6 Ways the Famous and the Not-So-Rich Inspire Us
In the emotional blur that comes when someone we admire retires or dies, we often spend a few harried moments running though mental images of the person’s life.
But do we fail to pause long enough to really appreciate the remarkable ways they changed us?
In just the first weeks of this year, we lost baseball great Hank Aaron and actors Cloris Leachman, Christopher Plummer and Hal Holbrook. And publisher and First Amendment supporter Larry Flynt. And conservative talk show host and author Rush Limbaugh.
These were luminaries whose individual careers featured stellar acting, elite athleticism, brave resistance to racism, the words of Mark Twain, the “Sound of Music,” hard-core porn, and conservative political stances that both moved and infuriated millions.
You probably know those names. But there is almost no chance you have heard of Michele Senger and Phil Peters, who announced they will retire at the end of this semester after a combined 49 years of changing suburban Des Moines students’ lives through stringed instruments.
Their skills directly changed the lives of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of students. Whether we are common citizens or Academy Award winners, we all have stories to tell about instructors or mentors who inspired us to excel.
The passing of those multi-dimensional notables and the retirement announcement of the wife-husband duo in West Des Moines — who had a hand in West Des Moines Valley High School becoming the first Grammy Signature School in 1999 — made me pause to think about how they inspired people in such varying ways.
Here are six ways these standouts, and others, have led us to set our sights higher.
By breaking barriers
Hank Aaron’s path to becoming home run king was a minefield of racial discrimination and outright hatred.
The black man who broke white man Babe Ruth’s record, despite death threats and other intimidation, was the master of calm as he amassed 755 home runs. He taught us all that not only could one succeed in the most difficult circumstances, but also while exuding grace. He lived 86 years.
“You are not going to break his record established by the great Babe Ruth if I can help it. Whites are far more superior than [slur] . . . My gun is watching your every black move.’
That letter, which Aaron shared with Newsday in 2019, was one of many hate messages he received. When Aaron started playing in Atlanta, the tension was clear. It got worse as he neared the record. More from Newsday:
“It brings back a very foul taste in my mouth, I had to send my kids to private school. My daughter, who was in college at the time, couldn’t go out of the dorms. She was threatened with letters all the time. It was a horrible moment for me to try to break the record, really. The police were saying all of these probably are crank letters, but some of them maybe were for real. The team stayed at one hotel and I stayed at another. I sometimes had to sleep in the ballpark by myself. I had to slip out of back doors of ballparks.’’
Aaron was caught off guard by the depth of the venom, which continued after Home Run No. 715, the record-breaker, cleared the fence.
“I didn’t expect it to be that harsh, really,’’ Aaron told Newsday. “I thought I was just playing baseball and bringing a little joy for somebody to come to the ballpark and have fun with me hitting a home run.’’
As the decades rolled on, Aaron’s quiet demeanor and statesmanship remained intact. “I find the world has changed and people today respect me more now than they did even 20 years ago,’’ he told Newsday. “I think people grew up and understand. Baseball is a game. If you have the ability to play it and can do certain things, whatever records you accomplished, you deserve to break the record.’’
Aaron, like some other elite athletes who broke through racism, Communist regimes, and disabilities to excel at a high level, taught us that barriers are to be addressed with grace. They are not, however, to be left standing.
By forcing us to think
To some, Larry Flynt was merely a vile pornographer. But as the Washington Post reminded the masses after Flynt died recently, the publisher whose career vastly preceded his decision to publish porn and the bullet that left him paralyzed was among the world’s most ardent defenders of the First Amendment.
What are we supposed to think about a guy who many saw as an abuser of women and also happened to be involved in some of the most high-profile free-press cases of all time?
Well, at the least he forced us to think. About what is right. About rights. About the need for people to realize that the First Amendment truly means you have to put up with many forms of communication you despise if you want the power to say something, or publish something, to which others may object.
He was in court all the time, in cases such as his epic battle with preacher Jerry Falwell, featured in a satirical ad about having sex with his mother in an outhouse. The U.S. Supreme Court ruled against Falwell’s $45 million claim, noting that public figures were fair game for satire as long as the publication didn’t purport that the information was factual. Law schools regularly teach the case.
The Washington Post noted some of the lesser known of Flynt’s pursuits.
Beyond smut-peddling, Mr. Flynt presented a multilayered and sometimes unexpected public persona. He opposed the death penalty. He favored same-sex marriage. He spoke out against the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003. He published numerous non-pornographic mainstream periodicals. A private foundation he created contributes to research in spinal cord injuries, child abuse and youth violence.
By inspiring with sheer talent and mentorship
Orchestra students Valley High School in West Des Moines learned recently of the impending retirement of the married muses of the program, Phil Peters and Michele Senger.
Both are known on the national music education scene, and both have been part of the reason the Des Moines Symphony’s reputation goes way beyond mighty rivers that frame Iowa’s border.
On their watch, Valley High School in West Des Moines won the initial award the Grammy program gave to a school for overall excellence in music. The relatively affluent suburban school also enjoyed strong programs in band. And, famously at least by YouTube standards, an administration and overall teaching staff talented and fun enough to perform a complicated flash-mob rendition of “One Day More” from “Les Misérables,” complete with lyrics altered to describe the beginning of a school year. The performance drew 4.8 million views and hundreds of comments from YouTube viewers who wished they could transport back in time to attend the school.
I didn’t attend Valley, but my sons did. One was an all-state celloist under Senger and Peters. As a member of the orchestra guild board, I learned of their consistently upbeat, supportive demeanor.
As I learned trumpet in high school in Ames, Iowa, I appreciated that band director Homer Gartz typically didn’t say you made a mistake. Instead, he would say, “Your interpretation might be different than mine.”
He was always patient, supportive and a fine mentor.
My junior-high English teacher, Avis Moody, opened the path to my four-decade journalism career by forcefully but amiably drilling basic grammar skills into all of us. She was tough, but kind.
Celebrities have talked about their teacher-mentors, too. Oprah had her former teacher, Mary Duncan, on her show. Oprah said the teacher changed her life.
“I always, because of you, felt I could take on the world. You did exactly what teachers are supposed to do, they create a spark for learning that lives with you from then on. It’s why I have a talk show today.”
Songwriter/actor/singer John Legend similarly credits a teacher, Mrs. Bodey, for giving him confidence to write. In a story in BoredTeachers.com, he said:
“My English teacher, Mrs. Bodey, was instrumental in the educational journey that carried me through school and into my career. Until her class, I hadn’t believed in my ability as a writer. She recognized my potential and showed me that I could write with creativity, with clarity, with passion.”
We probably all have similar stories. They are important to hold and keep.
By pissing us off while making a point
With very different political bents, Rush Limbaugh and George Carlin knew how to piss people off to make a point.
Limbaugh, the king of conservative radio, died recently. He was remembered both as the architect of a GOP takeover of the House of Representatives and of the election of President Donald Trump. He also was recalled as a bigoted, sexist danger to society. It depended on the source.
But it was impossible to argue with Limbaugh’s ability to get attention, even if it was through name-calling and hyperbole. In Republican circles, he was a very important player, feeding straight into Trump’s brand of racist, anti-woman politics.
On the other side was the late George Carlin. Perhaps you could call him liberal. You perhaps also could report the sun rises in the east.
Carlin also was good at grabbing attention. One time, it took just seven words. But they were the seven words you couldn’t say on TV. He talked on stage in front of TV cameras about how there were these words you couldn’t say. Then he said them.
Carlin was an anti-war, anti-establishment machine. In many ways, he was the opposite of Limbaugh. They both were crude. But Carlin was crude on from the left, Limbaugh from the right.
When Carlin wasn’t skewering the FAA for its pre-flight passenger instructions, which as he pointed out are barely in English, he was giving example after example of the government screwing with people just because it can. He wasn’t a big fan.
He also had no time for loose-fitting jeans, but that seemed to not be a political statement.
As Carlin aged, he seemed to drop more f-bombs. Too many, perhaps, even for my tastes.
In his earlier days, he pissed off the conservatives with his long hair and beard, his steady attacks on the Vietnam War, and his dissection of corporate America.
Another obvious entrant to this discussion is Howard Stern, who practically defined the term “shock jock” and somehow managed to get rich while both having serious discussions of issues and also abusing women on his shows.
They all showed us how to push the envelope, no matter whose side we are on.
By shining light on difficult problems
We’re a few moments beyond a presidency in which the commander-in-chief in effect declared war on journalists, spoke about “fake news” while failing to acknowledge the real kind, and declared reporters “enemies of the people.”
Fortunately, the U.S. tradition of a free press continues.
Hal Holbrook famously played Deep Throat, a key background source in the Washington Post’s exposes on the Watergate scandal. He told reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, played by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman in “All the President’s Men,” to “follow the money.”
As a reporter myself, I can tell you that was one of the few Hollywood movies that had seemed to capture the true sense of what reporting and newsrooms were like in their heyday. Few others did again until “Spotlight” and “The Post” came along much later.
The Boston Globe brought action against abuse in the Catholic Church with its investigate reporting, which was described in “Spotlight.”
As a journalist, I found the elements of the movie that had to do with the state of reporting both uplifting and depressing. The scenes showed the commitment, financial and otherwise, that led to the groundbreaking reports. That was inspiring.
But the scenes also were depressing because in an age of hedge-fund and chain ownership of newspapers, much of that reporting had waned. At least before COVID-19, the presidency of Donald Trump and a few other factors led to a resurgence for the likes of the Washington Post and the New York Times.
However, many news organizations still are folding on the local level. Nonprofits are gaining ground in some markets, giving some hope that something other than Twitter feeds will inform people.
In the past year, all kinds of news outlets have documented how our national and local governments have screwed up the response to the worst global pandemic since the early 20th century.
We all need people who can shine light in places that are getting a bit dark, presenting problems that won’t go away unless we can see them.
Mahatma Gandhi made salt, knowing it was illegal. It was a way to protest British rule, 17 years before India won independence. Civil disobedience.
The disobedience is still around, but the definition varies in an age of protests that include property damage and attacks on police sometimes.
But there are some who continue the path of Gandhi, or fall back to using the powerful oratory also employed by Gandhi and by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and others.
Even just words can cut at times. Tell youths that in effect you don’t care about this planet (so maybe it’s good we are shopping for development space on Mars), and they may show that oratory is alive and well. It is just online sometimes.
Swedish teenage climate activist Greta Thunberg told off the United Nations in 2019, for example. She argued that we don’t have a right to leave her generation and others to fry because we don’t want to do something about greenhouse gas emissions.
“This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be up here. I should be back in school on the other side of the ocean. Yet, you all come to us young people for hope. How dare you!”
She didn’t make salt. But she certainly made her point.
By showing us how to excel, at any age.
Cloris Leachman was from Des Moines, Iowa. By the end of her acting career, she was the most-nominated and the most-awarded of those considered for Emmy Awards. At 82, she became the oldest contestant on “Dancing with the Stars.”
She won an Oscar for “The Last Picture Show.” Her other acting credits ranged from productions of the “Young Frankenstein” and “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” to the “Mary Tyler Moore Show” and “Malcolm in the Middle.”
She continued to act until she died this year of a stroke and COVID-19.
“I don’t think I’m my age. I’m truly 6 years old,” Leachman said.
Christopher Plummer also acted until his passing. Most noted, perhaps, for his leading role in “Sound of Music,” his many credits also included “Knives Out in 2019. The fact that is career began with Shakespearean roles gave his acting a wide range and force.
These diverse masters of their own fields affected many of us, and it’s good to reflect on the many ways. Perhaps you have your own list.
Here’s a final word from psychologist Scott Barry Kaufman, writing in Harvard Business Review about the science of inspiration:
“In a culture obsessed with measuring talent and ability, we often overlook the important role of inspiration. Inspiration awakens us to new possibilities by allowing us to transcend our ordinary experiences and limitations. Inspiration propels a person from apathy to possibility, and transforms the way we perceive our own capabilities.”
