Control Your Diabetes and Live Your Dreams, Part 2
Part 1: A Young Man’s Struggle.
Part 2: Giving Back
Country singer George Canyon speaks about the recognition he’s most proud of—a humanitarian award for his work to support finding a cure for type 1 diabetes. Canyon offers inspirational talks and performances for children living with type 1 and their families in Canada and the U.S.
Post: You have talked to thousands of type 1 diabetic kids. What do you want them to know, and how do you encourage them?
Canyon: My basic message to kids is: Control your diabetes, and live your dreams. One way that I connect with the kids is by comparing our blood sugar numbers—it’s just something they like to do. But children need to understand that they can and must control their diabetes. When they lend a hand in testing their blood sugar and taking their insulin, in eating right and exercising regularly, they develop a certain pride in taking care of themselves. Over time, that sense of responsibility lays the groundwork for controlling diabetes and achieving success throughout life.
At age 14, I was told I could never fly an airplane or be an Air Force captain. But I never gave up on my dreams. Today, I have been a pilot for 3 ½ years. I fly my own plane, and I’m an honorary captain in the Air Force. I let the kids know that I am living proof that type 1 diabetics can achieve their dreams.
Post: What is your message for parents of kids with type 1?
Canyon: I stress the psychological side of the disease. Looking back on my teen years, I think 80 percent of the control of my diabetes was in my head. Today I frequently hear parents say their daughter won’t take her insulin or their son says he forgets to take it. Once I confronted one of those children and said: You aren’t forgetting to take your insulin, are you. And she blurted: “No, I’m not. But people keep telling me that I can’t do things that I want to. So why take shots?”
I was able to change her mindset by encouraging her to prove those people wrong. She needs to show them that she is healthy and able to achieve her goals. That bit of motivation clicked a psychological drive back into action. Now she takes care of herself physiologically because the brain is driving her to take care of her own diabetes.
Post: Having strong role models is very important to young people. Did you have one?
Canyon: I had no one. Don’t get me wrong—I had wonderful people around me, my parents, nurses, and my doctor, but I was not aware of any role model in the music business, in Hollywood, or the sports world who was saying, “Hey I’m a type 1 diabetic and I’m living my dream.” So I always said to myself that if I ever became successful, in whatever career, I was going to be a role model to kids in some way.
Today, it’s clear to me that my work with the kids fills me up more than it does them. But I can tell from their conversations that they really do pay attention to celebrities and having role models is important to them.
Post: What do people without diabetes need to know about the condition?
Canyon: Society as a whole needs to step back and take time to learn just how well people can live diabetes. Today’s kids with type 1 diabetic juvenile-onset are well educated and in tune with their body and their disease. Many are also in incredibly great physical condition, especially with new advances in treatment such as insulin pump therapy.
Juvenile type 1 diabetes affects millions of people. Everybody should know about the steps that have been made by the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation and others in controlling and understanding of this disease. It’s not caused by eating poorly or not getting enough exercise. And it’s not the end of one’s dreams.
Post: How can readers tap into the latest information and research about type 1 diabetes?
Canyon: There are some fantastic websites for parents and kids with diabetes that are also great tools for people who don’t have the disease but want to learn about it. Here are three:
Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation International is one of the best resources out there.
Children With Diabetes is doing unbelievable things to help kids with type 1 diabetes physiologically as well as psychologically and to support their families and other adults as well. The CWD organization sponsors large events; I was at one that 2500 kids with diabetes attended. The organizers had them break into age groups, and suddenly one child was with 50 or 100 or 200 other type diabetics of the same age. There was an instant sense of belonging! They talked about their diabetes and about things they might not mention to their healthcare professionals or their parents. Peer support is so important. Kids will listen to a buddy who says, “Oh you should do this instead of that,” before they’ll listen to their parents or other adults.
Post: Is there anything you would like to add?
Canyon: I’m real excited to get out there with people in mainstream society who might not be touched by type 1 diabetes and speak openly about my disease.
I can’t stress enough that JDRF and other diabetes researchers are not just trying to find a cure for the disease, they are also working to find new and better ways to treat it. It’s so important that we all try to help as much as we can.
“Revenge by Fire” by Jack Schaefer
This short western was published in the Post on April 28, 1962.
“Revenge by Fire” by Jack Schaefer
Living With Less In America
The spirit of Thanksgiving for many was dimmed this year. For them, the warm sense of abundance, gratitude, and well-being associated with the holiday was dampened by the prospects of job loss, wage reductions, and falling property values.
But Americans’ sense of prosperity is relative, as is their sense of being deprived. Americans of the 1930s and ’40s spent years lowering their expectations and adjusting to life with less. During World War II, for instance, they were forced to live for years with rationed sugar, meat, coffee, shoes, nylon, tires, and gasoline — not to mention the risk of national defeat or the death of relatives in service.
America’s war effort consumed so much of our nation’s food and fuel, the government began a system to limit civilian consumption. Americans on the home front were required to appear before their local rationing boards to obtain books of coupons for essential items.
These ration coupons only allowed them to purchase 2.5 pounds of meat a week — roughly half of what Americans consume today. Each family was entitled just a half pound of sugar each week. But it was gas rationing that affected Americans most deeply. While it inconvenienced everyone to some degree, gas rationing meant inability to travel for others, and even the loss of a job.
A book of ‘B’ coupons allowed drivers to buy 8 gallons of gas each week, but only because they performed essential war work. There were also ‘C’ coupons for mail carriers, doctors, and ministers, and ‘T’ coupons for truck drivers, but everyone else got ‘A’ coupons that entitled them to buy four (4!) gallons of gas per week. Since the average mileage of 1940 automobiles was about 17 mpg, this effectively restricted their travel to 68 miles a week.
All four of these weekly gallons were intended for necessary travel only; the government prohibited pleasure driving for the duration of the war. It also lowered the national speed limit to 35 mph to reduce oil consumption and consumption of tires.
Americans who felt they were entitled to more than four gallons a week could appeal to their local rationing board, where they pleaded with local volunteers like Joe M. Dawson in New York. In 1943, he wrote “Life On A Ration Board” for the Post, and described his experiences — and his education about his fellow countrymen.
Like thousands of others, I became a member of a ration board because it seemed to me the best way, under the circumstances, to serve the war effort the best I could.
I thought I knew a lot about people and what made them tick, because I am in the advertising business, which requires an understanding of people, but I suspect I have learned more about human nature in the past few months than I did in thirty years in business.
My job has to do only with gasoline and tire rationing, but in shop talk with other ration-board members I find that my experiences are quite typical. Sugar, coffee, shoes, meat and canned-goods rationing are pretty much standardized. It is in the gasoline and fuel-oil rationing that there is the most discretion, and much depends upon the judgment of the board members. It is in those divisions, therefore, that we run into the extreme examples.
I have heard more alibis and tall stories than I dreamed the human mind could conceive.
There was, for instance, the young doctor who applied for a C book. Doctors are entitled to this, but his application showed that he was attached to a central-city clinic and made no calls on patients. We questioned him, gently at first, as to why he thought he ought to have precious extra gasoline. For a while he was evasive, replying only, “As a doctor, I’m entitled to it.” But finally he blurted out, ” I must have that C sticker to maintain my social standing. If my neighbors don’t see it on my car, they won’t believe I’m a doctor.”
There was the undertaker who demanded extra gasoline on the premise that he had to make periodic calls upon prospective clients.
And there was the wealthy manufacturer who thumped the desk with his fist and swore that he had been driven between his swank Westchester County home and his Manhattan office every weekday for fifteen years and wasn’t going to put up with this New Deal nonsense now.
One man tendered us a most imposing statement from his doctor to back up his claim that his health made it imperative that he drive up to, and around in, Canada for a while. It was filled with such awe-inspiring medical terms that the three of us serving on this board—a wealthy importer, a prominent corporation lawyer, and the head of a sizable advertising agency—felt we might have the man’s life on our consciences if we rejected the application. On a hunch, however, the importer showed the report to his own doctor. “Hell,” said the physician, “this merely means the man has a hernia. The trip would do him more harm than good.”
And then there was the case of the expectant mother who wanted gasoline to make regular visits for prenatal care to a hospital some distance from her home. The board pointed out that there were quite a number of hospitals and clinics much nearer to her home, and refused her application. This made her angry. “How,” she demanded, “do you gentlemen expect a woman to have a baby on three gallons of gas?”
Americans don’t like living with less. They work hard and expect the rewards of their labor.
My job has to do only with gasoline and tire rationing, but in shop talk with other ration-board members I find that my experiences are quite typical. Sugar, coffee, shoes, meat and canned-goods rationing are pretty much standardized. It is in the gasoline and fuel-oil rationing that there is the most discretion, and much depends upon the judgment of the board members. It is in those division, therefore, that we run into the extreme examples.
There was, for instance, the young doctor who applied for a C book. Doctors are entitled to this, but his application showed that he was attached to a central-city clinic and made no calls on patients. We questioned him, gently at first, as to why he thought he ought to have precious extra gasoline. For a while he was evasive, replying only, “As a doctor, I’m entitled to it.” But finally he blurted out: ” I must have that C sticker to maintain my social standing. If my neighbors don’t see it on my car, they won’t believe I’m a doctor.”
There was the undertaker who demanded extra gasoline on the premise that he had to make periodic calls upon prospective clients.
And there was the wealthy manufacturer who thumped the desk with his fist and swore that he had been driven between his swank Westchester County home and his Manhattan office every weekday for fifteen years and wasn’t going to put up with this New Deal nonsense now.
One man tendered us a most imposing statement from his doctor to back up his claim that his health made it imperative that he drive up to and around in Canada for a while. It was filled with such awe-inspiring medical terms that the three of us serving on this hoard—a wealthy importer, a prominent corporation lawyer and the head of a sizable advertising agency—felt we might have the man’s life on our consciences if we rejected the application. On a hunch, however, the importer showed the report to his own doctor. “Hell,” said the physician, “this merely means the man has a hernia. The trip would do him more harm than good.”
And then there was the case of the expectant mother who wanted gasoline to make regular visits for prenatal care to a hospital some distance from her home. The board pointed out that there were quite a number of hospitals and clinics much nearer to her home, and refused her application. This made her angry. “How,” she demanded, “do you gentlemen expect a woman to have a baby on three gallons of gas?”
But for all his neighbors’ anger and self-righteous protests against war rationing, Dawson didn’t grow cynical. He still found plenty of evidence of the largeness of spirit we expect in Americans; or, as he put it—
I have seen practical proof that the average American is honest, and can take it like a man—if you explain to him why it is necessary.
I have heard of a clergyman who merely bowed his head in acceptance and would not permit himself even a — it seems to me — justifiable deviation to avoid an unfair technicality. This man of God used a bicycle for his nearer calls and an automobile only for the more distant ones. There was no doubt that he required extra gasoline, or that he was morally entitled to it. But under the rules a preferred mileage certificate could be issued only if the automobile was his “prime” means of transportation. He had been using the bicycle more than the automobile, so technically the bicycle was his prime means of transportation. The board which sat in his case gave him broad hints that if he used his automobile more and his bicycle less, the extra gasoline could be arranged; and also told him that he had a good chance to win on an appeal. “No,” he said. “It would not be right.”
And there was the hardware salesman who had to cover a wide territory with samples weighing a couple of hundred pounds. It was the only job he ever had, and he knew nothing else. He needed to drive at least 2,000 miles a month, and we could allow him only the maximum B ration, which, since the value of coupons has been cut, allowed him only 378 miles. But when we showed him that the regulations were inflexible on that point, he shrugged his shoulders and said: ‘Well, we all got to take it nowadays. I guess I can find some other way of making a living — I hope.”
Classic Covers: How to Handle a Turkey
It isn’t just the farmers and poultry truck drivers who have a hard time handling turkeys. Sometimes the big birds were a handful for our cover artists and models. Why did one famous cover artist start “to feel like an assassin”?
Turkey Loose Atop Truck by Constantin Alajalov
“When I wanted to sketch turkeys as they look in a crate,” said cover artist Constantin Alajalov, “I found a wholesaler who sells a lot of them. For the turkey on the lam…he said, ‘Take your pick’. Every time I started to sketch a model, somebody bought it and bang, it was a dead bird. I began to feel like an assassin.” Our artist got the delightful Thanksgiving cover done, but said, “For Thanksgiving I may skip turkey…and have hamburger that I’m sure I don’t know, socially.”
Squawking Turkey by Tony Sarg
This youngster managed to catch the turkey, but now what? The boy with arms full of squawking fowl is from 1915.
Cousin Reginald Catches the Thanksgiving Turkey by Norman Rockwell
Norman Rockwell painted a lad he called Cousin Reginald, a city slicker. As we’ve shown you before, his mischief-loving country cousins often made a fool of Reginald. Now, we just know those rural boys told Reggie that catching the turkey would be a breeze. They are in the background being royally entertained.
Where’s That Turkey? by Wm. Meade Prince
This is no dumb Tom Turkey. When someone with an ax is looking for you, hiding is a good option. This colorful cover was painted for the Post’s sister publication, Country Gentleman by artist William Mead Prince.
Pilgrim Stalking Tom Turkey by J.C. Leyendecker
Would you believe this beautiful cover is from 1907? Artist J.C. Leyendecker did much more than paint ridiculously handsome men for Arrow Shirt ads. He did more Saturday Evening Post covers than any other artist. One of the earliest, and smartest, acts of George Horace Lorimer after taking charge of the Post was to hire J.C. Leyendecker to do a cover in 1899. Between then and 1943, Leyendecker did 322 Post covers, one more than Norman Rockwell. To honor his mentor, Rockwell chose to do one fewer cover.
Thanksgiving by J.F. Kernan
There’s an old myth that if you sprinkle salt on a turkey’s tail, you can catch it. Also, if you sprinkle pepper on a hen’s tail, she will lead you to her nest. These tricks may work, but only because if you’re close enough to sprinkle salt on a turkey’s tail, you’re close enough to catch it anyway and if you pepper a hen’s tail, she’ll probably get disgusted with you and stalk off….back to her nest.
“The Battle That Set Us Free” by Samuel Eliot Morison
A famous naval authority tells the exciting story of how a daring French sailor won a victory that saved America.
“The Battle That Set Us Free” by Samuel Eliot Morison
Whole-Wheat Sausage Stuffing
Whole Wheat Sausage Stuffing
(Makes 4 1/2 cups of stuffing)
- 1/2 pound lean bulk sausage
- 1/2 cup green pepper, chopped
- 1/2 cup onion, chopped
- 1 cup chicken broth
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon sage
- 1/2 teaspoon rosemary, crushed
- 1/2 teaspoon thyme
- 1/2 teaspoon pepper
- 4 cups whole-wheat bread crumbs
Place sausage in large skillet, cook over moderate heat, stirring frequently until browned. Careful not to overcook.
Add green pepper and onion, continue cooking, stirring frequently until vegetables are just tender. Stir in chicken broth and seasonings, bring to boil. Remove from heat.
Add bread crumbs to hot liquid, stir just until all moisture is absorbed. Cover, let stand 5 minutes.
Serve in with baked acorn squash or use as stuffing for poultry (turkey, capon or roasting chicken).
Recipe from The Saturday Evening Post Fiber & Bran Better Health Cookbook, © The Saturday Evening Post Society. All rights reserved.
Life in 1824, As Seen in Our Back Pages
We regularly hear from readers who tell us they’ve found an old copy of the Post. Usually the issues are less than sixty years old, and still relatively easy to find. Recently, though, we heard from a reader in Florida who discovered a well preserved copy of an 1824 Post in his father’s desk.
It contains the usual assortment of material from the earliest years of the Post: news items, moral essays, and poetry. But Doug Boulle, who found the paper, was particularly intrigued by the advertising.
Amid the ads for “Worsted Bombazines” and “Sarsaparilla Mead” is a message from William Cannon on Philadelphia’s South Fifth Street, who has recently—
supplied himself with a general assortment of High Box Coaches and light traveling Carriages with the front seat sufficiently large to contain a servant with the Driver, also light one- and two-horse Dearborns, together with high-finished, full-mounted six-spring Gigs, and light Sulkys—all of fancy colors, including a variety of good tempered Match Horses, with careful and attentive drivers. As it is his wish not to send his Carriages to the public stand during the approaching hot season, he is therefore determined to reduce the price of Carriage hire, &c, as low as possible.
The gig and the sulky are two wheeled carts. A Dearborn is a one-horse, covered wagon, usually with side curtains. Mr. Cannon is trying to attract customers to his livery stable so his horses won’t have to stand among the swarms of flies that swarm around the other horses at the carriage stand.
Readers of the Post in early October 9th of 1824, would have been “respectfully informed” that Monsieur Adrian and his circus was engaged for six nights, starting that saturday night.
The performance to commence with a NEW GRAND CAVALCADE
HORSEMANSHIP by Master Sweet.
HORSEMANSHIP by Master Hunt, his first appearance.
STILL VAULTING — By the whole troop of Flying Phenomena, assisted by Masters Sweet and Spencer — Clown, Mr. Williams
GRAND TRAMPOLINE by Mr. Asten, who will take his Astonishing Leaps over Garters, through Balloons, and conclude with a wonderful somerset over seven horses.
HORSEMANSHIP, by Mrs. Williams. Among her numerous feats, she will go through the Manual and Platoon Exercise and discharge a musket while standing on the wire.
To conclude with the grand Romantic Melodrama of VALENTINE AND ORSON; Or, The Wild Man of the Woods.
Leaping over a garter meant jumping the length of a cloth banner. Jumping through a balloon meant passing through a hoop covered with paper. A “somerset” is a “somersault” with archaic spelling. The “Manual and Platoon Exercise” is the manual of arms used by soldiers for holding, presenting, and firing a musket. “Valentine and Orson” is a play about two brothers who are separated at birth. Valentine is brought up to be a nobleman, while Orson grows up in a bear’s den to become a Wild Man. The brothers are reunited, swear eternal fidelity to each other, then set about rescuing their mother from a giant. Now that’s melodrama.
The back page includes a column of miscellany entitled “The Olio.” This little bit of gossip appears at the top of the list under the title “Ambiguous Explanation”:
The following laconic correspondence has recently got abroad among the upper circles to the greatest annoyance of a female of high fashion who is know to be the subject of it.
“Lord____ is given to understand that Sir W. ____ has affirmed in public company that Lady ____ was a person of doubtful character. Lord____ requests to be informed whether Sir W. ____ did make such assertion, and if he did, begs to ask for an explanation. The bearer will wait his answer.”
Answer: “Sir W ____ does not recollect to have used the expression referred to respecting the character of Lady____, nor does he think it likely he should, as he does not know any female in the circle of fashion of whose character there can be any less doubt.”
Translated from its genteel wording, Sir W.— questioned the honesty of Lady—. One of her relatives, or a staunch friend, demanded that Sir W— explain himself: i.e., say he was mistaken, admit he lied, or stand by his claim and await a summons to a duel. Sir W— neatly sidesteps the challenge by saying it’s unlikely he made any statement about Lady W— since he wouldn’t have any knowledge of fashionable women with doubtful characters. The insult remains and challenge is now back in the court of the Lady’s champion.
There’s an endless supply of these fascinating items at the back of these issues. While they may lack the grandeur of world news, they offer revealing glimpses of the amusements, morals, and personal life in those by-past days. For example, look at the information contained within this personal item:
A Teacher, Clerk, Superintendant, or Overseer
A person, desirous of embarking in the capacity of any of the above situations, proffers his services and is willing to go to any State in the Union, providing positive assurances be given for permanency, and ample encouragement.
As a Teacher he does not aspire above mediocrity, but will undertake to teach the first rudiments of learning, such as Orthography, Reading, Writing, Grammar and Arithmetic. Any person having a perfect knowledge of those sciences will be qualified to conduct any kind of business. As a Clerk, Superintendant or Overseer, he need only add that, in all those capacities, he has had every opportunity of becoming acquainted with the necessary qualifications to enable him to give general satisfaction. [sic]
A line addressed to B.C. and left at this office (post paid) will receive immediate attention.
The more you read it, the less B.C. seems to offer. He admits that he’s a mediocre teacher, at best. He doesn’t say he has experience as a clerk etc.; just that he’s had the opportunity to become acquainted with the qualifications for such work. But B.C. is a man of learning and ambition, however limited, and the country needs workers.
His ad appeared in just two issues before disappearing. Did B.C. run out of money to advertise, or did he find a golden opportunity in some “State in the Union”? Like many of these small items, it only provides the beginning of the story.
Control Your Diabetes and Live Your Dreams, Part 1
Canadian singer songwriter George Canyon is all too familiar with the warning signs of type 1 diabetes, including feeling tired, hungry, and “drinking anything you can get your hands on.” In an exclusive Post interview, the recording artist shares his early struggles with the disease and how he is encouraging others to live their dreams.
There are several forms of diabetes. Type 1 occurs when an overactive immune system knocks out cells in the body that produce insulin. Once called juvenile or insulin-dependent diabetes, the condition can occur at any age. Research continues, but to date, its exact cause remains unknown.
Post editors asked superstar country singer George Canyon about the challenges of living with diabetes and his inspiring work with kids and their families who are also coping with the endocrine condition.
Part 1: A Young Man’s Struggle
Post: When were you diagnosed with type 1 diabetes?
Canyon: I was diagnosed at age 14, after developing the symptoms that most type 1 diabetics suffer, including drinking anything you can get your hands on, going to the bathroom all the time because you are drinking so much, and sometimes feeling tired or cranky. Thinking back, the symptoms began about this time of year, so I’m approaching my anniversary of sorts.
Dad headed up a hospital lab, and he later told me that he suspected type 1 diabetes right away. My blood sugar was tested, but then my parents let me enjoy Christmas with the family. The next day, however, I was admitted to the hospital. My sugar was 792, which is extremely high.
I was young, and bounced right back. After one week in the hospital, I was ready to go home. My grandmother had type 1 so I was quite familiar with needles and all. My only concern was getting back to Air Cadets, a group that in U.S. might compare to Young Marines. Since the age 5, I had wanted nothing else in life than to be in the Air Force and be an Air Force pilot. I wasn’t concerned about being a diabetic— I just didn’t want to miss another meeting of the Air Cadets!
Post: What happened then?
Canyon: My dream was abruptly taken away from me. When I went back to Cadets, the Commanding Officer called me into his office and said, “Son, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you will never be in the Air Force and you will never fly airplanes.” I was devastated. I remember that conversation, and how I felt, as though it were yesterday.
Post: How did your young life change and what challenges did you face?
Canyon: Having a sense of belonging is very important to a 14-year-old, and type 1 can be ostracizing disease. For example, the first birthday party that I attended as a type 1 diabetic was for a buddy mine. My friends were all having birthday cake. I was eating an apple. Suddenly, I didn’t belong. I was different, and it played very heavily on my mind.
I had many reasons to rebel—being a teenager, having type 1 diabetes, and losing what I believed to be my sole purpose in life. But I chose a different path. As I now tell the kids when I talk to them, I chose to be stubborn in a positive way. I made up my mind to control my diabetes and to not let it control me.
I also decided to become a doctor and to cure the disease that stole my dreams. Eventually I was on my way to medical school. Then, I auditioned for a band. I got the job and called my Dad—that’s another conversation I’ll never forget—and went on the road in 1990.
Post: Is having type 1 diabetes particularly challenging in light of your music career?
Canyon: It was very tough at first. Back in the 90s, we would play six nights, travel one, and then play the next town for six more. We did that over and over. I was lucky to have strong support. And I was doing the best I could to treat my type 1 diabetes in the conventional way—5 needles a day and trying to exercise and eat right. But I’m certain that those days on the road took a toll on me.
Then, about 4 ½ years ago, I went on the Animas insulin pump. The device gave my life back to me in a completely and unbelievably way. Suddenly I felt normal again. Honestly, there are days that I forget I’m a diabetic. Today I encourage parents to talk to healthcare providers about getting children on insulin pump therapy as soon as they can. I lived my teenage and early adult years treating my diabetes conventionally. Having the pump is truly amazing.
The Case of the Missing Prosperity: An Economic Mystery from 1952
Back in 2008, when America’s economy began crumbling, financial experts swarmed into the media spotlights to explain what was happening. “High-risk investing by deregulated banks,” they said, and “collateralized debt obligations.” Few people understood what they were talking about, but we had an explanation, and that was better than nothing.
Two years on, the economy continues to weaken, unemployment grows, the average American’s purchasing power drops, mortgage defaults rise, and the American Dream seems smaller and more fragile than ever. Experts talk of “credit default swaps” and a “Troubled Asset Relief Program,” but the problem seems impossible to pin down.
The birthday of Peter Drucker, November 19, is a good reminder that experts in management and economics haven’t always been incomprehensible. Drucker, the pioneer of management consulting, always managed to discuss the world of finance clearly and readbly, without oversimplifying.
Drucker was a frequent Post contributor in the 1940s and ’50s, when he was starting to advise major U.S. corporations on management policy and corporate structure. He saw trends long before they became obvious to American businesses: decentralizing, outsourcing, even the rise of the “information economy.” (What Drucker meant by “outsourcing” was the practice of hiring skilled workers from contractor agencies, not the newer meaning of exporting of American jobs en masse to cheap labor markets overseas.)
When he died at age 96, he was widely considered as a pioneer in management, and a man who was usually proved right.
To honor his birthday, I could have excerpted any of his incisive, highly readable studies of the German and Russian economies during World War II, or his thoughts about profits and inflation in the U.S. economy. Instead, I have chosen a historical mystery with unintended poignance: his 1952 article, “Look What’s Happened to Us!”
The subhead for the article prepares the reader for some unusual content:
Our kids have a better chance of success than ever before— yet shocked Europeans look at how we have changed and say, “This is worse than socialism!”’
Drucker, though, is no sensationalist. His article describes how the American economy of 1952 has become a powerful force for democracy by promoting wealth AND equality.
If you are an American and over twenty-five you have taken part, knowingly or unknowingly, in “one of the greatest social revolutions in history.” This summing up of the last quarter century of American history does not come from a Hollywood press agent or from a Fourth of July orator. It came, a few months ago, from the National Bureau of Economic Research, for the last twenty-five years the country’s leading student of long-range economic trends, and an outfit so ultra-scholarly, austere and publicity-shy that the most extreme term it had ever used before was a restrained and barely audible “statistically significant.” The development that provoked such unscholarly language was the change in the distribution of income during the last generation. It is indeed an amazing change.
The income gap between the rich and the poor, Drucker states, is shrinking.
More than half of the nation’s families now have a middle-class income—as against a quarter of the population fifty years ago… The further down the income scale we go, the greater, by and large, has been the rise. The 1900 dollar bought about three times what the 1951 dollar buys [but] the yearly income of the factory worker has gone up six-fold, from around $500 in the days of Andrew Carnegie and John D. Rockefeller, to $3,000 or more today.
The increasing wealth of workers is part of a revolution in the idea of capitalism.
We have produced a capitalist system in which ownership rests with the mass of the people. Individual horizons have steadily broadened—indeed, the progress toward equality of opportunity has, as befits a free country, been at least as fast as that toward equality of income or wider distribution of wealth.
The very term “capitalism” has come to mean something new. Formerly it expressed an all-but-complete divorce between the good of business and the good of the economy—if not an irreconcilable conflict. We now believe that there must be harmony between the ends of business and the good of society in the interest of both.
An illustration of this new idea is in business’ new concept of people. Fifty years ago the emphasis was on labor as a cost; today it is increasingly on human beings as a resource—and the scarcest, most important and most productive resource, at that.
Two years ago, well before Korea, the president of one of the largest steel companies asked some of his vice-presidents to figure out how much additional steelmaking capacity the company should build. In the letter in which be gave them this job, he said, “Do not start your figuring with the question of what capacity would be most profitable for our company. Start with the question how much steel the country will require to be strong and prosperous, and then work back to find out how much of that total our company should aim to provide.”
A visiting French steelmaker who chanced to see the letter was quite shocked. “This is worse than socialism,” he said. And, indeed, the approach would have appeared as eccentric to the men who ran the same steel company twenty-five years ago, and would have been hardly even conceivable to the men who ran it fifty years ago.
This philosophy rests upon the conviction, buttressed by experience, that the only line of action that will pay in the long run is that which serves American society as well as their own company. Socially irresponsible action… simply does not pay.
We believe that the businessman must act responsibility—not just because his own business aim demand it. We no longer believe that there is a cleavage between the demands a business makes on a person as a businessman and the demands society makes on him as a citizen.
We are learning fast that the human being is the most important, the most productive and also the scarcest economic resource… During the last ten years or so it has become almost a commonplace in American business that the job of management is the leadership of people rather than the working of property.
It has always been a distinct trait of American business, and of American business alone, that it believed in the opportunity of the man at the bottom to rise to the top. But it is only now that American business is going out systematically to find the men of ability, initiative and ambition in plant or office, to train them and to give them a chance to grow and to advance.
Peter Drucker was neither an idealist nor an optimist. He saw the problems of modern business more clearly than many of his contemporaries. Business executives paid him large sums of money for his penetrating assessments. Yet here he is, explaining how American business has become socially responsible, and inspired by a sense of ethical pragmatism.
Was 1952, in fact, the year that corporations began balancing social good with stockholder returns? Did Drucker really have evidence for his claims of corporate altruism? If so, how did social trends turn around so completely?
We like to believe that life in America generally gets better over time: Each generation enjoys a little more prosperity and freedom than its predecessor. If Drucker’s picture is accurate, businesses and workers in America have been passing through a long decline.
Classic Covers: The Delightful Art of William Meade Prince
We don’t know a great deal about this artist, but he did forty-eight charming covers for our sister publication, Country Gentleman, and we know enough to enjoy them!
Grandma Bobs Her Hair by Wm. Meade Prince
I adore this cover! In 1925 bobbing your hair was a bit daring and grandma has decided to get with it. We can only imagine grandpa’s comments. Artist William Meade Prince (1893-1951) grew up in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
Dog Doesn’t Like Sax Sounds by Wm. Meade Prince
Everybody’s a critic. This cute cover is also from 1925. Artist Prince had a hard time choosing between West Point Military Academy or a study of architecture at Georgia Institute of Technology. As a sort of compromise, he settled on studying art at the New York School of Fine and Applied Arts – luckily for us!
Thanksgiving Pie by Wm. Meade Prince
Here’s a timely cover. It’s Thanksgiving and everybody wants some of that delicious-smelling pie! Meade had a way with colors. After years of advertising work in Chicago, Prince moved to Westport, Connecticut where he could work on magazine illustration and ride and maintain fine Arabian horses.
Playing Pirate by Wm. Meade Prince
Prince depicted kids and grandparents with equal skill. Often the backgrounds in his paintings are important. For example, the billowing white clouds behind our youngster give us a sense of dreaming big. When Westport eventually became too urban for riding, Prince returned to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where he built his own studio and stables to continue his work in illustration and care for his horses.
Grandpa Sleeps, Girl Sings in Church by Wm. Meade Prince
Several Country Gentleman and Saturday Evening Post artists seemed to like the falling asleep in church theme. Often, the wife or child accompanying the snoozer is horrified and embarrassed. This little girl simply sings away while grandpa dozes. It’s another fine example of the skill of this artist in depicting young and old alike.
Something Went Bump in the Night by Wm. Meade Prince
I love the people in Prince’s drawings. Many a lovely magazine cover of the time was of a pretty girl, but Prince’s people were real. This startled elderly couple who heard something in the night is a fine example. Notwithstanding the harsh, unforgiving look on the man’s face, there is an element of humor here. You may need to click on the cover for a close-up, but could the source of the ruckus be the tiny mouse on the table?
Read Your Way to Weight Loss
Read your way to weight loss: Start checking food labels, especially before purchasing a product for the first time.
Guidelines for food labels have gotten a bad rap in recent years, but a new study published in the Journal of Consumer Affairs suggests that reading nutritional labels can lead to weight loss, especially for women age 35+.
Data analysis by Washington State University researcher Dr. Bidisha Mandal on weight loss and whether consumers read food labels the first time they purchased a product revealed:
- Women are more likely than men to read food labels and to lose weight.
- Label readers who don’t exercise are more likely to lose weight than exercisers who don’t read labels.
- People who continue to read labels and add exercise to their lifestyle are more likely to lose weight than those who stop reading labels and start exercising.
The message?
Exercise and making informed decisions about the foods you eat is key to a healthy weight. If you don’t exercise, start. And everyone should pay attention to the Nutrition Facts labels on foods purchased at the market.
Ask about nutritional information on the foods you eat away from home, too. The health care reform bill passed last spring calls for easier access to nutritional information on foods sold in restaurants, retail food establishments, and vending machines. Consumers deserve, and should demand, it.
“Sucker” by Carson McCullers
“Sometimes when a person admires you, you despise him and don’t care.”
Read “Sucker” by Carson McCullers
Young Sousa And The Musician Shortage
Reading John Philip Sousa’s autobiography, “Keeping Time,” which appeared in the Post in 1925, I was expecting a narrative of life in a long-ago America. After all, Sousa was born 156 years ago. Yet the boyhood he describes is not much different than what he might experience today. He went to school unwillingly, played sports, disobeyed his parents, liked pastries more than vegetables, avoided his music lessons, and had trouble choosing a career.
There are differences, of course; America was a vastly different country in the late 1800s. But the one difference that stood out in Sousa’s articles was the opportunities for musicians. When all music was ‘live,’ there was a constant need for musicians in theaters, vaudeville houses, concert halls, ballrooms, banquet halls, and eventually movie theaters. Sousa seems to walk from one engagement into another with little unemployed time between.
He began his career while still a teenager. By age 26, he was conducting the Marine Corps band. By 46 he was conducting the band that represented America at the Paris World Exposition. Such opportunities weren’t open for just any musician. He entered the world with natural talent, perfect pitch, a musical family, and ambition. But he also happened to arrive when the country seemed to have a never-ending demand for musicians. If he didn’t think there was enough opportunity in one position, he could find another quickly enough — an enviable position for any musician today.
Consider this: in the census of 1910, just as the recording industry was beginning, 92 million people lived in America, and 139,000 made their living as “musicians and composers.” Today, the population is 308 million, but the number of employed musicians has barely changed. Assuming the percentage of aspiring musicians has remained constant, struggling performers/composers have a third of the opportunities today that they had a century ago.
Sousa benefited from working in a music market where demand exceeded supply. But as his autobiography shows, supply exceeded talent. There were more people calling themselves “musician” than could actually play. In this excerpt, for example, he leaves Washington after his girlfriend’s father rejects him as an unsuitable son-in-law. He travels to Illinois to join an old associate who managed a theater.
I reported to him and the first question he asked was, “Have you had any experience in engaging musicians?”
“No,” I said, “except at home, a little dance orchestra or something like that.”
“You go down to the theater,” he said, “and find out who the leader of the orchestra is, then go out and engage not over ten men at the best price you can, have a thorough rehearsal, because they’ll need it, and then report conditions to me.”
I found the local leader in a paint shop, and after ascertaining that he was the man with whom to do business, I told him that I was the leader of the traveling company, which was to perform that night and asked if he could supply ten men for the orchestra.
He took his cigar from his mouth and said, “Can supply you as many as you want.”
“How much,” I asked, “do you charge a man?”
“Two dollars a skull,” was his reply.
“Well,” I said, falling into his mode of expression, “I want ten skulls—one first skull, one second skull, viola, cello and bass skulls for the strings, and flute, clarinet, cornet and trombone skulls for the wind, and a drum skull besides.”
“Anything else you want?” he asked.
“Yes, I would like them at the theater for rehearsal at two o’clock sharp,” I said.
He looked at me with a half-sorry-for-you expression and said: “Stranger, there are just two things that you don’t want here. One is that you don’t want any first fid [fiddle], and you don’t want any viola or ‘celly’ and you don’t want no flute, ’cause we ain’t got them. The second thing you don’t want is a rehearsal at two o’clock or any other time.”
“But,” I said, “we must have a rehearsal.”
“Rehearsal be blowed,” he said. “We never rehearse here.”
“But,” I persisted, “my music is difficult and a rehearsal is absolutely necessary. Several numbers must be transposed. Can your orchestra transpose?”
With a wave of his hand, he disdainfully said, “Transpose? Don’t worry. We transpose anything.”
No argument could budge him; and he finally stopped any further discussion by saying that I could take his orchestra or leave it, just as I liked.
It was Hobson’s choice with me, so I said, ” Well, I’ll take your orchestra, and I do hope everything will go all right tonight.”
“Don’t you lose any sleep over us. We’re all right,” he called to me as I was leaving his store.
Opening Night
Shortly after seven I went to the theater and found the orchestra in the music room under the stage. The leader said, “You might as well know the boys, and I’ll just introduce you. What is your name?”
“My name,” I answered, “is Sousa.”
“Well, Sousa,” this with an awkward bow, “allow me to introduce Professor Smith, our second fid; and, Sousa, this is Professor Brown, our clarinet player; and, Sousa, this is Professor Perkins, our bull fid; and this,” pointing to a cadaverous-looking fellow, “is Professor Jones, who agitates the ivories on our pipe organ. Sousa, these are Professors Jim and Bill Simpson, solo and first cornet; this is Professor Reed, who whacks the bun drum, and yours truly, solo trombone. Now that all of us know each other, what is your overture? ”
I explained that the overture we used I had written myself and it had met with great favor.
“I ain’t sayin’ that’s so or not, but it won’t go here. Will it, boys?”
A unanimous “No” from the orchestra dispelled any doubt as to their feelings. I expostulated with warmth and injured pride, “But you have never heard my overture, you know nothing about it, and I can assure you it is all right.”
“It may be all right in Chicago or Boston, but I tell you it won’t go here. I got the overture that our people want and that’s the one we are going to play tonight.”
“But I think __ ”
“Don’t think”, said the leader, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Just make up your mind that you are going to play our overture. Do you read first fid at sight?”
I mildly admitted that I could do so. “Well, just take a look at this thing,” and he held up the first violin part of his “overture.”
“Now, I want to explain this piece to you. When we open up on her we go along quietly, not making any fuss, almost sneaking like,” and he pantomimed the tempo. “When you are playin’ that first strain you do it just as if you didn’t have no train to ketch but when we get here”, he pointed at the next strain marked allegro, “just go as fast as hell! You’ll have to chase your fingers all over the fiddle.”
I sighed and answered, “All right, I think I understand.”
After we were seated in the orchestra box I rapped for attention and we began the overture. I noticed immediately that all of them were wretched players, and when I started into the movement which the local man told me was to be taken “fast as hell,” they began playing the strain with a rapidity evidently unknown to the orchestra, and pandemonium reigned. But curiously enough each man felt that it was his duty to play the notes to the end regardless of what the rest did, and they finished one after the other, stretched out like a bunch of horses in a race. I had no time to express my disgust as the curtain was raised immediately and the first number was to be sung. It was “Come Back to Erin,” in E flat. When we began the introduction of the song, every member of the orchestra was blowing a note either in a different time or different key.
I shouted, “It’s in E flat.”
The louder I shouted, the louder they played. The singer sang on, trying to appear oblivious to the cacophony that reigned. As soon as the song was finished, I turned to the leader, and said, “This is the rottenest orchestra I have ever heard. You do not know one note from another.”
He looked at me calmly, and said, “You are too particular. If you don’t like our style of playin’, pay us and we’ll go.”
“Pay you?” I cried. “You have not earned a cent.”
“Well, if you don’t like us, give us our money and we will go.”
I was very much excited, and I shouted, “Give you your money? Not under any circumstances. Pack up your instruments and get out of this theater.”
“We’ll go when we are paid, and not before,” said the leader.
“I’ll see about that,” I said, jumping up and walking through the center aisle of the theater; and going to the box office, I explained the situation to my manager. He called the manager of the theater over and told him, and he said, “All right, just call in the constable and put them out as usual.”
As the constable walked in to drive out the orchestra, I said to the local manager, “Just think, these men told me they could read anything, and when I wanted them to come to rehearsal they said they never rehearsed in this town.”
“Yes,” said the local manager, “that is true; they never have a rehearsal because, if they did, they would be discharged before the performance.”
Classic Covers: Fall Hunting Season
Our cover artists have depicted hunters, both comical and serious, since 1900. Here are a few.
No Hunting – Douglass Crockwell
I’ve always gotten a chuckle from this 1939 cover by artist Douglass Crockwell. No only did this hunter ignore the warning, he’s mad enough to add his own commentary – under the big “NO HUNTING” letters he’s scribbling, “You’re telling me.” Notice that the artist simply signed his covers “Douglass”. This was to avoid confusion with another artist – some guy with a similar last name.
No Hunting – Leslie Thrasher
When this guy says “no hunting,” he means it! One might say there have been flagrant violators, since the sign is riddled with bullet holes. We’ve had some cover artists who were wonderful at painting old codgers, and Leslie Thrasher was one of them. This cover is from 1914.
Springer Spaniels – J.F. Kernan
I’d know that white mustache anywhere; this gentleman appeared in many beautiful J.F. Kernan covers. In this 1930 cover, he’s dressed for the hunt and picking up spaniels for the job. When the little pups grow up, they’ll be great hunters, too.
Duck Hunters – Robert Robinson
Now we all know that hunters and fishermen are the most honest and upright of sportsmen. But there’s not only this 1911 cover of an unsuccessful hunter buying someone else’s catch, there’s a cover a few years later depicting a fisherman doing the same thing. Who wants to go home after hours of hunting or fishing with nothing to show for it?
Patient Dog – John Atherton
This is a sweet one. World War II has taken the man of the house away and this beautiful dog is waiting patiently for his master to return and take him hunting. Not all of those waiting at home are two-legged.
Hunting Couple on Walk – J. Hennesy
It’s a crisp autumn day, and together time for this couple means hunting – or at least walking in the woods. Country Gentleman magazine was a sister publication to the Post for many years and often shared the same artists.
Chicken and Wild Rice Stew
There’s no excuse for a dusty slow cooker in the fall and winter months, especially with easy recipes like this.
Chicken and Wild Rice Stew
Makes about 6 servings
-
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 medium onion, peeled and chopped
- 1 bell pepper (any color), chopped
- 2 gloves garlic, peeled and chopped
- 4 stalks celery, washed and chopped
- 2 large carrots, peeled and chopped
- 2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
- 1 7-ounce can of green enchilada sauce or salsa verde
- 1 14-ounce can of no-salt-added diced tomatoes
- 1 cup water
- 1/3 cup wild rice, uncooked
- 1 pound boneless, skinless chicken (breast or tenders), frozen
- 1 teaspoon cumin
- 2 teaspoons oregano
- 1/3 cup milk
- 1 teaspoon corn starch (or potato flour
)
In large skillet, heat oil to medium-high. Toss in onion, bell pepper, and garlic and saute about 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from heat and place contents in slow cooker. Add all remaining ingredients to pot, except milk and corn starch. (Yes, the chicken can go in frozen.) Set cooker to low for 6 to 8 hours. About half an hour before finished, shred chicken with fork and stir in milk and corn starch (or potato flour). Simmer until thick. Serve with dollop of light sour cream and enjoy!
Editor’s note: This soup is quite thick. For a lighter version, add more water or broth to reach desired consistency.
“The Man With Two Left Feet” by P. G. Wodehouse
“He had a momentary feeling as if he were going down Niagara Rapids in a barrel.”
Read “The Man With Two Left Feet” by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse