Fail Up Read online

  ALSO BY TAVIS SMILEY

  Books

  What I Know For Sure: My Story of Growing Up in America

  Covenant with Black America—Edited by Tavis Smiley

  THE COVENANT In Action—Compiled by Tavis Smiley

  ACCOUNTABLE: Making America as Good as Its Promise

  —Edited by Tavis Smiley and Stephanie Robinson

  Doing What’s Right: How to Fight for What You Believe—

  and Make a Difference

  Keeping the Faith

  Hard Left

  How to Make Black America Better—Edited by Tavis Smiley

  DVDs/CDs

  STAND: a film by Tavis Smiley

  On Air: The Best of Tavis Smiley

  on the Tom Joyner Morning Show 2004–2008

  4-CD commemorative set with booklet

  Please visit the distributor of SmileyBooks:

  Hay House USA: www.hayhouse.com®

  Hay House Australia: www.hayhouse.com.au

  Hay House UK: www.hayhouse.co.uk

  Hay House South Africa: www.hayhouse.co.za

  Hay House India: www.hayhouse.co.in

  Copyright © 2011 by Tavis Smiley

  Published in the United States by: SmileyBooks, 250 Park Avenue South, Suite #201, New York, NY 10003 • www.SmileyBooks.com

  Distributed in the United States by: Hay House, Inc.: www.hayhouse.com • Published and distributed in Australia by: Hay House Australia Pty. Ltd.: www.hayhouse.com.au • Published and distributed in the United Kingdom by: Hay House UK, Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.uk • Published and distributed in the Republic of South Africa by: Hay House SA (Pty), Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.za • Distributed in Canada by: Raincoast: www.raincoast.com • Published and distributed in India by: Hay House Publishers India: www.hayhouse.co.in

  Cover and interior design: Charles McStravick • Interior photos: Credits in text

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use—other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews—without prior written permission of the publisher.

  The opinions set forth herein are those of the author and do not necessarily express the views of the publisher or Hay House, Inc., or any of its affiliates.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011920259

  Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-4019-3390-6

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-4019-3392-0

  14 13 12 11 4 3 2 1

  1st edition, May 2011

  Printed in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  CHAPTER 1: BEFORE HONOR COMES HUMILITY

  CHAPTER 2: CHEATERS NEVER WIN

  CHAPTER 3: DON’T DO ME NO FAVORS

  CHAPTER 4: YOU’RE ALWAYS ON

  CHAPTER 5: ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT

  CHAPTER 6: A PINK SLIP CAN FIRE YOU UP!

  CHAPTER 7: REMAIN DIGNIFIED EVEN WHEN YOU’RE JUSTIFIED

  CHAPTER 8: DO YOUR HOMEWORK

  CHAPTER 9: LOOSE LIPS CAN SINK SHIPS

  CHAPTER 10: GET IN WHERE YOU FIT IN

  CHAPTER 11: LIVING FOR THE CITY

  CHAPTER 12: GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT

  CHAPTER 13: THE DIVERSITY IMPERATIVE

  CHAPTER 14: SAVE SPACE FOR GRACE

  CHAPTER 15: AND THE WINNER IS … NOT ME

  CHAPTER 16: KEEP IT TIGHT

  CHAPTER 17: GET READY TO BE READY

  CHAPTER 18: POWER VS. PRINCIPLE

  CHAPTER 19: WHEN EVERYBODY TURNS AGAINST YOU

  CHAPTER 20: FATHER KNOWS BEST

  Gratitude

  About the Author

  AUTHOR’S

  NOTE

  This is a work of nonfiction.

  Conversations have been

  reconstructed to the best

  of my recollection.

  INTRODUCTION

  “If I can help somebody as I pass along,

  If I can cheer somebody with a word or song,

  If I can show somebody he is traveling wrong,

  then my living shall not be in vain.”

  —DR . MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

  This book is being released on the occasion of my 20th anniversary in broadcasting: two decades of strife, struggle, and success made more relevant through my many failures.

  Most people who have ever succeeded in any human endeavor will tell you they learned more from their failures than they ever learned from their successes. If they’re being honest. But a funny thing happens when success becomes an individual’s dominant definer. It’s what Dr. King, whom I consider the greatest American this country has ever produced, alluded to in his speech “The Drum Major Instinct.” The impulse, he said, comes with a constructive and destructive side. Helping others, serving humanity—these are positive attributes of the instinct. However, the desires to be out front, to be first, to lead the parade—these are the negative parts of the drum major instinct. If not harnessed, Dr. King said, the instinct can lead to a sort of “snobbish exclusivism,” where our egos dictate our actions.

  Very few achievers want to then show off their warts by acknowledging the mistakes they’ve made along the way, much less put them in a book. I think that’s unfortunate.

  Millions of people struggle with what it means to be successful, and the lesson they take away from successful folk who hide or deny their failures leads to an artificial construct of success. By “artificial” I mean the notion that people become successful without “success scars.” Let me be clear: There is no success without failure. Period. And usually a lot of it.

  I used to love Michael Jordan’s “Failure” commercial for Nike. You might recall it:

  I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots in my career I’ve lost almost 300 games 26 times I’ve been trusted to take the game-winning shot . . . and missed I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life And that is why I succeed

  Powerful stuff.

  The song “If I Can Help Somebody,” written by Alma Bazel Androzzo, has motivated me over the years to share my personal failures in my speeches, on my television and radio programs, and with the young people we serve at the Tavis Smiley Foundation. Through my scars, I have been blessed to arrive at a place I never imagined. A place where that relentless teacher called experience now causes me to reflect on the nebulous concepts of success and failure in my own life.

  In this book, I detail 20 of the most impactful lessons of my life. To be sure, I’ve failed plenty more than 20 times! But these events are the ones that caused me to wrestle with and ultimately embrace the true meaning of the exhortation by the Nobel Prize-winning playwright, novelist, and poet Samuel Beckett:

  “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

  Since I was 12, Dr. King has been my hero. As you progress through this book, you will better understand why I reserve such an esteemed place in my heart for this iconic servant-leader. What’s not so well known is that I also deeply admire the courageous journey of Malcolm X. I respect his courage to wrestle with his own demons and his principled decision to sacrifice his anointed position with Elijah Muhammad and the Nation of Islam, the religion that rescued him from a life of crime and dissipation. The trek from Malcolm Little to Malcolm X to El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz is a remarkable study in spiritual and political evolution and integrity.

  In Malcolm’s life, failure was an attribute. Consider his speech after returning from his pilgrimage to Mecca in 1964. As the public face of the Nation of Islam, he vehemently insisted that whites could play no role in the struggle for Black people’s equality and independence. Whites, as far as Malcolm was concerne
d, were not part of his definition of brotherhood. That changed after his trip to the Holy Land.

  “I have never before seen sincere and true brotherhood practiced by all colors together, irrespective of their color. You may be shocked by these words coming from me. But on this pilgrimage, what I have seen, and experienced, has forced me to re-arrange much of my thought-patterns previously held, and to toss aside some of my previous conclusions. This was not too difficult for me. Despite my firm convictions, I have always been a man who tries to face facts, and to accept the reality of life as new experience and new knowledge unfolds it. I have always kept an open mind, which is necessary to the flexibility that must go hand in hand with every form of intelligent search for truth.”

  Hopefully, this book channels Malcolm’s commitment to personal growth. He didn’t shrink from his failure to grasp the meaning of true brotherhood; he embraced it as a detour to new experiences and new knowledge.

  In other words, he failed up.

  Interestingly, it was my love for Martin that led me to Malcolm. Throughout history, pitting Black leaders against one another has been an effective maneuver. As a youngster, I wanted to know more about this guy Malcolm who was declared by the media and the man on the street to be the frightening antithesis of Martin. When I read the Autobiography of Malcolm X, I truly understood the worth and value of Malcolm’s life and legacy. What’s more, I discovered a connection with Malcolm that I did not find in Martin’s life story.

  The two men couldn’t have started their lives in more diametrically different places. I really couldn’t relate to Martin’s upbringing because he was raised in a bourgeois, middle-class Black family. Malcolm’s hardscrabble life, on the other hand, reflected my Mississippi and Indiana upbringing. His struggles with poverty, race, low self-esteem, family chaos, and trouble at school resonated with my life story at the time.

  Not only did I grow to have an abiding love for Martin and Malcolm, I also wanted to emulate their powerful examples of courage, faith, resilience, and dedication to uplift our people.

  These two men, my incontestable heroes, were both assassinated at the age of 39. My admiration and identification were so strong that I was convinced that I, too, would not live past the age of 39. Not that I was remotely putting myself on these icons’ pedestals, no way. But sometimes, when the realities of your world become too harsh, an unconscious fatalism can overtake you and make you seek refuge in someone else’s story as a way to make sense of your own.

  But it wasn’t just the far too brief lives of Martin and Malcolm that persuaded me that I would die young. There was another, perhaps even more influential factor that made the idea of my early demise seem an inevitable, stark reality.

  Anybody familiar with the Pentecostal church—especially old-school Pentecostal church teachings—understands the ramifications of “hell and damnation” preached incessantly. “The world is going to end,” “He’s coming soon and if you’re not living right, you’re going to hell,” “Armageddon is upon us—get right with God!” These were the messages that permeated the foundation of my childhood.

  The combination of these thoughts—that my heroes were dead at the age of 39 and that the world’s demise was imminent—had me living on the edge. I was scared to die and haunted by feelings that I would not have enough time to make the kind of societal contribution that I wanted to make. This underlying sense of urgency drove me to work hard, work fast, and succeed. Now!

  Sure enough, as you will read in this book, I did work hard and I was blessed beyond measure.

  By the age of 38, I had accomplished much: writing popular books, hosting national television and radio programs, being featured on the covers of magazines and newspapers, and so much more. I was even financially secure with a comfortable net worth.

  Then I turned 39.

  The fear that I would not make it to 40 began to overtake me. And what was worse is that I felt like I was a failure. Even though I was just one person—and a cracked vessel at that—I knew I hadn’t done enough. For all that I had tried to accomplish, the problems in my community and my country and the world seemed so intractable. Poverty. Sickness. Crime. Racism. Environmental abuse. Child neglect. Educational inequities. War.

  The night I turned 40, I was alone in a hotel room in Houston and had a major panic attack. The details of that night are so traumatic, forgive me for not wanting to relive them here.

  But shortly thereafter, I did share my nightmare in Houston with my abiding friend, Dr. Cornel West, over dinner.

  Doc and I had talked many times before about my fear of dying young, so he understood the reason for the episode. But there was one part of my story he couldn’t quite rationalize.

  “How, at 40 years old, could you think that you are a failure?” he asked.

  After I answered his question, Doc began to share with me his unique take on the matter of life and death:

  “Tavis, the older I get, the more I think that there really is no such thing as penultimate success. I believe that every one of us essentially dies a failure.”

  Huh? Doc knew I was having trouble with his reasoning, so he pressed on:

  “If one dies at 39, like Martin and Malcolm, or if one lives to be 139, you’re not going to get it all done. There are going to be ideas you will never develop, projects you will never complete, conversations you will never have, people you will never meet, places you will never go, relationships you will never establish, forgiveness you will never receive, and books and speeches you will never write or deliver. We all die incomplete.”

  So, Doc added, “the central question becomes: How good is your failure?” With that, he dropped the Beckett quote on me:

  “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

  Doc was right. Ultimately, life is about failing better. Every day you wake up, you get another chance to get it right, to come up from failure, to fail up.

  In working with young people through our foundation, I no longer use the phrase just do your best. If what you give the world is your best, then how do you get better?

  The conversation with Dr. West freed me because it gave me a different perspective on the true meaning and the real value of failure.

  Beckett’s quote has become one of my favorites. I share it with young or old, Black or white, whenever I have the opportunity. Motivational speaker Les Brown says, “When life knocks you down, try to land on your back. Because if you can look up, you can get up.”

  Failure is an inevitable part of the human journey. Fail up is the trampoline needed when you’re down. When you take the time to learn your lessons, when you use those lessons as stepping-stones to climb even higher than you were before, you transcend failure—you “fail up.”

  As I celebrate 20 years as a broadcaster, now is the time to show my scars. I hope the 20 lessons presented in the following chapters will offer you a new way to think about your failures.

  I’m a witness. You can fail up.

  CHAPTER 1

  BEFORE HONOR

  COMES HUMILITY

  “When you are as great as I am

  it’s hard to be humble.”

  —MUHAMMAD ALI

  One of my fondest adolescent memories was sitting in front of my family’s black-andwhite, floor-model television with my Dad watching the fights broadcast on ABC Sports hosted by Howard Cosell. We watched one heavyweight in particular—Muhammad Ali. My Dad, like a whole lot of Black men back then, was a huge Ali fan. Eventually, his hero became my hero, and I loved watching those fights with him.

  There was something about Ali that attracted me even more than his ability to dance, shuffle, and knock you out. An articulate and braggadocious talker, Ali predicted the outcome of his fights in rhyme: “You’re going down in the third round!” Mostly, I loved Ali because he wasn’t afraid of white folk. Be it defending his religion or his stance against the Vietnam War, he used his mind and his mouth to whip opponents inside and outside the ring.


  Imagine Ali’s impact on a Black child who constantly felt like an outsider. The only time I saw Black folk, other than my family, was when we attended an all-Black church some 30 miles away from our home. As I detailed in my memoir, What I Know For Sure, I was raised in Indiana, lived in an all-white trailer park, and attended a virtually all-white school.

  There were ten kids and three adults living in a doublewide trailer. Money was tighter than tight. It wasn’t unusual for the Smiley children to wear hand-me-down clothes or shoes with cardboard tucked inside the soles to cover holes. Neighborhood white kids didn’t hesitate to point out that my family was poorer, bigger, and blacker than theirs.

  I developed a deep sense of class- and race-based inferiority.

  But that was before I came under the spell of Muhammad Ali.

  I convinced myself that Ali and I shared similar traits. I was smarter than most of my classmates, I had an excellent memory, and I could out-talk anybody. If Ali could challenge white people with his mind and his mouth, so could I.

  I began to check classmates with my quickness—correcting them if they were wrong, arguing with them if they thought they were right, and placing bets to prove that I could articulate faster, more eloquently, and more accurately than they could.

  Substituting feelings of inferiority with intellectual superiority helped me verbally knock out contenders left and right. And, for awhile, it felt great. Problem was, during my Ali phase, I started getting into physical fights and trouble with teachers at school. The worst part—nobody liked me.

  Because of my mind and mouth, I could make no friends.

  The Arrogance of Youth

  If you study Ali’s life, particularly when he was younger, you’ll understand why I was having trouble making friends in school. Although I wasn’t using derogatory put-downs, my desire to verbally knock out my challengers and to impress with lightning-fast wit was perceived as arrogance. My peers had no idea I was fighting an inner battle against race and poverty-based low self-esteem. They didn’t know I was trying to prove that I was “the greatest” orator for my own survival.