Thursday, August 21, 2025

SHIRLEY'S SANDALS

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The counseling association to which I belonged at the time, The American Association of Christian Counselors, was co-sponsoring a week-long conference along with Focus on the Family in Denver, and I was determined to take advantage of the opportunity.

Our hotel was no more than a couple of blocks from the convention hall, and while I attended various workshops during the day, my wife toured the local sites, such as the Denver Mint, and Rocky Mountain National Park.

The week passed quickly, and the event was everything I might have hoped for, or expected. Dr. James Dobson, founder and then president of Focus on the Family, spoke to the audience on the closing night of the conference. Afterwards, he invited anyone who would to chat with him, pose for photos, (and no doubt, he got writer’s cramp with all the autographs he gave out that evening.)

It so happened that I was somewhere near the middle of a line of people which stretched from one end of the auditorium to the other, and I decided to “bail out.” Leaving the line, I walked to an exit door, and prepared to head back to the hotel. But then

… I changed my mind, and walked back from whence I’d come. I was going to talk to this man. After all, I’d traveled 1500 miles to be here, and I doubted the opportunity would ever repeat itself. Well, since I’d walked away, I was now forced to take my place at the end of the line.

Slowly, but surely the line moved forward, (with the emphasis on “slowly.”) Dr. Dobson must have had the patience of Job, since he would pose for photos, and sometimes summon family members to stand with their loved one. As I neared the imminent psychologist, I heard Shirley Dobson utter a quiet complaint.

“Jim, we really need to go home. It’s getting so late.”

I looked over at her, and was surprised to see the “First Lady of Focus on the Family” standing there barefoot, and holding her sandals in one hand.

By this time, I was no more than a few feet from Dr. Dobson, and he was speaking to his last two or three participants of the event. And it was obvious that he planned to attend to everyone in line, whether his wife was tired, hungry, or just plain ready to go home. But to his credit, he did not say, “Well, darn Shirley. Why did you bother to come with me, if you can’t hang loose, and let me do my job?”

But it was finally my turn, and Dr. Dobson smiled, and he looked my way.

“Well, how are you doing? I’m James Dobson.” (But he may have been thinking, “Man, oh man. I’m glad this guy is the ‘Last of the Mohicans’ and I know Shirley is gladder than I ever thought about being. She’s really gonna pound my head!”)

I introduced myself, got his autograph, and asked my question.

“Dr. Dobson, what one recommendation would you suggest to a pastoral counselor?”

He put his imminent demise out of his head, and replied,

“Well, if I had more time, perhaps I’d come up with something wiser, or more interesting, but I’d encourage you to be loyal to your clients, your pastor, your church, and your God.”

I thanked him, and stepped away; content that this was very good advice. It was time to make that five minute walk back to the hotel.

But in the meantime, time had slipped away from me, and it was approaching “the bewitching hour.” My wife had long since begun wondering what had become of me, (since she knew the meeting would have ended two hours ago,) and she had spoken to the hotel security guard.

“Well ma’am, perhaps he’s gone to a bar to get a couple of drinks.”

To which my wife responded,

“No. No way. He’s not like that. You don’t know him. He doesn’t drink.”

And they agreed that he’d go looking for me if I didn’t appear within 5 minutes.

Well, I did.

And my wife was not a “happy camper.”

Of course, I apologized, and told her that time had gotten away from me, and that I’d been talking with Dr. Dobson.

While the psychologist with the initials “J.D.” might have slept on the sofa that night, thankfully my wife was almost as big a fan as I am of “the man,” and the matter was soon forgotten.

by Bill McDonald, PhD 

PERSONAL PARALYSIS

 4431

I have previously reflected on the following experience, but not having ready access to that story among far too many files, and far too little time, I feel inclined to reflect on it again.

A few years ago I decided to trim my neighbor’s tree. Generally, I would not have been quite so altruistic, but the limbs of the tree hung over my driveway, and as spring approached each year a healthy supply of oak pollen showered my car, and the pavement upon which it was parked.

And since there was a basketball post just beneath the offending tree, it seemed good to me to prop my straight ladder against it, and having done so, I set about the task at hand.

Did I mention round posts and straight ladders are altogether incompatible? (Well, they are).

Suddenly, the ladder accomplished a task for which it was never intended. It became mobile. And I became its unintended pilot. Given the choice to ride the thing to the ground, or jump, I chose the latter.

And as I “winged my way to worlds unknown” I chose to land upright, (or something approximating it) and twisted my body just enough in my failed flight to the concrete to land on my right foot.

I knew. I just knew

My ankle was broken

After lying there a moment, and using my car for leverage, I stood upon my left foot, hop-scotched to my front door, opened it, and made my wife aware of my injury.

Fast forward several weeks, and I found myself in a prep room at Tampa General Hospital preparing to have my ankle reconstructed; since it was not only broken, but it was badly shattered.

Just prior to being wheeled into the operating room a nurse administered an injection to my right thigh, and explained that shortly thereafter my leg would develop a state of paralysis, and that when I awoke I would experience this condition for several hours prior to the restoration of feeling.

As she predicted, when I came to I was provided an entre into a state of being to which I had never before been privy.

For a full 65 years I had enjoyed complete use of all four limbs. Suddenly, I was short one. Initially, my paralytic experience was nothing more, nothing less than interesting. The natural scheme of things in which we move, and live and have our being had been interrupted. Perhaps if I expended a little more thought, a little more will power I could lift my leg an inch off the bed. (Well,… no). Perhaps if I focused all my energies on my little toe, I could wiggle that tiny digit. (Nice try).

Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch

By this time I had gone from being an interested observer to a concerned participant.

I imagined the worst. I mean, I could just see myself being discharged in this condition, and having to use a cane the last third of my life; while all the while dragging a useless limb behind me.

Alarmed, I spoke,

“Nurse, uh, you’re probably aware that my leg is paralyzed. Uhmm, does this sorta thing ever go wrong? Is there any chance I’m stuck with this dead leg for the duration?”

“Nurse Simms” assured me that the paralysis would abate, and that I’d regain complete sensation and mobility in the limb within a few hours.”

And true to her word, that is exactly how things fell together.

My nephew, his name was “Wade,” was born with a malady referred to as “Spina Bifida.” While he had some use of his arms and hands, his legs and feet were paralyzed from birth, and he was dependent on a wheelchair throughout his all too brief life. And though Wade endured countless surgeries, and a significant amount of pain and humiliation, he never seemed to complain, and it was if the angels had loaned him a permanent smile.

During the two decades Providence allowed Wade to grace this planet, I sympathized for and with him. However, it was only after his death, and my subsequent injury, surgery and (temporary) paralysis that I could truly empathize; since it was only after my own experience that I had any real hope of understanding what ‘til then was beyond my understanding.

 by Bill McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Wednesday, August 20, 2025

MAKING A FINAL MEMORY TOGETHER

 4430

Whether well thought out, (or as Forrest Gump might say) “more accidental like” my daddy left stuff behind. I have several of his paintings on my walls. He loved to paint barns, and swamps, and trees and such things on large canvasses. And once he completed a work, he would either frame it with a two-tone, store bought frame of natural wood, and gold trim, or he’d envelope the painting with his own hand made frame of pecky cypress. To my knowledge, he never painted from “real life,” but copied existing paintings, with his own alterations, from art magazines.

 

In his 50’s, my Father got involved in genealogy. At the time there was no internet, or ancestry.com, since Al Gore hadn’t yet thought of the idea. (The last sentence should merit a smile.) Everything daddy did in the area of genealogy was done using actual source documents. Over the course of several years, Henry Jr. compiled an exquisite volume which contained data on all the descendants of Isham McDonald, his great great Grandfather, through John McDonald, his grandson. That volume has been distributed to numerous extended family members.

 

Speaking of Isham McDonald, my dad and I once took a trip together, in the late 90’s, or early 2000’s, to the old Orangeburgh District of South Carolina. Isham had settled in this area prior to the time of the American Revolution on, (as I recall) the Little Pee Dee Creek. Daddy and I hoped to find the approximate location of our Scottish grandfather’s original homestead.

 

Having arrived in that part of South Carolina, since my dad was an exterminator, he looked up a local man who was involved with the same vocation, and we sat down with him. My Father explained our purpose for being in the area, and Mr. Carter informed us that he knew an old man who he felt sure could assist us.

 

The local exterminator led the way, and after about fifteen minutes, we rolled up in the old fella’s yard. Mr. Brown was 90 years of age, (and no doubt he has passed from the scene by now).

 

He was a lively old guy, and obviously enjoyed having company. My dad, Mr. Carter and I sat in the living room with the kindly old man, and his wife for thirty minutes or more, as we discussed Isham McDonald, his Revolutionary War service, and his South Carolina homestead.

 

   

Daddy had long known that he would never find the exact site of Isham’s property, since Gen. Sherman had burned nearby Southern courthouses during the Civil War, and records such as land deeds, and last wills and testaments had been lost forever.

 

However, Mr. Brown proceeded to tell us that when he was a young man, he hunted raccoon along the Pee Dee Creek, and at one time it was easily 40 feet wide. His eyes twinkled, as he reminisced that on one particular hunt, he and his dogs were tracking a coon, when he stumbled and fell into that creek. Of course, we all laughed with him as he shared that poignant memory.

 

As he approached the end of his story, the old fella mused, “You know, I can tell you where that creek is, the one your Granddaddy Isham lived on. It’s not the fast moving river it used to be though. It’s nothing more than a culvert under the road today.”

 

And so Mr. Brown told us how to find our way to what remained of the creek, and thanking him, we took our leave. As we walked into the front yard, Mr. Carter “left us to our own devices” as he, no doubt, realized that this was a father and son moment. Daddy also thanked this fine man, and so we boarded our separate vehicles and went our way.

 

 (If I recalled the name of his business and the city where it was located, I’d enjoy chatting with Mr. Carter again. I would update him on our visit to what was left of that creek, and share with him the details of my dad’s passing).

 

Well, my readers, as I alluded above, we found the creek, or as Mr. Brown and I have previously implied, what was left of it. And indeed, it was no more than a culvert which ran under that old country road; perhaps three feet wide and only a trickle of brown water. Daddy and I got out, and walked down the embankment. I suppose we took a few pictures, but if so, ten or twelve years later, I have no idea where they’re located, and I regret it.

 

We may have lingered there all of six or eight minutes, and my dad mused that Isham’s homestead would have been within a mile or two from where we stood. The trees and undergrowth in this area prevented us from following the path of the creek, and I doubt we would have discovered anything of further significance, had we been able to do so.

 

Nevertheless, the bond between my dad and I was strengthened that day, and the time we spent together that week allowed us to reconcile any unspoken differences which may have existed between us.

 

I will be eternally grateful that my Father and I were given the opportunity to say some things to one another we’d never said before, to spend the quality time together that we’d never spent before, and to go where we’d never gone before in pursuit of those whose very flesh and blood we shared.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

Monday, August 18, 2025

REWRITING MINDSETS. Pt. 1

 4429

REWRITING MINDSETS HOMEWORK – Part 1

The following assignment has the potential to provide rich insight and to literally change your life.

1.     Write a paragraph which summarizes what you believe is a Negative Mindset in your life.

 

For instance:

 

“All my life I have believed that I could never achieve success in school, on a job, or in a relationship. The longer I live the more I realize what an utter failure and waste I am. God really does make junk. I’m clear proof of it.”

 

2.     Next, write a paragraph which summarizes a Defensive Mechanism which flows out of the faulty mindset. (This paragraph represents a behavior, or the lack thereof).

 

For instance:

“Because I am a failure, I have given up trying. I have been content, and will remain content with just getting by. I mean, ‘what’s the use anyway?’ I must shield myself from getting hurt or taking risks. As much as possible, I will refrain from any activity where I am destined for more failure.”

 

 


REWRITING MINDSETS - Pt. 2

 4428

REWRITING MINDSETS HOMEWORK – Part 2

3. Next, Rewrite the Faulty Mindset contained in the first paragraph. Whether you believe it or not at this moment rewrite the mindset in a healthier, positive manner.

For instance:

“All of my life I have been believing a lie. Because I understand this, I am determined to change my perceptions of my abilities. I am not a failure and God really doesn’t make junk. He has loved me with an everlasting love, and as I follow Him, He will give me success and give me grace in my daily activities.”

 

4. Finally, write a paragraph which summarizes a Coping Mechanism that should result from the rewritten mindset, above. (This paragraph represents a positive behavior).

For instance:

“Because it is not enough to believe a certain way, I will begin to take healthier, positive actions which reflect my new mindset about my abilities and self-worth. I will risk getting hurt. I will go the distance. I will take responsibility to succeed, and give my best to anything I undertake.”

 

**Begin to focus on, make a priority of, and apply the Rewritten Mindset and the resulting Coping Mechanism in your life. (#3 & #4). Read these paragraphs aloud in a mirror several times a day, if necessary.

Every opportunity you get take the necessary actions which agree with your new mindset. (You may wish to do this assignment, Parts 1&2, several times in relation to various faulty or negative mindsets in your life).


STAY ENCOURAGED

 4427

My wife and I attended a relatively large church in Tampa during my tenure as a personnel clerk at MacDill Air Force Base. We had taken advantage of several nightly revival meetings, and as the final service concluded Pastor Matheny invited the congregation to line up, and say our ‘farewells’ to the visiting evangelist.

While I have long since forgotten the name of the itinerant preacher, I will never forget one especially peculiar trait which he displayed on a recurring basis. For you see, at times he would get ‘so wound up’ that it seemed he needed to release his emotional mainspring. And thus, after this admonition or that bit of spiritual insight he’d kick out his right leg like he was punting a football, and shout, ‘Hallelujah.’

Be that as it may, as I finally neared the somewhat quirky evangelist, and reached out to shake his hand, he looked me in the eyes, and offered me what was perhaps the two most singular words in all of my life.

“Stay Encouraged!”

Though almost half a century has come and gone since that evening, and though this dear man may have, by now, passed from the earth, I have never forgotten his words, and they have buoyed me up, and afforded me courage when I might have, otherwise, simply given up.

And I think there is no more fitting manner in which to conclude what I have begun, nor anything more crucial I could offer than to pass that proverbial baton on to you; the one I received when I shook the preacher’s hand.

“Stay Encouraged!”

 by Bill McDonald, PhD


Sunday, August 17, 2025

ROSELLA HIGHTOWER - Native American Ballerina

 4426

Rosella Hightower

Native American dancer Rosella Hightower (born 1920) was an internationally renowned ballerina from the 1940s through the 1960s.

Dancing with such companies as the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, the Grand Ballet du Marquis de Cuevas, and the American Ballet Theatre, and with other luminaries such as Rudolf Nureyev, her strength and lyricism delighted critics and audiences alike. In addition to a stellar career as a dancer, Hightower was noted for founding a distinguished dance academy in the South of France and being the first American to direct the famed Paris Opera Ballet.

Childhood

Hightower was born on January 30, 1920, in Ardmore, Oklahoma, to Choctaw Native American parents. When she was still in infancy, the family moved to Kansas City, Missouri, where Hightower was reared. It was during the time of Prohibition, dance crazes such as the Charleston, and little tolerance or acceptance of Native American culture or rituals.

Hightower's early years were an unusual combination of hardscrabble existence and highbrow ambition. On the one hand, she worked the fields with her family, as was expected. Lili Cockerville Livingston, author of Native American Ballerinas, told Lyndy Franklin of Dance Spirit, "When (Hightower) brought in her first bag of cotton that she picked, she earned her place in the family. She was always a tomboy." On the other hand, she developed an interest in ballet at a very young age—an interest that must have been at least partly encouraged by her parents.

Referring to Hightower and four other famous Native American dancers that hailed from Oklahoma (Maria and Marjorie Tallchief, Moscelyne Larkin, and Yvonne Chouteau), Livingston told Franklin, "They were exposed to the old dance companies that were touring the Midwest in the 1930s and they saw something magical. They were bitten by the bug." But surely that bug could have come nowhere near Hightower in her youth without her parent's approval—else, how could a youngster have witnessed the performances? Similarly, it is unlikely that Hightower could have studied with ballet teacher Dorothy Perkins in Kansas City without parental support. Study she did, and the die was cast.

Early Professional Years

In 1938 famous ballet master Leonid Massine's Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo was performing in St. Louis, Missouri. The then-18-year-old Hightower tracked him down after a performance and convinced him to allow her to audition. Her powers of persuasion must have been formidable, as the master reportedly missed his train to accommodate the aspiring ballerina's request. And against the odds a second time, he was sufficiently impressed with her talent to ask her to join his troupe in southern France. Years later, Hightower recalled that time to Karyn Bauer of Dance. "I didn't even know where Monte Carlo was. But I got there, on a boat. It [took] two weeks!"

Hightower made her debut with Massine's company in Seventh Symphony in 1938. She continued to dance under him until 1941, learning the troupe's repertoire while performing on tour at American military bases during World War II. Among her other early roles with the company were parts in Swan Lake (1940) and in Carnaval (1941). Hightower would return to work with the ensemble as a soloist after it became the Original Ballet Russe, but 1941 saw her back in New York to make her mark with the Ballet Theatre (later the famed American Ballet Theatre).

Hightower's technical gifts and effortless lyricism on the stage came into the spotlight when she performed as a soloist with the Ballet Theatre under Lucia Chase. She debuted as Carlotta Grisi in Pas de quatre in 1941, and subsequently performed such roles as the Lover-in-Experience in Pillar of Fire (1942), Calliope in George Balanchine's Apollo (1943), the White Witch in Fair at Sorochinsk (1943), Odette in Swan Lake (1944), and the title role in Giselle (1944). It was Hightower's rendition of Giselle that brought her first major praise, and secured her a place as a ranking ballerina. But she was destined to soar to still greater heights.

Prima Ballerina

Hightower joined the Original Ballet Russe in 1946, and went on to tour North and South America. Her notable ballets, now as principal dancer, for that company included the Don Quixote Pas de deux in 1946, the classic Black Swan Pas de deux (from Swan Lake) in 1946, and Jerome Robbins's Pas de trois in 1947. In 1947 she became principal dancer and then prima ballerina with the Marquis de Cuevas's Grand Ballet de Monte Carlo (later the Grand Ballet du Marquis de Cuevas). It was with this company that Hightower had her longest affiliation as a dancer (until 1962), and that brought her unequivocal international acclaim.

Other than taking time out to marry Jean Robier in 1952 and have a child three years later, Hightower concentrated on her art. As de Cuevas's favorite dancer, she toured Europe, Asia, and South America with his company for 15 years. She began with Brahms Variations in 1947, and moved through a repertoire that included Concerto Barocco (1948), Persephone (1950), Le Prisonnier du Caucase (1951), Scherzo (1952), La Sylphide (1953), Corrida (1957), Gaite Parisienne (1958), and The Sleeping Beauty (1960). Hightower was hailed as one of the finest dancers of her generation, and once received a remarkable 15-minute standing ovation for a performance with the troupe. She also began to attract notice as a choreographer with the production of such concert works as Salome and Scaramouche. In 1962, however, the Grand Ballet du Marquis de Cuevas disbanded. And while an immensely successful chapter of Hightower's life had certainly ended, she wasted little time resting on her many laurels.

Educated the Provinces

After the dissolution of the Grand Ballet du Marquis de Cuevas, Hightower founded a dance school in Cannes, France, in 1962. Originally called Le Centre de Danse Classique and eventually known as l'Ecole Superieure de Danse, one of its prime designs was to raise the quality of dance by expanding its center outward from the major cities. Hightower told Bauer, "It was a challenge to open a school in Cannes at the time, because dance was London, New York, or Paris; it wasn't Cannes!" With an eye toward exposing both students and audiences to a variety of styles, the school's curriculum included ballet, jazz, and contemporary dance, and students were encouraged to become adept at all three. Monet Robier, Hightower's daughter and an instructor at the school, explained the philosophy to Caitlin Sims of Dance in this way: "The good thing about the school is that when students are trained early in different styles, it is similar to being raised speaking two languages. Without even thinking, you can speak both languages."

By promoting such variety and quality in the provinces, Hightower believed she could help raise the level of dance in general. Also toward that end, she was a firm proponent of regional dance companies, directing the Nouveau Ballet Opera de Marseille from 1969 to 1972 and the Ballet de Nancy from 1975 to 1978. Yet, even these other significant pursuits were not the sum total of Hightower's career.

Beyond de Cuevas

Hightower continued to perform after 1962, often sharing the stage with such fellow stars as Sonia Arova, Erik Bruhn, and Rudolf Nureyev. She appeared on television and in films, and was the principal dancer for the Theatre of the Champs-Elysees in 1965. Ballets she danced with that company included La Robe de plumes and Profile de silence. In 1967 Hightower returned to Oklahoma to take the stage in the world premier of The Four Moons, a production honoring the state's 60th year of statehood and featuring three of the other acclaimed Oklahoman ballerinas. Even long after she officially hung up her shoes in 1977, Hightower appeared as the lead in Harold and Maude in 1991, at age 71.

After her retirement, Hightower concentrated on directing, teaching, and choreography. Those efforts included the staging of The Sleeping Beauty for the Stuttgart Ballet in 1977 and assistance in the staging of film director Franco Zeffirelli's updated version of Swan Lake at La Scala in Milan (1985). But undoubtedly the most noteworthy of Hightower's post-dancing pursuits was her turn as the first American director of the Paris Opera Ballet. During her tenure there from 1981 to 1983, the former prima ballerina took pains to shake up the venerable institution's status quo. Always a champion of the dance, Hightower attempted to build a company that had room for the nurturing and development of all its performers, not merely its principals. Many of her innovations were controversial, including the initiation of a programming system in which the troupe was divided into three groups: one to perform at the opera house, one to tour, and a third to perform modern works. Another was her staging of Hommage au ballet, which featured a rare on-stage appearance of the entire company at one time. The performance was designed to drive home the idea of a unified ballet company. Describing the Paris Opera Ballet as the "company of the decade" in 1989, John Percival of the London Times wrote, "The company's ascendancy began with the arrival of Rosella Hightower as director…. Her opening (program) was a manifesto and a survey of the company's history and achievements…. Hightower's skill lay in choosing established successes from elsewhere which (sic) would show off the dancers and develop their flair." In short, she was a dancer's director.

Hightower's long and impressive career was filled with variety, determination, and talent. The French government recognized her contributions with some of its highest honors. Among those were the Grand Prix des critiques de danse in 1949, the Medaille Universitaire de la danse in 1967, the Chevalier de la Legion d'Honneur in 1975, the Officier de la Legion d'Honneur in 1988, the Grand Prix national de danse in 1990, and the Officier de l'Ordre National du merite. Nor did her birth state forget her, as she was honored with the Oklahoma Cultural Treasure Award in 1997.

In December of 2001 the then-81-year-old Hightower passed on the directorship of her beloved l'Ecole Superieure de Danse to her hand-picked successor, Monique Loudieres. The move coincided with the school's 40th year in operation and its relocation to spacious new quarters in a former hotel on the outskirts of Mas de Campane in 2002. It was hard to imagine the renowned institution without its founder, but Hightower appeared to be content with her decision. Nonetheless, as Robier told Sims in 1996, "She is really the spirit of the school." Even without its physical manifestation, that spirit was bound to endure.