The Rest of Rowan's Story (05-02-2007)

I started a blog at Blogger because I changed email addresses and forgot my password at Wordpress. Most of the stuff I've written over the years is kind of dumb, but some of it might be worth preserving. I'm copying it over here so that when I forget my login info again, I can just copy it from this one place.

Some time back, a story was posted on the announcement board in our break room.  This story was offered as an inspirational essay of hope and encouragement in the business world.   Ironically, the first site I found hosting a write-up of this essay was blocked by our network police program (personal websites are apparently a no-no).  


Anyway, I appreciated the intent of this message, and I believe it makes some interesting observations about modern employees, but I think it left out some important pieces.  The essay is A Message To Garcia (found here), and it begins like this… 

IN ALL THIS CUBAN BUSINESS there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion. When war broke out between Spain and the United States, it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain fastnesses of Cuba—no one knew where. No mail or telegraph could reach him. The President must secure his co-operation, and quickly. 

What to do! 

Someone said to the President, “There is a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can.” 

Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How “the fellow by name of Rowan” took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and having delivered his letter to Garcia—are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail 

The point I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, “Where is he at?”
By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this or that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing—”Carry a message to Garcia.”

Since the original author did not wish to dwell on the details of Rowan’s adventures, it is up to our imaginations to determine his course.  Here’s my version… 

Rowan was a resourceful man, and he knew Garcia’s role in the revolution, so he booked a ticket on the next vessel to Cuba.  He docked on the coast in the dead of night, and began asking passer-bys about the whereabouts of Garcia.   

As he slowly unraveled the (few) clues and eventually discarded the (many) red herrings, he migrated his way through the deadly jungle.  Undeterred by the deafening cacophony of insects (who often dined on his blood), the necessity of perpetual watchfulness for deadly camouflaged snakes and spiders, and the mementos of sprained ankles and scratches, he wandered through the jungle in search of more hints to his final destination.  
  
After three weeks of deprivation, Rowan finally made it to Garcia’s secret camp.  He proudly handed the leader the message. 

Garcia’s eyes bounced like a metronome as they hungrily devoured the words printed on the correspondence.  But suddenly, His face contorted in confusion.  He read and re-read the note, checking the back of the paper each time for something that might have been missed. 
He handed the latter back to Rowan and explained that he had already heard all this… 
You see, knowing that the letter was of utmost importance, the President had decided to make triplicate copies of the message. For additional assurance, he assigned the task of delivery to three different individuals:  Rowan, Skippy, and Edgar. 

Edgar was a timid and meticulous sort of fellow who was well-meaning yet distractible.  Three weeks into the assignment, he was still in the States spending his time perusing the university libraries and Google maps (occasionally wandering over to the magazine section and EBay) for the exact whereabouts of Garcia…his time, that is, that wasn’t spent harassing the President with incessant and often irrelevant questions. 

Rowan, as we saw, left immediately for Cuba with his suitcase of gumption, a carry-on bag stuffed with initiative, and little else.  In three weeks, he had traversed the jungle (ala Family-Circus fashion) and had eventually tracked down the elusive Garcia. 

Skippy, on the other hand, realized that like all assignments, this one surely had some specs, and he figured that some prior research had probably been conducted.  Knowing the President was a busy man, he asked the President’s secretary for some contact information of people “in the know” for this particular task.  No one knew exactly where Garcia was, but several folks had some educated ideas, and many knew where he was not.   The committee also knew of some decent mule salesmen and ATV stores, so Skippy would not have to journey on foot.  He asked all the right questions, and picked all the right brains, and a week and a half into the assignement, he delivered his copy of the letter…well before Rowan.  He returned home much less scathed by the markings of jungle adventure, because his preparatory research had shown him that he should begin his adventure on the opposite coast from Rowan.