Shifting Gears

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

“I think I may quit this truck driving thing and start doing a stand-up comic/piano player act.”  The gentleman, whom I would describe as a senior citizen (anyone over ten years older than I) spoke the words in all seriousness as we talked in the store today.  I thought the statement might be part of his act and said, “Well, we’ll have to raise the piano keyboard first, or it will be a sit-down comic act,” but he wasn’t joking.  Just in the last three months, he’s put 30,000 miles in for the trucking company he’s now quitting, and he’s tired of that gig.  He loves music and is quick with the jokes, so he thinks he’s got a chance.  I say more power to him.

I have nothing but admiration for people who are willing to make a new start, take a gamble, and do what they have always wanted to do.  My own father left the Navy at 30 years old, not because he wanted to, but with an honorable discharge for health reasons (there’s a story there I may tell someday).  He went to work for the Post Office, working his way up through the ranks, only to leave that job at age 45, having to take a disability retirement because of contaminants there which nearly killed him.  Many men would have been happy to draw their pensions, golfing and fishing their way through their declining years, but Dad saw an opportunity to do what he had always had a burning desire to do and took it.  He applied to his church leaders for ordination as a pastor and started preaching full time.  Thirty-five years later, at 80 years of age, he’s still preaching full-time and will, if he has his way, almost certainly continue until he dies.

Adaptability.  What a great gift to have in your life.  The capacity to turn on a dime, exchanging one set of skills for another and accomplishing a completely different mission than the one you started with.  I’m not sure that I’m gifted in that way.  I’ve never had to do such a U-turn.  Oh, sure, I’ve had to seek out alternative methods for accomplishing my tasks.  We all do that.  Plan A doesn’t work out so we move to Plan B.  That’s not the same thing.  I’m referring, not to a Y in the highway, but to a dead end, compelling one to find a completely disparate route through life.  I say I’m not sure I’m gifted in that way, but I’ve never really had to find out.  I’m hoping I never do.

I jokingly say, once in awhile, that I’m still not sure what I’m going to do when I grow up.  Some days, I’m really tempted to take a stab at the bum idea, but I like regular meals and the comfort of a bed too much to go after that.  In reality, I’m hoping that the Good Lord will just let me keep doing what I’m doing, making small adjustments to keep things fresh, until the time I can’t do it anymore.  No stand-up comedy for me (you’d only groan at my jokes).  I’m also pretty sure that I wouldn’t do very well as a pastor.  I like to preach, but somehow, I get the idea that pastors work on other days besides Sundays.  

“Circumstances are the rulers of the weak, they are but the instruments of the wise.”
(Samuel Lover 1797-1868 Irish Songwriter and novelist)

Staying focused

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Dear Mr. Phillips,”  the note began.  It wasn’t a solicitation from Publisher’s Clearinghouse, but a real note and that, coupled with the formal greeting, should have started the brain working.  But I took no notice of the “Mister” thing and went right on reading.  The young university student wanted to photograph me.  An assignment for a class, she said.  They needed “environmental photos” of people at work.  She was a music lover, so the music store seemed logical to her.  Maybe I could do a repair on her guitar while she shot pictures.

I love pictures, especially ones with me in them.  I know that’s more telling than anything else I’ve said before in these posts.  You’re probably thinking “narcissist”  and “arrogant” right about now, and you might be right. But, I bet most of you do it too, don’t you?  You see pictures of an event you attended and can’t avoid sweeping all the photos with a glance to see if your image is there.  Of course, you notice others you’re familiar with, but you want to see yourself too.  We love to remember events with ourselves participating in them.  I think that’s human nature, but I may be about to change my modus operandi with regards to photos.

The young lady was very nice, allowing me to work while snapping dozens of pictures.  Every once in awhile, she would ask me to look at the camera and “smile”, to make a change from my usual glaring demeanor, I suppose.  How does one “smile” at a camera without it being fake?  The only smiles I have ever thought natural in a photo were those taken candidly, while I was smiling at a funny statement, or even roaring at an even funnier joke.  I don’t “smile” at cameras, because the cardboard caricature which emerges from the little box never makes me happy enough to really smile later, either.

As she left, I wondered aloud if she would be so kind as to email me a few of the better pictures, after her project was behind her.  She assured me that she would and this evening, a couple of emails arrived with the photo files attached.  I’m sure that she did her best work, but I think the camera must have malfunctioned as she snapped the images.  The guy in all of the pictures looks at least 50 years old!  How is that possible?  I could understand, if she had an old man for a subject, but this is me!  Well, all right, I am over 50, but that’s no excuse for not doing better work.

Sometimes, an action or isolated event, disturbs our fantasies of life as we want it to be.  We’re suddenly disillusioned and face reality.  This isn’t one of those times.  The camera must have been malfunctioning.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.  The old guy in those photographs won’t exist for another ten years or so.  Well, not in my head anyway.  One of the things I believe to be true is that if you think you’re old, you’ll act old.  Maybe the inverse is also true:  Act old and you’ll think you’re old.  For some reason, unfathomable to me, the generation just older than mine, my parent’s contemporaries, wanted to be older.  They ran helter-skelter for old age like it was a badge of honor to be won.  No physical games, no biking, no skate boarding, no fun allowed.  Card games, golf, and book clubs for them.  If you could be solemn enough, staid enough, sedate enough, you could win the prize.  Respect would be yours, and everlasting renown. 

Not for me, thanks!  I want to ride on the skate-boards with the kids, bike down the hills (not so much up them), and keep moving.  I understand kids and their unwavering objective of doing new things, learning new concepts, and getting a little scraped up in the process.  At least in my brain, that’s who I still am, so the pictures, while possibly factually authoritative, do not reflect the real me.  I’m pretty sure that I’ll always be a kid inside and will always love the new toys, always be looking for new ways to do the old jobs, and hopefully, always be looking for new things to learn.  With that really old rocker, Rod Stewart, I’d like to be “Forever Young”!

“Everyone is the age of their heart.”
(Guatemalan proverb)

“Father Time is not always a hard parent, and, though he tarries for none of his children, often lays his hand lightly upon those who have used him well; making them old men and women inexorably enough, but leaving their hearts and spirits young and in full vigour.  With such people the grey head is but the impression of the old fellow’s hand in giving them his blessing, and every wrinkle but a notch in the quiet calendar of a well-spent life. “
(Charles Dickens)

Cleanliness is next to impossible!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

We’re cleaning the music store so the cleaners can come tomorrow.  It’s a weekly event.  Oh, we also do the same thing at the house every other week, the night before they come to clean.  Does that seem pointless?

Let me transport you back 25 years to when we purchased our music store and moved it to a different location within a couple of weeks of taking over.  We picked up, packed up, bagged up clutter, and then did it all again several times and I said, “I’ll never let this store get like this while I’m running it.”  Thirteen years later, we moved again and we picked up, packed up, bagged up, and rented a dumpster.  (Filled it four times with junk we had accumulated.)  And, as we moved into our current location, I said, “I’ll never let this store get like this again while I’m running it.” 

Shift scenes to an old Victorian house in this same town.  We lived there for eighteen wonderful years, raising two children, any number of cats, and a dog or two.  When we got ready to move a few years ago,  some of our very good friends were kind enough to help us corral the clutter (they repented, too late) and together we picked up, packed up, and bagged up.  And I said, “We’ll never let our house…”  Well, you get the picture.

Now, I’ve admitted that I’m not the brightest color in the box, but as Mr Tolkien says with such clarity, “Even he can see through a brick wall in time (as they say in Bree).”  He was speaking of a character who “…thinks less than he talks, and slower,”  which seems to describe me to a tee, so maybe even I can learn, given enough chances. 

When we moved into the house, we hired a housekeeper who comes every two weeks to clean.  We do some light housecleaning in between and by we, I mean the Lovely Lady, since I can walk past the same piece of trash everyday for a week without noticing it.  And, every other Wednesday, we leave for work in the morning and as if by magic, come home to a sparkling clean abode! The thing about housekeepers though, is that they won’t tackle our clutter for fear that they might lose something important to us.  So every other Tuesday, as we arrive at the eve of their semi-weekly visit, we go though the house, sorting and throwing away, precleaning in preparation for their battle against our dirt.

A couple of years ago, we came to the conclusion that we could use a similar plan of attack for the music store, so we bought new shelves, sorted, threw out, and generally did the same thing we had each time we moved before, but this time with the purpose of staying put, only in cleaner quarters.  And now, like at home, each week we move errant returns off of counters, wind up guitar cords, and sort any stragglers that have escaped our paper filing efforts of the previous days. The transformation after the cleaners are done is not so mysterious here, since I’m usually sitting at my desk before they finish, but the result is no less stellar.

At last, we don’t have to be embarrassed, either by our home or the business.  Visitors to both are greeted with smiles and invited in without fear of distress.  Life is easier and less stressful than before.  And to top it off, we’ve developed a great friendship with the cleaners, a very nice couple with whom we share many common perspectives.  I frequently find it hard to allow them to do their work, since we love to spend time in conversation about many subjects, from music, to Bible doctrine, to our common love of auctions.

I do have one serious issue, though.  Their unreasonable refusal to deal with my clutter, and my own inertia, has left me with a location in the store which I think my mother would refer to as a pigsty.  I sit every day at a desk piled high with papers which may or may not have any logistical reason to be there. Come to think of it, many of them may even be simply trash.  I don’t know and really don’t have time or much of an inclination to find out.  So the stacks grow and each week, the cleaners work carefully around them, leaving the impression of cleanliness in our store, which flees as quickly as you look at the desk.  I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, not even sure that I want to correct the issue.  I guess sometimes, the pig just needs to have a little bit of mud to wallow in, even if the rest of the barn is spotless.  Can you understand that?  I just need a place to settle into, grunt once in awhile, and merely feel at home. 

I am sorely tempted to turn this into a moral tale, reminding the reader of the spots of pity and self-centeredness that we love to reserve in our otherwise orderly lives, but I’ll let you fill in the blanks.  For myself, I’m content to wallow here, comfortably answering emails, posting pictures, and taking orders.  Life is good, or would be, if I didn’t have to finish picking up those boxes before morning. 

“Look, ask me what paper came to my desk last week and I couldn’t tell you.”
(Ronald Reagan, President of the United States 1981-1989)

On working while impaired…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been under the weather the last few days.  Hmmm, did you ever wonder where that phrase came from?  Under the weather was how they used to describe a British seaman who was ill and thus had to be kept in his quarters below decks away from the wind and waves.  No longer out in the weather, he was safe below decks “under the weather”.  Of course, by that description, I don’t qualify, since I just keep coming to work.

I don’t know where the illness came from, since I’m in contact with hundreds of people in a week’s time, but I’d love to be able to blame this on someone.  The throat hurts, my voice is incapable of speaking much above a whisper, and the headache lingers on and on.  Massive doses of Vitamin C, and this Airborne quackery haven’t helped, but a trip to the doctor isn’t even under consideration, since the virus will undoubtedly just play out in a day or two anyway.  So I’ll do what all men do.  We act tough when strangers are around, and then whine and mope when our wives are here to get all the sympathy they will impart.  If my mom were around, the theatrics would be even grander, but I’ll finagle all the consolation I can get from the Lovely Lady and then tough it out from there.

I wouldn’t want you to be misinformed about the mode in which I carry out my work, either.  I am doing the bare minimum, completing only the most necessary of tasks.  Anyone I work with will attest to my petulant attitude, speaking only when absolutely essential, and emitting the moans and groans of a martyr when asked to do more than I deem crucial with my minimally functioning abilities.  I’m pretty sure my sister, who handles our shipping, was much happier than usual to leave at noon today when her duties were completed.  And, I’m not absolutely certain that I haven’t really offended one of my regular patrons, who merely wanted to talk with me about the functionality of an amplifier, only to be short-circuited by my brusque manner.  I may have to issue an apology in a day or two.  Not yet, though.  I still have a sneaking suspicion that I was within my rights as an impaired individual and the conversation might not go well. 

If you have been one of the injured parties, give me a day or two and then you may lay into me.  I’ll be appropriately contrite, I’m sure.  Until you notice an improvement in my vocal abilities, though, you might want to defer the confrontation.  I’m still relatively steadfast in my conclusion that I am totally within bounds and might further impede the process of making amends.

Come to think of it, it might have showed more insight had I heeded the Lovely Lady’s advice and stayed at home instead of working.  Ah well, at least I didn’t interrupt my normal routine.  Hopefully, everything else can be put right eventually…

“Duirt me leat go raibh me breoite”  Irish phrase meaning, “I told you I was ill”
(Inscription on comedian Spike Milligan’s headstone in England)

25 years and still trying to get it right…

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment
Twenty-five years?  How is that possible?  Today marks exactly that many years since the Lovely Lady and I purchased the family business from her dad.  We had been married seven years by that time and had two very young children and a mortgage on a recently purchased house, but we jumped into the music business without thinking twice.  Well maybe twice, but not much more than that. I thought that this momentous day might be a good time to mention an interesting experience or two along the way. (And, knowing me, maybe a sermon point or two to be drawn from them.) 
We learned early that self-employment wasn’t going to be a bed of roses.  The first complete year was filled with pitfalls, including the first and only time I’ve been accused of being a crook by a customer.  I didn’t handle it well.  We also learned about the rights (or lack thereof) involved with leasing property.  Rain damaged music and instruments led to a showdown with the building’s owner.  Of course, the cure, a new roof installed during the rainiest time of the year, proved to be worse than the disease, with two inches of water coming into the building when a downpour arrived with the roof unfinished.
But we got past the first year or two in decent condition only to realize that the government also wanted to have its share of our take.  One April brought us to the week before the fifteenth to discover that we were $2500 short on the amount needed to satisfy our obligation to Uncle Sam.  Two things stand out about that week.  The first is a young boy, who lived in our house, coming downstairs after bedtime one night with fourteen dollars and a few cents in his hand.  He had opened his piggy bank and taken out every penny he possessed and was offering it to help.  Yep…I cried then and I still get choked up when I talk about it.  The same week, my dad reminded me that Jesus told His disciples to go fishing when they had taxes that needed to be paid.  In thinking what that meant, I decided since the disciples were fishermen by trade, that meant that I should just do my job.  What a shock!  At the end of the week, the entire amount was in the account to pay the taxes!  When we do what we’re supposed to do, God does His part!
August, 1997…After several years of grudgingly paying lease payments, we noticed an ideally situated building that was for sale.  Quick negotiations led to a contract, but we needed a couple months for remodeling before an October 31st deadline for moving.  As you might anticipate, a long delay in approval and closing gave us scarcely four weeks for the job.  With the help of many friends and a few really dedicated relatives (who worked until 2:00 a.m. many mornings), the job was completed for the move to our own building by the deadline.  Were we apprehensive about the move?  You bet!  We had obligated ourselves to almost double the monthly payments with no visible way to meet them, but our business grew an incredible amount immediately after the move and we’ve never even come close to missing a payment.  Oh, and we got a great house right next door in the deal, so presently, I have only to walk down the sidewalk to be at work any time day or night.  (And, I do mean any time day or night!)
So many stories, so little space…You’ll just have to keep coming back here for those, a little at a time.  There have been many great opportunities, and more than a few mistakes, but I’m anxious to get to the next 25 years.  Who knows what the future holds?  I love what I do.  Period.  There’s no “but” or “if only” to add to that.  It’s a blessing that not many men can count as theirs.  I’ve known many people who daily go grudgingly to their jobs, counting down the years, months, and days until retirement.   God has given me the perfect job, one that I still love after 25 years.  I only hope the customers can put up with me for a few more, while I figure out how to be a success at it.
Oh, and one more thing…I have prided myself in being a student of human nature, but I’ve been fooled more times than I would have thought possible over the years.  I’ve trusted people who were lying barefaced to me and have been suspicious of others who were more trustworthy than I myself have been.  I’ve discussed the concept here before that we can’t look on outward appearances, but I’ve been shamed more times than I care to admit by my naivete in doing just that.  The thing that has amazed me the most is that people are far more honest than we expect in this suspicious age in which we live.  On several occasions, customers have returned to tell me that I undercharged them or that they had inadvertently put a guitar pick in their pocket without paying.  I even had one man return after more than15 years to apologize for his deceit and make it right.  Yes, there have been plenty who were dishonest, but the good experiences far outweigh the bad.

Twenty five years is a long time to do one thing, but what a great ride!  Good days and bad ones, they’ve all gone into making some wonderful memories.  And, as great as it is to get to the silver anniversary, we’re thinking we might wait to really celebrate until the golden one. Hope you’re still around to celebrate with us!

“The highest reward that God gives us for good work is the ability to do better”
(Elbert Hubbard, American editor and writer, 1856-1915)

I’m peddling as fast as I can!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

It was one of those days.  As I rolled out this morning (well, yesterday as I write this), I actually thought that it would be a great day.  A Superman day.  You know,  a tights-and-capes, leap-tall-buildings-with-a-single-bound, no-challenge-too-big-to-conquer kind of day.  I’m trying to comprehend what went wrong, but can’t really put my finger on any one event.  I think the beginning of the trouble must have been the running out of milk thing.  Oh, and no instant breakfast, even if there had been a drop of milk in the house.  Ah well, no matter…Onward and upward!  There are damsels in distress to kill and horrible giants to save.  Wait!  That didn’t come out right.  You see what happens when you don’t have a good breakfast?

I won’t bore you with the details of the day, but the best I can do is to say that the damsels didn’t want to be saved and the giants were notable in their absence.  Have you ever noticed that on the really bad days, it’s not usually anything earth-shaking that causes the most disturbance?  Big problems, I can tackle head-on and I know when the task is finished.  It’s the insignificant issues, those little things that wouldn’t merit a second glance if they came in their proper turn to annoy you, that make your carefully ordered world come crashing down when they arrive in droves, as they tend to do so frequently.

My schedule didn’t gel as it should have, must-do jobs were interrupted by trivial phone calls (probably not so to the caller),  my carefully guarded morning marred by  disturbances (deliveries, repairmen, etc.), and not one objective that I needed desperately to reach was completed on time.  A thirty-minute job stretched out to an hour and a half, with other deadlines looming.  One repair which had been assessed by my expert eye as a “snap”, turned out to be just that, literally, with no less than three parts breaking in the process of disassembling the instrument.  Indefatigable salesmen, of late a rare breed, came out of the woodwork today, undoubtedly having been apprised of the situation by Lex Luthor. Having missed my customary morning repast of milk and instant breakfast, it was entirely fitting that the full line-up of the day kept me from my lunch until almost 4:30 in the afternoon.  Needless to say, my PB&J sandwich was eaten standing up

On this day, the avalanche of customers, vendors, and inanimate objects (which seemed to be imbued with life), proved to be too much for this superman.  Not quite so bad as kryptonite, but more like someone standing on your cape all day long.  By the middle of the afternoon, I was beaten and whining like a dog in a thunderstorm, but I persevered, running in place until the lights were turned out and the door locked against the perpetrators.

Come to think of it, I still sound like I’m whining.  Any of you reading this have had equally bad days, marred by worse problems, and probably at a heavier velocity than mine.  We all have them.  Some of us hold up better than others, but we get through them.  Better times lie ahead and we know it.  This evening, the Lovely Lady agreed to a quiet meal at a local eatery and I found, as we sat and talked, enjoying each other’s company and the good food, the epic struggle of the day faded into non-importance.  We’ve seen worse days and come through in fine shape. 

I have to remember not to start believing my own hype.  I’m not Superman and can’t leap buildings in a single bound, but neither is there any kryptonite that can cripple me.  When I believe either the hype or the scare-tactics, I set myself up for an unnecessary fall.  What is true and not hype at all, is that God allows us to develop skills and He gifts us in various and unique ways.  All we have to do is to be faithful in using that which is given to us.  Bad days and good days are guaranteed, but in the long haul, what counts is our commitment to the goal.  Hang in there!

Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.
(1 Corinthians 4:2 NIV)

IOU

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Pay it forward.  Random act of kindness.  We have all heard the buzzwords and have an idea of what they are.  I wonder how many of us have been the beneficiary of such an act.  If you have, do you remember how it felt?  Did it change you, give you a different perception of the people around you?

While I know that I am the constant recipient of these acts in a small way, there was a period of time, several years ago, in which we not only benefited from a number of them, but actually were in dire need of them.  It was an uncomfortable time, to put it bluntly.  You might also say, an embarrassing span of time.  I use the word embarrassing because I remember, it was during this chapter of life that I first really became cognizant of the term “financially embarrassed”, and I’m certain that I was also aware of the meaning in a very personal way. It unquestionably had a direct application to our condition.

It was not too many years after we had purchased the music store from my in-laws.  Business wasn’t deplorable, but it wasn’t booming either.  We had enough to pay our bills and that was about it.  We had even been able to put back a couple of thousand dollars and were planning to replace the ancient old roof on our two-story Victorian home with it.   But I guess we needed to learn about giving and receiving, more than we needed to be self-sufficient.

A chain of events would make crystal clear how closely our lives were intertwined with our friends, family, and church.  We loaned our van (which was essential to our business) to a group of students going to Florida for a mission trip.  “It uses oil,”  I told the young man in charge.  “I guarantee you will need to add some, so just check it every time you fill up with gas.”  Receiving assurances that he would, the van left, loaded to capacity with kids and equipment and pulling a small trailer.  The following Saturday morning, the desperate call came; the motor had burned up and they were stranded in Mobile, Alabama.  It appears that, not being experienced in such matters, he had religiously checked the dipstick at every fill-up, just not the engine oil dipstick.  He had been checking the transmission fluid, which hadn’t moved a millimeter the whole trip!  Since no oil was added at all, the motor seized up and was scrap.

What a disaster!  Not only was the van dead, but they wanted us to come get them.  This is where the amazing giving from others started, although right at the time, it was difficult for us to appreciate.  One good friend and his wife offered to go with me and did so completely at their own expense, towing a trailer with which we could retrieve the van.  Another friend offered his van to bring the kids back in, which we did over the weekend.  After we returned with the crippled van on the trailer, a local mechanic offered to rebuild the motor at a greatly reduced price, but even so, our roof fund was depleted in the process.

Time after time, through the months to come, gifts were handed to us, or a little cash slipped into my hand, even some gift certificates for the local grocery store were left in the mailbox.  But the icing on the cake came when our friend Jim, who teaches building construction at the local university, called and told us that we were going to get that new roof put on the house.  We would need to buy the materials, but all the labor would be provided in the way of friends, most from our church, who had volunteered to spend whatever time it took to get it done.

What a week!  The two-story house had eaves which, in places were 20 feet off the ground, and the pitch of the roof was incredibly steep.  Scaffold was built, old shingles pulled off (with 85 year-old Mr. Hood picking most of it up off the ground), materials lifted up by crane (also provided at no expense to us), new decking installed and building felt and shingles laid down.  The description of the endeavor could never draw an adequate picture, but I will always remember Dr. B plunging through the rotten porch roof and catching himself before dropping to the floor below, as well as Ray sliding off the decking up at the twenty-foot level, only to catch himself on the railing of our make-shift scaffold, short of plunging to the ground before.  As we were building the railing, Jim had quipped, “It’s only for a visual.  It would never stop anybody from going over.”  How glad we were that he was wrong!  And what a great time of fellowship and fun together!

Words cannot describe the gratitude!  Even now, 20 years later, I get choked up as I think of the sacrifice of time, effort, and yes, even money these folks willingly gave to us.  There was no expectation of repayment, no feeling of obligation, just an offering freely imparted to friends.   And, while it was indeed a humbling experience for us to need the help, there was no sense of arrogance, no negative air of largesse in the benefactors.  These were friends, doing what friends do, simply because that is how friendship works.

I wish that I can say that I have proven myself worthy of the gift.  I would like to be able to point to the great deeds that I have done as a result of that wonderful period, but I cannot.  What I can tell you is that I do frequently find myself looking for the hidden things that need to be done for others.  I’m not great at it.  Some times, I hear about needs after they have been filled by others more gifted in seeing the disguised opportunities and wonder how I missed them.  But we can only live by the light that is given to us.  I’ve had opportunities and at times have come through with flying colors.

I’m going to keep working at it.  Hopefully, I’ll keep getting better at it.  But, if you see me slacking off and not helping out where I’m needed, a quick reminder of that time when I needed some random acts of kindness should be enough to get the fire lit under me.  I would hate to be the “Knave” in Mr. Franklin’s note below, who stops the progress of the gift.  I’m doing my best to keep paying it forward as long as I’m able.

I do not pretend to give such a Sum; I only lend it to you. When you meet with another honest Man in similar Distress, you must pay me by lending this Sum to him; enjoining him to discharge the Debt by a like operation, when he shall be able, and shall meet with another opportunity. I hope it may thus go thro’ many hands, before it meets with a Knave that will stop its Progress. This is a trick of mine for doing a deal of good with a little money. ~Benjamin Franklin in a letter dated April 22, 1784

Give us this day our daily…Candy?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Every weekday afternoon, like clockwork, they arrive.  The walkers, those youngsters whose parents haven’t yet succumbed to the fear that our society has instilled in most.  We call the religious extremists from the east “terrorists”, yet the more subtle terror that has changed our whole lifestyle has come from inside our culture: the bullies, the child molesters, even the estranged spouses.  For fear of these constitutionally-protected terrorists, most parents don’t dare allow their children to even walk home from school anymore.   

Yet every school day, here they come.  Not as many as there used to be, but they push their way through the front door to cluster around the front counter.  What draws them?  No, they’re not interested in making music.  Well…except for banging on the drums a few times, or flicking their fingers across the strings on a cool, heavy-metal guitar that draws their eyes.  But that doesn’t hold their interest long on any given day.  They don’t even want to look at the neat toys that all guitarists crave, the multi-effects boxes, the digital tuners, or even the all-important guitar picks.  No, what brings them in every day is the container on the counter.  Free suckers.  Cheap candy, purchased from whichever store is offering the lowest price this week.  Dum-Dums, mostly…if the very name doesn’t invite a comment about the state of education today, nothing does, but I’ll rise above the temptation and move on.

We talk briefly, reminding them that the trash can is where we throw the wrappers, not in the parking lot.  Bored, slightly irritated faces look back at us.  They’ve heard it before, but most of them readily respond.  They want the ritual to continue, ad infinitum, simply because you can’t beat a free sucker everyday, so the easy compensation of compliance with our silly request is paid.  Then, with a “see you tomorrow,” they all rush out the door, to spend a few moments jumping the rock garden next door before they renew their trek for home or on to the Boy’s & Girl’s club down the street.

As the ruckus subsides, we smile and go about our regular work, sometimes answering the anticipated question, “Why do you give them candy?  They’re not going to buy anything.”  After being in business for 25 years, we’ve figured out that profit is only a small part of why we show up here everyday.  Even if we didn’t know that these are the same kids who will appear with their parents in a few years to buy the band instruments, the guitars and amplifiers, and even the banjos or mandolins, we’d still give them the candy.  We like kids!  Many of these youngsters don’t know any adults, except for the ones who tell them to stand up straight, stay in line, and get their pencils out for a test today.  We want to be a friendly face, just somebody who they enjoy seeing everyday.  Maybe they’ll even see us in the grocery store and point us out to their parents.  “Hey, those are the people who give me candy after school.”  Kids need to see that adults aren’t their enemies or people to be afraid of, but in the right circumstance, we can be friends.

I like to say that we’re doing what Jesus asked us to do, when he said to give “cups of cold water to the little ones”.  It’s not exactly the same as cold water on a hot, dusty day, but the idea is the same.  Kindness seems to be the exception, rather than the rule in our society, and this is an easy means for us to remedy that in a  small way.

The annual Beggar’s Night is coming up this week and I will freely admit that I’m not an enthusiast.  My general perception of the process follows:  Greedy children will coerce fearful homeowners to give them handfuls of sweets, with the threat of vandalism unless the treat is forthcoming.  That’s an oversimplification, but the result is the same.  Every years millions of dollars worth of candy are stuffed into bags and then into the children’s mouths, mostly to the benefit of the vendors of said candy.  We watch as children (whose parents could easily afford the candy themselves) are carted to various neighborhoods to ring the doorbells of strangers and beg over and over for something that they have absolutely no need for.

I really am not an angry old miser, but gifts should be bestowed because the benefactor has a desire to give freely, not because he or she is forced to it.  I love giving to children, but when they have the expectation, they’re far less likely to be truly grateful.  It’s kind of like Grace.  We are surprised by the magnanimous, undeserved and lavish gift that we can only thank God for.  No payment, no coercion on our part could ever have opened the floodgates of Heaven, yet freely, unstintingly the gift comes to us.  How could we be ungrateful?

I know there are many parents who enjoy the holiday to allow their children to dress up and go to a few, carefully selected friend’s homes, but that’s not what I’m talking about.  It seems that in a very real way, the night actually takes on the nature of its reputation in some locales as “devil’s night”.  So, I’m not a fan and may just find a way, later this week, to hang out where I can’t be found until the day (and night) is over.

But, on the subject of giving freely, one of our good friends has a habit of showing up where she’s needed without warning.  A loaf of bread, the components for a complete meal, or just some flowers, find their way into the place before you know what’s going on.  This is the way that lives are changed, and sagging spirits are inspired to soar again.  Over the years in our store, we’ve had the joy of serving kids who grew up to be parents and then grandparents.  Hopefully, we’ve had some small part in forming who they and their children have become.  You may not choose to give suckers, or bread, or flowers, but there are opportunities in every person’s life to do small deeds which reap large rewards in time.  I hope you’ll look for them and do something about it.

While we try to teach our children all about life,
Our children teach us what life is all about.
(Angela Schwindt, published in Reader’s Digest Quotable Quotes 1997)

Fall turns over a new leaf

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

Fall isn’t my favorite season of the year.  I’m guessing that right about now, that’s tantamount to heresy around here, but I cannot live a falsehood.  For all its colorful beauty, Autumn is simply prelude to the dreary, depressing Winter that is invariably nipping at its heels, like a cold, vicious hound that can’t wait to see the backside of the warmth and comfort of the preceding seasons. 

When I was a naive young man, growing up in the tropics of south Texas, I believed that any winter which included a deep white blanket of snow that had fallen to cover the ugly brown earth, had to be better than those I experienced all those years.  Of course, “the grass is always greener”, as we all know, but I thought that experiencing four distinct seasons would have to be an improvement on the two we had there.  We always described the two seasons as Hot and Hotter…

The Rio Grande Valley in far south Texas is a primary winter destination for thousands of retired northern folks, most of whom maintain a second home there or else bring one with them in the form of the popular RV (we just called them travel trailers).  The Chamber of Commerce wanted us to call these folks “Winter Texans”, as if coming to their little refugee camps made them citizens, but we just called them “snowbirds.”   We, as kids, couldn’t for the life of us understand why anyone would leave the glory of snow-covered lawns, houses, and roads to come to the dry, hot realm of eternal summer.  Besides that, they clogged the roads, slowing down constantly to look at orange groves and palm trees, to say nothing of the long lines at the cafeterias like Luby’s and Furr’s.

Ah, the foolishness of youth!  I look back now and understand those old geezers (boy, somebody should look in the mirror!) much better than ever.  If my business allowed it, I’d be packing an RV right now to head down Interstate 35 for a few months myself.  Every year, I look forward to winter with much less zeal than the year before, simply because I have found that the gray days that are coming will leave me in a blue mood for weeks at a time.  I’m confident that it’s not real depression, but I will certainly not be as jovial, nor lighthearted as I am during Spring and Summer.  There are an infinite number of suggestions that friends and family have to cure this blue mood, ranging from listening to upbeat music, to going to the tanning booths, to buying a “natural sunlight” reading lamp.  I’d do the last one, except for the fact that all the designs look like they came right out of a nursing home and I’m not quite ready for that yet.  But you get the point…I don’t think much of winter and therefore, don’t have much use for the preparatory season that we are in now.  The Fall just reminds me constantly that everything around us is going to sleep, so it doesn’t have to endure the cold, dark season that is bearing down on us inexorably.

Having said all that (and I’m sure I’ll get emails), I have to add that the Fall is beautiful in the Ozarks right now.  The Lovely Lady and I took the weekend just ended to drive through some of the prettiest woodland you have ever seen.  The road to Devil’s Den is glorious with color, as is the highway to and from Eureka Springs.  Even with the niggling thoughts of the approaching Winter that came unbidden as we gazed on the scenery, the amazing show that nature puts on each Fall is in a category all its own.  We stood on Inspiration Point, viewing the White River valley and each direction we turned brought a new and marvelous vista.  Even I, with my cynical point of view, can’t avoid the obvious truth; God’s Glory is exposed with each new season, and in this one, this Autumn, with all it’s implications for the future, no less than any other and possibly in some respects, more than the others.  What a show!

So, I will grudgingly acknowledge that there are aspects of Autumn that make it a not entirely dreadful season.  My vote is still for Spring and I believe that the writer of the Psalms agrees with me.  After all, he did write about the man who follows God with these words, “… he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of waters, which brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also does not wither…”  So, eternal Spring is the appointed order for things and we’ll enjoy that in heaven, I’m sure.  The reader is free to disagree, but I’m fairly confident that I’m right.  Until that day, make the best of it, tough it out, and get outside into the glorious colors with which God has painted the world.

Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.
(Robert Browning)

Doesn’t the bad guy wear the black hat?

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

“Eighty dollars for the guitar and twenty for the amplifier.  That sound all right to you?”  Once again, I’m bargaining with a young man for an instrument that I don’t really want, but he needs to sell.  He’s the third person in my store today with something to sell, not because they’ve decided to quit playing music, but because money is tight and they need to come up with the cash to take care of “living expenses”.  The mom with her toddler who was here earlier had a similar problem, but she also brought me a dilemma, along with the guitar case and guitar shaped object (GSO) she carried.  You see, I’ve promised never to put any of that brand of instruments on my rack again, simply because I don’t think they’re quality guitars.  Oh, a few of the specimens are okay, but overall, they seem to have a multitude of inadequacies, which I cannot overlook and will not foist off on my customers.  What to do?

As you might expect, a few dollars lighter in the bank account, the business now owns this cool looking guitar, which sports a facsimile of the semi-semi-noteworthy guitarist/pitchman in his flat black bolero hat, who hawks his inferior wares on your television set.  I’m not a fan.  He claims to play the guitars he sells, but if the secondhand examples which I have seen are any indication, my guess is that most mediocre guitarists wouldn’t keep one of them for long, much less a professional, such as he claims to be.  I’m not surprised to find that his claims to fame (e.g., student of one of the greatest classical guitarists in our time, Andres Segovia and endorsed by the same) are disputed by many  experts in the field.  I’m even appalled by the price people fork out for a barely adequate instrument, only to find that it has plunged in value from the moment it left the warehouse.

But, the absolute affront, in my consideration, is that the man’s real name (first and last) is actually the same as my given name, Stephen Paul.  I might be able to forgive the man for selling a cheap product for too much money, but to have the same name on top of that, well…Words fail me.

Having wandered far afield, I’ll make my way back toward my original subject and say that I’m faced almost daily with judgment calls like this one and many which are more confounding.  One gentleman came in with a similar dilemma (a guitar brand that was taboo) and then added to that by telling me that the tight spot he was in came because of a late night visit to the casino after imbibing a bit too much alcohol.  I’m still ruminating the wisdom of my decision as I also ponder how to market the other GSO that now sits in my back hallway.  If any of you readers have the solution to either problem, I’d love to be let in on the secret.

But, my real target tonight is integrity.  I mention the huckster to set the stage.  This play of life in which we are all acting often surprises me, sometimes in a wonderful, positive way, but often recently, with gloomy and unfortunate situations.  The gentleman I first mentioned who had the guitar and amplifier to sell, quickly agreed to my price.  One hundred dollars was fine with him.  As I prepared to pay him, I happened to think that the wholesale blue-book might show the amplifier to be worth a little more than my offer, so I suggested that I should check the value.  As I started my search, I heard, without it really registering, the muttered words, “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to pay too much.”  Then, I found the amp model in the list and noticed that it recommended paying thirty dollars for this particular unit.  I returned to the customer and told him that I would pay him ten dollars more than originally agreed upon and his reaction was one of complete surprise.  He had expected a reduction in my offer, not an increase.  After he received payment, he shook my hand vigorously, and thanked me profusely for being fair with him.

As he left, I was struck by the incongruity of his muttered statement as I searched for the price, with his effusive praise for my fairness in the transaction.  Why should he expect that I was going to back out of our agreement to his detriment?   Was it just a natural cynicism or was it a reaction programmed by experience?  Isn’t it true that in our society, we expect to be cheated and taken advantage of?  The huckster sitting center stage and strumming the inferior product, that is less in quality than it is touted to be, is the rule (or at least the perceived rule) and not the exception that it should be.

We are pleasantly taken aback by a business or individual who is honest and forthright, while acting almost dispassionate about chicanery.  This ought not to be.  Integrity should be the standard in our dealings with each other.  It’s about time that the players who are center stage in this play should be the heroes and not the villains.

I have a favorite car lot with which I try to do business whenever I’m looking for a vehicle.  The reason?  Several years ago, they sold my father-in-law a car.  No, not a car, a lemon!  For a full year, he paid for repair after repair and finally took the car back to trade in on a different one.  Upon hearing of his experience with the vehicle, the owner of the car lot gave him, in trade, not only the full price he had paid originally, but all of the additional amount he had spent on repairs in the intervening time.  Now that’s integrity!  And that’s the kind of business I want to trade with.

Ten dollars difference.  That’s all it took for me to act with integrity today.  Sometimes honesty costs dearly and other times, it’s as easy as just doing the right thing.  Both of them, the large and small choices, are what make up a life of integrity.  “Choose you this day whom you will serve…”



“No amount of ability is of the slightest avail without honor”
(Andrew Carnegie)