Rex M Rogers - Discerning What Is Best

Discerning What Is Best
With Dr Rex Rogers

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Details: Written by Rex M. Rogers; Published: 15 October 2010

My freshman year I served as a writer for our high school newspaper and yearbook. I don’t know how I got this job, except maybe that I could type faster than most boys and a lot of girls. Whatever it was I value the experience because it’s one of the earliest memories I have of participating “officially” in the writing craft. I loved to read and I loved newspapers then and now, so writing was an unplanned but logical next step. It wasn’t a lot, but it was a beginning.

This was pre-Internet and pre-everything else. We learned lay out by physical cut and paste, which was a better education in geometry than I got the next year in Geometry class.

I can’t remember my Geometry teacher’s name. Odd, isn’t it? This person who dominated my sophomore year and I can’t remember her name. I do remember that she was the kind of teacher we liked to make jokes about. She was smart and probably a fair teacher, but she was also extremely thin, talked with a squeaky voice, and had what to us were antiquated ideas about how to behave. All that is undoubtedly unfair to her but such is the mentality of sophomores.

Geometry was scheduled after P.E. class just before lunch. One day for reasons I yet don’t comprehend, at the end of P.E. class I changed clothes and I got locked in the Locker Room. Just me, locked in a stinky locker room. I spent the entire next period contemplating life in prison because either no one heard me yell or no one cared to liberate me. So I missed Geometry class.

With the coming lunch hour someone re-opened the Locker Room and I made my escape. I went straight to Geometry class and told Mrs. Thin where I’d been and why I’d missed class. She didn’t believe me and told me so. I did all the things one does in proclaiming ones innocence but to no avail. She eventually gave me a poor grade for that day and I had to like it or lump it.

If I ever needed therapy it wasn’t for being locked in a Locker Room. Maybe if it’d been all night in the dark, but it was 45 minutes in late morning. No, if I ever needed therapy it’d be because of Mrs. Thin's squeaky voiced lack of confidence in my moral compass. I got through that class but didn’t like Geometry then and don’t like it now.

High school offered different kinds of highlights. Us teens knew the best places to go to make out, which I won’t identify just in case these hideouts are still in use. Of course, back then, making out was about all anyone ever did, except obviously the one girl who got pregnant while we were in high school. She was a beautiful girl who hung out not only with the wrong guy—a loud-mouthed tough—but with the wrong crowd. She paid a sad price for her misjudgment, and sadder still, I’m not sure he ever paid any price. While she was permitted to remain in school until she "showed" this was still a scandal in those days, a far cry from the lack of concern, lack of shame, and lack of common sense that passes for teen sexuality today.

We were blessed to go through high school without hearing about our self-esteem, inner self, finding ourselves, being true to ourselves, or you owe it to yourself. We did, however, hear about selfishness and self-starter, the former bad, the latter good. Though it was the end of the 60s, Small Town high school was still insolated and thus insulated from the winds of cultural change that were blowing down establishment ideas and institutions across the nation. The Me Generation was yet to come. We still believed in individual responsibility and social consequences, and for this I am grateful.

*This blog may be reproduced in whole or in part with a full attribution statement. Contact Dr. Rogers or read more commentary on current issues and events at www.rexmrogers.com or follow Dr. Rogers at www.twitter.com/RexMRogers.

Details: Written by Rex M. Rogers; Published: 14 October 2010

The successful rescue of Chile’s 33 miners late last evening is an all-too-rare good news story, this one of global proportions. Trapped a half-mile underground for 69 days, the fact their rescue was played out live on worldwide television made it even more dramatic.

The miners’ resilience and their families’ emotional welcome were moving illustrations of human resolve. The crew’s outstanding leadership and well-organized activities underground for the past two stressful months were inspiring. Both the responsiveness and effectiveness of the Chilean government were enough to give one hope that government really can get it right, sometimes.

And three cheers to the rescuers, including particularly the six who descended to the miners’ chamber to help them come back safely to the surface. Needless to say, the world wishes the miners well in their post-traumatic re-entry and healing process.

Of course there are those who find ways to muddy the story. Sure, the miners are human and they’re not necessarily all stand-up guys when it comes to family and fidelity. So with 33 men involved it’s not surprising to discover there may be both wives and mistresses in the mix. What’s more discouraging, though, is to see various world media trying to make some kind of cheap reality program out of whatever moral mess they can find or agitate.

Still, the story is a great one from which books will and should be written. These books will bear some similarity to the story of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s ill-fated 1914-17 expedition and ship, Endurance, which was trapped in Antarctic pack ice and crushed. Shackleton led his 27 men through extreme hardship to safety with no lives lost, earning for the captain, though mostly after his death, heroic status.

The extraordinary efforts put forth to rescue 33 miners reminds the world once again of the ultimate value of each human life. Everyone matters, everyone deserves dignity and liberty.

There are leadership lessons, as well as disaster prevention and response lessons to be learned here. There’s fodder for fictional plot twists and compelling documentaries. There’re religious and political morals to this story.

Here’s hoping these lessons are learned, stories are told, and these Chilean men go on to other achievements and an appreciation for a gracious God.

Details: Written by Rex M. Rogers; Published: 13 October 2010

High school in Small Town was a series of highs and lows. Really highs and really lows. Or maybe this had more to do with being teenagers than high school.

Looking back one could say our ups and downs were not all that significant, but they seemed so to us. This was true in studies, sports, romance, and even teachers.

In my time in Small Town we benefitted from outstanding elementary and junior high teachers, a whole list of them in the day when teachers took their professional calling seriously. Every teacher to whom I was assigned from 1^st Grade to 8^th Grade did a remarkable job of helping us slay the dragons of ignorance. In most ways they may have been ordinary people, but they were in our lives extraordinary teachers because they taught and they expected us to learn.

Changing culture changed all that, and not for the better. We got the first inklings of this in high school. By the time we arrived in high school waves of education reform and counter culture were just beginning to weaken secondary schools. Teachers were still in authority and students were still expected to “obey.” But this was a quaint practice, one undermined a little more each month with news of university student sit-ins.

It wasn’t long before the academic establishment rejected the idea one could know truth about anything. All things are relative, the postmodernists said. The logical conclusion of this illogical idea is that nothing matters, particularly religion. Students weren’t long in picking up on the “nothing matters” part and education turned into a river of hedonism, narcissism, and nihilism that still inundates it today. Very soon, it was “Make Love, Not War,” “Flower Power,” and civil disobedience.

But in high school we were still blissfully oblivious to much of this. And we were blessed with a few excellent teachers, no question—Mrs. Burns, Mrs. Crevey, Mr. Farley, to name a few. But we had our share of bummers too. Having spent a career working in academia and knowing what I know now about education I can say without fear of exaggeration that at least four, maybe five, of these people should have been sent to find their real calling in life—it clearly wasn’t teaching.

I’ve mentioned before the broken-nosed former prison guard who masqueraded for a time as our Physical Education teacher. Then there was the Health and Physical Education teacher who mostly got by on charisma. We laughed a lot but didn’t learn much in his classes.

Our nominee for Inept Teacher of the Year would have to go to our Physics teacher. He was a former Presbyterian minister and if he gave as much to his ministry as he did to teaching I understand why people didn’t keep him in the pulpit.

There were about 8 guys and 1 girl in the class. We were all college prep kids so our grades were good and perhaps this is another reason the teacher let us off the hook. Mostly, though, I think he was treading water.

For two periods in Physics class, that’s a good chunk of the day, we did one of two things, or both. Every day four or five guys would gather around this girl, one who was attractive, smart, talented, and highly popular, and basically vie for her attention for two periods. I liked her too and joined the group a few times. But I can remember thinking I didn’t want to be part of the herd, so I chose not to be.

Mostly I played chess. That’s right, chess. For two periods every day our entire senior year a few guys, my friend Larry Yoho being one of them, and I held Physics class chess tournaments. We got to be pretty good at chess but didn’t learn much about physics.

Ridiculous. I look back now and think about the wasted academic time. I wonder why the principal never showed up and how the teacher got away with it. I wonder how a teacher as lazy and unmotivated as this fellow survived in the system. But there we were, flirting on one end of the room, playing chess on the other.

I mentioned Mr. Farley and I should give him his due. In my estimation he was under-rated as a teacher by his peers and his students. This lack of appreciation stemmed more, I think, from his quirky personality and mannerisms than from his teaching. But he was, in a word, an excellent teacher.

Mr. Farley lectured every day, required us to take notes, and administered challenging tests. He asked us questions in class and expected us to know the answers. He clearly loved his subject and was nothing if not diligent in his pedagogy. I sat in both his U.S. History class my junior year and his U.S. Government class my senior year. In both I learned a great deal and consider this experience one influence in my later opting in college to pursue both a Social Science and History major and a teaching certificate.

Mr. Farley nominated me for an odd-sounding award called the “I Dare You Award,” which I earned, probably in large part due to his affirmation. He presented it to me at graduation and, though the name is funny, the idea was to think big, think bigger in terms of ones potential achievements and contributions. It’s a great concept, another large lesson in a Small Town upbringing.

Details: Written by Rex M. Rogers; Published: 12 October 2010

Given the air travel I’ve been doing I think I have a reasonable sense of what’s not happening in customer relations on America’s airlines. In short, customer relations are MIA.

Take today. I arrived at the airport to discover that Continental had rebooked my flight from Philadelphia to Newark as a train ride. That’s right, a train. No one contacted me to see if I approved this change. It was just made. So here I am at Philly International and the train station is downtown.

No problem, right? Just rebook. This I tried to do until the Continental agent said, “I can’t change the ticket. It belongs to Delta.” Even though Delta and Continental are not part of the same airline cooperative, still, mysteriously having something to do with Orbitz, the ticket belonged to Delta because I’d flown to the City of Brotherly Love on that airline.

A long walk through the ticketing area brought me to Delta. The agent, a woman maybe in her mid-20s, says, and I kid you not, “What do you want?” I resist telling her what I’m thinking and simply explain my need to rebook a jet, not a train. She immediately appears flummoxed, taps innumerable keys, and challenges my interpretation of the issue until I produce paperwork proving my view. After more rolling of the eyes, exaggerated body movements, and looks of disgust at other agents—not at me—I’m not sure she ever made eye contact with me—she tells me she can’t do this and the ticket belongs to Continental.

I show her my paperwork once again demonstrating otherwise and she calls in a manager, a woman who was a bit more mature but never intervened in any way in how her employee conducted herself. After more calls, keys, and denials it could be done, the young agent finds the right page in the system. Now she challenges my drivers’ license’s validity—I had just gone to the Secretary of State’s Office for renewal and the license had a paper stapled to it. My new one awaits me at home. Finally, I get her past this and she completes the work, prints new boarding passes, and slaps them—yes, slaps them—on the counter in front of me. Never once did she say “Thanks” or “Sorry for the confusion” or for that matter anything civil.

When I get to Detroit I discover the agent had put me on a later flight when an earlier one was available. I rebooked again but paid for this by an eventual delay in the flight and a wait at Grand Rapids for my luggage to come in on the original still later flight.

When my bag didn’t arrive in Grand Rapids I approached the Delta desk where three agents were standing working over another bag. Fine, I waited. Then one agent left without looking at me, the other agent didn’t acknowledge my presence and finally wondered off, and the third continued to ignore me. Finally she looked up and asked if I had a bag claim.

Not every agent is like these. One fellow today called me “Mr. Rogers,” smiled, said, “Have a good flight,” and in every way acted professionally. But too many act otherwise. Too many give you attitude, suggesting whatever the problem, it’s clearly your fault, not the airline’s and certainly not theirs.

I’ve written before that American airlines need to learn about customer service from international airlines. It’s not that they have to spend a lot of money. Southwest Airlines consistently ranks at the top of customer satisfaction and it’s a no-frills airline featuring flight attendants who rap, dance, chant poetry and more. It’s about giving customers the modicum of respect they deserve.

Question for the Christian: How should one respond when treated unprofessionally? Answer as one is tempted? Let them have it. Raise your voice? Or maybe don't say anything at all, just walk meekly away? Or should we somehow find a way to speak the truth in love?

Details: Written by Rex M. Rogers; Published: 11 October 2010

Certain characters loom large from my youth. One lived across an alley from our house. Others I met later at my first job off the farm.

Mr. Hagen was across the alley. A retired fellow by the time I got to know him, he had a first name but I don’t remember it. He was always Mr. Hagen to me. He was honest, hard-working to a fault, apparently devoted to his wife, loved to tell tall tales, generous, and a first-class gardener.

Mr. Hagen’s gardens: no weeds, big green growing plants, walkways, and continuous harvest throughout the fall. He spent hours on end days on end in that garden. People would find him there and start long chats over the back gate or sitting in his swing.

What made Mr. Hagen interesting was the confluence of exaggerated traits he presented in a short package. He could talk forever, liked to talk to anyone and everyone, smoked stinky cigars, told these long convoluted stories that somehow kept you engaged to the end, and salted his language with healthy, or maybe unhealthy, doses of earthy vocabulary.

I can’t say that I remember any terrible words he taught me—his words were, in today’s context, pretty tame. But I can still remember those long conversations wherein he instilled the idea that I could probably do whatever I set out to do. I didn’t know then whether that was true, and I’m not so sure now, but the thought certainly makes you look beyond. I owe his memory that—far horizons.

Details: Written by Rex M. Rogers; Published: 10 October 2010

We’ve talked about five things grandparents wish their grandkids knew and five things grandkids wish their grandparents knew. Now here are five things I wish everyone knew:

What matters is Christ and biblical Christianity, nothing more, nothing less. Christians spend too much time and energy arguing about cultural preferences. Christian liberty may be the least understood and least practiced doctrine in the Bible. Applying it would be freeing in more ways than one.

Developing a truly Christian worldview is the most liberating thing one can experience. For the Christian who has already experienced salvation in Christ, the most powerful impact upon his or her life will be a biblical philosophy of life. No other worldview accurately explains the nature of good and evil, the world, and our place in it.

The world is desperate for leaders who lead with a proactive, motivating faith in Christ. Uncertainty and anxiety define our times more than stability or hope. People are looking for answers and the people who possess them. Faith-based leaders are capable of connecting us with God’s vision and his hope.

God never told us to check our brains and our backbone at the door of the church. Christians were never told to be whimpy. God expects us to demonstrate the fruit of the Spirit in our lives, but he also expects us to think and to act responsibly. Meekness is not weakness and weak Christianity is not biblical.

It’s not about you. Life is not about me or you in an individualistic sense. It’s about God’s will for each and all of us and the culture in which we live. Our task is to live out our faith through works that magnify his name in all that we do.

Everyone would live a more fulfilled life if he or she lived according to how God designed the world in the first place. Biblical philosophy is not esoteric nonsense. It’s practical and it works.

Revised “Making a Difference” program #420 originally recorded September 28, 2005.

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