RSS
 

Archive for the ‘The Interpreter’ Category

Change

24 Mar

leftridgeBy Alan Leftridge

I live along the bank of a small mountain river in western Montana. The Swan River is about 100 miles long, and like every river, it is wider at its mouth than at its headwaters. My home is nearer the headwaters, where the river’s width varies from 20 feet to 80 feet, depending on the seasonal run-off from the snow-encrusted mountains on both sides. Except for times of flooding, I can cross the river without getting my knees wet. The Swan runs clear, and I can see the rocky bottom from my house, which is 80 feet above it on a river bench. I enjoy sitting next to the river, watching its ever-changing reflective display.

As you might imagine, in some of those moments spent by the river, my thoughts meander. Last week my thoughts turned to national events. Thinking about the economy, I recalled my father’s stories about his hardships during the Great Depression. He impressed upon me that I could never comprehend the difficulties through which he lived. If he were alive, he would acknowledge that today’s economy is the worst in 70 years. This decline into a deep recession has led to incidents most of us have never experienced, individually or professionally. Today’s economic realities and technological innovations force interpretive organizations to change spending strategies, forcing programs to transform to meet the available resources. The financial pressures require us to think of fresh and innovative ways to deliver programs that meet the needs of our visitors and enhance the goals of our organizations while continuing to embrace the philosophical elements that define our profession. The most central idea is that interpretation is a meaningful relationship between an idea and an individual.

Yet, from our birth we resist change. We routinely assess change with the likelihood that it will threaten the things we value. I contemplate change as I watch the river, summoning thoughts of Taoist philosophy. Lao Tzu wrote in the Tao Te Ching, “The highest goodness is like water. Water easily benefits all things without struggle.” And again, “The softest thing in the world will overcome the hardest.” Since Lao Tzu’s time, a metaphor of the Taoist tradition is to “flow as water,” seeking the path of least resistance, thereby reaching a goal without struggle and using the forces of nature to assist and guide.

Writers have capitalized on Taoist thought with a plethora of articles and books, applying the practice to a broad range of modern-day situations. Books like The Tao of Physics, The Tao of Pooh, and even The Tao of Willie [Nelson] have found wide acclaim. I remember reading an article called “The Tao of Driving.” The author recommended that I try the Taoist frame of mind as I am driving on interstate highways and reacting to traffic problems. When encountering a slower moving vehicle, the author said I was to treat it as if I were a canoeist reacting to a boulder in a river: find the easiest, safest, and even the most enjoyable way to navigate around the obstacle. I have taken his suggestion and applied the concept to many situations. It has always made them tolerable. I like the Taoist worldview.

From what I believe I know about Taoism, change is an expected rule. I understand that as I compare the changes in the river from year to year. The Swan has become straighter and is cutting more deeply over the last decade. If I am to apply the metaphor of “flowing like water” to other events, then I must regard that the best way to respond to change is to navigate around the obstacles, for the river will continue its course. On the other hand, if I take the metaphor for change by “being” the water, then I may exert control over the direction the river takes. Listening to the sounds of the Swan, I can hear shoe-size rocks tumbling downstream as the water pushes and gravity pulls them along. The process is ongoing and, in time, some rocks pile along a swirl, causing the river to divert rather than to flow as it had before. The water arranges the rocks and defines the way.

We, too, can define our way by accepting that change is eminent and thereby directing its flow. Regardless of the course we command, we need to be mindful of the message that John Muir and Enos Mills extended to us, a message that is a fundamental directive of our profession: interpretation works best on a person-to-person level. New interpretive programs must remain close to reproducing one-on-one dialogue with our visitors. Just as a practicing Taoist would declare that a dialogue occurs between the river and the participant sitting on the bank.

Alan Leftridge is a contract interpretive trainer, visitor services trainer, and interpretive writer based out of the Swan Valley of Montana. Contact him at www.leftridge.com.

 
1 Comment

Posted in The Interpreter

 

Archetypes

06 Feb

by Alan Leftridge

leftridgeThe situation was perplexing. I had anticipated a mob-scene, but there were perhaps a dozen people standing in groups of two or three, chatting in low voices.

A half-hour earlier, the concierge confided to me that the Rolling Stones were going to perform the next night in Little Rock and that they were soon arriving to stay at the hotel. His disinterest caused me to ask if they had performed in the city before. Bemused, he said yes, and then declared that they always stay at the Peabody. The concierge appeared indifferent, but I was excited to see the band members up close. Linda and I found a seat in the lobby, no more than 10 paces from the entrance.

Positioned beside me was a middle-aged man who asked, “Are you here to see the Stones?”

“Not their concert,” I said. “I have to leave in the morning. But, since they are staying in the hotel I thought it would be interesting to see them in person. Have you seen them?”

“I saw them in 1975 at Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City,” he said. “They performed with Billy Preston, Chakka Khan, and The Eagles. The ticket price was $12.” We laughed.

Time passed, and the collection of onlookers did not increase. Then, to our left entered a person through the front door of the hotel, and with long strides advanced across the lobby towards the bank of elevators. “It’s Ronnie Wood, get his picture, get his picture,” Linda whispered.

“No… that’s not Ronnie Wood,” I said. “He looks too small.”

A few moments later another person entered.

“Alan! Keith Richards. Get a picture!”

“Come  on… he can’t be Richards,” I said. “He’s too small and he looks like a caricature. These must be body-doubles intended to distract us. The Stones must be coming in another entry.”

A third person came through the door. “Hi Charlie,” the guy next to me called out.

I turned to Linda. “It is Charlie Watts…. Nobody else looks like he does.”

“Of course it is,” she said, “and you didn’t get any pictures!”

Mick Jagger followed, also smaller than I expected. It was then that I realized that my archetypical prototype of a rock-and-roll star was that these larger-than-life personas would be a traveling spectacle, impressive in physical stature, dodging a frenzy of fans. I was wrong.

Classical Greek thinkers like Plato asserted that all things have a set of characteristics that give them their essence. This mode of ideological thought leads to a philosophy of essentialism concluding that every thing is definable by its fixed prime example. The prototype leads to an archetype. To Plato, “a rabbit is a rabbit is a rabbit.” There is not such a thing as rabbit-ness. Plato denied that there are many ways to describe the characteristics of a rabbit. The archetypes that we behold vary, depending on our experiences and background. Nonetheless, most of us have Greek essentialism burned into our cultural psyche. We seek quintessence in all aspects of life.

I once considered The Rolling Stones’s “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” as representative of perfection in its original composition. Other bands’ attempts to cover the song seemed poor renditions, and an affront to my sensibilities. The same held true for the complete Beatles library. How could any band play an acceptable version of “Eight Days a Week” or “Eleanor Rigby”? Yet, in spite of this bias, I have heard many interpretations of these songs—some instrumental, others vocal, many blending music genres— that have been more than pleasing to my taste.

We look for expressions of perfection in our daily lives. A quick survey of my satellite television programming shows no fewer than 10 stations dedicated to our search for archetypes—channels that program the latest fashion, home, health, and fitness trends.

Television also provides a framework for political discourse. Politicians exploit a perceived desire to find an archetype of the most-common American. Some politicians assert that they alone know and draw the support of the “real Americans.” Political pundits and politicians pinpoint the attributes of people we should try to be like. Most of the time the characteristics are biased, exaggerated, or beyond our understanding.

We are attracted to archetypes because of our world-view. Yet, Heraclitus, another classical Greek scholar, believed that nothing is fixed, that all is fluid. Following his philosophy, our common concepts of archetypes should change through enlightenment. It follows that our interpretive field should reflect this fluidity.

Programs require constant scrutiny by people who have an understanding of future audience demographic shifts and are trained to seek innovative ways to interpret the resources. Managers and planners must be willing, regardless of costs, to make continuous changes to programs so that the interpretation reflects evolving paradigms. Diligent reflection will help us continue to renew our standards of excellence through recognizing our tendencies to create archetypes.

Alan Leftridge is a contract interpretive trainer, visitor services trainer, and interpretive writer based out of the Swan Valley of Montana. Contact him at www.leftridge.com.

 
No Comments

Posted in The Interpreter

 

Sharing the Ignorance

06 Dec

leftridgeby Alan Leftridge

Nicole frowned. I could see her displeasure with unfolding events.

“What are you thinking?”

She declared, “The guide has lost control; he has turned his presentation over to the audience. I guess that is easy to do when not sure of your material.”

We blended into the bulk of tourists and followed the guide toward the next stop, Crystal Lake. Soon, we broke into a meadow and one of the visitors spoke out, “Look, a field of lovely purple flowers.” The interpreter halted and turned toward the group and said, “As beautiful as the flowers appear, they do not belong here. These are spotted knapweed, an exotic plant whose seeds were accidently brought into the country from Europe in the late 1800s. The knapweed crowds out native species because it is poisonous to other plants, allowing the weed to spread rapidly in open fields.”

A visitor declared, “I think the seeds came here as stuffing in the saddles of conquistadors. It got released when the saddles tore open.”

“Yes. Yes…yes,” echoed throughout the group, as some people who had heard a similar story openly agreed.

Another visitor observed, “The meadow is completely covered, the knapweed has taken over.”

The interpreter replied, “Like many exotics, it does not have a natural control—nothing eats it, and no fungus kills it. The knapweed crowds out the native plants.”

“It’s an example of Darwin’s ‘survival of the fittest,’” a person to the right declared.

“Exactly,” said the guide.

I could see by the head nods that most everyone in the group agreed—except for Nicole and me. Looking my way, she said, “That does it, I’ve got to say something.” Addressing everyone, she broke in with, “Excuse me, but Darwin did not coin the phrase “survival of the fittest,” Herbert Spencer introduced it. He extended Darwin’s theory of natural selection into realms of sociology and ethics. Survival of the fittest was used to justify Social Darwinism.” The guide looked blank, and by the sound of shuffling feet I could tell the group was ready to move on to Crystal Lake. The matter was dropped, but Nicole remained agitated.

We lagged behind the group absorbed in our thoughts when she muttered, “Knapweed seeds in conquistadors’ saddles, ‘survival of the fittest,’ they are just sharing the ignorance.”

I laughed, for I had not heard that phrase applied for several years. I recalled hearing it when I was still teaching in academia and as a member of the university-wide curriculum committee, we approved new class applications. Courses were proposed in traditional instructional formats: lectures, lecture/discussions, labs, recitations, fieldwork experiences, or seminars. Committee members had a strong bias against seminars—a process that relied on the students providing much of the content under the leadership of a faculty member. In practice, little-involved or less-concerned faculty would allow students to run the classes. The students would provide virtually all the instruction, based on their explorations of the topics. Sharing their findings was effective when the students were knowledgeable and expressive; when not, they were “sharing the ignorance.” This is what Nicole was responding to, the spreading of information that has not been vetted.

What encourages spreading misinformation? One trait is our desire to accept statements made by family, friends, and colleagues as fact, because we hold those people in high regard. Another is our dependence on the Internet. Online encyclopedias and dedicated websites may not be subject to peer review or authoritative examination. Misinformation abounds. Also, the proliferation of cable and satellite TV stations that depend on entertainment for news programs do not always provide reality. This is accentuated by the trend towards dogmatic TV and radio news programs. Programs that are founded on fundamental biases eclipse their ability to report evenhanded information. Finally, and perhaps most notable, is our inability to apply critical-thinking skills when confronted with additional information. The pace of our society does not inspire us to evaluate the quality of the knowledge we receive. We have little time to process information and determine its value. As a result, we often turn to information sources to which we are devoted, and ignore the breadth and extent of multiple resources.

What must we do to assure that we are providing accurate interpretation? Certainly, we cannot conduct empirical research on every issue. However, we can be scholars in our own resource area. We can seek credible sources of information and use critical-thinking skills to rebuff misinformation. The public deserves programs, websites, panels, and exhibits crafted by authorities of their resources, and interpreters with excellent communications skills. Otherwise, we might just be sharing the ignorance.

Alan Leftridge is a contract interpretive trainer, visitor services trainer, and interpretive writer based out of the Swan Valley of Montana. Contact him at www.leftridge.com.

 
3 Comments

Posted in The Interpreter

 

Tourists

11 Oct

leftridgeby Alan Leftridge

“From where are you moving?” the bank officer asked while fumbling with papers. Her desk nameplate said grace.

“Ohio.”

“What part?”

“North of Cincinnati, the town of Oxford.”

“Oh…I’ve never been to Ohio. In fact, the farther east I have been is to Redding [150 miles away] to visit my brother.”

Grace paused to think while biting on her lower lip. After several long, drawn-out moments she smiled, “And the farthest south I’ve been is to go shopping in Santa Rosa [220 miles away]. Many times, actually, during the holiday seasons.”

Another pause, and more thinking as she collected her thoughts, her eyes fixed on some object on the wall across the lobby. “I went north to Crescent City [75 miles away] for vacation once.”

Then with a big grin, “And, I’ve been to the ocean [west two miles away] several times…mostly when I was a child, though.”

She must have read my dismayed look, and continued, “Traveling has not been that important to me, I suppose. All my life I’ve been content to stay around home here in northern California. Maybe when I retire I’ll get the urge. Now how much do you want to deposit into your new checking account?”

It may be hard to believe the truth of this story during the height of the tourist season when the highways are congested, the accommodations are jam-packed, the restaurants are crowded, and long lines form at park entrance kiosks. It seems that everyone must be traveling. I learned many years ago a fact that holds true today: Most people stay close to home and don’t explore the world around them.

A friend recounts a story of an elder Hawaiian man he met near Waialua Bay on Oahu. The man offered that he had never in his 70 years been to the other side of the island. When asked why not, he replied, “Why would I? Everything I need or want is here.” The stories of Grace and the Hawaiian reinforce the impression that some people choose not to travel for leisure.

A similar story comes to mind about the day my fourth-grade class visited the Kansas City Museum. Our teacher, Mrs. Sprague, gathered us on the front steps and with a wave of her hand directed our attention to the residence across the street.

“The neighbor who lives in that house has resided there all of her life, and she has never visited this museum.” I don’t know why she told us that or how she knew that information, but that declaration, true or otherwise, affected me ever after. I decided I was not going to be like that neighbor; I was going to experience what was around me and, if possible, go to places far, far away.

You may have heard the saying, “Everybody hates a tourist.” Some critics declare that destination-oriented travelers do not want to take the time to enjoy the ambiance of the places they are passing through. It’s as if they are trying to get someplace else that they think is going to be more enjoyable. Maybe it’s because they fear that somewhere, at that moment, somebody is having more fun than they are, and they must get to their destination in order to start enjoying themselves, as well.

We often malign tourists. The irony is that all of us are tourists outside the immediate boundaries of our own lives. Even when we travel for leisure, we cannot help but speculate how the locals manage. (How do these people make a living? What do they do for fun? Why would anyone want to live here?) We try to get a taste of local life. Although we will never know what it is like to live in these places, our world is enlarged by the brief encounters. Travel expands our circle of understanding, opportunities for enlightenment, and compassion for others. We return home re-created.

Acknowledging the benefits of our own leisure travel experiences should help us temper any antipathy we may have towards other tourists. They may think they are merely traveling through communities seeking their leisure destination, but in a real sense they cannot help but be changed by the totality of the experience.

Not long ago, while navigating the sidewalks of the Arcata city plaza, I was caught with, “Well, hello there!” directed at me. It was Grace. I had not seen her since the bank many years before. A gleeful expression beamed from her face as she waved a piece of paper. “It’s my AAA travel itinerary,” she declared. “I am retired and I am going to see the rest of the world. I may even tour the wonders of Ohio.”

Alan Leftridge is a contract interpretive trainer, visitor services trainer, and interpretive writer based out of the Swan Valley of Montana. Contact him at www.leftridge.com.

 
No Comments

Posted in The Interpreter

 

Connections

01 Aug

by Alan Leftridge

leftridge“I have a gift for you.”

I am fortunate that during my training seminars I have the prospect of learning ideas and techniques from the participants. During introductions, I challenge the participants to relate one thing about themselves that no one else in the group knows. Even long-time acquaintances are eager to share something new, and the stories are enlightening and often amusing. It was at a recent training when a member introduced himself and demonstrated a good example of making intellectual and emotional connections.

“My story begins with my great-great-great-grandfather, who at 10 years old accompanied his father to Philadelphia in the spring of 1862. Abraham Lincoln happened to be in Philadelphia, too.”

He scanned the group and challenged us to recall the magnitude of Lincoln’s presidency and tumultuous times.

“By chance, they encountered Lincoln in central Philadelphia. The father, anxious to give his son a chance to meet the president, approached him. The father introduced himself and his son, and they both shook Lincoln’s hand.”

He continued, “The story shifts to 40 years later when the boy, now a man, is congratulating his own son who is graduating from law school. ‘My son,’ he solemnly declared, ‘I have a gift to go along with my best wishes.’ He reached out and shook his son’s hand. ‘You have now shaken the hand that shook Abraham Lincoln’s.’ Since that day, the tradition stayed in the family, with each father passing along his gift to the next generation.”

He looked around the room again, “And so it was, when I finished college, my father presented me with the gift of the handshake. Now, I want to shake each of your hands, so that you too will have shaken the hand of the man, who shook the hand of the man, who shook the hand of the man, who shook the hand of Abraham Lincoln.”

Everyone in the seminar was delighted with his story, and I was impressed with how he connected our cognitive perceptions of Abraham Lincoln with a personal emotion.

Most frontline and nonpersonal interpretation is geared toward imparting information through words. We find it easy to construct these concrete interpretive messages because our formal schooling emphasizes and rewards acquisition of information and logic. As a result, interpreters often forgo attempting to establish meanings through emotion.

Roger Sperry won the Nobel Prize in physiology in 1981 for discovering that each hemisphere of the brain “thinks” in a different way. The left side processes written and spoken information, words, and logic. The right side of the brain establishes meanings through visualization, creativity, and emotion. Acknowledging the importance of the two ways of processing information helps us design more complete interpretive opportunities. Here is another example of making connections using the intellectual and emotional parts of the brain.

Although the calendar declares it is springtime, I acknowledge spring’s arrival with the return of broad-tailed hummingbirds. Broad-tailed hummingbirds are fascinating to me for several reasons, including: they hunt insects in flight, they will return to my property and use the same nest as last year, and they winter as far south as Guatemala. Traveling to and from Guatemala requires some of these finger-length birds weighing little more than a penny to cross part of the Gulf of Mexico. Once they begin that segment of the flight, there is no turning back. The birds must make the long trip without stopping. They often bunch along the coastline waiting for barometric pressure and weather conditions to be favorable, and then leave in mass. A mistake could bring peril. A human analogy might be when you need to make a long trip in your car while on a tight schedule. You start the engine, look at the gas gauge and calculate whether you have enough fuel to arrive at your destination without stopping for gas. You determine that you can, but without total certainty. What if you run out of gas on a deserted stretch of road? Are you willing to face the consequences of an empty tank?

Hummingbirds may not feel a sense of anxiety over their situation, but you can when you consider your own. Through personification, you can apply feelings about your situation to the birds’—and feel emotion for the difficulty they face. By providing new information concerning the broad-tailed hummingbird, I have provoked the opportunity for you to make both an intellectual connection (imagine the weight and length of the bird) and an emotional connection (applying its migration to a travel situation familiar to you).

We interpreters want to help visitors make connections that will last a lifetime. The catch is that in order to get the most from the brain, we need to target both sides. Coupling feelings with information strengthens the cognitive and emotive capabilities of the brain, providing a better opportunity for us to meet our interpretive goals.

Alan Leftridge is a contract interpretive trainer, visitor services trainer, and interpretive writer based out of the Swan Valley of Montana. Contact him at www.leftridge.com.

 
No Comments

Posted in The Interpreter

 
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »