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Naysayers

The Source

I’ve always liked the word “naysayer.” I don’t know what it is about it the term..maybe it sounds cool to pronounce and it has the tone and feel of the word’s meaning… someone one who is constantly pessimistic about any new idea. And besides, “nay” rhymes with “bray.” My dad was a successful John Deere dealer for many years and in the course of running his implement business he had the opportunity to hire a wide variety of personalities both in sales and service. One of the most memorable was Rodway. That was his name..Rodway. This gangly, rough-shaven mechanic could stand beside a putt-putting John Deere 60, cigarette dangling from his mouth and say, “Hear that? Hear that!” And then he’d correctly diagnose the engine’s problem. The fact is, no one but Rodway could hear whatever in the heck he was hearing, but he could hear it and it was nearly always correct. No computers, no diagnostic tools of any sort other than an ear trained from years of listening to the chug-chug of two cylinder engines. And Dad hired a naysayer as well. For the sake of discussion we’ll call him Bob. Whenever Bob was called upon to run across the county to repair an ailing hay bailer or find a way to pull the engine on a 45 combine overnight, he’d often proclaim, “It can’t be done!” That was Bob’s answer to anything requiring a unique solution…It can’t be done. Of course after Bob would make his final pronouncement of doom, Dad would simply assign the task to someone else who’d simply go out and do it. I remember one night after school when my brother and I went into Dad’s shop and my father announced that instead of practicing ball that night, we should travel down to the machinery lot on the north end of town, put a chain on an old pickup and haul it up his dealership. Sounded simple enough. What Keith and I didn’t know is that Dad had given the truck-toting task to Bob earlier in the day. Bob looked in the truck and saw that there was a large hole in the driver’s seat and that a nest of bumblebees had taken up residence. Bob came back and announced, “Too many bees. Can’t be done.” My brother and I were in a hurry to get the truck towed so we chained the pickup to the company van, I put Keith in the pickup seat, and we happily dragged the thing through town. The trick? Dad failed to tell us about the bees so Keith simply sat in the seat and we took off. Either the bees were on vacation that afternoon or Keith’s Levi’s were made of tough stuff. Maybe he just had a numb butt. In any case, we got ‘er done. Ignorance sometimes pays off. Our little city of Jacksonville is representative of the rest of the world, I suppose. We have the do-ers, the shakers, the movers, the planners, the dreamers, and sadly our share of naysayers. Right now, at a time when the economic currents most cry out for people of courage and vision, people who will latch onto ideas and work them into reality, there are those who generally pooh-pooh every new plan that comes along. I in no way hope to change their minds. After all, it all comes down to laziness versus civic responsibility. Mud is easy to throw, no matter what the weather. But those of us with a brain in our head might take a moment to thank those who don’t stop dreaming, who don’t stop hoping, who simply don’t give up simply because they run into a bit of criticism. This is a completely unofficial poll based on very little data, but I would guess that Jacksonville is now and has always been blessed with more than its share of forward-looking dreamers, of those not afraid to risk a bit for the sake of our community. I didn’t know Sammy Nichols personally but I’m sure there were those who thought he was showing off when he’d haul kids out to the lake free of charge then eventually provide some of the means to provide the town a recreational area. The Strawn family no doubt knew its share of naysayers when they built such a ridiculous thing as an opera house on the square and such an opulent mansion on College Avenue, later to become the art gallery. General Grant might have thought it a bit foolish if he’d known that the sight of his campground would eventually be turned into a racetrack bringing in thousands of dollars to our community each weekend. And what lunatic began developing the west end of Morton Avenue? Good grief, who’ll come out to a cornfield to shop? And the very nerve of that group of wild-eyed Methodists on the east of town or the crazy Yale boys who landed on the west to start two colleges right here in the middle of what was then untamed wilderness? I’ll bet the naysayers have had a heyday at the expense of those who eventually founded Mac Murray and Illinois College. And once upon a time I’m sure that some ancient version of a call-in newspaper column was filled with complaints about the state sending all its disadvantaged to our town…the blind, the deaf, those with mental problems. Whenever these decisions were made, I’m glad Bob was off fixing a combine.