allanmusterer@sbcglobal.net

The Beginning of My Career in Engineering

My high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Franzino, was an alumnus of Bucknell University, a small private university in the heart of Pennsylvania. He forever sang its praises. Consequently, I seriously considered attending Bucknell for my engineering education. After long deliberations and the counsel of my uncle Albert, I chose Bucknell over the other schools that accepted me.

I knew no one at Bucknell and soon realized that most of my schoolmates had graduated from prestigious prep schools. This fact intimidated me. That created problems in my mind when I took exams, leading to grades that were below my expectations and didn’t reflect my true ability. I mention these facts because they influenced my choice of employment out of the opportunities I had my senior year.

I received numerous job offers from companies searching for mechanical engineers. Because my grades were simply average, I doubted the quality of my education. Hence it became attractive to me when Foster Wheeler Corporation offered me employment that started with a nine month training program. This was attractive because it gave me the opportunity to get my “feet wet” before there were great expectations for my performance.

Since Foster Wheeler was located in New Jersey, I could live at home and pay back my parents for their investment in my education. I chose to accept the offer of employment in the training program from Foster Wheeler.

I reported to work at the sprawling headquarters in Livingston New Jersey the third week of June 1965. My first week on the job consisted of an orientation of the company structure and the various departments and their functions. On Friday that week, along with three other trainees I was led to the Service Department manager’s office. Seated around a large conference table, each of us wondered what was coming next. Without hesitation the manager said that we were all needed in the field immediately. He looked at Lenny and me, handed each of us a large envelop and said, “You two are going to Pasadena, California and you are flying out Sunday.”

At first this was quite exciting as I had always dreamed of visiting California. Then I realized that I would have to leave my new Pontiac Bonneville convertible in New Jersey!

On Sunday morning July 4, 1965, my parents drove me to Newark airport. I met Lenny there and after our goodbyes we boarded the plane to Los Angeles. During the flight, Lenny and I got to know each other, swapping stories from our recent college days.

We arrived in Los Angeles some four hours later. We exited the plane and headed down a ramp to get our luggage. Walking down the ramp, I was suddenly shocked to see a man who was the spitting image of my father, but a bit older. It was my Uncle Walter with my cousin Fred standing next to him. Unknown to me, my dad had called his brother and told him of my assignment in Pasadena.

Uncle Walter Musterer

Cousin Fred Musterer

Uncle Walter invited Lenny and me to spend that day and the Monday holiday with the family. They helped us with our luggage and took us to our hotel before heading to their home. There we celebrated a mini family reunion with food and drink. I also met the rest of the family. It was a great start to a new adventure.
Tuesday morning Lenny and I left our hotel and walked four blocks south on Arroyo Seco Boulevard to the Pasadena Municipal Power Plant. The plant was at the north end of the Pasadena freeway. Foster Wheeler had built the steam generator and cooling towers for the new gas fired power generation plant on the site.
Pasadena Municipal Power Plant Boiler

We found the Foster Wheeler field office trailer and met Arno, the senior service engineer managing the project. Arno welcomed us and introduced Hank, another service engineer prior to taking us on a tour of the plant. He introduced us to the power plant technicians and engineers. We were assigned hard hats and were given an in-depth safety briefing. Arno and Hank then showed us the physical plant so we knew where all the Foster Wheeler equipment was located.

The Pasadena Field Office

We returned to the trailer office and received a real shock. Arno told us that we were going to be in Pasadena for at least six months. We expected to be there for just a few weeks. This new situation meant we needed to rent an apartment and get transportation. We left work that day a little early so we could begin our search for living quarters and transportation. Lenny and I pooled our expense money, bought a used 1943 Buick and rented an apartment catering to singles located just behind the plant in South Pasadena. It was a short one block walk to work each morning.

Our 1943 Buick in front of our Apartment

My first challenge on the job for me was to overcome my fear of heights. There were no stairs on this boiler structure to get from one floor to the next. The only way around was via a man lift. Man lifts are simply a vertical conveyor belt running from the ground floor to the top floor through small platforms on each level. The belt had a succession of hand grips and small boxes about four feet apart. When you needed to go up, you stood on the platform and watched the continuously moving belt for the hand grip to arrive at your level. When the hand grip came up you grabbed it and stepped onto the box that followed about four feet below the grip. When you reached your destination level you just reverse the procedure to exit.

I mastered the man lift after a few practice runs and then the real work began. Arno assigned Lenny and me some small work assignments with both he and Hank until he felt comfortable giving us assignments alone. We did numerous tasks related to the boiler performance. We took readings of temperatures, pressures and vibrations, then writing reports to be sent to the home office in New Jersey. The specific issue that required precise data was a problematic vibration that had developed in the boiler.

Arno and Hank were excellent teachers, giving us detailed instructions but challenging us as well. Every day was filled with activity and the time seemed to fly by at very rapid pace.

One project required installation of temperature measuring grids and their associated cabling, vibration measurements and inspections of the internals of the boiler. We installed the necessary equipment and began the testing. At the conclusion of the testing and vibration measurements documented I was tasked with writing the report to the home office.

Engineers at the home office used that data to design a baffle for the internal rear pass of the boiler. The baffle consisted of a series of steel plates that were one foot, a quarter inch thick and various lengths. The solution for alleviating the vibration was for these plates to be inserted between the rows of tubes of the back pass thereby dividing the gas flow through the pass into two parallel paths. This would cause the revised gas flow to counter the vibrations that we had measured.

After a week or so, drawings of the plates that comprised the baffle arrived at the office. Arno assigned me the task of installing them in the boiler. I had three days to make the preparations prior to the plates arriving from our manufacturing plant in New Jersey.

The first thing I did was review the drawings. I surveyed the interior of the boiler to identify the exact location for the baffle. The challenge was the precise maneuvering necessary to get the longest plates into position. The welding of the tabs to hold the baffle pieces in place was a rather simple task.

As I considered the main challenge it occurred to me that if I could make a replica of the largest plate I could use it to test maneuvering schemes inside the boiler. I could master the exact movements before the actual plates arrived on site.

The power plant had an incinerator on site. One day during my planning I walked to the incinerator and noticed a long piece of heavy stiff cardboard lying off to the side. It was the perfect size I needed to replicate the largest baffle plate. I took it back to the trailer and marked the largest baffle plate dimensions onto the cardboard. Due to its thickness, cutting it to size required some tools. I requisitioned a power saw from the plant and proceeded to cut my replica plate to size.

The next day the boiler was taken off line and shut down in preparation for the baffle installation. Once cooled, I took the cardboard replica into the boiler and maneuvered it dozens of ways before I finally got it into its proper place. Once the longest plate was inside and in position, the installation of the other shorter plates was quite a simple matter.

Using my experience with the replica, I created a detailed work plan. I determined the most effective sequence of assembly and planned to mark each plate accordingly. I developed the manpower requirements and hours to produce a realistic budget. After adding a liberal contingency I presented my plan and budget to Arno.

Unknown to me, Arno added more contingency to the budget prior to forwarding it to his boss at the home office.

A week later the plates arrived. I inspected them against the drawings and verified that they were acceptable for installation and consistent with my plan. I assembled a crew of laborers and began the installation. The preliminary planning resulted in an early completion of the installation. It came in well under my original budget prior to the addition of my contingency. The bottom line as seen by the home office was even more impressive due to Arno’s added contingency.

Arno took no credit for my performance and gave me all the benefit of the performance. Without me knowing, the report of my performance reached the senior vice president causing him to take an interest in me. From that day on he watched my every move.

Arno and I took another set of vibration measurements following the startup of the boiler. The results revealed the successful solution to the vibration issue with the design and installation of the baffle. Shortly thereafter, I was sent to work briefly at another plant just north of Las Vegas. There I was involved with more testing of the existing boiler, this one a coal fired system. After a month I returned to Pasadena where I worked for another month before returning to the home office.

Turning Point

This was the first test of my engineering education in my professional career. That it was such a success encouraged me to forge ahead and take on increasingly challenging projects. The experience confirmed for me that my decision to accept employment with Foster Wheeler was the right course for me.

As with all of my turning points, I gave credit to God for His guidance in the decisions I made in my life that led up to this major turning point.

My Career Turning Point

In my early teens, I thought I would become a pharmacist. I didn’t make that decision based on much knowledge of what a pharmacist did in their profession, but my image of a pharmacist was positive. When I entered a pharmacy as a young boy it was clean. The pharmacist was dressed in a white shirt and tie and clad in a distinctive white coat. It seemed to my young mind a dignified and admirable profession. I didn’t consider what it would take to become a pharmacist, except I did know it would require multiple college degrees. I went about my life thinking that’s what I wanted as my career.

Then an unexpected turning point came into my life. My cousin Don Manning was in his late teens and attending Newark College of Engineering. He had won a scholarship from General Electric. The terms of his scholarship required him to work at their small appliance design facility in Newark as an intern while attending school.

Cousin Don Manning

Don’s mother Helen was my mother’s sister. She was a widow and suffered from debilitating arthritis in her hips. Aunt Helen had great difficulty walking, requiring two canes to get around. Raising Don and his younger brother Fred, she faced a real struggle both physically and economically. Fortunately, she was blessed with the owner of the apartment building where they lived having compassion and understanding. He employed Aunt Helen as the apartment superintendent. With her mobility so severely compromised by her hip situation, her two boys did all physical activities required by the tasks of the superintendent. Aunt Helen managed the financial part of he job.

Aunt Helen Manning

Aunt Helen couldn’t drive either so she relied on her sons to get her around. From time to time Don or Fred would bring their mother to our house so the two sisters could visit.

On this particular turning point day, Don brought his mother to our home to visit my mother. While the sisters sat together on our back porch, my mother crocheting a baby sweater and Aunt Helen tatting a handkerchief, Don and I went to my upstairs bedroom to talk.

My upstairs bedroom was large, comprising most of the second floor of our small house. There was a small dormer at the front of the house where I had made a sitting area and library. In the cozy nook of my library Don told me about his work at GE and the subject matter of his engineering classes.

He explained in great detail how he designed intricate components of toasters and miniature ovens and other small appliances. He described how the classes he had taken in college equipped him with the ability to design solutions to the mechanical and electrical issues he faced on the job. Along with the design concerns were the challenges of making the appliances function within cost guidelines and the numerous additional restrictions required. I sat there listening in utter fascination.

The more Don shared his education and work experience the more I wanted to become an engineer. My whole career focus changed that afternoon. It changed my plans for the course of study I chose when I went to high school the following year.

I eagerly shared my desire to become an engineer with my parents and that I wanted to attend college to get an engineering degree. I assumed my father was testing my sincerity and determination when in response he said, “We will send you to college, but we will buy you car when you graduate high school if you don’t.”

I guessed he figured that if I had the wisdom to turn down that tempting offer and was willing to sacrifice not having a car for four years; he was willing to make the sacrifice to send me to college. It didn’t take much thought for me to turn down the offer of a car.

I attended Garfield High School from September 1957 till I graduated in June 1961. I took what was called “College Preparatory” curriculum that was heavy on mathematics, science and English. I was blessed with some extraordinary teachers, how extraordinary they were I didn’t realize until I entered college and began a career in engineering.

Garfield High School

One of the most influential teachers was Mr. Sal Franzino, my chemistry teacher. Mr. Franzino earned his Bachelor’s Degree from Bucknell University, a college that possessed an excellent reputation in chemistry among other disciplines. What made Mr. Franzino so influential for me was his incessant “sales pitch” for Bucknell University. He had a teaching style that caused me and my fellow students to do a lot of research and a lot of writing. At the time it was not appreciated because it required long hours in the library researching chemistry and chemists. It took more hours writing the paper based on our library research that was due every week.

When I began considering what college to attend, I began with some very prestigious engineering institutions. I dreamed of attending Cal Tech in Pasadena California and MIT in Massachusetts. Then I thought of Ivy League schools and set my sights on Dartmouth in New Hampshire. I also considered Annapolis, the Naval Academy. When I came down to reality, I considered Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy New York and, influenced by Mr. Franzino’s sales pitch, Bucknell University in Lewisburg Pennsylvania.

Mr. Franzino at the Blackboard

I was blessed at the time with a special mentor in my uncle Albert. Uncle Al, my mother’s brother, was a very successful builder and business man. In fact he built the house we lived in and all the houses in our immediate neighborhood. He was also an Elder in our church and I had great respect for him. Once when he came to serve in our congregation, I saw him come into the back of the church. As he passed by the offering box, he was distracted and his offering missed the slot and fell to the floor. I saw that the number on the bill was 100. As a very young boy in a family of modest financial means, I had never seen one of those before. But my thought was that one day I wanted to be able to offer $100.

Another characteristic of my uncle Al was that he knew how to reach people, especially children. When he came to our congregation to serve, usually about ten minutes or so into the sermon he would say, “Now children, if you will sit up nice and straight, I will tell you a story.”

All the children snapped to attention anticipating another one of his memorable stories that had a profound spiritual lesson embedded within it. All the children loved him because he acknowledged us with respect and genuine interest.
At the urging of my mother, I visited with my uncle Al to get some guidance both naturally and spiritually regarding my college education. What college should I pursue? I came to him with a proposed list of schools and we discussed them one by one.

Uncle Albert Stier

The first thing he focused on was the Naval Academy. He asked me, “Do you want to make the Navy your career?”

I said, “No, not really.”

In reality, I was ashamed to tell him why I put it down on my list. I considered it because of all the attention our high school alumni from Annapolis got when they showed up at school in their impressive uniforms. I know that wasn’t a valid reason but I deemed his answer to me very wise.

My uncle said, “I want you to think about this. If you go to Annapolis, about a third of the time you will be studying military classes to prepare for a naval career. If you go to another school, that time could be invested in more courses related to your engineering profession. I can get you an appointment to the academy, but you must make the decision.”

It didn’t take much with his offered wisdom to take Annapolis off my list.
He then suggested we look at the rest of my list to see if there was one of our churches in the town of each college. He hoped that I could attend church services each Sunday while at school. A few colleges were eliminated. But one school that had no church within the town and remained on the list was Bucknell. Lewisburg was the home of one of our members, an elderly lady who could not make the sixty mile drive south to the nearest church in Harrisburg. My uncle suggested we keep Bucknell on the list, because if I was accepted there, I could drive this lady to church on Sundays.

With the list of colleges to apply complete, I set out getting the application documents. The more I thought about the schools on my list, the more I thought about Bucknell. One day I asked my dad if he would drive me the 200 miles to Lewisburg so I could see the school first hand. That was not a reasonable request in his eyes. Long distance drives was not dad’s thing. So he said, “I’ll put you on a bus and you can go alone.”

Was this yet another test of my resolve? I had never taken a long distance bus trip alone before. But I was bound and determined to see for myself if Bucknell was the right place to go.

A few weeks later very early in the morning I boarded a bus in Newark. It travelled across the eastern coal country of Pennsylvania on that cool fall morning of my senior year. It was a six hour drive with numerous stops in little coal towns along the way. I arrived in Lewisburg at noon and stopped in a local shop near the bus depot for lunch.

After lunch, I headed out to find the school. I had a small map that I found in the university curriculum booklet I had received with my application material and used it as a guide. I walked through the quaint residential streets from the center of town toward the university, taking in the ambiance and dreaming what it would be like to live there for four years.

When I reached the university grounds I wandered around for a half hour or so. I must have looked bewildered because a coed stopped me and asked if I needed help. I explained the purpose of my visit and she offered to give me a tour of the campus.

We walked around for a few hours as she pointed out the various buildings and the subject matter each offered. The buildings were a mixture of very old and very new, giving the feeling of great tradition and advancing for the future.

Dana Engineering Building ~ Bucknell University

I thanked my host for being so gracious and informative and headed back to catch the five o’clock bus that would take me home.

The experience of the day sealed my decision that Bucknell would be my first choice.

I bought some snacks to take on the bus before I boarded at five o’clock that afternoon. Six hours later I arrived in Newark at Union Station where my Dad was waiting for me.

On the drive home I shared with him my enthusiasm about the school, but he did not show much of a reaction. I am sure that he was quite concerned as to how he would be able to finance my college tuition. The tuition at Bucknell was almost 60% of his gross annual income. Somehow, my mother would work her magic with finances to make Bucknell a possibility. I needed to get accepted there first.
As my applications to the other schools on my list reaped acceptances, I anxiously awaited a letter from Bucknell. When it finally arrived I was overjoyed to be accepted.

I received two scholarships at graduation that helped with the financing. My mother had a part time job in the high school cafeteria ever since I announced my desire to go to college. I also worked in the summers since I was sixteen. First I worked in a ladies’ garment factory for two years and then at the ice cream factory where my dad worked. I saved much of the money earned and applied it toward my education.

In September 1961, my dad borrowed roof racks for the car and bought me a large black steamer trunk. Filling the trunk with all I would need at school was exciting. Finally the day came to leave Garfield for Bucknell. We loaded the trunk on the roof carriers, the family got in the car and we headed off to Lewisburg, Pennsylvania.

Turning Point

Those brief hours in my room with my cousin Don sharing his enthusiasm for engineering was a major turning point for me because it changed my focus on the career I pursued. But turning points seldom are just singular in nature. They are followed by more turning points. The initiating one with Don was followed by the challenge of my father, influence of my chemistry teacher and the mentoring of Uncle Al. Each contributed a turning point that led to my college experience and pursuit of my engineering education. I am grateful to each person who contributed their part to the successive turning points and to God who employed them to affect each one at just the right time.

A Noble Man

Over the years that I served as a minister in the New Apostolic church in the San Diego area, I met and found friendship with some very extraordinary people. My relationships and the gifts of friendship we shared have become lasting blessings in my life. Some ushered into my life turning points I treasure.

One such friend was a man named Bill Rainey. Bill, his wife and two children moved to San Diego in the late 1970’s, shortly after the time my wife and I did. They had lived in New York City and moved to the west to southern California.

Bill’s wife Lucille and I also shared a special friendship that was originally sparked by our mutual love of classical jazz. Over time our relationship took on a deeper spiritual tone. Lucille had a special gift. Whenever I found myself feeling down from the troubles of my day at work, I came home to find one of her cards in my mail box. As I shuffled through the stack of mail, suddenly the envelope with her signature return address label appeared. It was festooned with a purple orchid. I immediately knew it contained a card written in Lucille’s hand with words of encouragement and faith. My day just got so much better!

Over the years I had many opportunities to visit with Bill and Lucille. After Lucille passed on in July 2001, Bill and I had many deep conversations. He shared with me intimate feelings from deep in his heart that had been buried for all the years I had known him. He had suffered many incidences of racial discrimination. Being African-American, he often found himself in circumstances where his skin color contracted prejudice. What impressed me was how he reacted to such injustice. Surely he would be justified to feel angry, hurt and vengeful. But Bill was a noble man. His faith and aspiration to be like Jesus allowed him to say in his heart the well-known words of Jesus at the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing (saying).”

I came to realize, that before that prayer to God for his persecutor’s forgiveness left Bill’s lips, he had already forgiven them in his gracious, kind and noble heart. The fruit of the Spirit lived and reigned in his heart.

When Bill passed on in June 2003, his daughter Valerie asked me to conduct his funeral service. I was honored to accept such a blessing. Immediately I made preparations for this special experience with my brother and dear friend Bill and his family.

Bill Rainey and his contagious smile

The first thing I needed was to find a word out of scripture that would serve as the keynote to the funeral service. In a very special way it needed to acknowledge Bill’s character, faith, heart and soul. I prayed and patiently waited for some impulse from heaven to guide me. One day while preparing I happened to randomly open the Bible. I normally used the New King James Version (NKJV), but this time I picked up my New International Version (NIV) study Bible. When I opened it my eyes fell on Isaiah 32:8 where to my astonishment I read:

“But the noble make noble plans, and by noble deeds they stand.”

I was immediately elated at this discovery. I felt that these simple words perfectly applied to Bill. Succinctly they described the nobility of this man and gave me the basis for engaging the Holy Spirit to the task of developing an appropriate sermon and eulogy. Surely the spirit of these words in Isaiah would serve as comfort and inspiration to his family and friends.

I continued my preparations and explored some additional Bible translations of this verse. The Message Bible gave me this:

“But those who are noble make noble plans,
and stand for what is noble.”

Hours of exploring this fascinating Bible verse and how it related to the man I had grown to love and know created all I needed to honor him and serve his family and friends in the service.

On July 5, 2003, the funeral service was conducted for William A. Rainey, Sr. He was born May 21, 1911 and passed out of this life June 25, 2003. In the service, the noble character of this extraordinary soul was remembered and recounted.
Noble is defined as distinguished at birth (Rebirth); an exalted character of excellence; admirable, imposing, high quality, honorable; gold & platinum (noble metals) valuable because they are durable, un-phased by adversity; highness of character & spirit.

I found the words in Isaiah sufficient to what I experienced Bill to be in life. A humble man and a pillar of exceptional moral strength, he stood as an example for all who were blessed to be his friend. Yes, my spiritual brother Bill Rainey was noble, he was a gentleman, and he was and remains such as he must surely be at work for the Lord in eternity. He will have success there, because needy souls will see his spirit and the character of his soul.

After the service was concluded, Bill’s son came to me and said with emotion, “You knew my father better than me.”

I thought, “Truly, it was God who knew him better than us all.”

Turning Point

My friendship with Bill and the deep conversations we experienced together revealed the wonderful possibilities that, in spite of severe adversity and injustice, a noble person can emerge inspired by the love of God. Applying faith and courage provides the ability to become a victor and not a victim. Bill was such a victor.

I have found ever growing confidence that a life of faith and the courage it has the potential to impart can make all the difference in pursuing a life of value. A life positioned with this attitude equips one to be a blessing to the many lives they encounter.

The Traumatic Dog Bite

It was a beautiful day in the summer of 1947. The temperature and humidity were both high in the nineties, typical of New Jersey summer days. My mother decided to take my baby brother and me for a walk around the block. My brother Roy was nine months old and I was four and a half. Roy was in a baby carriage, quiet and probably asleep from the motion of the carriage. I was walking or running as any active four year old would be.

In those days we never locked the door to the house, especially when just taking a walk around the neighborhood. Mother and I had just turned the corner from our street onto Spring Street when we met our neighbor lady walking her dog Smokey. She was the wife of our dentist and they lived just a few doors further up Spring Street from where we met. This lady faithfully walked their Alaskan husky twice a day. Mother stopped and the two women engaged in a friendly conversation.

I was jumping and running around in circles and apparently spooked or angered Smokey because suddenly he jumped up and bite my right cheek. I screamed and began running a fast as I could around the corner and down our street toward home. It must have been a sight, my little four year old legs scampering full speed down the street and mother running with the carriage after me.

Our House

In that moment, a series of fortunate things happened almost at once. Our next door neighbor Mr. Barton was a truck driver and had decided to stop home for lunch that day. He had just parked his truck in front of his house and was exiting the cab when he looked up and saw us running toward our house. Immediately he realized something was terribly wrong as he heard my screaming and saw mother in a full sprint. He called his wife and she emerged from her house as I was rounding the corner of our house toward our side door.

I ran past both of them, pulled the side door of our house open, bolted through the kitchen and into the bathroom. I climbed onto the edge of the bathtub, leaned over the sink and twisted my head in front of the mirror. I looked at my image in the mirror and saw my teeth through the gaping hole in my cheek. A large flap of skin was hanging down from my face and blood seemed to be everywhere. Before I knew it I was in my mother’s arms.

She came into the house right behind me; having passed my brother off to Mrs. Barton’s waiting arms. Mother took a clean moistened face cloth and placed it over my mangled cheek carefully placing the flap of flesh back to it proper position. Then out of the house we went.

My mother had no car and didn’t drive. Mr. Barton had his car waiting and whisked us away heading to our doctor’s office a few miles away. As we left, Mrs. Barton took Roy inside her house and called our doctor to fill him in on our pending arrival.

We arrived at Dr. DeBell’s office some twenty minutes or so later. It was in a section of his residence in Passaic, the town just next to ours. Dr. DeBell was our family doctor, but he was also engaged in plastic surgery research, a relatively young specialty in 1947. He took me from my mother’s arms and into his surgery room. I don’t know if he sedated me, but I learned later that he performed some minor surgery along the margins of the torn flap and “sutured” it with what eventually became known as butterfly bandages. The tear was a long arc the general shape of the dog’s snout. The doctor used a single standard stitch to close a puncture wound from the dog’s lower canine tooth. I was released to my mother shortly thereafter and Mr. Barton drove us back home.

When my dad came home that evening from work, my mother had a real wild story to tell.

Allan before the bite

By the grace of God, the surgery and unique bandaging along with the follow up visits to Dr. DeBell, my wounds healed without a scar, save for a small pock mark where the doctor had to use a standard stitch on the puncture wound. The amazing success of the treatment caused the doctor to take pictures of my healed face to accompany his report to the Plastic Surgery Society.

Turning Point

This experience created a lifelong fear of dogs. During my years as a newspaper delivery boy, and at other times growing up, I suffered attacks by dogs and subsequent dog bites. One large dog even jumped through a window to attack me. None of them were as severe as this first one, but I gained a great respect for dogs.

On a more positive note, I witnessed the extraordinary measures God goes to in order to care for those He loves. Our neighbor’s unusual return home for lunch coupled with the precise timing of his arrival enabling him to instantly fulfill our critical need to get to the doctor made all the difference. The meticulous choreography of the right people in the precise place and at the perfect time during those thirty minutes of my life I can only attribute to kind and gracious God.

Broken Body – Living Soul

My mother and I were always very spiritually close, evidenced by many extraordinary experiences confirming this truth over the years. One day my mother suffered a brain aneurism that caused a stroke. After all available treatments were exhausted, and due to complications that caused brain seizures heavy medications became a necessity. Her physical and mental condition forced me to place her in a special care facility. This was very difficult for both my dad and me, but I made every effort to insure that she received the very best of care. What made it most difficult for me was her inability to recognize me.

During the week I visited her in the evenings. Approaching her she would look up at me from her wheelchair and ask, “Who are you?”

Most often she mistook me for my father or my brother. Even though I understood the cause, it still hurt and painful tugs gripped my heart. However, God saw fit to show me something important that eventually brought peace to my heart with the situation.

Each Sunday after conducting the morning church service in one of the San Diego area congregations, I took whatever detour necessary to stop at the convalescent home. I wanted to serve my mother with Absolution, Holy Communion, and to pray with her. I had a living hope that in spite of her condition; somehow the blessing of God would reach her soul.

Without failure, every Sunday I walked into the entrance of the convalescent home, the first thing I saw was my mother in her wheelchair. She was first in the line of wheelchairs at the entry to the dining hall. She was hunched over, her eyeglasses askew and smudged to the point that she could not see anything very clearly through them. I entered the large reception room from the foyer and Mother immediately looked up, raised her “good” right arm and called out my name saying, “Allan! Is that you?”

I always responded with, “Yes, it’s me.”

Mother, loud enough for the whole room to hear, said, “Do you have my Holy Communion?”

I assured her I did, gave her a kiss and wheeled her back to her room. There I shared the highlights of the morning church service. I spoke to her as though there was nothing wrong with her comprehension. We prayed together the Lord’s Prayer and to my constant amazement, she prayed that pray as though nothing was wrong with her! No slurring of her words, no saying the wrong words, perfectly prayed as it would by a fully healthy person.

I followed the Lord’s Prayer with pronouncement of the Absolution. I prayed a brief prayer of thanksgiving, consecrated the elements and served her Holy Communion. Finally I pronounced the Benediction.

We said “Amen” together and mother looked up at me and said “Who are you?”

I released the brakes on the wheelchair and took Mother to the now filled dining room for lunch. I kissed her again and said goodbye with mixed feelings flooding my soul.

The first few times I had this experience, I left my mother deeply saddened and aching in my soul but also thankful I could serve her. Eventually, I realized that God was showing me something very important.

There was a lesson in all of this for me. It became clear once I was able to extricate myself from the emotional pain I felt. Now I saw that even though her physical faculties were impaired; her soul remained healthy and strong! I am forever grateful for that insight and the comfort and peace it offered.

Turning Point

This experience became a turning point in perspective. I wondered why I hadn’t recognized it sooner. Strong emotions have the effect of blinding one to the obvious. This turning point perspective equipped me to serve others to overcome their emotionally induced blindness in similar situations and see the truth of a broken body with a healthy soul.

My Dad and Fishing

I can’t remember the very first time my dad took me fishing, but I suspect it was when I was about five years old and got a very old, rudimentary black casting rod and reel from my Uncle Arno. Uncle Arno was my mother’s brother and he and Aunt Helen lived on the street next to ours. I do remember going to their house and going into the garage. He took down a dusty old black fishing rod and reel. My dad agreed to clean it up and take me fishing one day.

We went home and dad and I went to work cleaning up the old fishing rod. The first thing dad did was take the reel apart and clean up the parts. He reassembled it and oiled the gears and bearings and put new fishing line on it. Now I was ready to go fishing.

However, it wouldn’t surprise me that in reality, the very first fishing moment in my life was with a long bamboo pole with a piece of fishing line, a hook at the end and a makeshift wooden bobber about a foot or so from the hook. It probably took place at the “pump house”, the nickname we gave to the small lake at the end of our street and just across the railroad tracks. The lake had a small population of carp, many of which were gold fish, likely planted there by people who got tired of their pet goldfish.

The “Pumphouse”

There are a number of fishing experiences with my dad that I remember vividly, two of which involve that old black casting rod and reel from Uncle Arno.

The first I recall was when our family visited my Uncle John and Aunt Elsie. They lived in a house on the banks of the Passaic River. I remember my brother and I fishing along the raised bank of the river using dough waded on the fishing hook for bait. My dad set up the rigging and we caught three catfish that day. One was large, about a foot long, one was smaller about nine inches long and the third was small and about five inches long. We boasted that we caught the whole family! My brother Roy and I both agreed that they were really ugly with their long black whiskers. I don’t remember if we threw them back into the river, but I am sure we didn’t eat them.

My next fishing memory was also with the old black fishing rod. This time my dad and I joined some of our neighbors and their sons at a lake some distance from our home. We rented two row boats and fished most of the day. I don’t recall if I caught any fish while in the boat, but my most vivid memory was when we returned the boats.

While my dad was taking care of our things and getting them stowed in the trunk of the car, I was still trying to catch fish. There was a park bench set between two large oak trees at the edge of the lake. Our neighbor, Mr. Barton, was sitting on the bench while I looked into the clear water of the lake. I could see a whole colony of sunfish. I couldn’t resist trying to catch one. I baited my hook with one of the last worms in the bait can and tried to cast it out to where the fish could clearly be seen.

Frustrated at being unable to get my baited hook close enough to the fish, I attempted to reach them by wrapping one arm around one of the oak trees. Steadied by the tree, I swung my fishing rod in a wide arc hoping to get the bait farther out into the lake. Alas, I lost my grip on the tree and tumbled into the water still gripping my fishing rod.

Fortunately, Mr Barton saw the whole thing unfolding before his eyes and his fast reaction saved me from possibly drowning. The water there was deep and I didn’t know how to swim, plus I was weighted down with all my clothes. Mr. Barton rolled off the bench and on his belly reached into the water, grabbed my collar and lifted me out of the water. I stood there shaking and grateful for Mr. Barton’s rescue.

When I was a little older, Mr. and Mrs. Herold, owners of the local German butcher shop and members at our church, rented us their bungalow at Greenwood Lake for a week one summer. That was a real adventure in fishing for me. Even though we didn’t have access to a boat, every day I joined my friend Dickey on a nearby dock and fished till our hearts were content.

Dock Fishing at Greenwood Lake

Many fishing days were spent with my dad in various locations over the ensuing years. We fished for fluke in Manasquan River that lead into the Atlantic Ocean. We fished Greenwood Lake with my Uncle Bill and cousin Herb who had a rowboat on the lake. We fished the lake for bass, perch and pickerel. These trips were very memorable and imparted a real love for the sport of fishing.

When I reached the age of twelve fishing with my dad suddenly changed. Dad’s job as a refrigeration engineer at Country Club Ice Cream Company changed to partial shift work. He had to work every Saturday and had Sunday and Monday’s off. That removed the possibility of fishing since Monday’s were school days for me.

That’s when my Uncle Henry stepped up and stepped in for me. All of us called him Uncle Henny. He was a painter by trade but was a master trout fisherman. He offered to take me fishing with him on Saturdays when he fished the many fast moving streams in northwestern areas of New Jersey. Places with names like Sparta, Lafayette, and Berkshire were old towns in the area that had streams flowing through them. The venues we fished were right in town, in open fields or farm pastures. Uncle Henny had a scheme for where and when to fish each spot.

When fishing with Uncle Henny became a reality, Dad took me to Meltzer’s Sporting Goods Store and bought me a fly rod, the required fishing equipment for fishing for trout in a fast stream. Along with the fly rod, we bought a reel, special floating fishing line and a wicker creel. Uncle Henny donated his old trout fishing vest to hold all the spare hooks, flies and spare line and leaders. He also gave me a used pair of hip boots.

Fully outfitted for trout fishing in fast moving streams, I was ready for Uncle Henny to teach me the fine points of the art of trout fishing.

The first day of trout fishing began with Uncle Henny picking me up at my house very early on a Saturday morning. We loaded my fishing gear into his car and off we went. The first stop was the Berkshire Valley. Uncle Henny parked his car in a dirt turnoff in an old residential area of town. Across the street from the houses was a stretch of the stream that gave access for fishing. Under the trees, Uncle Henny showed me how to bait the hook with night crawlers. I had caught my own supply of the large worms the night before by snatching them up from our backyard lawn after dark.

After the initial lesson, Uncle Henny set me loose and suggested I fish a stretch of the stream about twenty yards long. He assured me that there were lots of trout in that stretch. He left me there and headed downstream to fish.

For the next hour, I fished the stream but came up empty. Not a single bite could I get in spite of following Uncle Henny’s instructions. I was so disappointed. Uncle Henny eventually returned and asked how many trout were in my creel.

Reluctantly I said, “None.”

He paused and laid his fly rod with a still baited hook on the ground at the edge of the stream. He proceeded to take a fresh pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Unseen by either of us, the baited hook slipped into the stream when he laid his fishing rod down. Just as he pulled the red strip from his cigarette pack to access a cigarette, his rod began to jump around. Quickly he picked it up and reeled in the trout he had caught without even trying!

Uncle Henny

Now the lessons from my uncle became more detailed and the location and method of placing the baited hook into the stream made all the difference. By the end of the day, we both had our limit.

For the rest of my teenage years, Saturdays during trout season were spent with Uncle Henny fishing the streams of Northwestern New Jersey. Each Saturday afternoon I returned home with the limit of fresh trout that my mother masterfully turned into a delightful meal for the family on Sunday after church.

Turning Points

Dad’s introducing me to the joys of fishing was a turning point in many ways. It was an experience that bonded us together and introduced me to a sport that I enjoy to this day. Its rewards also helped me create a special bond between me and my son Randy.

The unexpected turn of events with Dad having to work on Saturdays, opened the door for me to learn a new venue of the sport of fishing and to build a rewarding relationship with Uncle Henny.

I began to explore other venues for fishing beyond lake and stream and river fishing. I discovered surf and deep sea fishing. All of these I eventually shared with Randy.

The Judas Goat

My dad often took me places that were profound learning experiences for me. I don’t know if they were part of a deliberate plan of his, but regardless, I learned lifelong and life changing lessons as a result.

I remember one day, probably a Saturday afternoon he took me and my brother to the last place I would have expected. He took us to a slaughterhouse in Secaucus, New Jersey. I don’t recall how old I was at the time, but most likely I was eight to ten years old. It was for me a very interesting experience.

We arrived sometime in the early afternoon in summertime. The sun was high in the sky. It was hot and very humid, typical of a New Jersey summer day. Dad parked the car amidst a sprawling complex of wooden corrals. The smell of farm animals permeated the air. The corrals were jam packed with animals waiting for their turn to enter the bowels of the slaughterhouse. Pigs populated some of the corrals we saw and lambs others.

Dad led us to a large corral that had hundreds of lambs housed within. As I looked over the crowded arena, I noted that there was one animal that stood out. It was bigger and had curled horns and a long white beard hung from its chin. It also had a bell hanging from its neck. I recognized it as a goat.

I asked, “Dad, why is there a goat among the lambs?”

He said, “In a little while, you will understand why he is there.”

Dad reached into his pocket and retrieved his pack of Camels cigarettes. He removed a cigarette and reached over the top of the corral. I climbed up onto the bottom rung of the corral’s railing and hung my arms over the top. It didn’t take long for the sensitive nose of that goat to smell the tobacco aroma from dad’s little unfiltered cigarette.

Quickly, the goat weaseled his way through the crowd of lambs and snatched the cigarette from between dad’s fingers. He ate that thing so fast that in a split second it was gone. The goat stayed there, looking at dad as if to say, “Can I have another one?”

My dad pulled another cigarette from the pack, carefully keeping some distance from the goat. I imagine he was fearful that if he were to get too close the hungry goat eyeing him with anticipation of another treat would snatch the whole pack from unsuspecting hands.

Dad and the goat entertained us with a few more cigarettes for the next few minutes. Then the real purpose of the visit began to unfold before my eyes.
I don’t know what the signal was that caused the next activity to commence, but suddenly the goat began to prance around the corral. The bell around its neck announced that something was happening and it attracted the attention of every lamb in the corral. They all began to move about; increasing their speed, the activity became more and more agitated.

That is when my dad began to tell us what was about to happen.

He explained that the goat was a Judas goat. For some reason, the lambs instinctively followed the goat. The goat was trained to lead the sheep and in this case, lead them to slaughter.

I watched as the Judas goat made his way through the throng of lambs. Soon he had all of them following and he made his way to the edge of the corral. He passed by where we were standing and I saw a gate open a short distance from us. The goat led the lambs through the gate and into a narrow chute. Suddenly, another gate opened and the goat returned to the corral, but none of the lambs returned.

Dad explained that as soon as the goat got the lambs into the chute, the goat was diverted and the lambs went into the slaughterhouse.

We watched as the last of the lambs entered the chute. Dad summoned us to return to the car. Dad of course didn’t want us to witness the actual slaughtering process. That was not part of this lesson. He was very wise that way. What we witnessed, however, was a lesson that evolved over years to come, providing understanding that proved to be a blessing in many circumstances of life.

TURNING POINT

This turning point was one that developed over many years. One crucial lesson it taught me was not to be sucked in by what everyone around me was doing. Peer pressure was a powerful force, especially in one’s youth. The desire and need to fit into the “in crowd” was very deceptive in so many instances. This lesson gave me courage to be different and not follow blindly the course taken by those around me. It caused me to seriously and deliberately consider the potential consequences of actions, and equipped me with the wherewithal to make wise decisions in life.

Honoring Zoey

Whenever I exercised retroactive self discovery, it revealed that people were brought into my life and were profound blessings. These people were significant players in the turning points in my life. When through purposeful deliberation I considered the treasures these souls were to my unfolding life, I began to find ways to express my sincere gratitude for them.

Since I acknowledge the part that I believe God had in engineering their presence in my life and the purpose behind it, I first expressed my sincere gratitude to Him. But I felt that my gratitude remained incomplete. I needed to do something more to acknowledge these souls in hopes that I could give them some sense of how they touched my life and so blessed me.

One such soul was a young girl named Zoey. From before her birth until her untimely passing as a teenager, she somehow found many ways to touch my life. The more I looked back the more I discovered that in her humble way she taught me things I needed to understand. So it was not surprising that I found a special way to honor her.

Zoey

Working with the Garden of Innocence, and seeing the ways Zoey seemed to visit me there, (See: “The Feather from Heaven” March 2016 post) I decided to name a baby in her honor. I placed her name on the list of requests at the Garden. I also requested to conduct the sermon for the future Baby Zoey’s funeral service.

Months went by and finally in early February 2016, I received word that a new baby had arrived for burial in the Garden and her name would be Zoey. It turned out that the day for the funeral was my 73rd birthday. I was humbled that this very special day for me would be extra special.

I informed Zoey’s mother, Dawn, of the date for the Ceremony at the Garden for Baby Zoey. I invited her and her family to join us in the Garden of Innocence on the Saturday morning honoring her daughter and Baby Zoey.

In the weeks prior to the funeral service, I prayed often for divine guidance and inspiration for the thoughts to express in the sermon. It was a busy time with other activities each day, but I refused to allow them to distract me.

A little more than a week before the service, I sat at my computer and wrote the Bible text word and theme for the sermon that had come to me in the middle of the night before. The text was John 13: 34-35 in the New King James Version (NKJV):

34 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. 35 By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Another Biblical text kept rising up in my heart. This one from Ezekiel 22:30 in The Message (MSG) version:

30 “I looked for someone to stand up for me against all this, to repair the defenses of the city, to take a stand for me and stand in the gap to protect this land so I wouldn’t have to destroy it. I couldn’t find anyone. Not one.

I spent a few days making iterations until I found a sermon outline that satisfied my soul. I printed it and planned to read it daily until the day of the service.

One of the activities a few days prior to the service was a Chinese New Year celebration at my mother-in-law’s assisted living facility. It included dancers, music and a Chinese cuisine dinner. The dinner concluded with fortune cookies. I loved Chinese fortune cookies since my childhood so I greedily took two.

I don’t give much credence to the fortunes in fortune cookies, but when I opened the first one it read, “YOU WILL SOON WITNESS A MIRACLE.” I ate my cookie and proceeded to open the second. To my surprise it read the same, “YOU WILL SOON WITNESS A MIRACLE.”

Skeptical, I waited for the others at the table to read their fortunes and surprisingly not one had the same as mine. That was the last I thought of what I deemed simply a coincidence.

On the morning of the funeral, February 20, 2016, Carol and I made our way to the Garden of Innocence. Zoey’s family arrived along with our volunteers and many guests.

The proceedings began as usual with the casket bearing Baby Zoey to the Garden in the arms of the Knights of Columbus. Once in the Garden, she was passed around our circle of loving attendees including Zoey’s family and some of my friends.

Dawn holding Baby Zoey in her arms

I prayed the opening prayer followed by the musician and singer Ken Murrell who offered up his first song. I listened carefully to the words and I found that they perfectly fit into the theme of the sermon. The thought the lyrics contained that so struck me was we are stepping in to love this baby.

Another friend of Zoey’s, Brigit, who lives in Germany and has been a volunteer with the Garden of Innocence, wrote the poem for Baby Zoey. A young boy read the poem.

I listened carefully as he read the poem with deep emotion. It occurred to me that a particular phrase was exactly the theme of the sermon, just like the lyrics of the first song. The specific phrase in the poem was:

Right at the last moment
When you thought nobody loves you –
To be surprised by all of us
As we step in to love you.

For me, I had just witnessed the second “miracle” predicted in the fortunes of my fortune cookies.

After the poem, I presented the sermon. The theme, corroborated by the texts, the song and the poem made clear that in the plan of God, who is Love, a little baby is born to experience the love of their mother. This is the great blessing from God for every child. When, however, something unusual happens and a baby does not experience that love, God needs someone to “step in and step up” to love that child in place of the mother.

I reflected on the experience related in Ezekiel 22:30, where God searched for someone for a certain task, but sadly found no one. I proposed that all those who had assembled to honor Baby Zoey that morning had in a way answered that call. In essence, God found each one willing to step in and step up to love her. As each of those present momentarily cradled the casket bearing Baby Zoey in their arms, she surely felt the embracing love emanating from such loving hearts.
When the ceremony progressed to the dove ceremony, Dawn released the dove for Baby Zoey.

Dawn releasing Baby Zoey’s Dove

We released the three doves for the Trinity and then volunteers read the names of all the babies in the Garden. At the end when all 159 names were read, two large baskets of doves were opened. Beautiful white doves filled the sky as they took flight homeward bound.

For me it was a special day and opportunity to honor my friend Zoey whose life and our friendship will always be my treasure.

But the miracles were not limited to the common threads of Bible texts, a song, a poem and a sermon. I soon discovered the miracles were not yet over.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, a gentleman in his 90’s approached me. I later learned he was Leo White, the father of Suzy Foster a Garden of Innocence volunteer.

Leo walked up to me and asked, “Do you know Jean Landis?”

I was shocked as I quickly processed the import of this query. You see, Jean Landis was the aunt of Daylene, Zoey’s grandmother. She and her family were standing just a few feet away!

I excitedly replied, “Not only do I know Jean Landis, but it is my pleasure to introduce you to her niece and her family.”

I proceeded to introduce the members of Zoey’s family to Leo. A wonderfully unexpected union of two families ensued. It soon became evident that Leo and Jean had attended flight school together during World War II. He became a pilot and she became a WASP flying airplanes in support of the war effort. Just the week prior, Leo and Jean met for breakfast after so many years.

Dave, Daylene, Devin, Leo and Dawn

After all the greetings were exchanged I asked Leo, “What possessed you to come to me and ask me if I knew Jean Landis?”

He said, “I noted on the back of the program that you were a minister in a church in El Cajon. Since Jean lives in El Cajon, I just took a chance that you might know her.”

Turning Points

Once again, I stand in awe of how God goes to meticulous lengths to affect His will for our blessings. The whole series of events that I have attempted to pen here seem to me to be quite extraordinary. His weaving of the message He intended to instill in each of us that day was so thorough. I consider these points: He woke me in the middle of the night to enliven two particular Bible verses; He moved the singer’s choice of song and lyric; He guided the poet’s creative verses and He inspired the sermon’s message that brought it all together. As wonderful as that was, He continued with His workings and brought two families together as a crown to the day’s event.

When Man Fails, God Prevails

One of the great joys in my life was to volunteer with the Garden of Innocence. The part I played was to lead the dove ceremony, an integral part of the burial of abandoned babies at the Garden. During each funeral service, there is a moment when the baby or babies are honored with the release of a beautiful white dove along with three doves for the Trinity. Then the names of all the babies in the Garden are read followed by the release of 50 or more doves to honor them. It falls upon me to maintain the list of names of all the babies in the Garden.

On Friday, January 16, 2016, I had just prepared my documents for the next day’s burial of three babies at the Garden when I got a call from Rebecca, our president. She said that the second of the three babies, Hollis, was the 150th baby to come into the Garden. I was shocked.

She asked if I had made any special arrangements for this occasion. Since it hadn’t occurred to me when I prepared the documents, I had to answer, “No.”
I felt terrible as I realized I failed to make anything special to recognize this milestone for the Garden.

Graciously, Becca said, “That’s okay; just make special mention of it in your address during the dove ceremony.”

With a heavy heart and much guilt weighing on me, I walked up the hill to the Garden of Innocence at El Camino Memorial Park on Saturday morning. When I reached the Garden I stood in awe and amazement.

The Garden was strewn with a massive bed of flowers. In the circle of the graves, a large number of huge flower arrangements were laying amongst the 100 plus grave stones of our babies. Apparently, someone of great honor was interred the day before. They had so many flowers that someone was moved to place the excess flower arrangements on the graves of our babies.

Array of Flowers at the Garden Of Innocence – San Diego

I was astounded. Here, in the midst of my failure, God stepped in and touched the heart of someone to step up and honor our Garden babies.
But it wasn’t too long thereafter that I discovered this was not the only miracle of the day where God moved hearts and minds to overcome my failure to recognize the 150th baby.

As planned, I did make note of the 150th baby during the dove ceremony and acknowledged God’s part in the amazing display of flowers in spite of my failure.

The Bed of Flowers Blanket the Garden

Caskets of Babies Dorothy, Hollis and Murray

Flight of the Doves

During the proceedings I noticed someone filming the ceremony with what appeared to be professional grade equipment, something not normally present for a Garden event. When the program was over, I realized that it was a local News Station photographer that was there documenting the proceedings for the evening news.

Curious as to how that came about, I asked the gentleman the question burning inside of me, “How is it that you are here today?”

He replied, “One of our new employee’s saw the announcement for the babies in the newspaper’s obituary column yesterday and, having never heard of the Garden of Innocence, sent me out to document the event.”

Another gift from God!

That night, the local NBC News television station presented a wonderful documentary reporting on the day’s event and the 150th baby entering the Garden of Innocence.

TURNING POINT

How gracious is our God, that when we in our weakness fail in something that has some significance for others, He kindly steps in and moves hearts and minds to make our failure of non-effect. When man fails, God prevails is not a simple adage, but a precious truth. Experiences such as these help us to boldly engage our calling without the fear of failure compromising our passion.

(See Garden of Innocence Website at www.gardenofinnocence.org for more information regarding our mission.)

The Power of Three

When Sunday mornings dawned, I awoke and made my way to the kitchen to brew some coffee and prepare an English muffin for breakfast. Once all was in the works I made my way to the driveway to retrieve the morning newspaper.

I returned to the kitchen to a fresh brewed pot of coffee and a golden brown toasted muffin. Coffee cup of steaming coffee and a buttered English muffin in hand I made my way to our kitchen table with the Sunday paper. After a prayer of thanks, I sipped my coffee and opened the bundled newspaper and searched for the Parade magazine.

I made it a habit every Sunday to read a particular column in the PARADE magazine, one written by Marilyn vos Savant. She was known for having attained the highest IQ score ever recorded. Most of the questions posed to her that she answered in her weekly column had to do with solving puzzles, riddles or other mathematically oriented challenging queries.

Marilyn vos Savant

I was not looking for those when I read her column even though some were quite entertaining. What I looked for was her views on life issues.

One of her most fascinating columns was a turning point for me because it was a perfect illustration of the power of three as applied to the process of learning. The question posed to Marilyn was this: If you were on your death bed and had but a few moments to speak your last words to your child, what would you say?

Marilyn’s answer was something I wish I had known when I was a student in school. She said she would tell her child the rule of three in the learning process.

Marilyn explained that the first step was to read the lesson the day prior, in advance of the next class. While reading, the student needed to record any questions that arose and prepare to get the answers during the next day’s class lecture. The key element in this step was reading or seeing the lesson.

The second step was the class lecture itself. Listening during the class lecture the student needed to find the answers to their questions. Any questions not answered, the student needed to get answered either by asking in class or speaking to the teacher afterward. The key element in this step was listening or hearing the lesson.

The third step was to do the homework assignment that applied the lessons presented in the class fortified by the answered questions. The key element in this third step was writing or doing the lesson.

These three steps provided exposure to the essence of the lesson in a threefold manner. First was reading, the second listening and the third doing. The result was not a memorizing exercise but rather a learning one.

I came to realize that this “rule of three” had very interesting effects on getting information into our subconscious mind.

While taking a series of seminars for training budding entrepreneurs, I witnessed a demonstration that I have since performed hundreds of times to the astonishment of those who were willing to engage my little test.

It went something like this:
First I explained a situation that my subject was willing to embrace. I asked them what they saw as their profession and then posed this scenario. If for example they said that they saw themselves as an accountant, I told them that their role in the test was as follows: You have just lost your job; your spouse is in the hospital with a severe illness that has sapped your insurance and life savings. Your children are in great fear; you have no way to pay your bills and you are desperate. I meet you and explain that I am a billionaire and in need of an accountant with your specific background. I am willing to hire you with a $250,000 up front signing bonus. All you need do is pass a simple two part test. My subject normally quickly agrees to the test.

Before I would begin the test I ask them to identify their strongest hand. Part one of the test was using that hand they held their thumb and ring finger tips together. I tell them that at some unknown time during their recitation I will attempt to pull those two fingers apart. If I succeed, they fail the test.

I instruct them to recite the phrase, “I am the best accountant in the world!” five times, using enthusiasm and inflection to convince me of their sincerity. While they are speaking the phrase, I wait till they have recited it at least three times. I attempt to pull their fingers apart, usually as they are saying it the fourth time. When I perform this part of the test, regardless of the gender, age or physical attributes, no matter how hard I try, I fail to pull their fingers apart. Then I move to the second part of the test.

I tell them that they now need to repeat the fivefold pronouncement except that they now add the phrase “I will try to be . . . ” the best accountant in the world. After they say it three times, I easily pull their fingers apart to their great astonishment.

They will usually be thinking, “Wow, what just happened?”

I explained, “When you state the first time that ‘you are’, your conscious mind registers it. When you say it the second time, your conscious mind says ‘Okay, I heard that.’ The third time you said that ‘you are . . . ‘, your conscious mind disregards it and it registers in your subconscious. After three times, I attempt to pull your fingers apart. You use 100% of you strength, and no matter my strength or yours I will never be able to pull your fingers apart.”

I continue, “In the second part of the test, when you insert the phrase ‘I will try . . . ‘ into your pronouncement something interesting happens. In your childhood, when you came running to a parent or teacher facing a failure, they would ask, ‘Did you try?’ and you said, ‘Yes! I tried!’ They said, ‘Well as long as you tried, it’s okay.’ In other words, this childhood programming taught you (and your subconscious) that trying is an acceptable excuse for failure. In the second part of the test, because your subconscious allows it, you subsequently do not give 100% but rather something less, thus allowing me to easily pull your fingers apart.”

Here the rule of three works together with a person’s experience growing up and illustrates the power of three and how negative experiences can influence our subconscious minds.

I applied this lesson often when I was engaged in learning an important subject. I also had opportunity to share this bit of wisdom with others.

One such experience confirmed the truth of the power of three applied to learning. It came when a business colleague asked me to talk to one of his daughters. She was attending college and had serious trouble with her classes. At her mid-term break she had three D’s and two F’s on her mid-term exams. Her dad hoped that I could help her with her grades.

I spoke with the young lady and asked how she was dealing with the process of learning. She had no understanding of how to approach the art of learning in a college environment. She was frustrated with her inability to gain a sufficient understanding to effectively take an exam. Her poor grades threatened to cause her to leave school.

I explained to her the rule of three as described by Marilyn vos Savant. I encouraged the young lady to take this seriously and told her it would make a big difference. I asked her to share with me the results at the end of the semester and the final exams were completed.

When the result of her finals came in a few months later, she very excitedly called me to report the results. She had diligently followed the principles I outlined in the rule of three. The final exam scores resulted in her grades for two of the mid-term D’s becoming B’s, the other D became a C and the two F’s became C’s.

The rule of three when applied to any learning experience proves to be very effective. What is important is not memorization of facts, but rather an understanding of the essence of the material. That is true learning.

Sometime in my deliberations over the power of three, I considered the importance of understanding as opposed to memorization in the learning process. I delved into the meaning of three words: Know and Comprehend and Understand.

To “know” something implies that we perceive the fact of something. For example I considered a spoon, a fork and a knife. When I looked at these utensils I “know” that they are distinct items that differ from each other.

When I “comprehend” them, I appreciate that they have different functions as eating utensils. For instance, I would not use a fork to eat soup or a fork to cut meat.

When I “understand” these utensils, I see beyond the obvious name of them and their differences but I see their implications for other diverse uses and applications. These implications could be, for instance, using the knife as a screwdriver, the handle as a hammer, the spoon as a shovel and the fork as a weapon.

Understanding value and importance then is the more complete appreciation of something and the fullness of its potential scope of utility.

Turning Point

Appreciating and understanding the rule and power of three creates a change in how one approaches the learning experiences that life brings. After all, I am convinced that when we are through learning, we are through! The knowledge and experience with the power of the rule of three make the learning process thrilling and exciting. The younger one is when understanding the rule of three, the more profitable it is for them.

The wisdom in the rule of three is quite compelling. I have witnessed and experienced repeated success when the rule of three is diligently followed and exercised. The truth of this rule can be applied to many learning venues with success.