“Character” Dialogue

Carrying on the familial tone from last entry, I’ll briefly report on something in the Hilltop Times of April 3, 2008. We recently passed the 60th anniversary of the Berlin Airlift. I also prize a recording I have wherein my Great-Uncle Stanley Swinson recounts his participation in that endeavor. Just a few excerpts from the article, in support of my contention that America can lend a gentle giant’s strength to conditions in the world dialogue of humanity:

The German crew who unloaded the aircraft set the tone for the operation.

“The lead man came toward the cockpit unable to speak our language,” the colonel said. “His expression said it all. He looked at the bag of flour and then at us like we were angels from heaven. People were hungry for food and freedom. We were giving them both and they were most grateful.” . . .

“The Berlin Airlift was the first confrontation of the Cold War, and it brought success without a single shot being fired,” Lichte said. “It is one of the most remarkable rescue missions of the 20th century.”

What do real men and nations do when the bullets stop flying? (You already know my personal answer to the question of what they do while the bullets are still flying.)

May I just say the stories you hear about hostile forces gathering together for Christmas celebration are still possible, even if they seem less likely than ever? Strangely, Southerners have an unusual aptitude for such behaviors. As Wilford Woodruff put it (JD, 12:12), “That is the nature of the Southern people—they would invite you to eat with them if they were going to cut your throat.” There is a curious code of conduct that I can scarcely grasp. I prefer to be genuine through and through.

Now I can finally relate a discussion my Grandfather Swinson had some fifty or so years ago. At the time he flew fighters out of Atlanta, with a naughty habit of making sweeps over his hometown of Milan. Once he flew so close to a church under construction that the suction knocked over a stack of bricks and rattled the remainder. People in town still discuss the wide-eyed tales of those who fled cotton fields in panic as he swooped in.

One time he decided that he wanted to scare some buddies playing cards at their usual location in the woods. As he approached they brushed it off as being typical of him; they were quite accustomed to his antics. But he kept getting lower, lower, lower . . . until they really scrambled, ducking, for their lives! As he executed the difficult upward pull afterward, he noticed an undeniable downward drag. The whole way back he couldn’t attain a reasonable speed.

So he strode into the general’s office:

Swinson: I messed up one of your planes, sir.
General: Which one?
Swinson: The new one, sir.
[The general proceeded to grill him with a series of intelligent questions.]
General: I’m not going to ask you how low you were flying!

Not long ago I confirmed with my dad that he’d never known Granddad Swinson to ever be afraid of anything. He’s definitely not afraid of death! On the other hand, I’ve known my dad to be afraid of snakes and needles—both of which are truly unpleasant things. (Dad avoided innoculation during army service by jumping into the outbound line and rubbing his arm like all the others. This came after a nasty experience where they broke off a needle in his arm.)

This week I renewed my labors at the front desk. This has provided ample amusement at times. One guy wanted us to help him write his will. Last time I did this duty, a rather tall sergeant type sat down across from me and quipped, “I bet lots of people call you Shorty.” I immediately responded, “Only once.” It often helps to defuse awkward situations by replying in kind, so long as “in kind” does not mean returning spiteful venom. I try, sometimes unsuccessfully, to remember, “Fun at the expense of others is too expensive. If anyone is to be the brunt of a joke, let it be yourself” (Carlos E. Asay, Family Pecan Trees: Planting a Legacy of Faith at Home [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1992], 102).

On Monday there was an individual who kept growing increasingly more agitated, challenging a check amount before he’d even received it. At one point he leaned forward a bit and, with me continuing to face him squarely, commented that most people wouldn’t even look him in the eyes when he wanted answers to his questions. He then said, still slightly upset, that he could appreciate my calm tone. None of this changed the fact that I had little else to tell him, and he finally left peacefully. Even though he’d treaded near the “supervisor” term two or three times, he totally dropped it.

One fellow who claimed head injury was severely aggravated about our decision. I explained the entire situation and evidence requirements, leaned securely on the desk, and invited him to find a more sympathetic doctor’s evaluation somewhere if he wanted things to change. Office discussion has it that with the “crazed look in the eye” people you have to excuse yourself—somehow walking away—because they’ll never leave. This guy got up and left on his own. Two bystanders gave me thumbs up for successful negotiation.

Apparently one scarcely restrained individual whom I ultimately—with approval—forwarded on to the final authority on the floor had actually been so upset “last time” that he was shaking, but he proceeded to praise me in high terms to the “boss.”

The point is not self-congratulation so much as that even socially inept people like me can often succeed when applying basic principles of honesty, respect of what can be respected, and “standing by your guns.” Just be sure you’ve got good guns, and the right to use them—though I suppose “standing by” them implies vigilance and not necessarily active usage. I recall again with enjoyment how Joseph Fielding Smith’s confidence born of absolute knowledge seemed to infuriate some. This continues today, as I just read: “Most scholars emphasize the importance of the triumvirate of Roberts, Talmage, and Widtsoe in the development and definition of Latter-day Saint doctrines at the turn of the century but ignore Smith’s importance. Perhaps this is because of his conservative rather than progressive doctrinal positions, or because of his opposition to the other three scholars over key theological issues. Arrington . . . reports a survey of ‘some fifty prominent L.D.S. intellectuals’ who ranked Roberts first, Talmage fifth, and Widtsoe sixth among the most influential Latter-day Saint intellectuals. Smith does not appear on the list of twelve” (Eric R. Dursteler, “Inheriting the ‘Great Apostasy,’” in Early Christians in Disarray: Contemporary LDS Perspectives on the Christian Apostasy, ed. Noel B. Reynolds [Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 2005], 32). I might add in passing that the “key” theological issues really reduce to just ONE, upon which other prophets have similarly commented—furthermore, I would probably place Roberts as the very last source for codification of my theological tenets, though liberal intellectuals certainly enjoy him. If they ever want to play dirty, I could point to some things Roberts maintained that would prove positively nauseating to all but the rankest liberals. “Playing” above-board, I could point to many, many things stated by those in higher councils that negate much of what he maintained. Talmage and Widtsoe are also somewhat misrepresented on the issue, especially Talmage. You can perhaps see why I don’t always get along with the intellectuals. Isn’t it curious that the man who undoubtedly held the most authority ranks the least in their book? Someone matters to them only if he says what they want to hear. Speak of going through life blind, certainly never rising above your own intelligence and your own ideas. When will they learn? While prophets may sometimes draw upon scholars to help them express a few things, when it comes to theology, prophets supersede scholars. One relevant quote, since I already have this book out for an upcoming thought:

Permit me to offer you a word of counsel about writing books or articles. Some of you have desired to write, and we do not discourage that. Because of problems with some writings from some of our teachers who have put themselves in print, it is well to give you some cautions. Doctrinal interpretation is the province of the First Presidency. The Lord has given that stewardship to them by revelation. No teacher has the right to interpret doctrine for the members of the Church. If Church members would remember that, we could do away with a number of books which have troubled some of our people. (The Teachings of Ezra Taft Benson, 317)

Speaking of standing by your guns (a phrase first expressed, it appears, by Abraham Lincoln), I could not find this quote, among my favorites, very rapidly in President Benson’s Teachings book, so I just pulled out the original source for its inclusion (1979 Devotional Speeches of the Year, BYU, 65):

How true it is—happy is the man who has found his worship, his wife, and his work, and loves them all.

The world is gradually beating a path to our door to see how we do things. Stick by your righteous guns and you will bless your fellowman. Be right, and then be easy to live with, if possible—but in that order.

There’s another fine line to walk: “speaking the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15) without being afflicted by the liberal disease, noted by Elder Oaks, “Carried to an undisciplined excess, love and tolerance can produce indifference to truth and justice, and opposition to unity. What makes mankind free from death and sin is not merely love but love accompanied by truth” (Ensign, Oct. 1994, 19). That is why I recorded in my journal on January 29, 2002: “I always have considered faithfulness a more desirable tool than tact.” I’d like to have truth with tact, but if one must yield, I will let go of tact first. Truth really can’t be compromised. This is not to disregard two important caveats with regard to dialogue, increasingly important if love is going to be less apparent: (1) the notion, scriptural in import, of imparting only what others are prepared to hear (or as mandated by God in opposition to their readiness); (2) that other judicious notion of picking your battle. This is why Gerry Spence had his finger on some truth:

I once believed, as most do, that if arguments are to be won, the opponent must be pummeled into submission and silenced. You can imagine how that idea played at home. If, in accordance with such a definition, I won an argument, I began to lose the relationship. Winning the argument merely meant that I had won the right to live in silence with the woman and children I loved. It meant that their ideas, their contributions to the relationship were diminished or demeaned or discarded. It meant that to win I disavowed their personhood, their uniqueness. It meant that to win I was left alone, preaching to myself, yapping, haranguing, demanding at an empty room. . . . Demonstrations of love, whether in the kitchen, the bedroom, or the courtroom, are the most powerful of all arguments. (How to Argue and Win Every Time: At Home, at Work, in Court, Everywhere, Every Day [New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995], 22, 29).

(This idea of winning every time reminds me of some jokes:

In line at the bookstore, I couldn't help but notice the two bestsellers the person in front of me was prepared to purchase: Conversations With God and How to Argue and Win Every Time. (Jesse Thompson, Reader's Digest, Oct. 2003, 103)

I think, perhaps, I should at this point announce my subject. A subject that is dear to the heart of every young lady present, i.e. MAN. I suspect you young ladies think you know quite a lot about that subject, but may I dare to suggest that you have something yet to learn, and that you will learn and be wiser. I remember hearing of one young lady who on her wedding day gave the bridegroom a book. It was entitled, The Marks of a Perfect Gentleman, and one year later she gave him another book entitled, Wild Animals I Have Known. (Hugh B. Brown, BYU Baccalaureate Address, 31 May 1956, 8)

)

For the reasons cited by Spence, it had better be gospel-based, and a time and battle worth engaging in, if you’re willing to be alone in your rightness. I suppose that’s why President Benson threw in the words “if possible.” The battle I chose with my last relationship—not conducted on strictly negative terms as the above quotation suggests—was but one of dozens waiting to be met, the time long overdue. We had begun severely losing the common forward campaign, and I had to address the fact that our flanks were getting in the way of defeating the enemy. (I also see this as a good cautionary thought that proper dialogue will tell us a lot, without necessarily degrading those with whom we wish no further dealings, about whether too much is going to be a daily battle for the relationship to be worth venturing.)

Returning to the tales from work... As for honesty, a line that I’ve said more than once on this front desk duty, even if it put them on immediate guard, is “I’m not going to lie to you . . .” I also won’t lie to you, my readers. It may well be that my unintimidating size assists others in lowering their guard again.

Some time ago I was promoted from VSR to RVSR, but they’ve delayed the start of training for my new responsibilities. First it was so I could participate in getting my successors on board, then so I could fill a big need with Public Contact. Now I’m not sure what the reasoning is, but this week they finally took me off the VSR “production standard,” and acknowledged the unjustness in putting me on a production standard for RVSR. So technically I don’t have to produce any results during the course of a day right now! We probably shouldn’t average more than spending half an hour with each person who comes to the front desk, but knowing this fact of no production standard I set all that aside for a few of the people who came in this week.

I had a satisfying hour helping a widow fill out her complete financial statement, including getting her on the phone with Zions Bank’s customer service. When asked about what one expense was, she explained really meekly that it was tithing: “I know I can’t afford it, but I think it’s important to pay.” I appreciated that she could say that to someone who, for all she knew, might be just one more Godless government employee. I congratulated her on her faith before moving on. Sorry to say, but I was somehow less naturally inclined to spend much time on the individual who outright remarked, “I’ve served my country, and it’s time for them to serve me.” That was also a far cry from the man who said he wanted no handouts, and that he wouldn’t have traded his military experience for anything. It had meant the world for him to hurry off with an injured native baby not expected to live and then return it to its parents healthy, as well as an assignment to recover the remains of MIAs in Vietnam. He just said if the government had programs in place to assist him with the expenses of surgery to fuse and otherwise repair his spine (damaged due to service-connected injury), he thought it was worth a look.

In that fine distinction, I find that I’m likely to give respect where it is commanded (this verb implying natural deserving, and not a verbal order), but not so much where it is demanded. Then I fall back on the natural basic respect due all mankind, but might not rise much beyond that. Where gospel is concerned, I expressed this private thought on December 10, 2002: “So I’m not sure I could ever tell the people they are something that they aren’t, but I will love them for who they are and encourage them toward what they can be. My goal with teaching is still for the receivers to sense a duty to be up and doing once I fall silent.” (In my last relationship, an incredibly perceptive man had told us that I would be what she let me be, and that she would be who I said she was. She wouldn’t let me do much, and I found over time that my every compliment was beginning to ring hollow and make life feel like a lie. I eventually made the “mistake” of trying to reason with her that commendation sometimes needs a basis.) I’m also now determined that whenever I hear that tired old line, “boys will be boys,” when used to excuse bad behavior—by which I do not intend to discourage childish play in its season, I will begin to answer along these lines: “No. They must grow up some time, and that begins with discipline. Otherwise, even men will be boys.” (See 1 Corinthians 13:11; I think I just decided to discuss the use of youth at a future date.)

This week I learned that I was essentially gently laid off my second job, though two different supervisors have since proposed some sort of permanent standby status. They finally hired someone to do what I was trying to pack in. (Not long ago they sought my time commitment for the week ahead, saying I did what any three normal people could do, so I’m not insulted by this gesture in the least.) I had a legendary reputation there, and can I just say it’s bone-wearying trying to maintain such a reputation as that? ;-) I was actually at the point where I’d been pondering how to ask them for more of my free time back. I have far more important personal projects in life than the accumulation of unnecessary wealth.

In many ways I am grateful to be “off the hook” with one lady. (My theft of another blog’s delightfully clever look at that phrase in no way implies that author’s permission.) It is largely a blessing—only a curse if turned to that end—to be in charge of one’s own destiny. But that was the purpose of our coming here.

During a weekend plagued by the delirium of a cold probably picked up from the public, I have often been led to the reflection that I have not to date encountered the woman whom I would actually have wanted to spend the rest of my life and eternity with. (That even led to a very interesting disease-riddled dream.) This is for more individual reasons than just a flat dismissal, of course. I think of President Kimball’s observation about dangerous makeout locations being “places where people discuss little of art, music, or doctrines” (TSWK, 288). It’s been my observation that there’s too little discussion of those ANYWHERE, especially the last item (though I realize that may be peculiar to my tastes). On a side note, which I’m bound to make as lengthy as all the main notes, a display of ignorance in the doctrinal department is unlikely to produce an immediately bad response from me, but if it’s done with a degree of haughtiness, insistence, or unteachableness, I certainly know it’s time to bring that particular discussion to a close...to at least find a way to excuse myself. I know that if I was unaware of something the prophets taught, I would appreciate having it brought to my attention. Method would count for a great deal, but ultimately I would just be grateful to learn the truth. However, where genuine discussion does not seem invited, it often seems best to leave off.

“Talk wears thin” (Ibid.) everywhere I look. Sometimes in the past I’ve let it wear thin, seeing as my every attempt to address those three items, and whatever others a shy man could come up with, failed to produce a successful date conversation. Then I knew it was time to go home. Yet the gospel teaches us never to take our experience—even if in my case it seems to span twelve or more years—and categorize everyone. Such is useless bitterness, and ineffective for gospel progression. Obviously there are exceptions, much as I’m still counting on it so far as companionate dialogue is concerned, and the Savior dealt with people on an individual basis in any event.

I suppose only honest yet respectful dialogue will ever lead me to that happy state of—terribly worded though it is—a mutually beneficial relationship. (An enlightening search of prophetic quotes is for their teaching that there is no “double standard” for the men and women.) At length, may I just say that I’m free of further guilt (even self-inflicted) on the matter of being in the clutches of “Talons,” a.k.a. “Smiling Eyes” (by use of this name, I have in mind various and sundry gospel articles). I only make such blatant reference because, after reading a few things, that’s the easiest way I find to clear my brain’s buffer again; I don’t do it in any way to put malignment out there that could ever be tied to her own life. May she have peace from me, same as I hope for the same in return. Nonetheless, I'll follow a side track that utilizes words and concepts applicable to all:

In the hour of temptation, sin does not woo us in her true beastly garb, but comes with sweet smells, fine raimant [sic] and flattering speech. We are led to believe that we must attach ourselves to this desirable creature to increase wisdom, influence or stature. But when the honeymoon is over, too late we see that the hair is a wig, the flesh unclean, the garb sloppy, and the disposition vicious. But there she is, clinging to our arms, standing in our way, insulting our friends. Separation would be desirable, but is not easy to obtain. Separation is repentance; but as soon as proceedings are started, she cleans up and comes again in her most tempting attire. Even if the final decree is won, sin comes back again and again in the most trying situations to embarrass and complain. (Glenn L. Pearson, Know Your Religion [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1961], 150)

I know the many disguises of that monster, Fortune, and the extent to which she seduces with friendship the very people she is striving to cheat, until she overwhelms them with unbearable grief at the suddenness of her desertion. . . .

You have discovered the changing faces of the random goddess. To others she still veils herself, but to you she has revealed herself to the full. If you are satisfied with her ways, you must accept them and not complain. But if you shudder to think of her unreliability, you must turn away and have nothing more to do with her dangerous games. She has caused you untold sorrow when she ought to have been a source of peace. For she has left you, she in whose constancy no man can ever trust. Do you really hold dear that kind of happiness which is destined to pass away? Do you really value the presence of Fortune when you cannot trust her to stay and when her departure will plunge you in sorrow? And if it is impossible to keep her at will and if her flight exposes men to ruin, what else is such a fleeting thing except a warning of coming disaster? It will never be sufficient just to notice what is under one's nose: prudence calculates what the outcome of things will be. (Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, rev. ed., trans. Victor Watts [New York, New York: Penguin Books, 1999], 22-23)

I was practically alarmed, certainly amazed, to find "the ex" staring back at me in Chekhov’s stories “La Cigale” (Grasshopper) and “The Princess”; it was as if he was writing part of my story. Some final remarks on my study of human nature that I referred to in an earlier entry.... Two of the things I study most feverishly (since they might be my weakest feature) in developing my most promising story are dialogue and character portraiture. I probably can’t help but stick pieces of my own observations into the characterizations. Even “Smiley” will probably end up in there somewhere, despite my best efforts to the contrary.

I sometimes seem characterless (or colorless) because I withdraw from such expressions myself, preferring instead to analyze...isolating and magnifying virtues, suppressing vices. Admittedly, I’m not human in many normal senses, though I’m anything but free of sin. In other ways, my experience has not taught me that it’s very profitable to put my personality out there. Too many people want me to behave the way they would, instead of learning how I would. Fairly recently (October '07), I came home from a group setting and wrote: "I thought several times tonight that I shouldn't have to practically feel sorry for knowing the truth, as though unlearning it would make me acceptable." "And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceive that this also is vexation of spirit. For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow" (Ecclesiastes 1:17-18). This sort of public rejection, even on subtle terms, may be in part why I once wrote in my journal that, until I feel at liberty to relax around someone, “The reason for the pathos herein is that I’m a man of intense passions. Part of me has gone underground in that respect, so my feelings bleed through onto these pages. Most people only see glimpses of my emotions, for instance in the eyes.” I’m not certain whether this February ‘04 remark from that former relationship is a plus or not: “[you] spend a lot of journal time thinking about [your] thoughts.”

So I intend now to steer back away from these personalizations into perhaps one or two more entries about dialogue situations in general. May you have a good day, free of self-love and full of loving interaction with others.