“Read the crowd”
Jeff Nelligan • February 26, 2024
Teaching your kids how to understand and operate in the real world.
Leave it to the eminent psychologist Ron “Jaws” Jaworski, B.A., Youngstown State, 1973, to define the essence of a confident worldview: “Facemask up!” It was his signature comment when talking about a pro quarterback leaving the pocket and instead of keeping his eyes up field to find the open receiver, was looking down at his feet as he ran.
It’s a plain tale in a cluttered age and the meaning is simple: Be alert. Pay attention. Take in your surroundings. Examine and understand the landscape in front of you. Here’s one for the modern-age kid: Get your eyes off the glowing rectangle and absorb the world. The more one absorbs the world, the more confident one becomes.
Because I have spent many years as an operative in the political realm, I’ve become skilled at helping principals navigate through individuals - five, fifty, five hundred - and I was keen on situational awareness. “SA” as the boys and I called it means eyes and ears focused; it’s about getting a feel for the dynamics of the people whom you are around, and the places in which you find yourself.
I wanted them to have active minds that eschewed taking anything at face value, minds that really tried to understand the behavior and temperaments of their peers and the converse, total strangers. I wanted them to know how to handle themselves in the real world, in routine and unfamiliar circumstances.
Here’s how the instruction began: When they were young – the eldest only nine-years old, the four of us were in a crowded department store where I had gone to buy a blazer. Standing here amidst the press of people, looking for a salesman, I told them in a whisper, which got their immediate attention, “Guys, I want you to watch this closely.”
I carefully walked by several salespeople in the men’s clothing area, glancing back at the boys each time, then circled back past the fourth to a third guy. I got the answer and I help needed from him and came back to the boys. “OK boys, tell me what you saw.” They talked over each other about my walking around and passing by different clerks and then the middle kid spoke for all. “Why did you go to that guy? He wasn’t even next to the jackets.”
“Here’s why, and pay attention. Everywhere you go, in every situation, you gotta look at people and figure them out fast.” Blank stares. I doggedly continued: “If you need some-thing, like I needed this blazer, you need to decide who is the best person to help you. I looked at the four sales guys – their clothes, the way they were standing, if they looked nice and smart, if they were smiling. Then I made my decision and chose that one man because I thought he would help me the most. Gents, you gotta read the crowd.” There was a faint glimmer of understanding, but there was a ways to go.
How did I drive it home? Simple. I made them do it. Not long after, we were in the corridors of a big indoor mall. I took three $5 bills out of my wallet and handed one to each kid. “Here’s the deal. I want each of you to go into one of the stores along here and get change for the fiver. This isn’t a race. You have to go alone and then come back tell me about what you did.”
Of course, I had their total attention. This was action on their part and they were excited. Yeah, I kept an eye on them, the youngest being five. Each one took off, navigating through shoppers, going into various stores, two striking out and coming back out and into other stores.
They were overjoyed, to share their stories when they got back. We did this change-the-five deal often. There were other stunts. I’d have the 9-year-old go into a convenience store with cash – and some of these were rough-and-tumble places - to get beef jerky and Doritos. I’d pull into the parking lot of a carry-out restaurant and instruct the 8-year-old take our order, memorize it, and then go into the place and get it and pay for it. At airports, I put the eldest, then later the middle kid, in charge of getting boarding passes, either from a kiosk or handling everything with an agent while the rest of us stood by. At ages 11 and 10.
All three sons soon became accustomed to this independence. They’d become totally engaged in these “tests” and after they’d be thrilled, as only young boys can be, to talk about their treks. By making it a game, I immediately won the boys’ participation.
Fast forward: The eldest at age 15 is at big train station in New Jersey, confused about schedules and noise and surging people. He gets himself calmed down and starts looking around him and sees a kid carrying an orange duffle bag emblazoned with “McDonogh School Athletics.” My son has played against this school and thus feels comfortable in introducing himself to the kid and asking advice. It turns out the guy knows all about schedules and points s my son to the right train.
The middle kid, not quite eight-years-old, is at a bowling alley and an arcade machine eats his money. He doesn’t lose his cool, loiters around, waits for the same thing to happen to an older kid and then discovers, by watching the older kid, who the attendant is in charge of fiddling with the machine and refunding the money.
Virtually everywhere we went, from the most pedestrian places to the most exciting, we’d play the game. What do you see? Who is doing what? Who is hot and who is not? “Take in all the folks around you, measure them. Which one would you trust? Who is sketchy?” You need to impress upon your son these opportunities in the arena all around us.
The youngest son, six-years old, is at a kids’ party at a big shopping mall, with a pair of hopelessly disorganized parents who drift away with a group of youngsters, leaving my boy and two other kids in the midst of a huge food court. You’re a Dad - you can only imagine the initial panic the kids felt when they realized they were alone.
But aha, Nelligan Junior knows what to do. He recalls what I told him and his brothers once when we were in the surging crowds at a local college football stadium. “You guys are small so if you get lost somewhere in a bunch of people, look for that guy with a stripe running down their pants. That’s a policeman or a soldier and they’ll help out.”
At the mall, my kid tells that to the two other kids and they stand for a few minutes, intently staring at passing legs.They see a mall security officer, who eventually links them up with the irresponsible parents.
Self-assurance just doesn’t happen, it’s gained through encounters of all kinds. Whether it’s a group of four or a mob of several hundred, get them reading the crowd. Here’s a challenge to parents: Undertake one of the examples noted above – gently push your kid into a situation where he or she has to be alert and think on their feet in this everyday world around us all.
You’ll be giving your child an inestimable lesson on the independence that creates a resilient kid.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Every Dad in America wants to raise a resilient kid.
Four Lessons from My Three Sons charts the course.
Written by a good-natured but unyielding father, this slim volume describes how his off-beat and yet powerful forms of encouragement helped his sons obtain the assurance, strength and integrity needed to achieve personal success and satisfaction. This book isn't 300 pages of pop child psychology or a fatherhood "journey" filled with jargon and equivocation. It's tough and hard and fast. It’s about how three boys made their way to the U.S. Naval Academy, Williams, and West Point – and beyond.
He discusses his inspiration for satire and the enduring appeal of “Animal House.”
We begin at the very beginning. Where else? It’s an early autumn evening and two excited freshmen saunter under the swaying elms lining the Faber College quad. It’s fraternity Pledge week and Larry Kroger and Kent Dorfman are on their way, theoretically, to meet new friends and share cheerful bonhomie, forge lifelong bonds and celebrate virtuous brotherhood all around. Nothing could be further from the truth. These two pilgrims are actually beginning a Homeric Odyssey of the Innocents through the Faber Greek system, at the end of which they will emerge…but hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Now, imagine holding to your eyes a kaleidoscope displaying an array of shifting scenes following our unwitting frosh duo, who serve as the chief catalysts of the film. Along with other chief catalysts. Who are they? Let’s find out. ______________________ “I, state your name…” Up the steps of a fashionable residence they stroll and a door opens into the Nietzschean hell of Omega Theta Pi. “Hi there, Doug Neidermeyer. Omega Membership Chairman.” This wonderfully patronizing voice foreshadows the rocky road ahead for our heroes. While sneering at Larry, Neidermeyer shuts the door on Kent’s head. Moments later, Omega Name Tag Hostesses Mandy Pepperidge and Babs Jansen cruelly take stock of the two, the latter voicing the endearing line that adorns this chapter. Forcefully guiding them away from the white Anglo-Saxon super-race of winners in the main room, our Membership Chairman delivers Larry and Kent to the nearby Third World sitting room where overt racism, antisemitism and ableism reach an instant and shocking peak. “Hi there fellas,” says Neidermeyer to the room’s hapless occupants, “I’d like you to meet Ken and Lonnie. Ken, Lonnie, let me introduce you to Mohammad, Jugdish, Sidney and Clayton.” Baleful stares emanate from the unfortunate trio on the couch and the inhabitant of the adjoining wheelchair. Then with his sphinxlike smile Neidermeyer adds, “Now, just grab yourselves a seat and make yourselves at home.” He forcefully pushes Lonnie onto the couch and then pats the corpulent Ken on the stomach while uttering one of the most vicious lines of the film: “And don’t be shy about helping yourself to the punch and cookies.” Spine-tingling action presaging the epic battles to come. Indeed, you can almost see the blind and crippled Clayton come to life. But hold on. Kent escapes this obvious trap to wander into the A-Listers piano lounge where Omega President Greg Marmalard, regency pipe in hand, holds forth to future shock trooper Chip Diller. Let’s listen in: “Now I’m not going to say Omega is the best house on campus. But a lot of outstanding guys figure they’ll pledge Omega or they won’t pledge at all. We do have more than our fair share of campus leaders. Something that never looks bad on your permanent record, Chip.” A pushy Chip Diller replies smarmily, “Well sure, everyone I talk to says Omega house is the best but…” Here Chip pauses and then continues, “I hate to seem you know, pushy…” Marmalard breaks in knowingly. “Let the unacceptable candidates worry about that because after tonight – “ Suddenly a sweaty Dorfman lurches into view next to Chip and Greg concludes “…there you are.” Oozing a mixture of insincerity and guile, Marmalard doesn’t miss a beat. He politely introduces Kent to Mandy Pepperidge and Chip, “…and over there is Terry Arbock, captain of the swim team, and that’s Carl Philips, editor of the Daily Faberian. And over here…” Marmalard skillfully steers him back to the land of the misfit toys “…is Clayton, Sidney, Jugless, Muhammad, Lonnie.” “We already met,” says Kent dolefully. “Ah, super! Then you’ll have plenty to talk about!” We have glimpsed our pure anti-heroes, Doug and Greg, and the percolating evil of Omega House in just 53 seconds. Are the battle lines drawn in this epic? Not quite yet, but the pencils are being sharpened. Shaking themselves free of the obvious Omega winners, Larry and Kent are outside again trudging onwards while the latter takes aim at his comrade’s pessimism. “I don’t think you’re trying very hard,” Dorfman says in exasperation. But he finds solace as they approach the known fraternity next door inasmuch as his brother was a Delta. “They gotta take me. It’s like their law. Don’t worry, Larry. I’ll put in a good word for you.” Moments later, in what some scholars call the most riveting scene in the film, Bluto urinates on their shoes. Another kaleidoscope of images bombards us from which there is no turning away. Because here we have another door opened - again that crafty symbolism! – and Delta Tau Chi is revealed to our nascent pledges. It’s a world of absolute mayhem (some use the word “symbolic” as a contrast to the hushed tones of the uptight Omega tea party). The squalid dwelling’s walls are covered in graffiti and cheesy posters and stolen road signs, loud music (a contrapuntal to the Liberace next door) and deafening conversation, beer bottles explode in every room and soon a motorcycle* breaks through the front door and is driven up the stairs to the second floor. Kent interrupts a high-stakes card game and Larry gazes at the breasts of a water-filled mermaid. ____________________ Author’s note: Carefully perceive here how the maudlin “coming of age” youth syndrome, normally years in the making in American life, is compressed into mere moments in this film. Striking. _____________________ Dorfman is soon introduced by Delta Tau Chi President Robert Hoover to Delta Rush Chairman Eric Stratton and his sidekick, Donald “Boon” Schoenstein. “Ken’s a legacy, Otter” says Hoover earnestly, “His brother Fred was a ’59.” Flounder helpfully interjects. “He says legacies usually get asked to pledge automatically.” Otter responds. “Oh well, usually. Unless the pledge in question turns out to be a real closet case. Like Fred.” Flounder gasps, “My brother!” Consider: Within five minutes the entire cast – minus one – is introduced. How do the screenwriters do it? Good question. Let’s fast forward because we can. At the official Delta Tau Chi Membership Meeting photos of Larry and Kent are projected by a slide projector on a beer-soaked bedsheet, provoking derisive cries of outrage and the heaving of empties. But as one savvy brother observes, Delta needs the dues. It is here we are witness to a unicorn moment which has escaped previous scholars and maybe even my esteemed readers. Dorfman’s pathos-ridden mugshot is shown, prompting Otter to rise to his feet to address his Delta brethren and defend Kent’s obvious unsuitability for any fraternity any where. This is the sole moment of kindly grace we see will see from Otter in the entire film. Noteworthy, but fleeting. In the seeming next moment, Hoover is wearing pajama bottoms, a Santa Claus jacket and a Viking horned helmet and initiating the pledges with the sacred Delta oath. In between belches, Sergeant-at-Arms Bluto majestically reveals their brotherhood identities, which is followed by the obligatory fraternity bonding scene: beer suds flying in the air and drunk young men dancing together and butchering the lyrics of culturally appropriated music....
Emile Faber, President of Faber College - 1904
It's 8:30 a.m. on a humid August Tuesday and I’m on the roof of the U.S. Capitol, the Dome rising 280 feet directly above. In my arms is a stack of thin boxes and I’m navigating a plywood gangplank leading to a rusted 15-foot flagpole. A colleague joins me carrying more boxes. She opens one and hands me a 2’ by 4’ American flag which I affix to the pole’s lanyard, raise and lower quickly, unfasten and hand to her as she hands me another. A third colleague brings out more boxes and retrieves the ones containing flown flags. This little dance continues for three straight hours. Afterwards, my colleagues and I carefully re-fold each flag and affix to it a “Certificate of Authenticity from the Architect of the Capitol” reading “This flag was flown over the U.S. Capitol in honor of____” and fill in the blank: “The Greater Bakersfield, California Chamber of Commerce”…the 80 th birthday of Wilbert Robinson of Bowie, Maryland, proud veteran of the Vietnam War…” We will perform this task for five days a week until Congress returns from recess. This is my very first job in Washington, D.C. and obviously, I have what it takes. *** Flag duty began my 32-year run in politics and government, which ended last week. It included four tours of duty on Capitol Hill working for three Members of Congress, two Presidential appointments serving Cabinet officers in the Departments of State and Health and Human Services, posts at two independent agencies, and a career position at FDA. The jobs were a mix of purely political positions where being on the south side of an election meant cleaning out your desk and getting good at catchy LinkedIn posts – twice that happened - and career federal government stints where the stakes were less exhilarating. *** I worked principally as press secretary and special assistant. The former job, a common D.C. occupation, was transformed in 2008 with the onset of social media, morphing from daily pronouncements of your boss’s wisdom on the issues of the day to rapid-fire postings on the obvious unreasonableness, even cruelties of your opponents. Sound familiar? As for the latter occupational specialty, special assistant, the terms ‘bagman’ or ‘fixer’ are more apt: A guy always two steps behind the principal but always ready to step up and fix whatever problem arose in daily political life. Need a special vegan lunch for Congressman Busybody, White House tour tickets for the Big Bad High volleyball team, or the personal phone number of the executive assistant to a heavy-duty lobbyist? I was your guy. Every leader needs a fixer. Like anyone else who works in D.C., I occasionally participated in a glam political moment – you know, that unique, epic event that would never ever be forgotten in D.C. history Until it was. *** The best part about government life was working for many men and women who were at the top of their game in the D.C. Swamp, one of the toughest arenas on the planet. Their success, from the vantage point of your humble correspondent, was attributable to four simple rules of life. “If you can’t measure it, it didn’t happen.” Every office I was in kept metrics on virtually every aspect of the principal’s week – how many meetings and events attended, X posts, interviews, committee votes, constituent letters, action items completed from memos?! Numbers, numbers, and always keeping score – and always the quest to improve. “Never lose it.” In a lifetime of political jobs, I may have heard a boss raise her or his voice half a dozen times, even during and after major-league setbacks. Self-control was their hallmark. One boss, a powerful House Committee chairman once confided to me, “I’m fine that 80 precent of my job is humoring these guys, no matter how crazy they get.” An equally valuable corollary skill: Humility. The ability of these individuals to admit to colleagues and staff when wrong on a particular issue. Which counterintuitively only upped their long-term credibility. “Something’s always gonna go south.” Always the need for a plan C. Every initiative during an upcoming day was scoured for what elements would interfere and how, if they occurred, they could be ameliorated. Hence, in the rare times when things did go south, there was always preparation in advance for getting to 80 percent of what was needed. “Good is not good enough.” Successful politicians and government leaders – and their staffs – never get complacent. If they do, they’re not long for the Swamp. Everyone is always hustling for the edge. A useful corollary learned from an NCO when I was in the Army: Always have your hand up. Volunteering is at the heart of the hustle, the cheerful willingness to take on the new and unknown and do whatever it takes. *** And that’s how it all started. On the second day of my first congressional tour the Member solicited volunteers “for a fun recess job that’ll get you out of the office.” It was flag duty and from that day onwards my government career could only go up. *****
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The key parent and kid marker
Musing on the practical wisdom of Four Lessons from My Three Sons