The Man With the Thousand Dollar Bill

I have a good story and an ethical conundrum for you today.

My father built some of the early radio stations throughout the southeast US in the late forties and early fifties of the last century. He wasn't ever the money guy, just the expert hired help who knew how to set up a radio station, find the right person to put in the electronics, get a guy to build the tower, and then call on all the local businesses to sell ad time on the new station before it went on air.

In the course of working in small towns in North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, he met some real characters along the way. One guy he told me about when I was growing up was a man who always dressed very nicely and carried in his wallet only one thing: a one thousand dollar bill. He took my dad out to eat several times in small restaurants and diners and it was only on the second or third occasion that he told my father his special trick.

He never had to pay for a meal. Ever. He had done this for at least a year. He'd go into a local joint, looking like a million dollars in his sharp suit, order a meal, and at the end, when the check came, he'd get out his wallet and open it up, and then exclaim: "Well, my goodness. Would you look at that? All I have is a thousand dollar bill? Can you change it?"

The waitress would be shocked. She'd ogle the bill, and exclaim, "Goodness Gracious!" or some such Southernism, and call the cook, or owner over to see. They'd then continue to exclaim.

The man would be so apologetic. "I usually try to carry something smaller than this! I'm so sorry!" The locals would be simply stunned.

"Is that real?"

"Yes, ma'am, as real as it gets!"

"I've never in my life seen such a thing!" Everyone would examine this rare specimen of US currency. It would be like seeing the Hope Diamond in person. And then whoever was in charge would inevitably say, "Well, it's just a treat and quite an honor to see a greenback like that. I bet you only come across those in New York City or Hollywood!"

"And hardly ever there!" our character would knowingly remark.

"Well, look. Dinner's on the house! We just appreciate you coming in today. I wish my wife was here to see this. It's my treat."

"You don't have to do that."

"Heck. I can't change that anyway. And I'm just pleased to have a fellow like you come into the joint and grab a bite. It's been a great pleasure to meet you and talk to you. Let it be on the house."

"Well, if you insist. That's quite gracious of you. And, next time, I'll try to have a more ordinary collection of bills in my wallet." They'd then shake hands, all around. And the character would leave, with one of the restaurant's mints in his mouth, or a toothpick in his teeth.

Now, the question: Was this guy's action ethical? Was he ethical? Or was what he was doing wrong? Please explain your answer.

I'll have the graded copies back to you next week. Class dismissed.

Beginner's Mind, Master's Mind

"A good surfer is happy to get a good ride. A great surfer creates a great ride." - Don Sharp

My workout partner Don and I were sitting around today after the time of physical exercise, and we ended up talking about surfing, tennis, basketball, woodcarving, and what it takes to get into The Zone in any activity.

When you first learn a new sport, or any new activity, your head is full of the rules, and the techniques and tips you've learned. They guide you into the new performance. But, as long as they're consciously in your head, they also inhibit your performance. You focus on them, and on whatever they direct you to notice and do. That process can get you from the level of beginner to a higher plane. But it can't take you all the way to mastery.

The master is no longer rehearsing and consulting rules and tips. He or she is picking up details in a mostly unconscious way, and adapting, adjusting, and using those details to create something new. A surfer who is advanced can let go of the self conscious mental chatter that the beginner needs. He or she becomes one with the wave and with the ride.

Don tells me that after a great couple of hours in the surf, he sometimes has trouble remembering the details. It's almost as if all the conscious processes of noticing and remembering were turned off. Thinking gives way to being. The unconscious takes over. And then, great things happen.

How do you get to this point? Practice. Experience. Immersion. Doing. And then, eventually, you'll enter the promised land of being.

May you have the great blessing to do something where you can just be.

The Two Doors of Opportunity

There are at least two doors into any house, the front door, and the back door. Something similar is true for any structure of possibility or power.

The front door is all about the way things are officially done. The back door is all about the way things are really done. The front door is guarded by rules. The back door is guarded by relationships.

In the spirit of our architectural metaphors, this observation gives us a window in to the nature of opportunities.

Whenever you seek to do something new, there will be a structure of some sort that you'll need to enter, a pre-existing place you'll need to dwell in, for at least a while, in order to get started. It could end up being a permanent residence, or could serve as merely a transitional space. Most who identify where they need to go next will seek to enter through the front. But few ever manage to gain access that way. Knowing someone who is already in that house can get you invited around to the back and welcomed with a smile, while the crowd waits out front.

You see this played out all the time, in any field. Relationships rule the world. And that's a basic insight most of us have early on in our careers, but sometimes come to forget in our strategies and actions later on, especially in times of creativity or transition, focused as we might be, on other things. Those who remember it well can have access to many mansions.

The term 'networking' is such a poor, heartless, bloodless word for this, as drained of its vitality as it is redolent of mechanistic imagery. My favorite book on the role relationships can play in our work and in our lives is Never Eat Alone, by Keith Ferrazzi. It's a feast of insights about how the spirit of true relationships - genuine, authentic relationships - can animate anything we do and provide us with the way stations, as well as more permanent homes, for whatever it is that we desire to do.

My quick recommendation of the day is that we should all review our tendencies with regard to our relationships. Do we tend that garden regularly, or allow it to languish, uncultivated?

If you have a way of keeping up with people, or connecting more deeply, I'd love to hear it, either here or by email. And tell me how how it's helped you or others get welcomed into that back door.