Pedaling Principles Chapter 11 – Kentucky, Addiction Leads Astray

I didn’t give Kentucky its due on the trip, riding only about 45 miles from the bridge at Markland, IN to Covington.  Still, Kentucky felt different from any other state and my mind took particular turns while I was there. Unfortunately, so did my bike.

The corn that I saw everywhere in Illinois and Indiana disappeared in Kentucky.  Tobacco is king of the fields here.  For all of the problems that tobacco causes, it is a beautiful plant. Spread out over a field, the broad leaves catch sunlight in a distinctive way, creating variegated bands of succulent greens.  Tobacco is planted in wide, clear rows that created dazzling diagonal shadow lines as I wheeled past. The plants are shoulder high before harvest, and they sprout a delicate crown of seed atop their head.

Unfortunately, the benefits of tobacco end with its aesthetics. Yet Kentucky grows it, processes it, and sells it, and the people of Kentucky are big boosters of their own economy. According to the 2010 CDC State Highlights Report, more than 25% of the adults in Kentuckysmoke, ranking it the second highest rate of smoking in the country. When I stopped to photograph the beautiful Gallatin County Courthouse, I could not help notice how many people milling outside were smoking; everywhere I looked in KentuckyI saw smokers. All of this tobacco, in the ground and in the lungs, got me thinking about the challenges of addiction.  How much should we limit an individual’s choice to ingest substances we know are harmful?  Should we allow easier access to addictive substances to shatter their allure, or should we have stricter prohibitions?  How do we determine when a social habit becomes an addiction? At what point should society intervene in an addictive person’s life?

Let’s consider addictive substances in three broad categories, tobacco, alcohol, and drugs.  Our approach to tobacco and alcohol is, we can’t have any until a certain age, and then we can have unfettered access.  Our approach to drugs is, we can never have access, though medical marijuana is beginning to bend that prohibition.  Once citizens reach the legal age, we can buy tobacco and alcohol at will, and each is taxed quite a bit more than most other products.   In theory the taxes act as a deterrent to consumption and also provide revenue to offset the societal costs of these substances.  We do not allow commercial sales of drugs, buying and selling them is always a crime for both parties, and the entire economic burden of enforcing the legal and social costs of drug addiction is born without any revenue from the drugs themselves.

Of the three broad groups, tobacco causes the most deaths.  In fact, tobacco use is linked to 1 in 5 deaths in the United States (160 per 100,000), more than drugs, alcohol, HIV, suicide, murder and motor vehicle accidents combined.  Yet, when a person is over 21, they can buy and smoke as many cigarettes as they want.  Since about 20% of teenagers admit to smoking, it appears that even folks under 21 have little trouble obtaining cigarettes.  Alcoholism accounts for about 4.0 deaths per 100,000, and alcohol is easy to obtain over the age of 21, while drugs account for 1.6 deaths per 100,000 and are risky to obtain at any age.

The obvious question to these statistics is, if making drugs so hard to obtain helps push down the death rate, why don’t we make it harder to get tobacco and alcohol?   Or, the flip question is, if so many fewer people die from drugs than other abusive substances, why do we expend so many resources on the judicial and penal costs of drugs?

Tobacco and alcohol are entrenched in our social fabric; they are big businesses within our economy and these days few would argue to prohibit them.  We tried that with alcohol in the 1930’s to disastrous results.  Instead, over the past fifty years, we have eaten away at the demand for alcohol and tobacco through education and evolving norms that have shifted our perception of smoking and excessive drinking from acceptable and even cool, to unacceptable.  Smoker’s feel under assault, cessation programs abound, and as a result, smoking rates in this country have dropped by more than half since the Surgeon General’s report of 1964.  Still, the current rate of 20% adult smoker’s is not budging, and the pressure against smokers varies by state.  Not surprisingly, the CDC’s State Report on activities to curb smoking shows that Kentucky allocates fewer resources to help people quit than states with lower smoking rates.  Similarly, alcohol consumption is trending down, especially binge drinking, yet as just over 50% of Americans enjoying alcohol in moderation; there is no mandate to make drastic changes in how we handle alcohol.

Drugs are another matter.  Since drugs are illegal, they don’t count as business; there are no tax revenues to be garnered or lobbyists to contribute to reelection campaigns.  Of course, drugs are a huge underground business, but since they don’t contribute ‘above the line’ to our national economy, their economic value does not get counted the same way.

Regarding the flip question, we are not disposed to loosen the reins on drug access or penalties because we perceive tobacco and alcohol as victimless addictions, while we consider drugs addiction to have serious repercussions to others.  In our collective mind, a smoker is just hurting themselves and whoever is breathing downwind from him, while a drunk is pretty harmless as long she doesn’t get behind the wheel, but we think a drug addict is likely to rob and steal to get money for his habit and is capable of even more heinous crimes while under the influence.  Each of these scenarios is only partly right, yet they are powerful conceptions that guide our tobacco, alcohol and drug policies.

Substance abuse and addiction puts us right back to our first guiding principle, ‘Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness’. Whether someone abuses substances is a personal decision, and we lean towards allowing people maximum personal freedom.  Limitations on access are limitations on liberty.  But this bumps against the conundrum that one element of our triad is working against another, since the poison taken in the name of pursuing happiness almost always shortens life.

The libertarian notion that the individual can do whatever she likes runs into a number of obstacles when it comes to substance abuse.  These obstacles become the parameters that refine the overarching principle.  First, we need to acknowledge that substance abuse is almost always the symptom of something else.  Smoking, drinking, and drugs are manifestations of something gone wrong, whether social, psychological or physiological. From a Five Why’s perspective, substance abuse is not a root cause.  Second, we need to acknowledge that substance abuse is not a victimless condition; addiction detracts from our ability to be fully engaged and contribute to society at the highest level.  Third, we need to recognize that whenever substance abuse affects others, spouses, children, victims of abuse related accidents or crimes; the individual’s right to do as he pleases is superseded by society’s obligation to protect the affected.  Fourth, we need to acknowledge the true cost of addictive behaviors and lay that cost squarely on the abusers.  There is no reason why society should shoulder the burden of anyone who smokes or drinks or drugs himself beyond function.

If substance abuse is not a root cause, than we need to approach substance abuse through education that aims at the root.  We have already seen great success in this approach by shifting the perception of cigarette smokers from glamorous to undesirable and in the process cutting cigarette smoking in half in fifty years.  Our educational initiatives should help people not only understand the biological and chemical effects of various substances, but also their emotional and psychological impact.  Some people will use this knowledge to modify behavior, but not everyone will.  Regardless, in a society where we will hold people responsible for their actions, society is obliged to help people make informed choices.

Any behavior that arises from the substance abuse that affects others should be curtailed.  We see many examples of this already in place; states with stringent drinking and driving laws and widespread prohibition of smoking in public places to reduce exposure to second hand smoke.  There are ways we could take these approaches further; ban drive-through liquor stores, tie car ignition to breathalyzer tests, ban smoking in homes with children, but each of these cuts deeper into our civil liberties.  The discussion of where the rights of the individual are trumped by the desire to protect the innocent must underpin any such decisions.

In The Price of Smoking, Frank Sloan argues that the real cost of a pack of cigarettes, including the personal, family and social costs, is about $40.  Other studies vary, but all agree that the real cost of smoking is much more than the taxes added to a pack of cigarettes.  With an average pack of cigarettes costing around five dollars in Kentucky, but over ten dollars in New York City, we are nowhere near recouping the costs of cigarette smoking from those who inhale them.  Cigarettes should cost more.  Alcohol too.

Any holistic view of how our society addresses substance abuse has to ask why do we treat drugs so differently from tobacco and alcohol?  We are making better progress reducing alcohol and tobacco demand and we are recouping at least some of the costs by having these substances integrated in our economy.  Wouldn’t we be better off to find some way to integrate drugs into our economy as well?  This would not be easy.  The system would have to be carefully regulated; the potential for corruption is great, and we run the risk that more readily available drugs would increase demand.  But given that our current approach to drugs, in which we harp on Mexico and other countries for creating supply instead of addressing our internal problem of demand, is not working.  Perhaps it is time to try something different.  We have a model for bringing a prohibited substance into our mainstream economy with fairly good success – we did it with alcohol after the fall of Prohibition.  If we believe individuals have the right to ingest harmful substances, our track record shows we do better as society structuring some form of legality to the substance and controlling it publicly, as we do with tobacco and alcohol, than we do covertly, as we try to do with drugs.

Our approach to abusive substances should be to educate people about their dangers, tax them to a level that reflects their true social costs, yet make them available in a regulated manner.  The same approach could apply to other forms of addictive behavior and the so called ‘victimless crimes’ of gambling, overeating, and prostitution as well.  None of these conditions are victimless, yet each will be easier to address if we are forthright in acknowledging that they exist, and determine how our society can offer individuals the right to participate in them while guarding the safety and well-being of those affected.  There is a reason why Nevada has the highest standards of health among prostitutes – it is legal and it is regulated.

If we consider the full spectrum of smoking, drinking, drug use, prostitution, gambling, or overeating, almost all of us are appalled by one or more of them, yet almost all of us participate in one or more of the others.  We have to recognize that these are human activities, they are going to transpire, and they will happen with more safety to the user and less collateral damage to others if we recognize them and permit them to occur in a sanctioned manner.

As my mind considered all the destructive behaviors that humans have concocted, I managed to take a right turn too soon and got lost along a lovely rural road of hills and large farms just south of Coventry.  I should have turned around as soon as I realized my mistake, but turning around is not in my DNA, and so I sallied forth with a general idea that I needed to go north and east.  That strategy works fine in a city with a grid, but is tricky on a winding road with the sun directly overhead. I noticed the mailbox numbers descending; I would eventually hit a cross road, though it turned out to be miles away.  It was hot. I needed lunch. I wondered if I should retrace, but the hills behind me were forbidding.  I kept forward and finally the country road dead ended into the frontage road of I-75. I traded shady swales for brutal concrete inclines as I made towards a water tower signed Walton.  I rocked my bike side to side as I climbed; my head light from the sun, my stomach needing food and my psyche needing bearing.  I stopped at the intersection and looked around.  I took a sip of water.  The knot of disorientation in my stomach craved satisfaction. This is how it feels to be adrift.  This is what it is like to grasp for something to ground you, to make the world around you align in some meaningful way. This is where some folks need a smoke, a drink, or a hit; a bag of chips or a roll of the dice.  This is where I needed a sign, which I found on the far side of the overpass, US 25 heading north.  I followed the sign, glad to have some bearing, but I did not feel fully confident again until three miles later, where I reconnected with the road I missed and knew where I was once more.

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The Case for Being an Architect

In January the Georgetown University Center of Education and the Workforce reported that students with a Bachelor in Architecture have the highest unemployment rate among all college graduates, 13.9%.  The statistic went viral in architectural circles, recycling the same professional gloom that greeted me over thirty years ago, when I earned my M.Arch in the middle of the recession of 1981.  I rebuffed the many naysayers who warned me architecture would be a volatile career and went on to enjoy continuous, satisfying work for over thirty years; work that I believe has made a meaningful contribution to our world.

The ironic timing of the recent report is that in January I left my full time position at TRO JB in Boston to split my effort between philanthropic work and firm responsibilities.  This transition towards retirement provokes reflection and prompted me to consider the benefits of devoting my career to architecture.

Let’s start with the most obvious and superficial reason.  Being an architect is cool.  Architects thrive at the intersection of art and technology, we deal with the fantastic and the prosaic, we create things that are both monumental and useful.  The cocktail party response to learning I am an architect is always a ‘wow’ even though my specialty is designing hospitals and I wear rather ordinary glasses.  Architects exist on a high plateau in people’s imaginations, and there is a kick to being an architect that any insurance agent, accountant, you name it, would envy.

The cool factor, shallow though it is, reflects the truth that an architect’s daily work contains more variety and exercises a wider range of skills than most other jobs.   Our specialty is spatial conception, but we also do significant analysis, writing, presentation, and field work.  Under the broad description of being an architect I have been a draftsman, a detailer, a designer, a specification writer, a construction administrator, an engineering coordinator, a medical planner, a programmer, a strategic healthcare analyst, and a Lean process improvement facilitator.   I have made presentations to clients, regulatory agencies, citizen groups, and fellow architects.  I have had all kinds of initials after my name, AIA, CSI, LEED AP, EDAC, Certified Greenbelt, but each flowed logically through an integrated career.  We hear about burnout among teachers, nurses, and many other professionals.  Architects don’t burn out, we evolve.

Part of the variety to being an architect is rooted in our potential work settings.  I began my career in a two person storefront office in Oklahoma City. My first built design was an unglamorous generator building for an apartment complex, but within five years we had designed and built hundreds of units of affordable and special needs housing throughout the state.  When I moved to Massachusetts I opted for a large firm and found a niche in healthcare, where I have had a hand in over $2 billion in construction that includes three Greenfield replacement hospitals, many large additions, and dozens of renovations.  Still, when my children were young and I needed flexibility I hung out my own single for a few years and had a successful, if bipolar, practice of designing upscale residential and affordable housing projects.

The flexibility inherent in being an architect is one of its many positive attributes. My motto is, “I always have something to do today, but I don’t have anything I have to do today.”  We work on deadlines, but they are measured in weeks and months, rather than the fifteen minute appointment intervals my medical colleagues suffer through.  We do our work best when we can do it deliberately, with time to evaluate the merits of different options.  That is a luxury work places governed by a clock cannot afford.

After employment uncertainty, the second most common complaint about being an architect is the compensation.  Architects are among the lowest paid professionals, yet my response to this is, we earn enough.  Star designers and architect developers can earn big bucks, the rest of us make a reasonable living.  I work with a lot of doctors who earn $400,000 or more per year, and most nurses top one hundred grand, but their stress level is commensurate with their salaries.  I accept an architect’s relative salary among professionals because I appreciate the intangibles of a creative, flexible work environment.  Even on my most productive afternoon I am not pressed to churn through the work volume that an ED doctor or nurse encounters on a busy shift.

In the final analysis architecture is as much a calling as a profession.  When my grade school friends fantasized about being a fireman or a policeman or an astronaut, I was busy filling a binder with drawings of buildings.  Choice didn’t factor into becoming an architect, I never considered anything else.  It is in my genes, and no depth of recession or salary belly aching could dissuade me.  When my son was unhappy studying engineering at Cornell, I asked if he ever considered architecture.  He said, “I think I could do it, but I don’t have the fire in my belly; the lights in the architecture studios are always on, those guys are really into it.”

In some small way I am making the employment picture rosier for new architects; retiring from full time work may open opportunities for new talent.  But I am not really retiring; another advantage of architecture is that you can practice as long as your mind stays quick.  Rather I am going full circle, to work on smaller buildings and enjoy a larger hand in their completion.  An offer to help a medical group in Haiti design a clinic in 2007 has morphed into a strong commitment to that magical country.  I currently have two projects in construction there and decided to lend my hand in onsite supervision, adding expediting and project management to my repertoire of professional skills.

Ultimately the Georgetown article is not going to make much difference either way.  I have never met anyone who went into architecture for any reason other than love, and love of career is just as immune from rational analysis and any other form.  I applaud the twenty year old who reads that report and decides, ‘I don’t care, I’m am going to be an architect anyway.’  He or she is going to have as satisfying and exciting a career as their imagination will allow.

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Pedaling Principles Chapter 10 – Indiana, Education at a Crossroads

New   Harmony, IN is an oasis of calm in a frenzied world.  Descending over the bridge from Illinoi sthe brilliant white contemporary visitor center designed by architect Richard Meier is an immediate cue that this is no ordinary town.  Harmony, IN was founded by Rappists in the early nineteenth century as part of George Rapp’s apocalyptic vision that his followers would create three model towns at ten year intervals in preparation for the Biblical Rapture.  His followers had already built and left Harmony, PA, devoted ten years to creating Harmony, IN as a model of industry and piety and then sold the entire town to utopian Robert Owen and naturalist William MacClure before returning to Pennsylvania to found their final community, Economy.  Despite completing the requirements of George Rapp’s prophesy, the Rapture failed to occur, the Rappists died out, and we are all still here today.

Meanwhile, Owen and MacClure renamed their town New Harmony, and imported a boatload (literally) of intellectuals to realize their more cerebral and secular vision of Utopia. New Harmony floundered as a social dream; there were too many lofty thinkers and not enough basic farmers. Owen left after two years, but the town persevered and in time made traction as a center of scientific study, particularly in the natural sciences. If New Harmony was never the most prosperous farming community inIndiana, it was certainly the most intellectual.

Today 800 people live in this pristine town, amidst many of the original Rappist buildings, a granary that housed natural science labs through most of the nineteenth century and the oldest library in the State of Indiana. Capitalizing on its history as a place where intellectual and spiritual forces come together, New Harmony has added a number of contemporary elements that complement its heritage, including a conference center, landscaped meditation gardens, an open air chapel designed by architect Philip Johnson, and Meier’s Athenaeum.  As an architect, I came to see the renowned buildings in New Harmony, but what captured my attention beyond the bricks and mortar and gleaming white metal was the intellectual curiosity that underpins the entire place.

The uncivil debates raging in Washington over our national debt seemed entirely removed from New Harmony’s thoughtful gentility.  Walking amidst the well-proportioned Rappist dwellings and manicured gardens on a succulent August day, observing the townspeople puttering about their errands on golf carts, the persistent question pulsing beneath the sublime calm and generosity is, why can’t everywhere be like this?  The answer lies in the roots of the place.  It was conceived with a different set of values from the world around it; a small group of like-minded people with a zealous work ethic yet scant interest in personal gain.  The Rappists succeeded in creating true harmony while they were here, a harmony so resilient that even as Owen’s Utopia failed and two centuries intervened, the initial intentions of the place endure.

New Harmony is so unique that it would be, well, utopian, to think that its essence could spread out over the entire country.  It was not a democracy.  George Rapp ruled, and even if the result was benevolent, it was still dictatorial.  However, it is useful to understand the salient traits that converged to create such harmony – industry, faith, thrift, celibacy, and education.  I’ve already discussed industry as a defining American characteristic and faith as I encountered it inMissouri.  I will focus on thrift later, and will abstain from giving any credence to celibacy, that peculiar trait of Roman Catholic priests and select nineteenth century American religions.  As I pedaled east out of the bucolic town, into equally inspirational farmland, I understood that the critical differentiator betweenNew Harmony and its surroundings was education.  Not just that people inNew Harmony had more educational opportunities than their neighbors, but how highly they valued education’s worth.

The new school year surrounded me wherever I went in Indiana.  I saw my first yellow buses carting rural children to class; the Evansville paper had a cover story about a snazzy new middle school, and Indiana University bumper stickers were ubiquitous.  The school year buzz was heightened by the package of educational reforms that Governor Mitch Daniels recently won – restrictions on collective bargaining, merit-based pay raises for teachers, expanding charter schools, and the most generous tuition voucher program in the nation.  The cumulative effect of these changes puts Indiana in the vanguard of making public schools competitive.  Proponents argue that competition will make public schools better; detractors counter that the changes will relegate public education to a bottom-tier dustbin, the last resort for students who cannot go elsewhere.  In late August of 2011 no one knew which side would prove correct; only time will tell the effects on the students of Indiana.

Primary and secondary education in Indiana is a big business.  There are 1.12 million children in school; just over one million are in the public system, spread among 354 districts; and 115,000 children attend 742 private schools. The public schools have more than 130,000 staff of which almost 60,000 are classroom teachers, which means that more than half the employees are not in the classroom.  (The source of this information, educationbug.org, does not provide staffing information on private schools.)  Since ten percent of Indiana children already go to private school, tuition vouchers for private school education will siphon some resources from the public system for students eligible for credits off the top.  But tuition vouchers also increase the likelihood that private school enrollment will grow, thus shifting more money away from the public system.  Expanded charter schools will increase the total number of schools at the public trough, which will divide up the education pie into more chunks.  Restrictions on collective bargaining will give public school teacher unions less clout, and merit-based pay raises will link teachers’ pay directly to their students’ performance.

What is prompting all this tinkering with our education system?  The answer is simple.  The system is failing.

For the past century the American public education system set the standard for the world.  As recently as 1900 only about 5% of Americans went to high school, but through the first half of the twentieth century a collaboration of events – our increasing affluence that allowed children to defer entering the workforce, the need for a better educated populace, the correlation between education and higher earnings, and the concept of ‘teenage’ as a specific phase of life, conspired to make high school the norm rather than the exception.  By 1950 80% of Americans graduated high school, and the term ‘drop-out’ became a derogatory for anyone who did not earn a high school diploma, even if she attended to her state’s minimum required age.  At the same time, thanks mainly to the G.I. Bill for World War II veterans, college became attainable to many.  By 1980 40% of American adults had two or four year college degrees.  We led the world in the number of college graduates; we were the best educated nation on the planet.

Unfortunately, we have not significantly budged that percentage of college graduates in thirty years, while other countries have forged ahead.  We are now ranked 12th in percent of population with college degrees among industrialized nations (Canada ranks first with 56%), while our high school graduation rate by 2010 had actually slipped to 75%, depressed in large part by graduation rates less than 65% for Black and Hispanic students.  At a time when brainpower is the dominant muscle in determining a country’s well-being, we have proportionately less brainpower than we did thirty years ago while the rest of the world is generating more and more.

Our response to this, as evidenced by the recent laws in Indiana, has been to blame the system without necessarily looking at root causes.  When we apply a guiding principles approach to designing a hospital with our clients, we often use Lean process improvement strategies to clarify our principles, establish parameters, and formulate success targets.  One key Lean technique is a root cause analysis known as the Five Why’s. We describe a problem and ask why it occurs.  The answer unveils a second why, and a third, and so on.  Usually, within five whys we arrive at a root cause.

Why is our educational system failing?  Our students are not acquiring the skills they need to succeed in the global marketplace.  Why?  Perhaps our standards are too lax, or our teaching methods are inappropriate, or our habit of passing students along creates lost learners.  Why?  Perhaps we are conflicted between the need for basic, testable skills and offering students’ variety and choice.  Perhaps it is because our educational system is so decentralized students across the US get very different opportunities.  Perhaps it is because students do not come to school prepared to learn.  Why?  Perhaps it is because our diversity obsessed culture cannot agree on a rudimentary knowledge base that all Americans should possess.  Perhaps it is because students arrive at school without a proper night’s sleep, good nourishment, and parental guidance for their school efforts.  Why?  Because, at the most fundamental level, too many citizens do not value education, for themselves or their children; we do not embrace it as the primary building block of a competitive and vibrant society.

Almost any education system can achieve good results teaching well nourished, well behaved, prepared and inquisitive students; vouchers and merit raises and charter schools are irrelevant if motivated, capable students line up at the door.  Similarly, a system that houses ill prepared and indifferent children from homes that do not instill a value of education will have poor outcomes.  As most of us know from the working world, a good attitude more than compensates for a limited skill set.  In the school setting where children are just developing their skills, a poor attitude is a non-starter.  So the most fundamental issue is, how do we create an environment where learning is valued by all?   In an ideal world, say, New Harmony Indiana in the 1840’s, human curiosity alone carried the day to encourage education.  The town was filled with people for whom learning in and of itself was one of life’s great satisfactions.  Unfortunately, we cannot depend on all people being so motivated, so we have to find ways to make education accessible and meaningful.

This begins with parents. It seems absurd to suggest we need to train mothers and fathers basic parental responsibilities, but we must acknowledge that twenty-first century America has a sizable portion of citizens who have grown up without witnessing any value to obtaining education, developing discipline, or establishing a work ethic. How can we fault young adults for not transmitting these essential values to their own children when they are foreign values to themselves?  We have a collective responsibility to help our youth become the best possible members of society they can.  Unfortunately, introducing a five year old from a household that does not foster learning into a classroom for six hours a day, five days a week is simply not enough time to provide the educational stimulus required to overcome his domestic disadvantages.

One encouraging possibility are the results of the KIPP-styled intensive education programs, where children spend ten to twelve hours a day at school, sometimes overnights, and Saturday sessions as well.  It is a total immersion into a world of learning, with the carrot that all students who graduate will get admitted to college with scholarship.  The MATCH Charter Public High School in Bostonhas been in operation since 2000, the student population is selected in a lottery from applications within the Boston Public Schools.  More than ninety percent of the students are minorities, more than three quarters live below the poverty line, yet they have 100% pass rate on the state exam to graduate high school and 99% of their students go to four year colleges, the vast majority of them on full scholarship.  I have great respect for the parents who release their children to these programs, because they tacitly admit, ‘I understand that education is important for my child, and I don’t know how to give it to her, so I am going to send her to this special place.’

Another program that is showing positive results with less intervention is the Kalamazoo Promise, in which a consortium of anonymous donors from Kalamazoo, MI pays four years of full time college tuition and fees to any Michigan state college or university to any student who graduates from the Kalamazoo Public Schools.  Since the program began in 2006, college attendance has risen, last year 95% of eligible graduates entered college.  Since students have up to ten years to use this benefit, the long term effects are not known, but they are trending positive.

These are only two examples of the myriad ways we could help instill higher value in education among all of our citizens.  To any who say that such programs are too expensive to apply across the board, the ancient adage of an ounce of prevention being worth a pound of cure is apt.  We spend between $25,000 and $50,000 per year to house a person in prison in this country.  Costs vary by state and type of prison, but even the low end is much more than the cost to educate him at the MATCH Charter School.  The cost argument is a non-starter; study after study shows that education pays untold dividends in a person’s life while enhancing her ability to contribute to society.  The real issue is one of focus.  MATCH receives support from numerous corporations, uses a corps of recent college graduates as energetic teachers and has individual tutoring affiliations with Boston’s top universities.  Accessing those resources for every Boston Public School child, and not just the ones who win the lottery, would be a tall order.

But what could be applied in a wider context is the MATCH school’s guiding principle statement, “A culture of discipline and learning with rigorous academics,” and the demanding success targets that MATCH derives from these aspirations.  Students from MATCH do not all graduate and attend college simply because they put in six years at MATCH.  They graduate and attend college because MATCH has created an environment where learning is valued and enables each student the opportunity to develop the academic skills required to reach her highest potential.

While we need to raise everyone’s appreciation of education and support home environments that encourage success in school, we must also address the shortcomings of our system as it exists today.  Two camps have developed around issues of education.  I call one the big labor/big industry model.  It promotes the use of public money only for public schools, strong teacher unions, and limited parental choice. The other is the free market model with a mix of public schools, charter schools, tuition vouchers, weak unions (if unions at all) and maximum parental choice.  Stated this way most Americans would lean towards the free market model as the preferred option, it resonates with our guiding principle of ‘Life,Libertyand the Pursuit of Happiness.’   But when we try to maximize the benefit for the majority without causing undue harm to any individual, there is an inherent conflict between the two approaches.

In the ideal world, all students would go to public school, the public schools would engage and challenge children of all abilities and everyone would benefit from the inherent diversity.  Strong public schools are the best way to achieve the societal goal of quality education for all.  But that ideal world is not the current state at most public schools, where high achieving students are not fully stimulated, low achieving students flounder and the median results continue to decline.  Given this reality the best educational choice for many individuals is to opt for charter, private, or even home schooling.  As more students leave the public system, and in states like Indiana, take their public dollars with them, the public schools further deteriorate, exacerbating the downward spiral.  The current situation creates a disturbing polarity between the societal goal of quality education for all versus the individual objective of each family wanting the best possible education for their own child.  This conflict is not going to resolve any time soon, with the pendulum currently in full swing towards more individual choice.  The days when ninety percent of American school children attend the public school in their neighborhood are gone, probably for good.   Personal choice will continue to grow, in the public sphere through magnet programs, in the quasi-public world of charter schools, in private schools, and in increasing home schooling.  This is consistent with the individualism branded to our national character, yet it obstructs the broader goal of equal educational opportunity for all.

How can we work towards an education system that provides opportunity for the full range of student’s needs yet achieves the broad desire to educate everyone?

First, the teachers and their unions need to acknowledge the failures of the public system, the reality of increased choice, and work positively to make the transition.  An unappealing conflict within the teacher’s union (which is also found in nursing unions and other so-called professional unions) is that the definition of a professional is someone who acts on behalf of another, usually due to specialized expertise beyond the general population, while unions exist to improve the conditions of the worker.  Legally, professionals are treated differently from tradesmen or manufacturers due to the judgment required in the more complex fields in which they operate.  This conflict makes the term ‘professional union’ an oxymoron; one cannot simultaneously act to improve one’s own condition and act on behalf of another.  In the case of teacher unions, when they promote the needs of teachers by establishing maximum classroom hours, restrictions on after school work, or increased benefits; the rest of us view these parameters as gains accrued to the teachers at the expense of the children.  Teachers need to take a less union-focused and more professional view of their world to see how they can best support the children they are supposed to teach.  With regards to merit-based pay, there is not a doctor, attorney, architect, engineer, or accountant in this country who is compensated solely by their tenure on the job. Their maturity is valued, but their individual contributions also factor into their compensation. Teachers argue they cannot be responsible for the progress of children who get assigned to them at random and who they teach in the classroom for only one year.  The logical response to this is, ‘why not?’  The world is complex and every measure of merit has contributing factors, but that doesn’t mean that we cannot find ways to reward teachers on their success.  Other professions do it.  It is appropriate to introduce a level of competition among teaching, just as it is in any other work environment.  The teacher unions would be better served developing fair measures of merit rather than trying to block the issue.

Second, we need to accept competition as the byproduct of individual choice offered by charter schools and private schools with tuition vouchers.  Although our initial response to competition is always good, we must make sure that it occurs on a level playing field; charter and private schools must suffer the same rules as the public schools.  If schools can be selective as to which students they accept, based on academic ability, special needs, race or creed, then they are not a true equivalent to a public school.  It is not fair to allow high achieving students to transfer out of public schools, and take their monetary allocation with them, if the public schools are the only recourse for children with special needs or behavioral issues.  Students who present a larger drain on the total educational system must have the same access to charter and private schools as the students any school would love to cherry pick.  Schools that receive any public support, either directly or through vouchers, must be subject to whatever standards or tests a state requires.  If schools want the public money, they need to meet public standards.

Which brings up all the wasted discussion about standards and tests.  We need to have standards and we need to have tests.  Students who graduate from our system, whether public, charter or private, need to be able to speak and write coherent English, perform basic math, have a background in history and civics, been exposed to at least some literature, music and art, and have a basic understanding of health and wellness.  Call them standards if you like but if we graduate students who cannot function in our society, we have failed them.  As to tests, they are part of life and students need to learn how to take them and perform well on them. I have a niece who applied for a summer job at a Chili’s restaurant.  She had to take a multiple page test as part of the application process.  She passed.  If we graduate students who cannot pass the application test at Chili’s, what kind of future are we offering them?  I hear the arguments that teachers are being thwarted in their creativity by being relegated to teach to the test, and I find the arguments insufferable.  As an architect I must comply with certain standards and codes to design a building so it is fit for its intended use, structurally sound, and safe for its occupants in the event of emergency.  We meet all these requirements for every building, yet we never design two buildings exactly alike, as the dictates of the site, the budget, and the client’s desires demand unique solutions.  The standards we have to meet do not deny our creativity.  They challenge it.  In the same manner, educational standards establish the minimum of what a teacher has to teach, but the genius of great teachers is not in what they teach, but how they plant that material in young and malleable minds.

One afternoon I discovered a sweet little motel in Salem, IN so I stopped early.    Many of the vintage motels do not have Wi-Fi access, but most McDonald’s have free Wi-Fi, so for the cost of a soft drink or an ice cream cone, I can spend an hour or two on the Internet.  As I was checking email a small family sat down next to me; a stout grandmother with only eye teeth, her thin, frail husband and a skinny, bouncy little girl.  Once they unwrapped their food and counted out their change to determine if they could afford another portion of fries, the grandmother began quizzing the child on basic multiplication tables.  At some point, about 8 times 2, our eyes met, so I smiled and commented how nice it was to hear a family practicing math together.

Having created an opening, the grandmother and the girl were quick to jump into conversation with me.  Where was I from?  Where was my car?  Why was I in Salem?  My situation perplexed the young girl.  How do you get money? Where do you stay?  You stay in a motel EVERY night?  My itinerant life looked glamorous in her eyes.  I told the girl I had saved my money so I could take a vacation, which prompted a blank stare.  “Please excuse the child,” the grandmother explained,  “she don’t understand things like vacation and motels.  She doesn’t know words like ‘savings’.  She only understands that we don’t have any money.  We’re poor.”

The grandmother described the facts of their life without a whiff of judgment.  The girl leaned up against me and fingered my netbook.  She lacked impulse control or a sense of personal space.   We tested how far she could hold the wireless mouse away from my monitor and still move the cursor.  She was too precocious.  “Where are your children?  Who is taking care of them?”  Her grandmother shooed the girl off to refill her soda.  “I appreciate you being patient with her.  Most people aren’t.  She’s eleven, you know (she looked no more than seven); the schools put her in Special Ed all this time.  She’s not slow; she just didn’t talk until she was nine.  Now I drill her all I can to get her into a regular classroom.”

The girl returned with a fresh soda and soon after the family left.  The grandfather said not a word the entire time.  I wondered about this girl who did not talk until age nine, about her lack of mother, about her luck in having a caring grandmother, about the depth of poverty it takes to not even know what the word ‘vacation’ means.  The girl is going to need more than her grandmother will be able to give before she can ever find her full potential in life.

I only hope that as Indiana sorts out its options for charter schools and merit raises and tuition vouchers, this is the girl the policy makers keep in mind, making sure she does not get lost in the battles between the big labor / big industry education camp and the free market camp.  No school that is dependent on simplistic measures of success or cost conscious results is going to welcome such a challenging case. Yet, giving this underprivileged child every opportunity to succeed in life is exactly the point of the discussion.


 

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Haitian Breakfast

Breakfast is not a big deal in Haiti. Although people are up at 5 or 6 am and busy about their work, no one seems to eat early in the day.  Since I am used to a hearty breakfast, I usually stow away a few pieces of bread from dinner because it is never clear what food may come my way before lunch.  Sometimes Gama gets food from the ladies who cook on site mid-morning.  He always shares, although it is hardly standard American fare.

“Mangoes for Breakfast!” Gama shakes a plastic bag full.  “So, do you want to eat mangoes Haitian way or American way?” He slides a five gallon bucket of water across the floor of the construction shack and dumps five mangoes to float in it.  “When in Rome,” I reply, but I get a quizzical look.  Idioms don’t translate.  “Haitian way.”  He smiles, straddles the bucket, picks a fat mango from the water and gnashes it with his teeth, peels away the skin and chomps down.

I peer into the water.  I am adventurous but not stupid.  I cannot put a mango washed with local water in my mouth.  “American way,” I shrug.  I pull a mango out and use my thumb to break through the soft peel.  “American way is with a knife,” Gama points out.   “You are doing Haitian way for Haitians’ with no teeth.”  It’s a good joke, but then again, maybe it is not.  People without teeth are a significant minority in Haiti.

The mango is sweet and pulpy, the juice gathers around my mouth.  It is the best I’ve ever eaten, but then again I am very hungry.

The next day we have goat head stew for breakfast.  The head is placed in a large kettle and boiled in a buttery sauce, think béarnaise without the flour.  Add chunks of yum, a papaya-like starch, and the obligatory onion.  When the head is tender it is cut into pieces and mixes with the broth and starch.  The skin turns deep grey and curls around the underlying muscle.

Goat head has a nice texture, but I did not find it as flavorful as the goat meat cubed into the evening stews or the char broiled chunks we sometimes get as a garnish to our rice and beans.  I suppose I am developing a sophisticated palate when it comes to goat.

 

 

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Images of the City Rebuilding

For architects and urban planners of a certain age Kevin Lynch’s The Image of the City is a formative book.  It forecast the end of Modernism, from Brasilia and Chandigarh’s gargantuism to the soulless banality of Pruitt-Igoe and Co-op City.  It was a scholarly analysis of the obvious, that people like variety and idiosyncrasy, that we understand our world through its hierarchy; that pattern and familiarity are essential backgrounds against which accents resonate.  The Image of the City established the terms landmark, node, link, and edge as the words we use to describe the urban environment to this day.

I think about these terms as I move through Grand Goave.  Grand Goave is a small city of 25,000 people.  It rests along the Bay of Gonave on the north coast of the Haiti’s western peninsula.  It has no zoning and not much government, yet the key elements of urban planning are evident.  There are two edges – the bay on the north and the river on the east.  Haiti National Route 2, which runs parallel to the coast, is the city’s main link.  It is the only blacktop road.  The market is along Route 2; that is where the tap-taps congregate (tap-taps are Haitian taxis) and Route 2 has the only bridge to Port-au-Prince.  The highway sits about half mile back from the sea; in between is a grid of streets, the arteries running between the highway and the bay, the tertiaries perpendicular to those.  South of Route 2 the land rises to mountains.  There are few roads in that direction and they are very steep, but there are many foot paths.  Since Haiti is not a country of robust institutions, Grand Goave is short of built landmarks, but the organization of the city is very clear.  Mountains to the south, bay to the north, urban grid on the flats and meandering paths in the hills.

On Saturday, for diversion, I walked from the BeLikeBrit orphanage site to the Mission of Hope School site along the mountain foot path instead of the steep road. I took photos of the city as it descends towards the sea. It has been two and a half years since I first came here, and the amount of physical change is phenomenal.  The city existed; the earthquake pulled it apart, and now it is being knit back together. It is not being rebuilt with a plan, yet the essential character of its urban space persists.

View of Grand Goave artery driving towards Route 2.  The main part of the city is hard surfaced and dusty.  Piles of masonry are everywhere. A year ago they were mostly rubble, now half the piles are rubble, the other half are new materials awaiting construction.

View across a valley and the bay.  The bright blue tarps are the walls of Samaritan’s Purse temporary houses.  The tarps are ubiquitous in the city and are used for all manner of covering. This blue has become the predominant color of the city.  The flats are to the left, the bay beyond, Port au Prince is beyond sight to the right.  The large tower in the middle is Digicel.  Digicel is the most advertised brand in Haiti.  Cell service is terrific.

This detail photo shows how a homestead that might evolve over years transforms much faster post-earthquake.  The blue house with the tin roof was built in August of 2010.  I know because my son Andy and I built it. I have a photo of him framing the roof.  In the ensuing eighteen months the owners have added a lean-to, a deck, and are now in the process of building a permanent concrete block house into the side of the hill.

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The Fool on the Hill

When the Beatle’s The Fool on the Hill hit the airwaves in 1967 I was twelve years old, the perfect age to be captivated by a song that denounced conventional motivation.  I always thought I would love to be the guy whose ‘eyes in his head see the world spinning round’.  That is, if I wasn’t so busy.

Paul McCartney credits the song’s inspiration to Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, but today, 44 years after the song’s debut, I discovered a true Fool on the Hill, a man who embodies the complimentary mystery, serenity, and inanity of the song.

A man sits outside the gate of the BLB orphanage, on a small bluff with his back to the sea.  A shred of blue tarp tied to a sapling and a few branches stuck in the ground provides shade.  He sits on a pile of rocks.  To his left the rocks are small boulders.  On his lap is a flat white stone.  In his right hand he holds a small mallet.  He picks up a boulder, taps it with his hammer into dozens of smaller pieces and slides the pieces down the pile on the right. He sits and hammers all day.  I never see him move from his position.  He must, because he is not there in the dark.  But all day long he sits and taps and breaks rocks.  I understand there is a market for his effort, that people buy his crushed rock to put in concrete.  No one will tell me the value of his work, but it cannot amount to much.

The man is deaf and dumb, which adds to his allure.  When someone lacks ordinary powers we ascribe to him an unknowable depth of other faculties.  He is serene in his posture; he appears at peace with his work, comfortable with his place in this world.  When I approach he waves, when I lift my camera he smiles as if to say, “People like to photograph me just being who I am.”

Of course this is all projection; the man has no opportunity to voice his thoughts.  Perhaps he is frustrated, a Stevens Hawkins genius trapped in an eternity of  rock tapping due to circumstances of birth and life beyond his control.  But somehow I doubt that.  To all the world he appears to be a man who knows his purpose and is neither haughty nor humbled by his station.  He is the man who taps rocks all day under a tarp, the fool on the hill.  The rest of us marvel at his tenacity, we thank god that we are not chained to his lot, yet we wonder if perhaps he doesn’t know more about life through his quiet work than we can ever know in our scurrying.

The Rock Tapper

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Pedaling Princples Chapter Nine – Crossing State Lines, Pay Toll

Illinois Route 14 heads east out of Crossville, a rigging town with the noxious air of energy about it.  The gently rolling fields of corn are punctuated by oil wells. The road flattens into a straight stretch of tall treed, low lying swamp on either side as it approaches theWabash.  A small toll booth rests on a rise of the road just before the bridge.  Two women sat there; they appeared to be mother and daughter.  There was no traffic, so we were inclined to talk.  “We get about 800 cars a day” the older woman explained when I inquired about the demand on the bridge.

I paid my quarter (yes, there is a listed toll for bicycles) and I rode over the bridge; the worst stretch of pavement on my entire trip.  Still it beat going six miles north to cross the river at Interstate 64, and farm equipment that is not allowed on the Interstate can cross at this bridge.

Turns out the bridge is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, mostly due to its connection to New Harmony, IN.  It was built in 1930 by a consortium out of Carmi,IL without any federal funds, hence the toll.  Apparently it does a little better than break even, which made me think the job of toll collector was not a lucrative one.  Sometime soon the road surface will need to be repaved; the bridge has also been declared structurally insufficient, whatever profit there is from tolls will not cover the millions of dollars in necessary repairs, so the bridge faces a future of mothballing or an infusion of public funds. Whatever the future holds, there is some value to the fact that for over seventy years the bridge has paid its own way.

I like tolls.  I don’t like to pay them any more then the next guy, but I like the direct connection they create between a public amenity and those who use it.  The most transparent way to correlate the cost and benefit of any social good is to assign a price to it, and tolls do that well.  They are not perfect; I would have paid more than a quarter to cross that bridge.  Still, the bridge commission got a quarter from me for a half mile stretch of lousy pavement, while I paid nothing to directly compensate for my use of the other 3,000 miles of roads I traversed.

The more that government can ascribe tolls (user fees) to amenities that are quantifiable, the better understanding we have between a service and its cost.  Ideally, the fees in aggregate equal the cost of delivering the service.  What differentiates a toll from another tax is that the citizen can choose whether to pay the toll and access the service, or not.

Besides directly paying for specific services, tolls can be a tool to adjust demand. Far away from the banks of the Wabash, drivers who want to bring their automobiles into Central London must pay a toll.  This has little to do with the actual cost of maintaining the paved streets in London, it is to control traffic in the city.  Therefore the toll serves a dual purpose; reducing the number of cars in London while generating revenue to the government.

Sales taxes, which are rampant in theUnited States and can be assessed at the state, county, or city levels, are sometimes like tolls, but not always.  Where sales taxes are set only on ‘optional’ items, like luxury goods or meals in restaurants, they are similar to tolls.  Specialty taxes on cigarettes and alcohol and hotel rooms are targeted sales taxes that generate revenue from people who are buying something that, presumably, they can do without.  The particulars get muddy; smokers are often addicted so they do not perceive cigarettes as optional and hotel taxes extract revenue from visitors who have no voice in the local government, but the concept is valid.  However, where sales taxes are applied across all purchased items, they do not function like tolls because people do not have an option to avoid them.  As long as bread is a necessity in life, a sales tax on bread is a pure tax.

The reason why tolls are good as a direct alignment between cost and benefit is exactly why people do not like them. We like to think that we live in this country for free and hate being nickeled and dimed by taxes at every turn.

Before the Interstate highway system was built, many states had limited access expressways with tolls to offset their construction and operation.  When the Interstate system was proposed to create a complete network of highways, it is unfortunate that tolls were not integrated into the entire system.  They could have been used not only to build the highways but to maintain them as well. Fifty plus years later we have massive infrastructure problems and are strapped for resources to fix them.  In Oklahoma, where I lived for many years, the network of toll roads is probably the most extensive in the country, but people in the mostly rural state like having major highways even if the traffic volume does not justify the cost.  They are willing to pay tolls for the convenience of four lane highways between small cities and towns.  In every case there is the option of a parallel two lane route, but most people choose to pay the toll.

My quarter over the Wabash was money well spent.  If there had been other tolls along the way, I would have paid willingly.

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Lean Thinking Comes to Haiti

One of the more peculiar paradoxes of my life is that I spend two weeks every month in the Unites States, where much of my work deals with Lean process improvement, and two weeks in Haiti, where the concept process improvement is as foreign as, well, me.  So I found great joy today in introducing ‘continuous improvement’ to our BLB orphanage project by creating a small template to ‘mistake proof’ the repetitive process of installing reinforcing in our floor slab.

There is over 50,000 feet of #5 reinforcing bars in the floor slab of the orphanage. The slab is going to be 9” thick with the bars running north/south and east/west in the top and bottom of the slab.  The challenge is to keep the bars as far apart as possible for strength yet provide 1” of clearance on the bottom and the top for concrete cover – exposed bars rust and weaken the slab.

The crews are used to doing one thing completely, then the next, then the next (batching).  They started to place the north/south reinforcing across the entire building but we asked them to finish a test area with all the reinforcing in place, tied off, at the right height, and ready for the concrete pour.  This was a challenge to communicate but eventually they completed one room.

The variance was great; some top bars were too low, others too high, some too close to the face of the slab.  I took out my tape measure and began explaining in pigeon Creole the different dimensions required but it was hopeless.  There are too many variables in placing reinforcement and they all relate to a phantom plane, the top of the slab, that no one can see.  That’s when Lean thinking popped into my head – make it visual, make it mistake proof.

After the crews had gone, Gama and I cut some plywood into a simple template that the workers could slip into the rebar top and bottom.  The template provides a clear line at the top and bottom of slab for visual reference, and shows exactly where the rebar needs to nest.  The rough cut we made out of plywood was not quite right, so I refined its proportions at actual scale on a piece of paper and the next morning the carpentry crew cut one out.  We took it to where the rebar crew was placing and tying reinforcing (go to Gemba) and it worked well, so one carpenter spent the morning building seven more. Every member of the rebar crew got one, as did I, mister quality control.

It took the workers a while to get used to the jig.  First they tried to muscle it into place.  Then they realized that the point was not to force fit the rebar.  I checked in every hour or so and in mid-afternoon, as four of them were finishing up the second room, they smiled up at me and shouted, “Good! Good!”  Leon, the crew boss, sturcxk the pose for this photo, showing off his new work saving device.

Rebar Jig

Leon and his new tool

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Concrete Night

I am sitting at a picnic table under a bare bulb in the middle of Mission of Hope.  It is 6:45 pm, which in Haiti means it is black as midnight.  I will try to describe the scene, but it is so bizarre I will fall short

Mission of Hope is a walled site along the highway, 100 feet wide by 200 feet deep, but not actually a rectangle.  The site slopes up to the south.  At present the entire center is excavated deep for the new building.  Narrow paths wind up each side of excavation, to reach the toilet stalls that line one side or the storage buildings that line the other.  The storage buildings are the only ones that survived the earthquake intact; plywood sheds have been added to their roofs where the children attend school until the new building is complete.  The paths are as little as three feet wide with a vertical drop of over ten feet in some places.  During the day children scamper along the treacherous paths and through the construction site, the girls in pleated skirts with lace epaulets on their anklet socks, the boys in blue slacks with homemade belts cinched around their thin waists.  The site would give OSHA apoplexy.

The students are gone now, but there are still dozens of children milling around.  To my right, towards the highway, the site is relatively flat.  There is a wood and metal roofed lean-to that serves as the church these days.  Right now there is choir of young girls singing praise, swaying and clapping.  Next to that is a temporary wood framed building that acts as the office until the new school is complete.  Dinner for the missionaries sits in there on a folding table, pots of rice and beans and fresh baked bread that has a smoky anise taste to it; sickly sweet juice I only drink as dessert.  Behind me a local woman is cooking for the workers in a gigantic pot on an outdoor charcoal stove.  No one is eating though; there is too much action to my left.

Fifty or sixty people fill the construction area, most of them young Haitian men, a few blans like me to guide the process.  I was hard at it all day but once night swept down active construction felt unsafe for me.  I pulled rank as the oldest blan and will sit out the rest of the night.  The big concrete mixer churns; there is a quintet of guys loading buckets of sand, another quartet shoveling in buckets of gravel and cement.  Each group forms a brigade and flings the five gallon buckets from the piles of sand or gravel towards the mixer.  They chant as they toss, which creates an odd duet with the girls’ choir.

At the other end of the rotating machine is a bin about six feet square that accepts the mixed concrete.  One tall man in hip boots stands in the green concrete and shovels it into waiting buckets with the grace of a dancer.  There are eight, maybe ten laborers who hoist buckets of concrete to their shoulder and snake through the excavation to the back wall.  We are pouring a section of wall three feet high by fifty-six long with seven pilasters that will serve to hold back the hill when the rains come and the earth shakes.  It is about 16 cubic yards of concrete.  In the States it would be an easy day’s pour for a crew of six or eight.  Here it is a major undertaking.

We started before six this morning, at first light. First everyone was in a prayer circle; then we broke into crews.  I worked with two Haitians most of the day cutting and bending several hundred pieces of rebar into different shapes. Two crews of agile climbers mounted the walls and installed the reinforcing, using metal twist ties to connect the bars, extending them upward to connect to future pours.  Another crew removed the forms form the lower section of concrete, oiled them, repaired them, and reinstalled them at the higher level.

The last step is pouring the concrete itself, dumped from buckets held overhead on a ladder and then vibrated into compaction.  We will transport close to a thousand buckets of concrete to fill the forms.  Right now the rebar guys are gone, the reinforcing is in place and the final formwork is being pounded to fit.  The mixer is rumbling, the temporary lights are burning, and the vibrator is humming against the dark.  It is a very noisy place.

________________________________________

I just took a break in the action while the power went off.  Twice.  In between a gaggle of young boys stormed my computer.  They hung on to me as I showed each of them how to type their name on a keyboard.  They loved watching the letters appear on the screen.  Three and four year olds in the States know how to use keyboards, iPads, all range of technology, but here a laptop is exotic and they are not familiar with a mouse or a click or a space bar.  After they typed their own names they prompted me to type and  just stared at my fingers gliding over the keys.

________________________________

Ten p.m.  The concrete pour is finished.  The workers are eating piles of rice and beans and soft drinks from the wheelbarrow full that Travis the electrician bought for all.  Lex makes a speech of appreciation for the hard work, and then sharpens his voice to make sure everyone cleans up; the site will be full of children again tomorrow.  After all the workers have left, the blans congregate in the office for a design meeting.  Some key construction people are heading back to the States tomorrow and we have to coordinate the patchwork of materials and schedules to continue progress.  We leave after midnight, tired but content in a job well done.

Concrete batching area

Pouring the concrete into formwork

 

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Searching for Ourselves in Great Books

Every year, as an exercise in discipline and self-improvement and to gain some of the liberal arts education I lacked as an MIT tool, I read a great book.  Not something defined as great by the whims of popular culture, but made great by standing the test of time.  My selection has to be long, it has to be dense, and it has to be uniformly considered a classic.  No pain, no gain.  I usually coax a few others to join the effort in order to increase the chance of success.

I do not always succeed; four hundred pages of Don Quixote’s adventures were quite enough.  I have been known to relax what constitutes reading; I resorted to an audio version of Moby Dick to plough through those endless analytics of the whale.  Still, I usually enjoy the books; I would not have discovered the 1300 page beauty of Les Miserables without this rigor, and I always feel satisfied, if no smarter, when I am finished.

This year I am tackling The Brothers Karamazov, along with two voracious reader friends of mine. Our goal is to discuss it all by mid-March.  I am only a hundred pages in and like the Russian winter, it is a long slog.  So far I like the action, when there is any; the descriptions are fine, and I can glaze over the crazy long names without ever really articulating them.  The tough parts are the speeches, but of course the speeches are the whole point of Russian novels.  Each character represents some larger truth, and the truths do battle through their words.

The other night, only at page 60, I was wondering how I could possibly endure the entire book, when in the middle of the chapter ‘A Lady of Little Faith’ Dostoevsky, through the voice of Father Zossima, introduces the concept of ‘active love’, a love expressed through our actions towards others as opposed to our interactions with them.  As a person who discovered early in life that I far prefer to work on behalf of people than with them, this idea resonated.  My attention perked further as the wise Father Zossima launched into a parable of the doctor who admits, ”The more I love humanity in general, the less I love man in particular”.  The doctor draws a humorous line that correlates how much time he  spends with an individual, with how much he comes to detest him.

I don’t recall ever seeing in print a perspective that so closely matches my own.  I love mankind much more then any specific man.  I have wonderful friends whom I think of as ‘two hour’ people; folks I like to have dinner with on a regular basis.  We catch up, we socialize, but I never think of spending an entire day with them.  Go away on a vacation with someone?  A recipe for certain torture as our middle aged neuroses bang against each other with increasing velocity.  I travel through life alone, loving mankind through a filter, whether it be movement (on a bicycle trip) or language and culture (in Haiti).  I am fascinated by human beings, our similarities, our differences and our idiosyncrasies, but I am not too inclined to want to know any single person too well.

Needless to say it feels anti-social, even a bit creepy in a world that heralds the virtue of having a mate, to admit no interest in bonding with another individual. That is probably why, though I can trace the seeds these sentiments to childhood, I have never actually announced them before, and certainly never written them down.

Now that Dostoevsky has spoken so directly to me, I am paying closer attention.  I will get to know the brothers Karamazov well, through the comfortable filter of the printed page.  Great books are great because of how they capture the universal experience of man.  We read them seeking insight into our nature. Yet what we really seek in every word, is to find ourselves, our own reflection, among the vast universe spun by these incredible stories.

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