I had never seen an episode of Leave It to Beaver until just a few years ago. One thing in the show that I found interesting was Wally’s use of the phrase, “Aw, you’re giving me the business” whenever someone said something that to him was unbelievable.
Now let’s turn our thoughts to the movie version of A Christmas Carol that featured George C. Scott as Ebenezer Scrooge. At one point, Scrooge tells the ghost of his seven-year deceased partner Jacob Marley that he was always a good man of business. “Business! Mankind was my business,” the ghost replied.
Just this morning I watched an episode of The Middle in which the family was becoming disillusioned with the church they were attending. A friend invited them to a much livelier church. The minister at the new church related having been at the bedside of a brother in Christ who had departed this world the previous day. The minister asked the dying parishioner, “Did you finish your business?” The reply was, “No, I did not finish my earthly business.” The minister asked the congregation to take inspiration from their now departed brother and finish their business. The searching question the minister left with the flock was, “What is your business?”
I pass this question to you, Dear Reader, but I will think upon the answer for myself. All I ever wanted to do from my earliest days of attending school was to become a teacher. I spent endless amounts of my childhood and youth teaching imaginary classes in imaginary schools to imaginary students.
My dad once asked me at the supper table what I wanted to be. I told him a teacher. He asked if I had to go to college to do that. I said yes, and he asked for how long. I replied four years, and he sadly said, “There ain’t no way.”
I suppose there was the possibility that Dad was right, but I determined if there was a way that I would find it. I started talking to every teacher and college educated person with whom I had opportunity and was comfortable about how best to prepare. I wrote then Superintendent of Union County Schools Dwain G. Burke a letter to which he warmly responded.
I could write a book expounding the wondrous virtues of all those who helped me in my preparation. There were so many who helped in so many ways, and there were a few who were discouragers, as there is in every situation.
I was speculating with a man now deceased about attending college. He asked where I was going to apply. In our conversation he mentioned Lincoln Memorial University. I’d never heard of it. I asked where it was. When he said in Claiborne County, I thought he’d lost his mind. Of course, you have to realize at the time I’d never been farther north in Claiborne County than the flea market between Tazewell and Harrogate. He told me all about it, and I determined then and there that was the college I would attend.
Thanks to Horace Maynard High School Principal Joe Day and Guidance Counselor Darrell Malone, I made it to Lincoln Memorial University. It was for me the perfect choice. I first learned to love Abraham Lincoln in Florence Chesney’s third grade, and I spent four glorious years at LMU surrounded almost every day with Lincoln memorabilia. I loved that place so much that I graduated with four degrees over a span of twenty-nine years. Throughout all those years, every time I have visited that campus there is someone there who knows my name. How many people can say that about their alma mater?
So I taught for eight years. Just this past Saturday at the Union County Heritage Festival I encountered one of my former sixth grade students who is now a registered nurse. I was thrilled that she remembered me, and she seemed surprised that I remembered her last name immediately when she told me her first. (It helped that she was the only student I taught with that particular first name!)
Then I became a principal. I regretted for a while leaving the classroom, but I spent eight years as a principal. Times of change come to all, and I, like lots of people, don’t always take kindly to change. There was a five year span in which I was principal of one school, principal of another school the next, then assistant principal of yet another school for a year, then districtwide curriculum supervisor for a year—the fifth year I landed in the role that I have held for fifteen years.
My main business has been public education for 35 years, but it has not been my only business. I have learned by observing others that it is never wise to become too absorbed in a career, no matter how high the calling. I would not minimize either my or others’ importance, but everyone is expendable. If I am rendered unable to return to my post, someone else will be found to fill in the gap left by my departure.
Nothing more emphasizes this point than the reactions of my co-workers when they heard I would not be their principal the following year. There were no protests, no “ding-dong, the witch is dead” parties, no tears, nor confetti. There was one prevalent question on both occasions—who’s taking your place?
I have known a few colleagues who have made their work assignments practically their entire life. In most cases, these individuals were most unhappy when their time came to leave, not usually by their choice, but because of the choices and ambitions of others. It is always best to have other interests to fall back on.
The first year I taught, I started this way—I lived, slept, dreamed, breathed, and talked endlessly of nothing but my job and my students. I took one grade in each subject each day of class, and graded every paper every night before leaving for home. I did this for two years, and then the hard cold hand of reality slapped me in the face. What did I get for my hard work and dedication? I was arbitrarily moved to another grade because of the whims and ambitions of others. The implication was that there were some parents who thought my teaching methods were more conducive to an upper grade. When I asked how many parents, the reply was one or two. As I had twenty-five students the previous year, did that not mean there were twenty-three or twenty-four sets of happy parents out there?
The answer forever changed my life. Either that or they didn’t say anything. Those seven words let me know that teaching was not idealistic but cold hard reality. I had to change my paradigm (a most interesting word that was in vogue in the 1990s). Not everyone was on the same page, and some are most antagonistic when their own wants, desires and ideals are challenged.
Though my love of teaching and public education did not go away, I learned that there had to be more to life. During these years I have had other involvements. I maintained my interest in church, served as Sunday School teacher and treasurer, pursued additional higher education, left the classroom for school and district administration, became a Gideon, joined and did a lot of volunteer work for the Lions Club, and write this column weekly. I also maintained my interest in reading and collecting books and some things Lincoln. I also married.
Thank you, Dear Reader, for letting me share my business with you. The question remains for each of us to answer—what is our business? Is it good business, and how can it be made better? I still maintain that no matter what our “business” is, our purpose is to serve God by helping others.
Until next time, I leave you with a few thoughts from my fascinating world of email.

I lost my job as a stage designer.
I left without making a scene.

Ron once worked at a Chicago pizza shop to get by.
He kneaded the dough.

When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become president.
I’m beginning to believe it. (Clarence Darrow)

If you watch a game, it's fun.
If you play at it, it's recreation.
If you work at it, it's golf.
~ Bob Hope

A cartoonist was found dead in his home.
Details are sketchy.

I used to be a banker,
but then I lost interest.