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Anchor Management
Almost on a dare, I took a college class. I did well. I got hooked and didn’t stop until I’d earned a master’s degree. I loved college campuses and wanted to work on one. So I did. I now work as an academic advisor, counselor, and teacher of college success classes. I love teaching. The lessons I learned on the river translate seamlessly to the classroom. Here’s what I’m dealing with: Imagine two students, both with equal abilities. One of them succeeds and one of them fails. Why? It is almost never a question of brain power. In my classes, I’m trying to help the students make wiser choices, adopt better attitudes, habits, and mindsets, develop better thinking skills. I do not teach math or English or history; in my class, the student is the subject. It’s fun; it’s intriguing. I can almost always find a river story to illustrate any point I’m trying to make in class. It was Turlock’s first trip on the river. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Turlock had been a truck driver. He said one of the things that appealed to him about working on the river was that you always knew when you’d be home and how long you’d be there. To our credit, no one laughed out loud for at least a quarter of a second. We always got all of our days off, true enough, but when your thirty days were up the boat might be days away from civilization. It could be anywhere between Natchez and San Michez. If we were within ten days of Memphis, we were strongly encouraged to ride over. They liked to make crew changes in Memphis. There were times I rode 36 days, even 42. We always got all of our days off, plus the company would “buy back” our extra days. I always told the folks in El Paso, “Don’t look for me until I call you with a flight number.” And if I arrived with an extra five hundred or a thousand dollars, so much the better. Turlock was sick and tired of having to unload trailers. I wasn’t the only one thinking, “Man, by the time this trip is over you’re gonna wish all you had to do was unload a few trailers full of canned peaches.” Turlock was a good guitar player and a way above average singer. He was a good guy and we got along really well. He just had to get squared away on a few things. One of the ways we amused ourselves was to have some fun at the expense of the new guys. We’d have them go ask the Chief Engineer for a timberhead wrench or ask the Cook for a toothpick (a toothpick is a long metal bar used to keep chain links from twisting when a ratchet is tightened). One day Turlock asked me what I did to get such big forearms. I told him that everyday, rain or shine, I did push-ups on the timberheads. I have a picture of him doing just that. Lord knows we got plenty of exercise without having to do any push-ups. Lord also knows that push-ups will do little to build up one’s forearms. Pulling on face wires, pulling 30 feet of wet two-inch line out of the river, and tightening winches will take care of forearm strength. On top of that, muscle shape and muscle strength are not always correlated. I’ve seen guys with skinny muscles beat guys with big muscles in arm wrestling plenty of times. I’ve been told that a long muscle is stronger than a bulky muscle. That may be true; I don’t know. What I do know is that looks can be deceiving and that what works for one person will not necessarily work for another. And I know it was fun to watch Turlock—tall, skinny, long-muscled Turlock—doing push-ups on the timberheads, trying to make his forearms wider. He probably could have picked me up by my head and straight-armed me. Captain Charlie was letting me steer one afternoon. We heard someone clomping and stomping up the steps to the wheelhouse. Turlock presented himself, all disgusted and out of breath. He complained that the TV reception was lousy. He’d done all he could with the rabbit ears and aluminum foil, but still couldn’t get a decent picture. It never occurred to me to try to watch TV on the river, there were too many interesting things going on. I had no sympathy. Captain Charlie walked over to Turlock and looked behind him. He said, “I don’t see no anchor hangin off your ass. I’ll let you off on the next sandbar if that’s what you want. You’re free to stay or free to go, but you’re not free to stay and complain.” Such a simple lesson, but so well illustrated. It made a big impression on me. I’ve relived that scene many times. The college students know the story. When they see me looking behind them, they get the message. Often they smile, sometimes they glare at me, but they get the message. There have also been times over the last thirty years when I’ve had to look behind my own self. “I hear you, Cap’m Charlie. Yes, sir. Loud and clear.” I never let my schooling interfere with my education. ~Mark Twain
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