BY TED SHOCKLEY, Eastern Shore Post
As a child on the Eastern Shore of Virginia in the 1970s and 1980s, I knew who the local leaders were, even if I was too young to know what leadership actually was.
The leaders didn’t tell me they were leaders, of course.
In fact, these people showed no real outward indications of influence or affluence — they didn’t really wear spiffy clothes or drive fancy cars.
They were rarely the chattiest people in the room. As I saw it, leaders were publicly quiet and understated.
But they were leaders nonetheless. Along the way they had been conferred a degree of community standing that was apparent to me, even at my young age.
These people weren’t necessarily elected officials, nor did they have advanced degrees or big offices.
They had not been formally appointed to positions of community influence. They probably never sought the informal social authority they held.
But they had innate credibility, fostered strong relationships, and acted ethically. They were hard workers and people of their word. They were pleasant and polite.
And they projected an aura of trust and decency that even an elementary school kid like me could feel.
Sometimes I wonder whether children can feel and sense this same leadership in today’s adults.
I also wonder if we produce enough leaders today with the qualities of the leaders I knew as a child.
I hope children today don’t associate leadership with arrogance or egoism, belligerence or intimidation, shiny accumulations or tacky self-promotion.
I’ve spent some time lately thinking about the people I knew as a child who exuded some sort of leadership and what made them community pillars.
The adult leaders of my youth were private, accountable, and subtly optimistic.
They had a comforting stoicism and were never artificially enthusiastic or the-sky-is-falling pessimistic. They had emotional genuineness.
It was as if they had seen and experienced great triumph and great difficulty, and used those experiences to put everything else in perspective.
The leaders of my youth served people, groups, and institutions — they served their neighbors, served their communities, and served their country, in ways large and small.
They were male and female and came from all types of races and backgrounds.
I’d see them in church, or shopping at the grocery store, or sitting at the hardware store in town. I’d see them when I accompanied my father, a longtime volunteer fireman, when he went to the firehouse for a meeting or fundraiser.
I may have been 5 or 10 years old, but people I considered leaders always spoke to me when they saw me.
From their handshakes, I learned what a good handshake was.
They would ask me how my grandparents were doing or how my school grades were. As Christmas neared, they asked me what I wanted Santa Claus to bring.
They had simple qualities that gave them a particular community standing.
They had a quiet dignity — and they also recognized the inherent dignity in other people, no matter someone else’s viewpoint or lot in life.
They listened more than they spoke. But when they spoke, people listened.
They didn’t really talk about other folks, as I remember it. Leaders didn’t gossip or repeat gossip. They were confidential.
They didn’t have flash or pretense. They were almost never, ever surprised — by anything. They’d smile and nod at great news. They’d frown and shake their heads at bad news.
I never recall them using profanity, especially in front of children or in casual conversation.
Some of the men wore a cap. Some wore a cap indoors. But none ever wore a cap to a formal event or while sitting at the table for a meal. It just didn’t happen.
They praised in public and criticized in private. They donated anonymously to important causes. They humbly deflected attention or credit for their good deeds.
They were never sarcastic, because sarcasm creates a victim. Leaders don’t victimize people.
The leaders of my youth never raised their voices. They never seemed altogether angry about much.
As I got older and figured out the ways of the world, I realized they sometimes did get angry and raise their voices.
But when they did, it happened almost exclusively in private and took place in front of other influential people who could fix whatever was wrong.
Leaders didn’t complain to everyone within earshot. To complain publicly would have been to admit one’s own lack of influence and ability to rectify a situation.
Instead of complaining, they acted on problems and got them fixed.
I know some people around the Eastern Shore today who remind me of the adult leaders of my youth.
But there are far fewer of them, it seems, than when I was growing up.
n The writer is editor of the Eastern Shore Post. Reach him at [email protected].
