For the first weeks after his graduation from Vaux, Willow came back regularly and played chess against some of the younger kids. I wish I had been there to encourage him. Maybe I should have told him how important he was to those younger kids. With no chess program, it’s easy to see why he lost focus. He didn’t commit a crime or cause problems. He was simply a boy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Willow’s life and death motivated me then and continue to motivate me more than a decade later. I don’t want to miss any opportunity to help. I failed—or at least I feel I did—and I don’t want it to happen again.
I am determined to let other people know about the importance of their words, their personalities, and their opportunities to impact the young. I want them to understand the privilege of working with people who care about them; and I urge them to take advantage of those opportunities.
My compulsion—my mission—is to work with teachers and leaders whenever and wherever I can. Increasingly, I realize how important it is to recognize the influencers, to honor and reward them. They are the ones out there fighting the biggest battles. They struggle and some days they feel inadequate and wonder if they’ve accomplished anything. Too often they don’t realize how important they are or how they have changed the lives of young people. I know because I missed that opportunity myself.
One of the most common problems I’ve encountered is that although most givers understand how to give joyfully and sacrificially, they don’t allow themselves to receive appreciation and honor from others. Because I want to push parents, teachers, and other influential leaders, I often say, “Accept this recognition. Allow me to build you up and recharge your engine because you’re working hard and giving generously.”
The true essence of leadership is service, and many leaders understand that. The best leaders don’t look for rewards and recognition; they need them anyway. We all need to be appreciated, and no one ever gets enough recognition.
I’m always touched when young people let me know that I’ve made a difference to them. Like other givers, I’m learning to say, “Thank you,” without embarrassment.
Our children don’t realize the power of their influence on people like me. By their words of appreciation, they unconsciously challenge us to do more. Their responses have helped me move beyond the loss of Willow and other students.
I know that all of us in leadership roles have faced failures. We have known at least one Willow—maybe not someone murdered, but certainly someone of outstanding ability who was lost to the world. It’s hard on us when we see the potential and then it is lost.
When that happens, we feel we’ve failed. Perhaps we have. But the one thing our failure can do is challenge us to be more open, approachable, and sensitive to those others who could so easily be lost—and will be lost without our influence.
2
Commitment to Personal Influence
During my early years as a teacher at Vaux, I overheard someone mention that there had been a fire at the home of one of my students, Lovisha Love-Diggs. That afternoon I visited the house and saw that it was badly damaged.
The family had many needs, but the most immediate was to have a place to stay for a few days. Lovisha had several younger brothers and a sister. After we talked, I felt I had to do something. They didn’t have much money. I didn’t either, but their need was more important than my bank balance. I dropped them off at a nearby motel and they were able to get a room at an extremely low rate. I had enough money to help pay for a one-week stay and some food.
During my childhood, when our family was in great need, people in the community had come to our aid. I had been influenced by the compassion of others, so it seemed like helping the Love-Diggs family was the obvious thing to do. I would have reached out to any family in our community, so to me, it wasn’t a big thing.
The family, however, saw my actions differently; they never forgot what happened that day. Even today, years later, whenever I see Loveisha’s parents, they remind me of my help in their time of need.
The first time her mother mentioned how much I had helped them, I had honestly forgotten about it. I felt embarrassed and said, “It was such a small thing.”
“You don’t understand, Mr. EL. To you, it may have been a small thing. To us, it was big—very big—and we won’t ever forget.”
Afterward, I thought, “She’s right. Her perception is what counts.” I’m grateful for that, but I’m more grateful for the influence it had on Lovisha. After she graduated from Vaux, she was able to enroll in one of Philadelphia’s top magnet schools, Bodine High School, and from there she went to West Chester University. Lovisha now works as a counselor for the homeless and for those who live in shelters. I never imagined she would take on the responsibility of serving others and giving back. I’m proud of her.
After they moved back to their home, I asked Lovisha why she hadn’t told me about the fire. “I overheard two of your classmates talking about it or I wouldn’t have known,” I said.
She hung her head. “I didn’t think you would help—you or anyone. I mean, you have your own problems.”
I understood. Most children don’t want others to know they need help. Most adults probably don’t either. What I didn’t say was that I almost missed an opportunity to help a needy family because I hadn’t influenced her enough personally to allow her to share problems that affected her life inside and outside the school. She hadn’t felt comfortable enough to tell me.
That incident helped me realize that I must learn to allow others to get to know me on a personal level. I was a teacher, but I was also someone who cared about the students and their needs. I didn’t have to become their best friend, but I did have to let them realize I would be available to them when they had needs.
Shortly after I was married, I took my wife, Shawnna, to Lovisha’s church, Miller Memorial Baptist. While we were there, Shawnna met Lovisha’s brothers and sisters, her mother, and her grandparents. Of course, they told the story all over again for Shawnna.
Again, I was embarrassed and wanted to say, “It happened a long time ago. It wasn’t that big a deal.” They were still grateful and I didn’t want to take away anything from their appreciation.
As I listened to them tell the story to my wife, I learned another important lesson. I came to understand the power of personal influence. It’s not that we intentionally do things just to influence or change others—that’s manipulation—but the right kind of influence happens when we help others. Our actions flow out of who we are. We demonstrate to others things we often can’t put into words.
Although we’re often unaware, one small act can change a life. For Lovisha and her family, I assumed I was just another teacher at her school. But when the opportunity came and I acted upon it, my actions became significant and I exerted a strong influence on their lives.
In a similar example, my coauthor, Cecil Murphey, told me a story about his time as a seminary student. He rode a motorcycle to school every day. He was extremely conservative and closed to opinions that didn’t agree with him. One day Cec had a fairly serious accident on the motorcycle that kept him in bed for a week.
His wife notified the seminary. The first person to visit was a professor, Hal Lyon—whom he considered one of the most liberal members of the staff. Dr. Lyon came to my friend’s apartment, talked to him, and prayed with him. When he finished, the teacher had tears in his eyes.
“He and I never agreed on theology,” Cec said, “but he opened me up. I was able to listen and to appreciate people who disagreed with me.”
The two men also became friends in the process.
That’s the power of personal