Yearly Archives

Last week I wrote about the lesson I learned from my high school Latin teacher, Mrs. Agulia.

This week I’m sharing a lesson I learned from my friend David Beaird who was a writer, actor, and director of plays and movies.  In 1973, before he moved to Los Angeles, David won the Jefferson Award for best supporting actor in the Chicago production of Hot L Baltimore.

I owned a small retail building near my office that David transformed into The Whitefire Theater. It also served as a sound stage for shooting movies.

One morning I was sitting next to David in the third row of the theater as he auditioned actors for a new play he was directing.

The first two actors auditioned well. About a minute into the third audition David turned to me and said, “The first two were pretty good.”

I was horrified. In turning his attention away from the stage, he had literally turned his back on the actor. I had been taught to listen to others respectfully but could do little more than nod my head as David continued talking to me during the rest of the audition.

As soon as the actor left I asked David, “Why did you ignore him?” I did not say that I thought it was really rude.

“Alan,” he said, “it’s up to the actor on stage to hold my attention. If he doesn’t hold my attention at an audition, I don’t want him in my play. So I’m only going to pay attention when he does his job.  It’s entirely up to him.”

David had far more experience in theater than I did, and while I didn’t expect his response I did remember that I had walked out of several plays because I was bored when the actors didn’t hold my attention.

“But you could have been polite and listened,” I said.

“Then how would he have learned anything?” he said.

Wisdom is where you find it. That morning I learned that I have to earn the attention of others, not just assume it, and I’m not going to receive your continuing attention unless you find what I’m saying, or doing, worth your time.

This larger life lesson I learned from Mrs. Agulia, David Beaird, and others, is this: none of us are entitled. We each have to earn our way in this world by being the very best person we can be – in a job, in friendships and with our families.

Thanks for giving me your attention – and reading what I have to say.

Alan

What do Sylvia Agulia and David Beaird have in common?  Nothing, other than each of them taught me an important lesson early in my life. I have learned that wisdom is where you find it, often without expecting to.

Mrs. Agulia was my Latin teacher in high school.  She had been awarded a Fulbright Scholarship to study in Rome, and I found her photos and discussion of the Roman Forum and Coliseum far more interesting than conjugating Latin verbs.

During the first semester of my senior year I was going steady with my girlfriend, who later became my wife, and discovered that making out with her was a lot more fun than studying anything, especially Latin.

Pete Lippman sat in front of me in Latin class.  Pete was very smart (he ended up at Cal Tech), but in his senior year of high school he had his own distraction – a new motorcycle.  So it is understandable that each of our final grades hovered between an “A- “and a “B+.”

When Mrs. Agulia handed back our final exam I received an “A- “but Pete had gotten a “B+”.  I was thrilled, because I always suspected that she liked Pete better than me.  Maybe I was not at the top of her “favorite student” list because I often spoke up in class without being called on.  On this particular occasion I blurted out in front of the entire class, “Mrs. Agulia – this is great.  I got an “A-” and Pete got a “B+.”  So if you give Pete an “A” as his final grade you’ll have to give me an “A” too.  I may have smirked.

She calmly fixed me with her “teacher” stare and said, “Alan, I don’t have to do anything”.

I was sixteen then and still had a lot to learn.

More than sixty years later those words, “I don’t have to do anything,” still ring in my ears.

On my report card my final grade was a “B+.”  Pete’s final grade was an “A-.”

While it’s important to speak up for yourself (see Part Two of this blog next week), I never tell a police officer who has pulled me over, “You can’t give me a ticket.”  Never.  And I never argue with clerks.  I just thank them for their help.

Mrs. Agulia – thanks for the tip, even though, at the time, it felt as if you had fed me to the lions.

Alan

I’m speaking metaphorically here.  It is said that we have “thick skin” if we allow insults to roll off our back, and we have “thin skin” if we become unduly upset.

This is a personal matter.

Recently, a business associate of mine complained that he was offended by several emails from my office.  I asked him to forward them to me.  When I read the emails, I found nothing even remotely offensive. I receive similar emails every day and have no problem with them.

So who is right?  We both are.  Sensitivity is personal.

I have found that as I’ve become more experienced in business my skin has become thicker.  I’ve been active in commercial real estate for more than fifty years.  I no longer take it personally when the vacancy percentage of the properties we manage is higher than I would like it to be, because it is always higher than I would like.  It’s the marketplace.  No one is “out to get me.”

I also do not take it personally when tenants (almost always those who are late in paying their rent) insult me or my company.  I’ve understood for many years that their goal is to pay their rent late, or not at all, and my job is to collect all rents on time and in full.  Thick skin serves me well in business.

But when I take that same skin home at the end of the day, thin skin is better.  When my wife shares with me problems from her own day, I’ve learned to listen patiently.  I resist the temptation to offer suggestions.  My experience is that she appreciates my advice more when she specifically asks for it.  In other words, I leave my “boss” hat in the office where it belongs.

A friend of mine operates an online business.  Several years ago he was extremely upset when he and his business were lambasted on the internet for not being “politically correct.”  I talked him off the ledge and reassured him that he had, in fact, done nothing wrong.

In many situations, thick skin can help you to be happier.  You don’t have to care what everyone thinks about you, especially internet trolls and other bullies.

Thin skin can also help you to be happier. By becoming more sensitive to those you love, you can enjoy better relationships. This includes becoming more sensitive to yourself and your own needs.

“Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

I hope you will allow these words to help you.

Alan