlling (or channeling) the impulses that got in the way of creating and executing a winning plan.

Being aware is a start. Learning is easy, change is difficult.

That’s #’s 1 though 5 and so halfway there. It’s a good place to pause. Both because I don’t want to overtax my gracious audience, and also because my brain just quit.

Thanks for sticking with this, and more to come in On Work – Part 2 from my life in the trenches.

Laurence

Allman Brothers

Avicii

Bob Dylan

Bruce Springsteen

Dave Matthews

Elliott Murphy

Graham Parker

Grateful Dead

King Crimson

Kygo

Little Feat

Los Lobos

Miike Snow

Neil Young

Nick Lowe

Pet Shop Boys

Plastic Bertrand

Prince

Rufus du Sol

Southside Johnny

Spirit

Steely Dan

The Blasters

The Band

The Fleshtones

The Fabulous Poodles

The Paranoid Style

And here are a couple of cool videos to start the weekend:

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Music, however, is my eternal and constant provocateur. I retain early childhood memories of being in the back of my parent’s car on an evening excursion and listening to the SABC (South African Broadcast Corporation) version of Top of the Pops. Slightly older, I memorized countless of the dueling hits between Cliff Richard and Elvis. Even today, nearly sixty years later, I can still feel the impact that hearing California Dreamin’ made while I was being driven home through the Johannesburg suburbs by my brother – him newly in possession of a driver’s license and so no longer in need of borrowing my bicycle to visit his girlfriend, but now in return obligated to transport me to and from my friends in our Mother’s Ford Cortina.

So while I have a tolerance for the Big Bands, an appreciation of early Jazz, and a respect for certain Classics, it is Rock that takes me on my sensory journeys. This may be because I was born in the decade when Rock took form, with Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochrane and Buddy Holly creating words and music that still resonate. Will Summertime Blues ever lose its relevancy? Never. Of course I was too young to remember their breakthrough stylings and it was only later that I came to know them. I came of age - musically – in the 60’s. And was there ever a better decade to wake up and turn on the radio or the record player? No. From Del Shannon to Deon to The Beatles and Rolling Stones and The Kinks and The Who and The Doors and Beach Boys, Janice Joplin and The Band and Carol King and Joni Mitchell and and and ….

The early 70’s continued to foster fabulous creativity and diverse musical greats. Up until disco that is. But the wave of sounds coming from bands formed in the early and mid 70’s carried me through those lean next ten years. Otis Redding, Queen, Santana, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Wilson Pickett, Sly and the Family Stone, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, The Cars, Blondie, The Ramones, Devo, the Talking Heads, and my favorite cousin, Aretha. Just kidding. About the cousin part. Then of course in leapt Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Prince, Madonna, U-2, Bowie and Depeche Mode to keep me company and provide life coaching as I navigated New York City and the vagaries of being an adult.

Because I lived in South Africa in the 50’s and early 60’s I didn’t actually know the ethnicity of many performers. If you were able to find their records they were encased in bland solid covers devoid of photographs. Unless you knew someone who had been overseas to the UK or US and brought back originals you, like me, likely had no clue Little Richard, Ray Charles, Fats Domino and even Nat Cole were black. Similarly, as some have told me, when they first heard their music they were surprised to learn that Sia, Rod Stewart, and Amy Winehouse were white. And that The Bee Gees weren’t three black women. Later, when we went to live in Zambia, I could tune into Casey Kasem’s top 40 on the local radio (a wonderful and classic example of US aid to developing nations). I raided the record collections of my friends from The International School of Lusaka. The Moody Blues, Cream, Led Zeppelin and Traffic entered my consciousness along with Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan and of course, The Band.

This musing is titled On Music – Part 1 because the topic and the myriad of songs that drive the senses to longing for lost friends and loves, to moods of melancholy and foot stomping ecstasy, and to awe at the raw talent of the musicians is too grand to capture in a single essay. So at some stage there will be a Part 2 and likely a Part 3 and Part 4 and and and ...

I’m going to end with a top 10 – my line in the sand, no excuses or honorable mentions or there are too many to list. But I’ve put them in alphabetic order because while I’m willing to make a stand I’m not that definite on the order.

1.     The Beatles

2.     Bruce Springsteen (and the E Street Band)

3.     The Clash

4.     The Doors

5.     Dire Straits

6.     Joni Mitchell

7.     The Kinks

8.     Linda Ronstadt

9.     The Rolling Stones

10.  The Who

11.  Everyone else

Man up - share your list.

Thanks and come back for more of lifeinthetrenches.substack.com

***************************************

Here are two of the finest ensemble versions of classic tunes. Skip any ads (apologies) and watch/listen all the way through:

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Five years later the country had lurched forward to a new state of being. The Ohio National Guard had shot four students dead and wounded nine others while they were attending an antiwar rally at Kent State University. A peace accord with Vietnam had been reached. The various convictions of the Chicago Seven had been reversed on appeal and the trial judge censured. Nixon was no longer president. In their day these events were as piercing and contentious as those that we now fixate on – the storming of the capitol, the rate of police shootings of people of color, and the leadership of both political parties at all levels of government. New terms entered our vocabulary – ecology, feminism, counter culture and the generation gap. As well as the beginnings of gay liberation and more comfort around self-expression.

I’ve no idea where I’m heading with all this, except to say that I have found it is useful to look ahead through a filter of what has gone on before. Were there really good old days? The optimism of the early 70’s gave way to disco, cocaine and the hustle – both in and out of the dance floor. Interest rates in the early 80’s were 25%, not 5%. And while gas wasn’t $7.00 a gallon there were days where you couldn’t buy it if your license plate ended in an odd number or you faced lines that lasted several hours at most filling stations.

My father, who had piloted heavy bombers in the second world war when he was twenty years old and in his fifties saw his pharmaceutical business nationalized by the government that had invited him in to develop local industry – and then had twenty four hours to leave that country – was unshaken in his faith in his fellow man. He was an unbridled optimist. He bought lottery tickets, did the football pools, and believed that it was more important to do right than be right. He died from leukemia at sixty six. Some of the last words he said to me, from his hospital bed, no doubt after I said something patronizing or idiotic, were, “I’m sick not stupid. But don’t worry, I’ll be fine”.

My mother was a diehard realist. An only child, her parents were shopkeepers. Rare for the time, she wanted a professional career. She overcame a disastrous first year at university and the skepticism of her professors to gain advanced science and anatomy degrees and went on to teach at medical school. When she learned she had high blood pressure - and high cholesterol - she threw out every single item in her pantry and restocked it with the right foods to create a healthy lifestyle. She played golf and cards well into her eighties, and would occasionally phone me when she was tipsy after an evening with a few friends and a few more gin and tonics. When she realized she was experiencing early symptoms of dementia she sold her apartment, moved to an assisted living center and maintained her independence for as long as humanly possible. Both my parents worked incredibly hard, lived within their means and enjoyed what they had without fussing too much about what they didn’t have.

So where do we go from here? Push forward, enjoy the journey, don’t be afraid to change direction, and every now and then – stop and smell the roses. Because you never know.

Thank you all for showing up, and please send me any thoughts and comebacks.

Two Apple peeves:

Why do I purchase the brand new iPhone and then have to do a software update before I can use it?

Why, when I do a software update on my MacBook, do I have to re-enter a bunch of log-in addresses and passwords?

Come on Apple - you can do better!

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Feel free to comment, plus up, or go completely in a different direction. That’s up to you.

My Substack is called Life In The Trenches because that’s the way I believe life is for most, me included. It’s a game of inches. It’s hard fought. It’s small and big successes and glaring, painful failures. And it’s best when accompanied by a sense of humor.

Enjoy.

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