I've been thinking about one of my former college professors lately. His name was Dr. Jim Soluri, and he taught music theory at the
State University of New York at Oswego, where I went to college.
He was a short, non-assuming friendly man who basically did his job, but he had some expanded duties as well. He ran a group called the
State Singers, a specialized vocal group that sang pop and jazz tunes, as well as some special songs thrown in from time to time. There was
no song more special to anyone who ever saw this group perform than the closing song called "Show Me The Way". I have never been certain,
but I believe Dr. Soluri wrote this song because I've never heard it anywhere else, nor been able to find the lyrics anywhere on the internet.
I took two classes from him, and though I debated it, I was the perennial B-student in his class. We would have constant debates because I
would create these brilliant masterpieces, at least in my mind, only to have him constantly tell me that Bach wouldn't have written them that
way. He always entertained my discussion, though, and I always appreciated that he did, even when I wasn't agreeing with him. And, because
of this, I always admired him and did all the other things he asked, because he did take the time to talk to me, even when others in the class
had to pine away the time listening to my complaints every once in awhile.
A few years ago, Dr. Soluri had been retired for a year, and in an act that's relatively uncommon, it was decided that there would be a tribute concert
to give him a big time send off. Letters went out across the country, and I was lucky to get one, and I accepted, even though I was never part of
any of his ensemble groups. My wife and I went on that night to the event, driving 30 minutes north to Lake Ontario, and when we got there I
was not only surprised by how many people had come, but surprised by some of the people who were there, because some of them had come a
very long distance. One of those people who came back was
Robin Curtis, who, if anyone is familiar with
Star Trek, played a major role in the
third movie and made an early appearance in the fourth movie. To this day, I can't remember seeing anything go out for any other teachers,
and I was to learn later that the event wasn't sponsored by the school, but by current students and current members of the latest incarnation
of these same State Singers.
The night was interesting, as former performers and current performers got up on stage and sang, both solos and group performances.
Both State Singers and the schools' jazz group, known as Solid State, were now under the auspices of a different professor, so the sounds
and styles were different. Some were pretty good, some weren't good at all, but none of it mattered because I knew what I'd come for, and
hoped I wouldn't be disappointed. We sat through all of it, and then the crowd started to stir; it would seem that everyone else who showed
up was expecting magic to come also.
We weren't disappointed. The professor who had taken over announced the coming conclusion, then put through a request for
"someone" to come up and play a song that the school hadn't performed in a year or so, "someone" familiar with this song who could
give it that special something for one last time. Dr. Soluri got up from his seat in the audience and went up on stage. Of course
this part was staged, as I knew who the singer was going to be weeks earlier, even though it wasn't announced, and when I saw her
in attendance I knew she was going to be singing the final song. The good doctor sat down, launched into the very familiar song,
which was a touch of gospel, pop and jazz, and the room lit up as my friend Edna Jesse started singing. Everyone was juiced, and we
all participated in some way for the next five minutes; it was the crowning achievement of the night.
After the applause and everything else calmed down, there was a reception in the student union. Dr. Soluri was there, and he greeted
every single person by name, including me, someone he hadn't seen in at least 10 years at that point, possibly 15 years or more. What I
didn't know at the time was that Dr. Soluri was retiring because he'd been given a short time to live, and within a year he was gone. So,
the tribute was his last hurrah, and to my knowledge that song hasn't been performed since, and may never be performed again.
Usually when I talk about leadership, I do so under the guise of being a better manager. It's not always about that type of thing, though.
True leadership means you have ways of inspiring people to do great things, or touching their lives in a positive way so that they will
always remain loyal to you, no matter the years or the distance. As I said earlier, Dr. Soluri was a relatively simple man, teaching at
this school for his entire professional career, never opting for the position of department head, always being there for his students and
entertaining their opposing theories on things throughout the years. The tribute, and the number of people that showed up, was a true
testament to his leadership.
Think about yourself and this topic of leadership. How would you want people to remember you years later? How would you hope
they would honor your memory, or any of the information you've imparted on them during your association with them? How do you
want people to interact with you now, as someone who has authority because of a title, or as someone they respect because of who
you are and how you've treated them?
Leadership is more than just management. Management wins battles; leadership wins wars, or finds ways to keep you out
of wars to begin with. Leadership means you never falter in someone else's eyes, even though you're not perfect. Leadership
means your words and actions carry over in other people's minds forever.
My dad was a leader, and so was Dr. Soluri. Strive to be a leader; you won't regret it.