What do You Do When Your Brain is Full of Old Quotes?

    In High School I was in Civil Air Patrol.  It was, and still is, an auxiliary of the US Air Force,  conducting search and rescue for aircraft lost in the United States and education for young people.  It also teaches some basic skills to its cadet members.  It is kind of a Boy or Girl Scout organization for kids who like the Air Force.
    As part of the training we took a course on leadership.  The one thing I can't get out of my head from that course is a quote from Lewis Carroll's Alice Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There.

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes -- and ships--and sealing-wax -- Of Cabbages -- and Kings -- And Why the Sea is boiling hot -- And Whether pigs have wings."

     To this day I don't have a clue about what this had to do with leadership.  I know in the past 40 years I haven't had to talk to any of those I have been  responsible for about any of those topics.  I have had, on occasion, told someone I would do something when pigs fly, but that is about as close as I've come.  But, on the other hand, they did lead a squadron of clams to the dinner table.

    In 10th or 11th grade English I had to do a dramatic reading.  I chose to read from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, by James Thurber.

    . . . "It's the millionaire banker, Wellington McMillan," said the pretty nurse. "Yes?" said Walter Mitty, removing his gloves slowly. "Who has the case?" "Dr. Renshaw and Dr. Benbow, but there are two specialists here, Dr. Remington from New York and Mr. Pritchard-Mitford from London. He flew over." A door opened down a long, cool corridor and Dr. Renshaw came out. He looked distraught and haggard. "Hello, Mitty," he said. "We're having the devil's own time with McMillan, the millionaire banker and close personal friend of Roosevelt. Obstreosis of the ductal tract. Tertiary. Wish you'd take a look at him." "Glad to," said Mitty.     In the operating room there were whispered introductions: "Dr. Remington, Dr. Mitty. Mr. Pritchard-Mitford, Dr. Mitty." "I've read your book on streptothricosis," said Pritchard-Mitford, shaking hands. "A brilliant performance, sir." "Thank you," said Walter Mitty. "Didn't know you were in the States, Mitty," grumbled Remington. "Coals to Newcastle, bringing Mitford and me up here for a tertiary." "You are very kind," said Mitty. A huge, complicated machine, connected to the operating table, with many tubes and wires, began at this moment to go pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. "The new anesthetizer is giving way!" shouted an intern. "There is no one in the East who knows how to fix it!" "Quiet, man!" said Mitty, in a low, cool voice. He sprang to the machine, which was going pocketa-pocketa-queep-pocketa-queep. He began fingering delicately a row of glistening dials. "Give me a fountain pen!" he snapped. Someone handed him a fountain pen. He pulled a faulty piston out of the machine and inserted the pen in its place. "That will hold for ten minutes," he said. "Get on with the operation." A nurse hurried over and whispered to Renshaw, and Mitty saw the man turn pale. "Coreopsis has set in," said Renshaw nervously. "If you would take over, Mitty?" Mitty looked at him and at the craven figure of Benbow, who drank, and at the grave, uncertain faces of the two great specialists. "If you wish," he said. They slipped a white gown on him; he adjusted a mask and drew on thin gloves; nurses handed him shining . . . 

    I cannot get "pocketa, pocketa, queep, pocketa queep" out of my head.  Some people hear voices, I hear "pocketa, pocketa, queep!"  Thank you Mrs. U!