Being humble doesn’t mean being weak

After spending some 77 years on this sorry planet, 43 of them in trucking, I’ve learned some things. The value of humility was one of the first, and maybe the most important, certainly for a journalist. When you don’t think and act like you’re the cat’s meow, as my mother used to say, you’re far more likely – and able – to hear what others think and care about. It’s the first step in developing true civility, a trait I value greatly.

I understood what ‘humble’ means when I was just 10. It was a starry summer night and I was sitting on the curb in front of our house with the Adamson twins, Pete and Dave, their bikes on the lawn behind us. We were looking up at the lively sky and wondering aloud what was really there. We couldn’t possibly know, I concluded, nor could we ever have answers to such big questions. Going further still, I realized that I was but a miniscule speck in a universe bigger and deeper than my tiny mind could ever understand. With real certainty, I knew then that solving those big questions – like is there a god? – didn’t matter in the least. It would be a waste of time trying to figure it all out. I’ve lived with that certainty ever since.

A lesson in humility

That’s one kind of humility, but I met another one when it slapped me in the face at the Manitoba Trucking Association convention in about 1981. At the time I was pretty fresh in my role as editor of Canadian Driver/Owner magazine and de facto editor of its big sister, Bus & Truck Transport. I was very aware that owner-operators were an unhappy bunch and I was ready to defend their rights, having heard their bitching and moaning every day for a year or so. So when the MTA invited me to debate Doug Hindmarsh, vice-president at Reimer, about their perceived mistreatment by the fleets that hired them, I felt I had no choice but to argue their case publicly. Big mistake.

Trouble was, with little more than a year in trucking, I didn’t know how much I didn’t know. And Doug was one of the sharpest minds in the game. He slaughtered me. I mean he really butchered me with far better logic and many more salient facts, and my face must have been beet red for days afterward. I still feel embarrassed four decades later.

The lessons? Understand your limitations and make damn sure you know your ground if you might some day be tested. And, for sure, learn when to say ‘no’.

Helping trucking businesses

Ironically, it was in Winnipeg that same year or the next when I learned another crucial lesson in a much happier way. It was at the MTA’s semi-annual truck show, once an important event on the trucking calendar. We had a booth there which I was manning on Saturday afternoon. I was intrigued when a young Hutterite guy approached me, his wife and three little girls behind him, all in traditional garb. He smiled shyly, introduced himself as a farmer who also ran a couple of trucks, and proceeded to thank me quite effusively for writing and publishing articles that helped him operate his trucking business more efficiently.

As the British say, I was gobsmacked, not having truly understood my role before that moment. As an editor I was not there to report but to serve, to help, a lesson that has ruled my working days ever since.

And then another bad teaching moment when I nearly destroyed Today’s Trucking just a year or so into its life. Make that 1988 when, almost as an aside in a larger story, I wrote that a small but well-established carrier was bankrupt. It wasn’t. I had believed a trusted friend who was repeating a rumor that I took to be fact, and then irresponsibly published it without checking. The owner’s lawyer called to say that I was woefully wrong and a lawsuit was coming our way. I fell through the floor.

Learning from mistakes

Thankfully, I’m not one to hide from my mistakes, so I did the bold thing and called the owner directly, apologizing like never before or since. To my massive relief, he accepted my apology and simply demanded that I publish a clarification in the next issue. I still feel enormously grateful for his understanding.

The lesson there is obvious, and not just for journalists: assume nothing and be sure of your facts by making the second and then the third phone call to check your facts, more if necessary. Being right is crucial. Listen carefully.

I could go on and on about such moments, such lessons, but you get the picture.

This, by the way, is my last column to be published on TruckNews.com or in Today’s Trucking magazine. My pen is down. I’ve truly enjoyed your company all these years, not least because you taught me things. I’m still not sure I’d win that debate with Doug Hindmarsh but I’m a lot better equipped now than I was then. Because I listened to you folks and absorbed your knowledge and experience. I offer you my heartfelt thanks and wish you the best.

See ya.