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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday April 9, 2001 Volume III Number 15 |
FOCUS - Pomp and Circumstance
I’ve been a soft touch for ceremony since I was a little boy.
It probably began with the annual Fourth of July parade in our little mid-west town. The sign out on the highway introduced us to travelers-by as an “ALL AMERICAN CITY.” On that glorious weekend, the whole town showed up. Flags everywhere, red-white-and-blue snapping in the breeze. The local merchants and churches and elementary schools and scout troupes and service clubs all offered brightly colored “floats” and displayed their top leaders and prettiest girls. The high school marching band tromped by to the cadence of a compelling drumbeat and the brass horns and piccolo stirred up whoops and applause from the adoring crowds lining up and waving in celebration of the good life on Main Street.
The only really embarrassing part was when that troupe of heavy-set guys wearing vests and maroon hats that looked like upside-down flower pots with gold braided tassels dangling to the side rolled up in their miniature Model Ts powered by lawn mower engines. They drove in formation, and then broke into a complex figure eight routine while honking aooga horns. I was thankful that my dad wasn’t one of them.
But then, after Miss Local Town USA rolled by like a Queen holding a dozen red roses on her lap with her court alongside, the Mayor followed in an open top roadster with a big banner hanging over the door with the mayoral seal and a big bouquet of flowers lay on the trunk lid. He wore a black suit and a vest and a toothy smile and he seemed to know everyone lining the street and generally looked like a guy who had everything pretty well under control.
That’s when I decided I wanted to play the slide trombone and march in a few parades myself.
And that’s when I started to believe that ceremony is a good thing.
* * * * * *
It’s a sad day in America when the inauguration of the President of the United States is a yawner.
I still haven’t recovered from the widespread devaluation of the most prominent office in our country. I’m not sure how it happened. Maybe it is the fresh memory of the cavalier swagger of the former occupant of the Oval Office and his illicit escapades. Maybe it was the six week long national nightmare in Florida sorting through dimpled ballots and hanging chads while government officials and courtroom judges and over-paid attorneys and round-the-clock media “coverage” beat the life out of our national pride. Maybe it’s the reality check of the stock market slide, and the staggering wealth vanishing right before our very eyes. Maybe it’s the morning after hangover from a decade of unquenchable economic partying.
But the Office of the President has lost much of is radiant luster. The inauguration ceremony had all the pageantry, but not much heart. The speech was poignant. Forceful. But it fell on deaf ears.
When will we come together again in celebration of the greatest economy on earth? To affirm a system that offers boundless opportunity for all? To inspire what is best and what is right in all of us? When will we set aside the partisan angst, the backstabbing, the suspicions, mutual disgust?
Will the Fourth of July Parade ever make a comeback?
* * * * * * *
I arrived early. But already the activity and the buzz were well underway.
Brightly colored flags waved from a line up of poles in the morning breeze. The parking lot filled up as a cars filed in. Shuttles dropped off arrivals from the other end of the campus. Staff wore jackets and ribbons identifying their role for the big day. The multi-million dollar Event Center, only recently completed and dedicated, sparkled in the morning sun.
I wandered in through the chrome and glass entry into a wide lobby, wood paneled with rows of glass displays on either side. It was the University’s Hall of Fame. The walls spoke of some of the school’s proudest moments when men and woman of great athletic prowess conquered all odds and brought home the Championship. Track and Field. Basketball. Volleyball. Football. Baseball. All of them. Large full color action photographs and trophies and metals on display in the fresh new building, meant to inspire future generations and memorialize the past.
But down the stairs and into the great arena, I could hear the orchestra tuning up their instruments, and an amplified male voice calling out requests for a sound check. I’m not accustomed to early arrivals. I enjoyed the anonymity. I thought, I need to get some work done during these free moments. Make some calls. Write a couple e-mails. I’ll grab my computer notebook and cell phone and find a corner where I can get some things done while I’m waiting for the ceremony to start.
But then, I thought better.
No. This is a rare moment. I’m not going to work. I’m going to sit quietly by, and take all this in. That’s what I told myself. I walked through the wide doors of the arena, inside the great room. Past the orchestra and the choir preparing to rehearse I saw some four thousand seats lined up in rows on the floor of the immense room, and then bleachers up three sides, all the way to the ceiling above on the huge balconies. On each seat, a booklet describing in full detail today’s event.
The Inauguration of the University’s Sixteenth President.
The choir assembled up front. Two hundred fifty voices. Formal dress. Black jackets and gowns. The orchestra matched the choir in size. Violins. Polished brass kettledrums. Cello and bass and bassoon. Brass horns. Wind. Percussion. The director shouted, “Alright people, places everyone. We are ready to go.” She tapped her music stand with her baton. The room went silent. Both of her arms snapped to the ready position, and with one movement, she leaned left and started the beat and the great arena was filled with sound. It was a classical piece that permeated the room with energy and joy and pomp and circumstance. And the voices filled in, basses booming and tenors in harmony, and sopranos right on pitch in a melodic dance soaring to the heights in crisp and clean tones.
And this was only the rehearsal.
It filled my mind with memories of those wonderful days when I was twenty years old when I participated in my first oratorio showing up with a newly matured voice and a couple hundred others my age mastered the music from old dog-eared books. And when the orchestra joined us in the great hall and we filled that room with the sound of human voices in countermelody and harmony and tasted of the glories of centuries past when other collegians through time were spiritually awakened to the same timeless rich sounds, well, I got me some Goosebumps. As I sat there in the bleachers, I felt this chill shivering through my body, and then deep emotion welling up inside.
Soon, the student body and parents and friends of the University and delegates from other institutions filed into the room filling the empty chairs, each taking a program, reading through the names of dignitaries and a program of coming highlights all to the strains of splendid symphony and choral excellence.
The staging set the tone. Tall Roman columns lit from the floor and surrounded by floral arrangements reached toward the heavens against a velvet backdrop. At the center, a round University emblem displayed the school’s motto and color and symbol. A bright spotlight illumined it center stage. And across the platform, padded chairs, ten of them, reserved for distinguished guests and University officials who would participate at the podium.
Elongated trumpets appeared on both balconies, spotlights trained on the musicians caused the horns to shine bright. Their fanfare blast in harmony called the meeting to order, and announced the processional, which began at the back of the room.
The orchestra took its cue, and began the processional march. A parade of banners entered the great room, each symbolizing the academic disciplines that make up the University curriculum. The faculty followed, each donning academic robes, caps, velvet scarves and braided tassles, looking regal, carrying on the tradition of scholarship from graduate schools all over the world. A mace led the way, carried by the Academic Dean, the traditional Mace reminiscent of the Mace presented by the King of England to the provost of Oxford University in the fifteenth century. It symbolized the Royal Charge and the Royal Values to be preserved in the halls of the colleges. The mace carried into this room is a brass and silver orb fixed on a wooden pole, made from the beams of the original chapel on the original campus of the school – over a hundred years old. There were hundreds of faculty members in the parade. And as the orchestra played on, they marched in the colors of their alma maters, reds and yellows and blacks and grays and maroons and blues, capes and gowns making them all look like those ancient scholars revered and honored in a society that valued education. I thought about the sacrifice and the dedication and the dissertations and the drudgery of academic achievement. What it took for each of them to earn their colors. To be called “Doctor.” And I thought about how these faculty members modeled so many good things for their students.
And at the end, the Deans. And the President. The former President and the new one, in an orderly transition of power.
There
were speeches. And prayers.
And charges. And lots of
enthusiasm. Then, there was an
oath. And a pledge. And the new President received a Gold Medallion symbolizing
the trust of administrators, faculty, and students. He willingly accepted the mantle of responsibility and
authority – and the entire company stood in vigorous applause.
And just for that morning, in my anonymity from the bleachers, I applauded, too. Not just because I believe in the school. But because I believe in leadership. And the elevation of an office. And character. And ideals. And integrity.
And in that moment of uninhibited celebration, the orchestra, the choir, the pageantry, the pomp and circumstance, I wasn’t alone.
* * * * * *
If you have children, and you haven’t yet endured mind numbing marathon graduation ceremonies to the endless strains of “Pomp and Circumstance,” you will. My first exposure to the familiar traditional march, composed by Sir Edward Elgar at the turn of the century was, of all things, in a preschool when our oldest daughter “graduated” to Kindergarten. As I recall, the school’s director placed an LP platter on a spinning record player at the front of the room as the children marched in wearing paper caps and gowns.
Can you hear it?
But the phrase “pomp and circumstance” is a military term. It’s the pomp and circumstance of war. In ancient days, troops marched to drum and fife, flags waving and uniforms crisp and clean as a way of intimidating the foe. The procession was a prelude to battle. Victory was the goal.
And in a way, our ceremonies prepare us for battle. Battle of a different kind, but battle none the less.
And when a newly appointed President walks into the room, behind the mace and the banners and the faculty, he (she) is in a way preparing for battle. And if success is in the cards, then it’s good to know that good people are there to stand alongside.
And come with a little enthusiasm.
* * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
I love a parade. Can you tell?
But on the day you took your office, chances are good that there was little ceremony. No uplifting music or live performances. No prayers. No trumpet fanfare. No medallions. No banners. No pageantry. No pomp. Only circumstance.
But stop for a minute. Think about it.
If there wasn’t a ceremony for you, there should have been. You have taken the mantle or responsibility. You play an important role. People depend on you.
This mutual respect, this rallying behind good leaders, this celebration of leadership… I thought it was missing until I wandered into the Event Center at the University and watched my friend Ted assist on the platform as the Medallion was placed over the neck of the young new President.
If it’s hard to find this kind of loyalty and respect these days, let’s bring it back.
As you read this LeaderFOCUS this morning and imagine all the pageantry of a University Presidential Inauguration, know the value of your work. Embrace it. Renew your vow. Listen to the music. Recommit to the integrity of your role. Prepare for battle. Wear your medallion with pride.
You’ve earned it.
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2001
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
LeaderFOCUS is a service of Good Stewardship Associates
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