Name dropping, what a strange phrase

As she reached for her cup of tea, she turned to him and asked “Are you chewing gum?” A quick hard swallow and a “No Ma’am” fell out of his mouth, all six foot two of this massively muscled man in a suit grinned. In an instant, she had reduced her giant of a bodyguard to a smiling schoolboy who adored working for her. (2/23/1999)

I’ve been thinking of the people I’ve met, and the memories I keep within me from those moments. Some folks passed through quickly and I snatched the memories from mid air. Others lingered for years. I begin with a couple of people whose family’s might not even realize how deeply their names live within me.

Bud Windfelder (1907-d.1971)…He was the Regional Manager of Parke Davis and Company, a true giant in his field, who crossed in his mid 60’s. He and Betty were our neighbors on Keuka Lake. You could often find him in an inflatable chair on the lake, sipping a chilled martini while watching me water ski. He told this 14 year old fawn legged girl that she was the prettiest sight on the lake. (This was a compliment I hung onto, since I was one of the class wallflowers back home). I learned the song Misty on the piano because he told me it was his favorite. I practiced all year, and when I played it while singing along for him the next summer, it made him softly cry. We all called him Papa Bear. His was the first death I experienced as an adult. April 4, 1971. Although not many were aware of how deeply grief carved itself into soul, my high school chemistry teacher did. He was the person who guided me as I walked with my memories. I was speechless. Papa Bear gave me the gift of seeing beyond my awkwardness, and my lack of confidence while I sang. He gave me the hope of feeling pretty someday.

Betty Windfelder (nee Betty Chadyne 1917- d.1977)… Her incongruous nickname was “Bunker” (a smash up of words from her grandkids that somehow stuck). She was a second Mother to me. Petite in every aspect, she was a giant in my heart. I remember the year during high school when I drove back with her to Pittsburgh from the cottage in Keuka Lake, simply to spend more time with her. She crossed so very young, 60 years old. “Bunkers Mac ‘n Cheese” is a recipe we all still make, and call it exactly that, said all run together, never just Mac ‘n cheese. I promise it’s the best you’ll ever taste. Her unconditional love carried me from junior and high school years right through college. She bought me a necklace which held a mustard seed floating in a clear ball, to remind me to have faith. It lives in my jewelry box, too emotionally precious to risk wearing. We wrote so many letters on elegant stationary. Good old snail mail. I’d hurry to the college mail box room, hoping a letter was peeking back at me through the antique door. She took the time to love me as I was becoming an adult and made me feel as tho I mattered despite my imperfections.

Our old college mailboxes

The next few people fall into the “Name dropping” category. Perhaps you’ll know a few. Truly, what a strange phrase, Name Dropping. I didn’t ‘drop’ anything when I met them, and I’m still not dropping anything today. It’s an old phrase about people who are pretending they know someone famous better than they actually do, often with the goal of boosting their own self importance. I cannot say I knew any of them well, thus the self deprecating reference to name dropping, yet each of them personally touched my life and left a memory behind whether or not they were aware.

Dr. Jane Goodall- (4/3/1934 - present). she is one of the authors we hosted at the small bookstore I managed on south Whidbey Island. She is in every way the amazing person you imagine she would be. Dr. Goodall glides thru the world without artifice, nor any expectation of recognition. I still don’t know who told her, but as she walked into the bookstore that afternoon accompanied by her bodyguard, she turned and said “happy birthday Teyani!”. It was several moments before I could speak coherently.

Her bodyguard was 6’2”, and “built like a tank” was the perfect description of him. He sat at the counter as I made a cuppa tea for her and a latte for him. She’s a little bit of a thing, so tiny and ladylike, that it made me cover my gaping mouth laugh when she came up behind her bodyguard and softly asked “are you chewing gum?” He swallowed it so fast that I knew it must’ve been an oft repeated quip between them. Grinning, he said “No Ma’am”. She pretended to believe him, and hid her grin as she returned to admiring the locally made crafts amid the books. The treasured respect of their long standing friendship was clear.

The largest venue on the island seated 750 people. That evening, we squeezed in about 800 folks, with people sitting on the slanting floor by the end of each row. Even the fire chief and firefighters who were in attendance didn’t complain. The unique experience to hear Jane Goodall speak warranted the slight bending of rules. We had her seated in a winged back chair, center stage, complete with a well worn rug beneath her feet, and a table beside her which held her books and a glass of water. I cannot recall all of her words, but there were no dry eyes when she finished her hour long talk. Jane Goodall reignited a deep hope within me that people can connect with other people and with animals, and by doing so, each of us can change the world.

Carolyn Myss, PhD. (12/2/1952- present). Author of the very successful book Anatomy of the Spirit and others. I am of the opinion that there are people who are genius, who author brilliant books, and who should never appear in public. Not to disparage her, but rather to share a true experience, she was the polar opposite of Jane Goodall when we met way back then. Ms. Myss breezed into that same little bookstore I managed, not acknowledging anyone, seated herself at a small table and snapped her fingers in the air at no one in particular, as she sharply said “Coffee!”

I did not go in to the auditorium to listen to her that evening, despite loving her book. I contentedly sat at the sales table and let my staff hear her speak. Ms. Myss reminded me that not all the people who are gifted authors carry that same brilliance into their personal lives. Not everyone who authors a best seller needs to be placed upon a pedestal. It’s best to allow them to be simply human.

Peggy Taylor is co-author of the book Chop Wood, Carry Water along with Rick Fields. Peggy, also co-founded an amazing teen leadership program called The Power of Hope along with co-founder Charlie Murphy. My oldest daughter was able to attend for two years as a participant, and one year as a teen counselor. Peggy was someone who grew up knowing that she wanted to change the world. A self proclaimed “hippie”, she did everything from open a macrobiotic restaurant, to found Hollyhock Institute, publish several books, and then, along with Charlie Murphy, she shepherd the Power of Hope into existence. Peggy’s office was in the back of the small bookstore I managed. She is still a whirlwind of energy, and one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Peggy and Charlie’s influence on my daughter was brilliant. They helped her find her voice and become even more confident in her unique gifts, and thus forever carved their memories within my heart.

Charlie Murphy And Peggy Taylor

Don Miguel Ruiz (8/27/1952- present) is the author of many books, most notably The Four Agreements (published in 1997). When I first met him in early 1998, his book was gaining acclaim yet his name was not widely known yet. I had invited him to speak at our modest bookstore venue, which held only 90 people on folding chairs. When he arrived that evening for his talk his presence held palpable calm. He walked in, and I swear the old building resettled itself into its foundation. A great man had entered the room.

Despite having a cold and a soft voice, his un-miked voice was clearly heard throughout the room. The soft hush of the experience melted over each of us in the room. The outside world disappeared. He is a masterful story teller and one of the kindest human beings I have ever met. His books The Four Agreements and The Mastery of Love have been translated into 52 languages and were on the NYTimes bestseller list for over a decade. If you have not yet read them, you might take a moment to write down their names. They are both memorable. Don Miguel Ruiz touched my life with his sincerity. Although he went on to sell over ten million copies of his book, he remains the type of person who knows how to be present, and make you feel as though you are the only person in the world while he is speaking with you. There is a profound peace that goes with a great person such as Don Miguel Ruiz.

I’ll end with just one more person for now. His name is Reverend James Sell (1942-2022). I met him in Norfolk VA, he was the Rector of Christ and St. Luke’s Episcopal Church from 1990-2005. The first time we walked in to attend services in 1989, (which was during his two year period of discernment) I knew immediately following his sermon that I had found my church “home”. He was real, brilliant yet not a snobbish look-down-his-nose-from-the-pulpit-at-the-commoners type. No fire and brimstone superiority fell out of his mouth, rather he offered an unquenched curiosity for the truth. Jim loved to learn and be challenged in all aspects of his faith. The church published a letter he wrote and sent to his friends the day before he died about Why he is an Episcopalian. (Click on the title to go to his letter). It comforted me to read that even at the end of his life he was brilliant. If you have a minute to read it, I think you will glimpse the genius of a man who inspired to join the ranks of healers. Although we were transferred away from Norfolk after three years, his truth-seeking soul forever touched mine. It is a unique privilege to be seen and heard in ways no one has ever witnessed you before. Up until this time, I had put myself through college working in a bank, managed a large art gallery, managed a micro computer sales store, taught classes to professionals in using computers, and lived a fairly average life.

Christ and St Luke’s Church, Norfolk, VA.

It was probably after a month of Sundays while attending church there when he called me aside at coffee hour and said “I’ve been looking for someone to pursue some religious studies with, and I was wondering if you would like to meet with me once a week to discuss the chapters in this book?” He offered me a thin volume full of short chapters on living in current times as an Episcopalian. While I have long since forgotten the title of the book, I recall every one of those discussions vividly. The book discussed challenging topics such as ‘do you pray?’, or ‘do you sincerely believe there is a Heaven?’, and ‘how do you live as a Christian in modern times?’ I must have looked a bit like a deer in the headlights when he asked. We were new to Norfolk. I was not yet working full time. I greatly respected him. I said “sure,” with zero awareness that I had just begun walking a new life path.

Jim, as everyone called him, suggested we read one chapter each week, then discuss it over coffee in his office Wednesday mornings. Our conversations were intellectually challenging, deeply moving, and quite a few times I shared my “unique” viewpoints (which he enjoyed.)

Towards the end of working thru the chapters, Jim lingered awhile after our usual hour long talk. He said something that planted a seed within me and ultimately altered my entire life. Isn’t it funny how the mind works. I can picture myself in that office so clearly, the high ceilings, formal in contrast to his relaxed blue jeans flannel shirt nature. His exact words have stayed with me: “I wish that I could seat you in an office down the hall and send people in to just talk with you.” I think I must have chuckled, as he continued, “your mind works so uniquely and I think you could make a difference”. We both laughed at that point, as I was part way out his door. He finished by saying “we don’t have a budget for it, but I’m sincere. Think about it.”

The following week he brought his thoughts up again, and asked if I’d ever wanted to be a priest. I shyly admitted I had dreamed of it, but I was not certain I was willing to work within a specific faith. My thoughts pressed way outside a church’s limits. He offered the suggestion that I become a counselor. I was 8 months pregnant with our second daughter, and I recall that I blushed. No one had ever sensed that I would be “good” at anything.

A year and a half later, my husband and I had moved across country and were now legally separated. I applied to attend Antioch University in Seattle, WA. It would be three years later that I completed my MA in Clinical Psychology. Thank you dear Jim Sell.