Lighting a light for the topic sentence

I'm reading the words of economist Paul Samuelson, published in 1965. They please me on a level that I don't quite understand, so I read them again. After a third reading, it begins to dawn on me: it's not the subject matter, it's the construction. Says Professor Samuelson:

One should not read too much into the established theorem. It does not prove that actual competitive markets work well. It does not say that speculation is a good thing or that randomness of price changes would be a good thing. It does not prove that anyone who makes money in speculation is ipso facto deserving of the gain or even that he has accomplished something good for society or for anyone but himself. All or none of these may be true, but that would require a different investigation.

It's a paragraph that stands in tribute to the topic sentence. This bundle of five sentences is telling us: Don't do this. Here's why. Here's why. Here's why. Over and out. Ah yes, the way they could still construct a paragraph in the mid-20th Century. Why am I getting this image of Captain Walker in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome? Why am I hearing Savannah Nix in the final scene?

Time counts and keeps countin', and we knows now finding the trick of what's been and lost ain't no easy ride. But that's our trek, and we gotta travel it. And there ain't nobody knows where it's gonna lead. Still in all, every night we does the tell, so that we 'member who we was and where we came from. But most of all we 'members the man that finded us, him that came the salvage. And we lights the city, not just for him, but for all of them that are still out there. 'Cause we knows there come a night, when they sees the distant light, and they'll be comin' home.

A symphonic moment

Four guys, sitting in the sun, talking about the work they do.

First guy says, "I tend to get hired when there's complexity, or ambiguity, and they need someone to make things clear. I get hired for clarity."

Second guy says, "I get hired when things are cold and stiff, and they need some feeling. I get hired for emotion."

Third guy: "I get hired for design."

Fourth guy: "I get hired for narrative."

Not unlike the night my grandson walked into the room where I was working and said, "Strings, brass, percussion, woodwinds," and walked back out.

Got narratives?

"Running Without a Narrative" said the op-ed headline in yesterday's New York Times. Cameron Stracher was telling us that, when it came to the decline of American distance running:

Some have blamed performance-enhancing drugs for the loss of American dominance on the roads; others have criticized United States training methods; still others see a shifting of interest to other sports, like lacrosse and soccer. But the real reason for the decline is a failure of narrative.

On the same page today, Tom Friedman uses the word "narrative" in three consecutive sentences:

I don't think that President Obama has a communications problem, per se.... Rather, he has a "narrative" problem. He has not tied all his programs into a single narrative that shows the links between his health care, banking, economic, climate, energy, education and foreign policies. Such a narrative would enable each issue and each constituency to reinforce the other and evoke the kind of popular excitement that got him elected.

Friedman believes the narrative Obama needs is "nation-building at home." Stracher believes the narrative of marathon runners needs to get back to the racers and the race, instead of the current emphasis on human interest stories like the "blind dog running with his septuagenerarian master."

Everybody's talking about "narrative" today, usually in the sense of someone who needs one. Let me tell you my own story about someone who has one.

Last week I received a call offering to enroll May in a "buddy program" for Alzheimer's patients. For the next seven months, a first-year medical student will be her partner in "a fun and friendly relationship." The orientation session was last Friday.

The director of the program spoke for about two minutes. Rather than quote a bunch of details about how the program works, she told a story. I wasn't taking notes, but it went something like this:

This program is now in it's 12th year. So there are 110 people who have been on the journey that you are starting today. It all began with Dr. X, who was on the faculty of the medical school. When he learned that his memory lapses were actually the early stages of Alzheimer's, it was very shocking to him. But he reacted by saying, "Send me a medical student whom I can mentor, so in addition to the science of what causes this disease, they can experience first-hand the human cost it exacts." And today each of you follows in his footsteps, as a mentor to your junior partner.

This narrative took us out of our personal story full of unknown twists and turns, and put us into a connected series of happenings. There were those who came before us. There would be others who would take our places. There was a progenitor, who had looked at his options and decided to make a gift of his condition to someone who could benefit from it -- to be of-service rather than in-need-of-service. We could model our behavior after his.

Got something unpleasant coming up in your organization? Thinking about how to tell people? Trying to marshall all the facts? Don't forget to craft a narrative. Think of it as a story that people can see themselves in. A story that makes sense of what's happening and provides role models that guide behaviors.