I had a strange moment the other day. It happened while I brushed my teeth…but I promise this isn’t a disclosure about personal hygiene or bathroom humor. I should clarify. Disclosure, yes. But I’m not telling on myself. It’s a story with a resonate undertone about the power of quiet confidence – a desirable quality. Especially in leaders. Involving toothpaste. 😉
When I was in graduate school, the Dean was a fearsome-looking man. Auspicious in his attire and demeanor. He rarely smiled and when he did, it was the sort of wry grin that conveyed you’d done something unthinkable…but you didn’t know about it yet.
My university was in a historic (read – falling apart) building on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Long before restoration had begun to save the beautiful façade and remedy the interior quirks. Odd staircases, uneven floors, but there were incredibly redemptive features; stellar views of Lake Michigan and architectural touches from a time gone by: plaster walls, frescoes, hand carved railings, marble floors.
The Dean? He looked right at home. Stately but a little misbegotten, his cardigan sometimes buttoned unevenly. As he roamed the halls, he had the look of Professor Charles Kingsfield from the 1973 film, “The Paper Chase”. Do you remember it? The Dean I’m reminiscing about was a close cousin, surely, of John Houseman’s character – Charles W. Kingsfield Jr. Imposing. Intimidating. Down to the tweed jacket and off-kilter bow tie. (See snip in image above.)
It’s been decades since I watched the film, but I’ve got a hankering for it. I remember being awestruck by the setting – Harvard Law School – and the intensity of the storyline about the power and allure of education. I can’t say for sure, but it might’ve been one of the early influences that propelled me toward education as a career. Strive. Serve. Succeed. A little bit of an escape hatch from my complicated life. A tightrope of a different sort.
The other day I did something silly that, incongruously, made me think of the Dean in the most random and glorious way. I try not to do this, but every now and then I find myself ambling around the house with my electric toothbrush in my mouth, unknowingly dripping toothpaste. It’s not too bad when I’m in my jammies, but if I’m fully dressed and end up with a glob (or even a droplet or two) of toothpaste on my clothes, it’s the worst to get out. Especially on my beloved black turtlenecks.
As I tried to dab away the splitter-splatter, thinking I should really wear a bib given my dribble habits, I thought about the Dean and a long-ago, surprising encounter. He stood in the library, facing one of the sunlit windows toward the lake as he wrestled with a water bottle and his hanky, trying to wipe away residue of some sort from his cardigan. It looked like a private moment, so I planned to scoot around him and disappear into the stacks, but he turned to me and asked, “Do you think I got it?” I’d never spoken to him before, and his question was arresting.
I remember stumbling a bit as I backed up. I don’t know what I said. Probably something like, “Excuse me?” or “Sorry?”.
The Dean was undeterred as he pointed to what looked like a grayish glob on his sweater. “This,” he said. “I can’t believe I left the house wearing Crest as an accessory.”
I’d never seen his smiling eyes; he instantly looked more like a kindly grandpa – one willing to poke fun at himself – and far less like the tightly-wound gentleman of privilege I avoided.
I put my backpack down and watched as he upended his water bottle into his hanky and worked on the spot again. I said nothing but I remember offering an encouraging nod of positivity as the glob became less prominent.
When he finished, he put his hanky back in his pocket and asked how my studies were going – shocking me when he called me by name. It never occurred to me that he would know me. But he did. And in that moment, I realized I’d assigned all sorts of negativity to him based on his demeanor and position of authority.
After our toothpaste encounter, every time we’d pass in the hallway he’d offer his version of a grin with a greeting. Usually a “Good day, Victoria” and it was like a gift.
My judgment of him had been harsh but when I slowed down to pay attention to his quiet confidence, I learned he was revered and respected by many. His quietness was simply a reflection of being at ease. With himself.
Vicki 😊
Photo Credit: 1974 Oscar Winner – Best Actor in a Supporting Role – John Houseman as Charles W. Kingsfield Jr.; Awardsworthy.org
Hi – I’m Victoria, Vicki, Dr. Vicki. I hold a doctorate in Adult Education and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), and author of Surviving Sue | Eckhartz Press.
Check out this link to learn more about my book “Surviving Sue” – all about resilience and love.
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Victoria Ponders 
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