I was pretty old before I understood that there are two things people want more than anything else, not counting food, shelter and, of course, sex.
They want respect and they want credit.
Read the newspaper and every once in a while you’ll see an extreme example of what happens when someone doesn’t give someone else respect: They get killed.
“He disrespected me,” the shooter tells police.
My own father would beat the poop out of anyone who disrespected him and he had a broad definition of what he considered disrespect.
So wouldn’t the opposite be true? Won’t they love you if you show respect?
The credit part I learned working at a newspaper.
You wouldn’t know it to look at them but most reporters are sensitive about their work, especially about getting credit for their work.
If someone helps you with your story, maybe they shag a quote for you, and you don’t give them a tag line giving them credit, they are going to be sore about it. Give them their due –a tag line*– and they’ll be there for you the next time.
People want respect and they want credit and if you give it to them they will make you king.
* The “byline” of the reporter[s] who does most of the reporting and writes the story goes at the top. A “tag line” goes at the bottom of a story and names reporters who “contributed” to the story.
Coming Friday: Unfortunately, My Boss Was Older And Smarter
In addition to the people I met, and the unlimited amount of food I could eat when I was in town, the thing I liked best about hiking the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine was the uncertainty of it all. You just never knew how a day was going to turn out, what good surprises were in store for you. And, mostly, they were good.
Here’s what I’m talking about:
[You can read “Uncertainty Was The Best Part,” or you can watch a video, or, of course, you can read and watch it. Suit yourself.]
On March 6, 2015, I was hiking in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina and for most of the day I struggled up and down hills. The trail was badly eroded and I was walking in what amounted to an icy, slushy ditch. That afternoon it had just begun to snow again when I spotted a hand-written note to taped to a post, 1.7 miles south of Newfound Gap and US 441.
Griswold
Griswold, Tadpole, and the Hiking Vikings, who were ahead of me, had changed their minds about hiking on to Icewater Spring Shelter (how appropriately it was named), where we had all planned to meet that night. They had decided to get a shuttle to Gatlinburg, get warm, get showers, put on dry clothes, get something good to eat – and dodge a zero degree temperature night on the trail.
Did I want to join them? If so, call this number.
Tadpole
Did I want to join them? Does a bear live in the woods? Oh, yes!
I called and left a message saying I would be at Newfound Gap by 3 p.m. They were somewhere ahead of me and I was afraid I might miss them so I gave myself no time to spare — and then I hustled.
When I arrived at Newfound Gap, a few minutes past 3, they were nowhere to be seen. I was not surprised, or perturbed, to discover that my friends were not sitting on their hands in a blizzard waiting for me. Thru-hikers do not wait around for each other even when the sun is shining. You just can’t do that when you’re trying to hike to Maine.
* * *
The Hiking Vikings
I stood there a minute, figuring out what to do. The wind was howling, blowing snow this way and that, and I could feel the temperature dropping.
Should I wait for Stretch, an Israeli who was the sixth person in our group? He might not even be coming. He might have stopped at the last shelter. [In fact, that’s what he had done.] No, I wouldn’t wait. Should I hike another three miles to Ice Water Spring Shelter? Or should I hitch a ride into Gatlinburg?
Gatlinburg — hot food, dry clothes, and a warm bed — won. Easily.
Lucky – that’s me.
I started walking down U.S. 441 toward Gatlinburg, planning on hitching a ride, but it didn’t take long to realize that that was not going to happen. Not a single vehicle appeared from either direction. Because of the blizzard, the highway had been closed.
Well, in for a dime, in for a dollar, I thought. I’ll walk to Gatlinburg. I didn’t know know how far it was, but it couldn’t be that far, could it? It was a trail town, wasn’t it? I had a map, I could have checked. But what difference would it have made? One way or another I was going to Gatlinburg.
* * *
Officer Heath Soahn
I had been walking through the storm for almost an hour when the law arrived in the person of Heath Soahn, a U.S. Park Service officer. He slowed his cruiser, stopped beside me, and rolled down the passenger window. Warm air rushed out.
“Where are the other four?” he asked.
I told him I didn’t know. They had been ahead of me.
“Get in,” he told me.
Gladly.
One minute I had been walking down the highway in a blizzard and the next I was sitting beside Soahn. Warm. Safe. Warm. The officer drove right back up the mountain, turned into the parking lot at the Newfound Gap, and blew his horn. And, just like that, my four friends appeared. They had taken refuge in a heated restroom — heated to keep the pipes from freezing.
Soahn had gone looking for them not because they had called for help, but because they had called for a shuttle. The shuttle folks had call the U.S. Park Service to find out if the highway was still open, and when they were told it wasn’t, they told the park service about the four hikers.
Soahn drove us to a motel in Gatlinburg where my friends had made a reservation. The five of us shared a two-room suite that cost us 12 bucks each. We showered, put on dry clothes, and went out to eat together – ribs, hot rolls, and lots of warm fellowship and smiles at our good fortune.
* * *
Oh, how far would I have had to walk?
On the way to town I asked Officer Soahn how many miles was it to Gatlinburg.
Seventeen, he told me.
NOTE: While we’re on the subject I’m going to share the good news: next month Iceman and I are going to hike the John Muir Trial, the most beautiful trail in America.
No, we didn’t win so as of now we don’t have permits without which you can’t hike the JMT. But we have a plan. We’re just going to show up, stand in line, and try to get what they call a “walk-up” permit.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Coming Monday: Do This And They Will Make You King
