True helpers. That’s what. That’s what makes us
rise. I have breakfast with one most every
morning now. We have coffee and we laugh, we tell stories,
and we always say a little prayer for his daddy. I look at
him across the table with his still red hair and blue eyes,
and that smile. Always that smile. And I think how lucky I
am to have a friend like him at this point in my life…and
how lucky I am to have had him as a friend most all of my
life. He was the key, you see. He was the answer to the
mystery. I looked for it so long and in so many places, but
of course, it was always right under my nose – right in
front of me - just as it is now. It wasn’t in a book, or a
library. It wasn’t in some theory or latest fad. It was
plain and pure and simple. It was always in him.
But I’m getting ahead of the story…
I was born into a lower
middle-income farm family who did everything in the world
for me. Unfortunately, I did very little for them – which
is my great regret ‘til this day. Not an evil child; not in
trouble with the law (much). Rather silly, unfocused, and
immature - like a good many youth I suppose. Made terrible
grades…but that wasn’t my fault. Just out of high school by
the skin of my teeth (by one point) a graduate student gave
me an I. Q. test and he said I was “slightly below
average.” I was never more relieved because once that
information came to light, there was no way any of this
could be my fault. I was just slow. So I worked hard in
other areas to compensate and at eighteen years of age, I
had attained the rank of “Rodeo Bum”…and not a very good one
at that. I attended college regularly though, but didn’t
fare too well. I made 13 F’s in a row. 13 consecutive F’s
- a record that I assume still stands somewhere. Then
something happened…
My father died suddenly at a relatively young age. My
mother couldn’t handle the grief. She had what was called in
those days a “nervous breakdown.” (Which sounds really bad
until we live long enough to learn we all have one or two,
now don’t we?) I was left alone. On Friday afternoon, I
found myself sitting in the waiting room of the Financial
Aids Office at East Texas State University. The
receptionist said, “I’m afraid everyone has gone for the day
– and for the weekend, for that matter. You will have to
come back on Monday.” I didn’t tell her that meant sleeping
in my truck another two nights. As I was about to leave, a
man came from behind his office door. Dressed in a suit and
tie, and shiny shoes, he was much the opposite of the
somewhat dirty young person who stood before him. “I’m
Jerry Lytle,” he said. “I’ll visit with you. Come on in.”
We went into his office and even though quite odd for
an introverted “slow” young fellow, I found myself pouring
out my story to this stranger. I told him about how I
hadn’t been much of a son, how I squandered what meager
ability I had, and how I was filled with regret – and no
matter how silly, I had made a solemn vow to make my father
proud of me even at this too late date. He listened. Never
said a word. Then, he rose and walked to the door saying to
the receptionist, “I’m leaving now. See you Monday.” I
knew I had made a fool of myself.
“Thank you for visiting with me, Mr. Lytle,” I said.
He looked at me for a moment and said, “No. You’re
coming with me.”
Riding in his truck, we drove
some ten miles out into the surrounding countryside.
He came on an old farmhouse and pulled in the lane. Hay
peered from every window.
“My daddy and I own this house. We use it as a hay
barn, but it has running water and it’s heated. We can
remove the hay. There’s my farm gas tank over there. Don’t
steal me blind and you can use it to get to class every
day. You can hunt and fish out here. We do wish you would
help us work cows on the weekends, and you will find it more
fun than work. We have a good time. I’ll start working on
your financial aid Monday.”
I sat there in that truck in frozen silence. Over and over
the thought coursed through my mind. “What did he just
say? Why would anyone do that? Could I somehow
gather an answer to that question? If I had been a math
whiz, a violin prodigy, or ran a 100 in ten flat, I could
see it. But why would you help someone who only – only –
had 13 F’s?”
And so it began. A different world. Weekends
filled with cattle, men working, men laughing, becoming a
part of something, and during the week, always the work, the
studying, the lessons. He came by the farmhouse most every
day asking if I was all right or if I needed anything. I
shared my grades with him and we rejoiced about a new life.
A life of hope.
Graduation came and he was there. We said our
good-byes and we promised to stay in touch - and did a
surprisingly good job of that through the years. I entered
the world of work and lived there for two decades, and
eventually there came a time – as in most people’s lives –
where things took a down turn. Somewhere along the way as
Yeats said, “Things fall apart. The center will not
hold.” Kids grew up and went off to college, divorce
came, the word “downsizing” came into my life. While that
didn’t happen, rumors were just as stressful, and I felt
like a Twilight Zone character who wakes up one morning and
no one is in town. I took a sabbatical from my job and
moved to the mountains. An old paint horse and I spent a
year together in those mountains. We rode and we talked,
and somewhere along the way, I had the strangest thought…
I’m not much of a religious nut – after all, (ahem) I’m
just a Methodist - but I would describe the thought as
spiritual. I’m uncomfortable for some reason saying that,
but the thought wasn’t mine. Plato said, “I don’t
know where ideas come from, but I know they don’t come from
here.” It was like that. Wasn’t my idea – the thought
came from somewhere else. Somewhere outside. And the
thought was…“Why did you change when you did?” At
the time, I thought that was silly. Here I was worried
about my entire life and I find myself thinking about
something that happened twenty years ago? And the thought
burned stronger. “Why did you change when you did?”
Paint and I rode through the hills. We swam the river and
the streams and we talked and we wondered…and the thought
burned stronger.
At first, I offered the usual answers to myself.
You matured, you straightened up, you put away
childish things. No. When we hear truth, we know it.
None of those answers sufficed. Of course I’m not telling
you I won the Nobel Prize here. I’m saying I managed to get
off the road to prison. I changed from F’s to A’s. Because
I became smarter? Hardly. I still have that below average
I. Q. (I’m using it to write this piece.) No, that wasn’t
the answer. The answer was somewhere else. That was the
moment I experienced fear. It hit me with suddenness that I
knew I couldn’t go back to work. I knew I would spend the
rest of my days looking for the answer to the mystery of
“What makes us rise?” And that came to pass. That’s
what I’ve done with all my days since that day.
When I was in college I knew what I wanted. I wanted
the professors to teach me how to help people. After all,
they had all those books, lecture halls, and theories, and
they were from such famous places like Ohio State,
California at Berkeley, Stanford, Rennselaer, Tulane, and
Rice. I listened to their lectures, took their tests, wrote
a dissertation, passed a state board exam, received a
terminal degree, and…I didn’t get it. I don’t say that to
be mean. I didn’t get it. The night they put the cowl
around my neck, I looked up…still foggy. No stars. Didn’t
get it. But…I didn’t stop looking. I kept looking. Like
Siddhartha, who studied with the wisest teachers of his
day until he learned they didn’t know how to relieve
suffering either…Siddhartha continued the journey on his
own.” That’s what I did. Thirty years now. And
during all that time, I’ve found some answers. I found some
people who knew how. Jerry Lytle was the first one.
I’ve met many of them now – these people, I mean. I
can recognize them now. They come in all shapes and sizes,
and in all occupations. Some are principals, some
superintendents, some are horse trainers or herding dog
trainers, and some are actors and singers and some are
coaches. Regardless of the discipline they are helping in,
whether it be acting, music, track, baseball, singing, etc.,
these special ones have a common trait. A common gift
I should say. These are the people who can move you down
the path. These are the people who can make you
better.
Have you ever wondered how some woman can come into a
small town where the basketball team just finished an 0 and
19 season and have the team winning the next year? Then the
next year, they win the district. Same kids. How do people
do that? I can’t tell you how many horses I’ve seen who
were vicious beasts. Those horses bucked, pawed, bit, and
kicked. People said, “With as many chances as that horse
had, he’s just no good. He should be put on a kill truck.”
And someone off to the side says, “Well, if you are going to
kill him, why don’t you give him to me?” Next thing you
know, that horse is running his heart out for that man or
woman. He doesn’t buck with her – his head is draped over
her shoulder in the stall. How do people do that? What is
that person doing differently from everyone else who ever
came in that horse’s life? It’s the same with humans,
horses, and dogs. All mammals respond to the same things.
Ever heard a coach say, “These kids today…they just
don’t care anymore. They’re just not motivated.” Ever
heard that? We all have. I’ve always thought that is
absolutely the worst thing any coach can say. It is an open
admission – a confession - that coach cannot do what he or
she is hired to do. I’ve had a number of people tell me,
“You can’t motivate another person. You can’t open up
someone’s mind and pour in desire.” That is a seductive way
to think. I agree the person saying those words cannot
motivate another because they have never thought about
motivating another. The college professor who says the
students are stupid and don’t belong. He needs to
say that. Those with elitist views need to have someone to
look down on. Such little people. It’s much easier to
blame. While we hear such statements from cynical people
, you will never hear a “true helper” speak such words.
Such thoughts never enter their mind.
Too busy changing lives, I suppose.
True helpers are rare, you know. You don’t find them
often…and they’re a bit strange. For example, they rarely
use praise – not much anyway – and they never use
criticism. That’s a bit odd, don’t you think? We all know
praise from a teacher is important, isn’t it? And how do
you correct someone without criticism? I don’t know. All
I know is that’s not the way “true helpers” do it.
After studying them for so many years, I still struggle
to describe what it is they do – with the human, horse, or
dog. With the seventh grader who is always in trouble, with
the high school student in alternative school, or with the
thirty-three year old young woman whose husband was beating
her and she escaped. Now she’s come to the university and
is terrified she won’t graduate. I still struggle to
describe what exactly it is the “Pygmalion” does, but I have
seen lives such as these changed with my own eyes. And when
I try to describe what it is they do, I know I will fail.
Like in the last nine books I’ve written, I will again fail
to capture the magic…but it will give me such joy to try. I
never tire of trying to describe that. I never tire of
trying to capture the pure quicksilver thing that changed –
and saved – my life.
So what did Jerry Lytle do to – and for – me?
The Helper treats others with equality.
It sprang from the first day. How many people do you
know who would take the time to talk with and listen to the
“least of these” at five o’clock on a Friday afternoon?
“I’m Jerry Lytle. I’ll visit with you. Come in.”
From the first moment he encountered me, he treated
me in a certain way – as if I were his equal.
From that initial moment and for the next 50 years, Jerry
Lytle always treated me as if he and I were the same in
life. That small behavior on his part may seem
insignificant to some. Indeed, every poor teacher and every
poor coach would consider it so…but to the downtrodden, to
the lost, it is not. When someone treats us with kindness
and equality, loyalty and willingness to listen to the
mentor begins.
The Helper is inclusive.
Jerry Lytle had so many people in his world. He was a
successful person. He had been an outstanding athlete, he
had a substantial number of close friends, and was always
sought after and popular…and yet he invited me into that
world the first day as if I were already one of those
friends. I can only imagine how many people who knew me
would tell him not to do that. If someone asked Jerry
Lytle, “Why on earth would you include Michael Johnson?”
Jerry – like Jesus – might well have said, “’Cause the
righteous don’t need saving.”
Helper’s minimize the difficulty of the task.
When I expressed fear about the requirements of
academia, Jerry would say, “Well, while there is work
involved, it’s not work that you can’t do. The work is
sometimes tedious, sometimes not so exciting, but it is
certainly not at a level beyond your ability.”
“How can you know that?” I asked him. “Maybe I will fail.”
“Only if you choose to,” he said. “And the reason I know
you can…is because I did.”
Helpers are focused on you doing better.
I think the poor teacher, poor coach, and poor
leader make a mistake when they hear someone discussing this
topic. They assume that this subject of helping means you
let the student do whatever he wants, or the horse do as he
pleases. They “hear” no discipline and no boundaries. This
behavior translates to them as “weakness.” Those people
depend almost exclusively on their authority to rule.
Contrast that with what the Helper actually does…
They do not rely on authority, but they are certainly not
always nice. If, for example, the mentor finds you giving
less than he or she knows you can, they will withdraw their
affection quickly. You are in for a scolding and they do
that skillfully. They can sting you. The Helper is
interested in your success and they want nothing
less. If Jerry Lytle found you not doing your best, he
could give you a firm – firm – nudge in the proper
direction.
Helpers lack egos.
Their focus is not on themselves. Their focus is on
you. Like others with the magic, if you had a conversation
with Jerry Lytle, you would find him to be skilled in the
art, but the conversation would never be about him. The
conversation would be about you.
Helpers last a lifetime and beyond.
When a true helper comes in your life, they never
leave. No matter how long it’s been since we’ve seen them,
the conversation picks up right where we left them before.
Phone calls, letters, Christmas cards, the stream
continues. Always checking on us, so proud of us, a joy in
our lives and we are in theirs. Jack Nicklaus had his
coach, Jack Grout, for 35 years. Ben Crenshaw and Tom Kite
had Harvey Penick for 40 years. They ain’t got nothing on
me. I had Jerry Lytle for 50 years.
I’ll stop now. I could go on
and on. Trust me when I tell you that. I never tire of
this subject because I know what it did for me. When I help
some young person now, I see the puzzlement in their face
and at some point they will say, “Why are you doing this? I
certainly appreciate it, but my goodness, why are you doing
all this?”
And I say, “Because someone did it for me.”
One final note. There is one thing the Helper does for
us more valuable than any other.
This story explains…
I took our big Australian Shepherd to a herding dog
clinic in Amarillo a few years ago. Rowdy and I were both
scared to death. All the other working dogs in the clinic
were so smart they could do algebra, and well…let’s just say
Rowdy and I weren’t quite at that level. We had a wonderful
day however, and that experience remains one of the
highlights of our lives. At the end of the day, the Master,
Orin Barnes, from Canyon, Texas, said this goodbye to the
crowd…
“We’ve had joy here today. We’ve all learned a
great deal – especially me. I want you to remember
something. I want you to remember this…
The great teacher is always doing the same thing. Whether
working with the human, the horse, or the dog, the great
teacher is always…convincing us that we can.”
That’s what true helpers do.
They give us strength and power because they believe in us.
They raise our self-esteem. They get us to try. When we
fail, they stand with us and after a time, they say, “Try
again.” And when victory comes, they rejoice with us.
That’s what Jerry Lytle did for me.
Dr. Michael Johnson
Texas A&M University-Commerce
Distinguished Alum 2008
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BLUE and MIGUEL