Considering the Unrepresented
November 22, 2011
When I interviewed for the job of MHSAA executive director in the spring of 1986, I was asked about my administrative philosophies and approaches to problem solving. I don’t recall now all I said then, but I do clearly remember saying I would “err in favor of kids.” I meant that, when a difficult situation presented an unclear choice, I would give the benefit of doubt to kids.
That was somewhat naïve, I suppose; but I still do bring that mindset to situations that appear to be a toss-up.
Over the years I’ve stumbled upon or consciously cultivated other lessons for myself, and I have shared some of them with my dedicated colleagues at the MHSAA. Of many, here’s the first of six (the other five will be presented in subsequent blogs): Consider those not in the room or not at the table.
When people propose a change in a rule, consider where they are coming from, and consider those who are not present who may have different circumstances, perspectives and needs.
If the proposal is from large schools, consider how it might affect small schools. If from southern schools, how it might affect northern schools. If from suburban schools, how it might affect urban or rural. If from football coaches, how it might affect other sports; if from a winter sport, how it might affect fall or spring sports.
When people seek from the Executive Committee waiver of a particular rule on behalf of one student, ask how that waiver would affect those not present against whom this student would compete.
When someone seeks relief from a penalty, ask how that will affect those not present, including those who have received the penalty in the past or should receive the penalty in the future.
Considering those who are not in the room who may be affected by a proposal by those who are in the room has been a gift given to me by Keith Eldred of Williamston who served on the Representative Council over 25 years ending in 2008.
Tools of Thought
July 13, 2018
(This blog first appeared on MHSAA.com on May 11, 2012.)
I am famous at home and office for my lack of keyboarding skills. The only “C” grade I received in high school was a summer school course in what was then called “typing.” At Dartmouth I paid a woman who worked at the dining hall to type my college papers. In an early job at the University of Wisconsin I typed the play-by-play of Badger football and basketball games with a clumsy “hunt-and-peck” approach.
Today, with the same lack of style, I pound out dozens of emails daily, hammering the keys like my first manual typewriter required four decades ago.
But for any document of great length or importance, I do as I’ve always done: take up pencil (my software) and legal pad (my hardware). There is no question that, for me, the nature of the equipment I’m using for writing affects the nature of the thinking.
With his eyesight failing late in his life, Freidrich Nietzsche bought his first typewriter, changing from pen and paper to the new technology of the 1800s. According to a 2008 article in Atlantic Monthly by Nichols Carr, a friend wrote to Nietzsche in a letter that, since adapting to the telegraphic style, Nietzsche’s terse prose had become even tighter. To which Nietzsche replied: “You are right, our writing equipment takes part in the forming of our thoughts.”
Which makes one wonder where all today’s tweeting and texting may take us.