Len Edgerly

Yesterday I launched a project to provide free Kindles for U.S. troops serving in Afghanistan.  I chose Kandahar because of the letter K, but also because it’s the general region where Army Sgt. Andre B. Corbin will serve when he deploys later this month.  He will be toting a new 6-inch Global Wireless Kindle and accessories, all donated by M-Edge Accessories in a sponsorship for which I gained quick and enthusiastic support from Patrick Mish, CEO of M-Edge.  You can listen to the interviews I did with Sgt. Corbin and Patrick Mish in Episode 84 of The Kindle Chronicles.

It was during those interviews that the idea of Kindles for Kandahar arrived, and I’ll be working with Andre and Patrick to develop the project. Andre this morning left the following message on my Reading Edge Facebook page:

“As the Kindles become available, I will provide to you a name and address of one of the Kandahar soldiers who will find great pleasure in receiving a Kindle. I will donate the money required to cover the postage.”

I appreciate that donation, Andre!  I realized yesterday, when the first contribution arrived, that PayPal is charging a small transaction fee, so I will donate that money back to K4K, so that we can assure donors that every dollar contributed will go toward a Kindle for the troops.  I haven’t had a chance to talk with Patrick Mish yet about M-Edge’s involvement in this next phase, but I’m hoping he will consider contributing a protective cover and an E-luminator 2 light for each of the Kindles we ship to Kandahar.

Andre has another idea we’ll pursue, which is to figure out a way to donate Amazon gift certificates for purchasing content on the K4K units.  I loved his signoff on the Facebook entry today:

“Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.”

I hope you’ll consider becoming one of the first contributors to Kindles for Kandahar. To do so, simply click here or on the logo above or the PayPal button.  If you have your own PayPal account, you will be able to use it for the contribution.  If not, there will be credit card buttons available. I don’t have nonprofit status set up for this yet, so for the moment your contribution will not be tax-deductible.

This project is a terrific use case for eReader technology.  I realized that when Andre described how small the bag is that he will carry for his personal effects when he deploys.  Instead of taking one or two print books, he will be able to bring more than a thousand titles on his 10-ounce Kindle.  His reading list for the year he will be stationed at a remote base in Tarin Kowt includes recreational fare, as well as elucidating tomes such as In Afghanistan: Two Hundred Years of British, Russian and American Occupation (Kindle, hardcover) by David Loyn and Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Afghanistan, and Bin Laden, from the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001 (Kindle, paperback) by Steve Coll.

Another book I’d recommend is Linchpin: Are You Indispensable? (Kindle, hardcover) by Seth Godin.  It’s about making yourself indispensable by overcoming lizard-brain resistance to your true mission.  I happened to have read it in preparation for an interview with Seth just before talking with Andre, and it helped me overcome reasons to procrastinate the launch of Kindles for Kandahar.  Andre and his fellow soldiers are taking the art of being indispensable to the 11th power.

I’ve begun several days of immersion in the work of Internet marketing thinker Seth Godin, as I prepare to interview him on Wednesday for the Reading Edge podcast.

Last night I took notes while watching his presentation a year ago at the O’Reilly Media Tools of Change conference.  He took the audience, largely drawn from the ranks of worried publishers, on a book-by-book tour of what he had learned to that point in the publishing of his own 10 books.  Each represented a separate experiment, from free samples to packaging a book as a milk carton.

That relentless experimentation is what impresses me so far in my Seth Godin Immersion Project. He is finding the way forward by daring to try anything, by courageously following his own curiosity.  He appears to have a high tolerance for his own mistakes, as when he chose this title for a book he hoped marketers would purchase: All Marketers are Liars. At TOC, he ruefully noted that if the title had been All Marketers are Great Lovers he probably would have sold a lot more copies.

Seth Godin

I will confess that I have been arguing with some of Godin’s latest book, Linchpin: Are You Indispensable? As I’ve read it on my Kindle, I’ve irritably typed notes questioning his stereotyped view of corporations, whom he portrays as uniformly seeking cogs as employees, not original thinkers and creative team members.  “The goal is to hire as many cheap but talented people as possible, give them a rule book, and have them follow instructions to the letter” he writes at one point.  I wonder what planet Seth was inhabiting in the 1990s during the employee participation movement inspired by the work of W. Edwards Deming.  At that time, I was an exec at a regulated gas utility company in Casper, Wyoming–not exactly a hotbed of the latest in management thinking. But I can assure you that any member of management who espoused the strategies Godin mocks in Linchpin would have been out on the prairie faster than you can say “does not get it.”

I also take issue of WITH his portrayal of artists, which he posits as a model for linchpins. He writes, “…all artists have this optimism, because artists can honestly say that they are working to make things better.”  His artists are happy, optimistic super-creatives who can market tofu just as easily as write War and Peace.  A simple place to begin questioning that one would be the number of artists whose lives became so desperate they ended them by their own hands.

But though I have my quibbles with Linchpin,  I have already been changed by this book. I am asking myself how I can become a linchpin. By that, I’m taking his point that the more human, remarkable, and fast on my feet I can become as a podcaster covering the eBook Revolution, the more I will connect with listeners and readers, which is how I can become indispensable.  This will, in fact, be the second time Seth Godin has changed my life.  When I read The Dip, I decided to abandon two weekly podcasts I’d been using to lean tricks of the trade, because by then it was clear that my best opportunity lay in the Kindle Chronicles.

Seth Godin wants to spread ideas that change people.  In pursuit of that goal, he is selling a ton of books and getting invited to all the best places to give speeches, like TED.  But beyond curiosity and innovation, I suggest that his real secret sauce is credibility. When I watch him prowl the stage like a casual leopard, sharing his ideas and questions, I believe he’s mainly telling the truth as he perceives it in that moment.  If he can write a book teaching us how to do that, he won’t need to make it look like a milk carton.

Darlene and I have spent a couple of days here at Ocean Park, Maine, before our return to Denver tomorrow.  The openness and austere beauty of a summer colony in winter makes this a wonderful place for taking in new ideas.  Seth Godin has been good company.  I look forward to my conversation with him three days from now.

Mike Hartman and Lauren Klein

We saw “Eventide” last night at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. It is a gritty and luminous affirmation of love, set on the eastern plains of Colorado.  The play follows a novel of the same title by Kent Haruf. The Denver Post got it right in this review, calling it “the role of a lifetime for Mike Hartman.”  He plays the lead, Raymond McPheron, one of two bachelor ranchers living in loneliness and transformed by love.

It could have been a gooey disaster, but for the dark counterweight of a family in the same community of Holt, Colorado, beset by crushing problems of poverty, mental illness, and violence.   Those scenes are powerful and difficult to watch, frankly. But when we got home, Darlene and I realized that they made real and more powerful the fragile flowering of love between Ray McPheron and Rose, the widowed social worker whose caseload includes the tragic family.  The counterpoint of the hell those kids inhabit is the story of another boy, played superbly by Augustus Lane Filholm, growing up wonderfully with his ailing and cranky grandfather.

Knowing that Mike Hartman and the actor who plays Rose, Lauren Klein, are real-life husband and wife adds to the pleasure of watching their awkward and victorious dance of love.

The play runs till February 27.  If you are in Denver, please don’t miss it, and spread the word!

photo, originally uploaded by LenEdgerly.

Claire strikes a pose on a bed big enough for a collie, provided for her here at the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs.

Aboard the Henry Longfellow in the Charles River Basin, Boston

I have decided to take a five-month break from politics.

To some extent, I have Steve Jobs to thank for this decision.  Apple’s handing down of its new tablet on Wednesday has turned the eBook space white hot.  The iPad will have a new iBooks app, a direct attack on the Kindle’s dominance of eBooks.  I’m not saying the Future of Reading is more important than the future of civil political discourse in America, but for the next six months I’m going to focus on the former and let the latter lurch along without me. My weekly Kindle Chronicles podcast just passed the 2,000 mark in Feedburner subscribers, and my new companion podcast, The Reading Edge, offers a great way for me to further explore the eBook Revolution. This is shaping up to be a truly amazing year for anyone as passionate about literature and technology as I am.

Apple's new iPad

I don’t have a precise definition of political sobriety, but I have taken actual steps to reduce my intake of political news and commentary.  I turned off my Google Reader feed and created a brand-new one that, so far, contains nothing but eBook blogs and news. No more Andrew Sullivan’s Daily Dish or Mike Allen’s Politico Playbook, no more deep political reads in The New Yorker or political podcasts. (One reason I am including these links is that I may need them to find my way back to political immersion on the Fourth of July.)

There is no way to avoid political news completely.  I have resolved to continue watching the President’s weekly address, and to finish Sarah Palin’s Going Rogue, an experiment in reading a nook and remaining open to a cultural phenomenon that is as opaque to me as professional sports.  I have a hunch that an open mind is my only hope for an old age that works.  It’s the daily drip of savvy, deconstructive political reporting and toxic partisan bickering from which I take this sabbatical.

On Independence Day we will be in Maine again.  I hope I will return to the fray refreshed by being away for a while, and that The Kindle Chronicles and The Reading Edge will benefit from 153 days of renewed attention and work.

I reported for jury duty today at 8:30 a.m., but my number, 1055, was not called until the very last courtroom’s call for jurors, just before noon.  Twenty-four of us followed the clerk to Courtroom 100K, where a 16-year-old girl sat at a table with her mother and an attorney, a young woman who was leaning toward the girl and talking to her. Facing the judge were two young men in dark suits who both looked as if they spend a lot of time lifting weights; they were from the District Attorney’s office.  Judge Raymond N. Satter looked like Wilford Brimley, with a handsome full mustache and a courteous, friendly manner with the potential jurors.  I kept questioning myself, to determine if there was anything about this case that would render me incapable of being a fair and impartial juror.   The judge kept probing, too.  It reminded me of that breath-holding point in a traditional wedding when the minister asks, “If any of you has reasons why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”  I held my peace. I decided that yes, I could give a fair hearing to the People’s assertion that one night in August of last year the defendant drove a pickup truck recklessly without a license while intoxicated and did not give the right of way to an emergency vehicle.

Judge Raymond N. Satter

It took an hour to winnow the twenty-four down to six jurors.  Judge Satter asked us questions, as did the attorneys.  We each gave a quick life summary, following a printed sheet – age, how long a resident of Denver, family, occupation, hobbies, and favorite television shows.  I said I don’t watch TV.  We were a varied lot, from high school-only graduates to Ph.Ds. I thought we were an impressive group, representing many kinds of work, education, life experience, and accents.  One man asked to be excused, because his English was not good enough, and the judge granted his request.  None of the attorneys asked me a direct question, and I did not volunteer any answers to the general questions.  When the questioning was over, the judge conferred with the attorneys.  He then dismissed the half of us that was not sitting in the jurors’ box.  He then read the names of six of us who were excused from duty.  My name was not one of them.

We broke at that point for lunch, wearing our bright “Juror” stickers, with instructions not to speak with anyone in the Courthouse and not to TXT, Twitter, or talk to anyone about the case.  I called Darlene to tell her I was on a jury and did not expect to be home until after 7 p.m.  By the time I reached the basement cafeteria, I was very hungry, so I ordered a BLT, a cup of red chili, chips, an Almond Joy, and a Dr. Pepper.  I ate by myself, reading from a short story collection by Seth Harwood on my Kindle.  On my way back to the first-floor jury room, I got lost briefly in the bowels of the courthouse basement, missing the door to the stairway.

Back in the courtroom, we heard opening arguments from both sides, and a stocky young policeman took the stand to describe the events of the night in question.  He wore a white shirt, dark blue tie and black suit, and he seemed nervous as one of the prosecutors walked him through his testimony.  Based on the opening arguments, we had learned that the key issue was going to be whether the defendant had really been driving the truck, or had her older cousin, who had been in trouble with the law already, switched places with her as the policeman approached the vehicle after stopping it.  He stated that he shined a flashlight at the side-view mirror and saw the defendant in the driver’s seat during the four to 10 seconds it took to reach the car, and that no one switched places.  But when he mentioned that one of the other officers responding to the scene had been told by someone else in the truck that they had switched places with the defendant, the girls’ lawyer objected, and everything stopped.

The three attorneys approached the bench, and I was sitting close enough to be pretty sure I heard the word “mistrial” mentioned.  We were asked to leave the courtroom, and when we came back the judge said the case had been removed from our consideration.  In the hallway afterward, the three attorneys explained that the policeman had testified to something which had not been revealed to the defense beforehand.  Rather than do the case all over again, the prosecutors offered a lesser charge, which was accepted.

I suppose I was relieved to head home early.  But in the three extra hours here, I have not been able to resume my scheduled work.  There was something quite unsettling about my day in court.

To begin with, there was the age of the defendant, and beyond that, her tiny size.  She could have been 14 years old, not 16.  She comported herself appropriately, but a couple of times during the officer’s testimony she smiled in a way that, to me, verged on a smirk.  The officer said he had to jump up on a car he had stopped on I-70 when the defendant’s truck careened toward him at high speed, narrowly missing him, leading to the eventual arrest.  There were six kids in the pickup, all underage and all intoxicated.  It wasn’t a good scene. Apparently, no one got hurt.  The defendant’s attorney was sharp and seemed to have the upper hand over the guys from the DA’s office.  Or maybe they simply got blindsided by the officer’s stray comment.  At the time we were dismissed, I had not heard enough to believe anything about this incident beyond a reasonable doubt.

I also never got a chance to discuss the case with the five other jurors, who seemed an intriguing lot — two women and three men.  I was very ready to be a juror, to turn my iPhone all the way off and to pay attention to every word said in that high-ceilinged old courtroom with the rocking wooden jurors’ chairs installed in the 1930s.  I had decided to take few notes, because sometimes I hide behind note-taking and distract myself from what’s being said.  I was eager to do my best to understand this case and to help reach a fair verdict.

I suspect that jurors who have the chance to deliberate and come to unanimous decisions sometimes feel unsettled by their experiences, because how can you ever know for sure?  And I’m still impressed by the jury system that I was a part of today.  The judge and everyone involved acted as if what was going on mattered, and not just the outcome to the defendant, but the dignity and quality of the process itself.

I heard enough in Courtroom 100K to know that things nearly went terribly wrong that August night.  I have no idea what sort of settlement was offered and accepted.  I don’t know if that 16-year-old girl learned anything today that will protect her, and others, from tragedy down the road.  That is perhaps what has unsettled me the most.

Two courts have come to Room 431 at the Denver District Court building for juror calls this morning, but so far they have not called my four-digit number. There are still close to 200 of us waiting in comfortable chairs. They have decent coffee available in the back for free from a Van Houtté café machine. It’s a depressing, crowded room except for the soft and colorful quilts displayed on the walls.
I don’t have time to serve on a jury, but I still hope they call my number. When the jury commissioner calls them out, you’re supposed to say “Here” loudly enough for her to hear you and then follow the clerk out into the high, wide, echoing halls of the courthouse.
The room is quiet except for one woman conducting a monologue for the man sitting next to her, who says nothing. I want to tell her to be quiet, but maybe we’ll be on the same jury.
Next jury call….

Settlement Law Justice clip art by Mohamed Ibrahim via Clicker.com

Tomorrow morning at 8:30 I will report for jury duty in Room 431 at Denver District Court, 1437 Bannock Street. Under Colorado’s One Day or One Trial Jury System, I must be prepared to serve at least one full day or, if I am selected for a trial, the duration of that trial.  ”Most jurors complete their jury duty in one day,” the notice read from Le Anna L. Mosher, Jury Commissioner.  Tomorrow represents my one allowable postponement.  The email she sent me confirming this has the following signature quote below her contact information:

“Jury service is a right and a privilege, but it is also a responsibility of citizenship.”

I served on a jury here in Denver about six years ago, in a case brought against an optometrist by a red-haired lawyer whose LASIK surgery had gone awry. I remember that after the LASIK procedure the plaintiff couldn’t drive at night, because oncoming headlights caused stars to explode in his vision.  We found in favor of the defendant doc, because we thought he had done everything required of him by law to warn the lawyer about the risks of the procedure.  I think that trial went a couple of days, and I was fascinated by the whole process.  And impressed.  Mainly I was impressed by how hard we of the jury worked to understand the facts and the law.  I remember thinking to myself, “If I were in trouble with the law, I’d feel pretty good having this group decide my case.”

So I want to be at the top of my game tomorrow, in case I’m chosen for a jury.  That means a good night’s sleep – no surfing the web, twittering, or adding a quick episode to The Reading Edge.  What’s indicated is a bath, and some slow reading in The Way of All Flesh by Samuel Butler on my Kindle.

Somewhere in Denver tonight, a defendant and a plaintiff are hoping for a good night’s sleep before their trial, probably one that seemed as if it would never arrive.  They are both praying, in whatever manner they address destiny, for justice.  There will be a judge, lawyers, clerks, and police officers to protect the process.  All of us will turn in for bed pretty soon.

I pray that we will all wake up rested and ready to do our best for justice and the rule of law in a nation where these cherished qualities are more than words.

Sen. Barry Goldwater (1909-1998)

While browsing my Kindle library in the cloud this morning, I happened on this quote from the late Sen. Barry Goldwater:

“However, on religious issues there can be little or no compromise. There is no position on which people are so immovable as their religious beliefs. There is no more powerful ally one can claim in a debate than Jesus Christ, or God, or Allah, or whatever one calls this supreme being. But like any powerful weapon, the use of God’s name on one’s behalf should be used sparingly. The religious factions that are growing throughout our land are not using their religious clout with wisdom. They are trying to force government leaders into following their position 100 percent. If you disagree with these religious groups on a particular moral issue, they complain, they threaten you with a loss of money or votes or both. I’m frankly sick and tired of the political preachers across this country telling me as a citizen that if I want to be a moral person, I must believe in ‘A,’ ‘B,’ ‘C,’ and ‘D.’ Just who do they think they are? And from where do they presume to claim the right to dictate their moral beliefs to me? And I am even more angry as a legislator who must endure the threats of every religious group who thinks it has some God-granted right to control my vote on every roll call in the Senate. I am warning them today: I will fight them every step of the way if they try to dictate their moral convictions to all Americans in the name of ‘conservatism.’ ”

The quote is from the Congressional Record of September 16, 1981.  What a difference three decades have made in what gets said without much challenge in the name of “conservatism.”