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I'm standing in First Amendment Plaza at Allen Hall.

Because we were in Eugene anyway for the Festival of Bands, my wife and I took a couple of hours that day to walk around the University of Oregon campus.  My wife said she didn’t remember the campus, and so I showed her the main spots where I used to hang out.  For example, Gerlinger Hall – where I just about had my eye gouged out by the tip of my instructor’s foil during a fencing class.

Since I graduated from U of O with a degree in journalism, the primary building for my studies was Allen Hall.  As we walked around this building, and took some photos, my wife asked me to express my feelings about being there – how it felt to return after so many years.  The first thing I told her was that it felt good to reflect on the fact that I completed it.  In other words, I graduated.  Many people who come here don’t.  They don’t graduate; they don’t finish it.

When I focus on something, with a mild form of obsession, I get the job done.  In fact, I

On the steps of Deady Hall, U of O's original building.

excelled in journalism school – at Allen Hall.  I was featured in The National Deans’ List. I received two academic scholarships.  I was awarded membership in Kappa Tau Alpha, the journalistic honor society.  I remember that the professors occasionally read my work in front of the class.

This is still true in my life.  When I exercise my concept of “controlled obsession,” I have a singular focus, and I get it done.  I still feel this way when I’m in the middle of an article: conducting interviews, writing the draft, editing, rewriting, submitting the final draft.

Unfortunately, this pattern has not been consistent in my life.  For instance:  Ostensibly because my career goal at that point was nonprofit work with the church, I didn’t immediately pursue a journalism job when I graduated.  Looking back, I’m not sure why I did it that way.  My goal, however, was to use my journalism training in the nonprofit work.

As a result of a summer internship in Greece between my junior and senior years at U of O, I realized that the need for my skills and training was much greater outside of the USA than within it.  I guess that’s one reason why I didn’t pursue a normal journalism job in the U.S.

But revisiting the campus – and Allen Hall – served as a reminder of my original goals and purpose.  I realized that I had not been fulfilling my true potential, the one for which I came to U of O in the first place, and graduated.

Somebody once gave me some constructive criticism that was extremely valuable.  He told me that I perceive myself to be successful because, like a high jumper, I make it across the bar.  But nobody else is impressed because they can see that the bar is far too low.

He encouraged me to set the “bar” much higher in my life and career, because he was convinced that I would still make it across.  I realized that I could and should set the bar much higher and, like Dick Fosbury, possibly set a record.

As I point out in the “sidebar” that follows this article, Dick Fosbury stills holds the Olympic and American high-jump records at 2.24 meters  (or 7 feet, 4.25 inches).  These records remain unbroken, which Fosbury set on October 20, 1968, at the Olympics in Mexico City, where he took the gold medal for high jump.  He was able to achieve this success due to the unique, backward style he developed, which came to be called the “Fosbury Flop.”

In my own life, achieving that success is a matter of surmounting the fear of success and learned helplessness, as well as utilizing controlled obsession.  These will be topics of future blog posts, as well as e-books, which will be free to download at this website.

For now, I am seeking to fulfill my original goals and purpose, which my personal criterion summarizes:  Accomplishing what otherwise would not get done unless I do it.  Part of achieving this might involve recognizing and embracing my own unique, backward style – like Dick Fosbury.  And always setting the bar higher.

Lee Cuesta

Outside of Gerlinger Hall ...

... and inside, where I trained and practiced my fencing.

A sidebar, of course, is a shorter, related piece that accompanies a larger article.

For example, every article that I’ve had published in InSite magazine has required a sidebar.  So this is a sidebar that accompanies not only the two-part blog post that follows, but also the one that will precede this.

I wanted you to see this photo of me “tail-gating” outside of Autzen Stadium in Eugene, Oregon, during the Festival of Bands 2010.  On top of the Coleman cooler, I have a single burner attached to a one-pound propane tank, which I’m using to heat up some chili and beef stew.  Several other band parents walked by and said they’d be back when it was ready, but they never returned.

Anyway, Autzen Stadium provides an athletic backdrop that made me think of an Olympic Gold Medalist named Dick Fosbury.  Although Autzen Stadium is at University of Oregon (my alma mater), Fosbury graduated from Oregon State University.  But beyond that difference, there are some intriguing similarities between Fosbury’s life and mine.  Like me, he was born in Portland, Oregon.  He is a Baby Boomer, like me.  Then, also like me, as a youngster with his family, he moved to Medford, Oregon.  He graduated from Medford High School in 1965, where he had first started experimenting with a new high jumping technique.  Living in Medford, Oregon, in those days, we definitely knew about Dick Fosbury.  When we did the high jump in PE class, we all tried the Fosbury Flop.  Fosbury revolutionized the high jump by introducing his back-first technique, which became known as the “Fosbury Flop.”  Almost all high jumpers now use this technique.  With it, he won a gold medal at the 1968 Olympics in Mexico.  (I also lived in Mexico City for a while, and I wrote about the 1968 Mexico City Olympics in my novel.)  In fact, at the 1968 Olympics he set high jump records that still remain unbroken.  Dick Fosbury was inducted into the USA Track & Field Hall of Fame in 1981.  He won the following awards due to his innovative style:

Records Held
Olympic Record: High Jump – 2.24 m (October 20, 1968 – )
American Record: High Jump – 2.24 m (October 20, 1968 – )

Championships
1968 Olympics: High Jump – 2.24 m (1st)
1969 AAU: High Jump (2nd)
1969 NCAA: High Jump (1st)

He was elected to the U.S. Olympic Hall of Fame in 1992.

Inside my skull, the intense percussion is still resounding.  Today it is slightly subdued.  But on Saturday night (slash) Sunday morning, when we’d just returned from the 32nd annual Festival of Bands at University of Oregon in Autzen Stadium, my brain was pounding with it.  I also could still hear the announcer as he repeated the introduction for every band during both preliminaries and finals.  My son — although still in middle school — was performing with the high school marching band (Tigard High School) as they competed against other bands from all over the Pacific Northwest.  It was the culmination of the marching band season that began during the summer. And his band placed first in their division (Single A Class), with a score of 75.9!  In addition, they won in both Percussion and Visual Performance for their division.  I am very proud of him and the entire band – not only for their award-winning performance, but also for their commitment to days and days, and nights upon nights, of practice.

As I sat watching the literally day-long competition, I jotted down some observations, thoughts and questions on a scrap of paper that I always keep in my pocket just for this purpose. My predominant question was this:

What is the real-world value of this activity for the multitude of hours that have been invested in it?  I mean, this is a 7.5  to 8.5 minute pageant in three movements on a football field.  Where else in the world will any of these kids ever put on a uniform (i.e., a costume), play a musical instrument, and march in perfect, synchronized coordination with a large group of people?  This is something that no other big-brain mammal would ever conceive of doing.  (Or is this what dolphins do when they’re swimming together in a school?)  And yet, as evidenced by the participation and the spectators, this activity fulfills a valid, peculiar niche in society.  In fact, I felt the powerful emotion of a common affinity – we’re all here for a common purpose – like the feeling in the crowd at a NASCAR race, I imagine.

Are there marching band scholarships available from the colleges and universities??  Maybe that’s part of the real-world value.

At the Festival of Bands 2010, I was able to see the performances of both my alma maters in one day – not only the University of Oregon Marching Band, but also Sunset High School, who won everything in their division!  And I myself was in the Sunset marching band when I was in high school, but that was before the days of competitions.

After at least seven hours watching these performances, it begins to feel like I’m seeing the same group over and over again, just with a change of costumes and flags. And what’s the fascination with girls twirling, throwing and catching white, artificial rifles?

(To view Tigard High School’s award-winning performance at the 2010 Fessstival of Bands, click on this link.)

So, what is the real-world value for all the hours invested?

Here is my answer.

A couple weeks after the competition in Eugene, I was in a large, home improvement store.  I saw a youth (accompanied by his parents) wearing a jacket with the embroidery, “Sunset High School Marching Ensemble.”  I asked him if he’d participated in the Festival of Bands at Autzen Stadium.  He said yes.  And I told him how much I’d enjoyed Sunset’s award-winning performance.

I told him that my son had performed with Tigard High School, and then the youth’s mother said how much she and all the Sunset parents enjoyed Tigard’s performance.  In fact, she said that she was going to send a letter to the directors of Tigard’s marching band to tell them how much the Sunset parents thought that Tigard’s performance excelled in entertainment and creativity.  I realized that this was a very significant compliment – coming from the band who won everything in their division.

For most of my life, I faltered with the concept that what I should be doing was either: a) something I didn’t enjoy doing, or b) something that was for others, not for myself.  It was the whole “self-denial” thing to an extreme.  But was it misguided?  If I’m denying my self, then am I really fulfilling what I was put here for?

Now that my life is half over, I am beginning to practice the idea that I should pursue what I enjoy, and that will likewise lead to success.  It’s a weird feeling – like, life can actually be fun, rather than the daily chores.  It may seem peculiar – to others, to the bystanders – like watching a marching band; but it’s the right thing.

The marching band has taught me an important lesson.  The students participate because of sincere enjoyment.  They learn the value of commitment, perseverance and dedication despite the extreme effort.  They learn about working as a coordinated team.  All this is essential in the “real world.”  Indeed, the massive coordination of everybody is absolutely awesome:  not just the band, but also the additional personnel required for getting on and off the field quickly; and, of course, the performance itself.  And this massive coordination and commitment results in recognition and praise from peers (i.e., Sunset’s marching band).  This is what is required to obtain success.  That is real-world value.

(To view Sunset High School’s complete performance, click on this link.)