Lessons from Batman (at the beginning of a covid school year)

Today marked the beginning of the 2020 "Community Development Week" at Saint Francis University, where I teach in the Shields School of Business.  In a few short days, we'll be welcoming almost 400 freshmen to our rural campus amidst challenging circumstances.  Along with my colleagues in science, humanities, education, and healthcare, the mission will be to provide in-person education while facing a pandemic.  It's tough to imagine a time when higher ed has needed a superhero more.

Five years ago, way back in 2015, I was preparing for the new school year (my second as a full-time faculty member) and getting ready to debut my new "Batman-themed" general education seminar.  In the midst of what should have been an occasion of expectation and excitement, tragedy struck.  In that time, I found solace and strength in the spirit of a superhero.  It seems appropriate today to try to do the same.

The following is a repost from my long-inactive personal blog, dated 8/17/2015.  It is a tribute to my dear friend Lenny Robinson, a man who gave hope to so many by embodying an icon of resilience, the Batman.  This post was written the day I had learned of his passing; in the same way that his spirit stirred me to teach the best class that I could, I seek reassurance that challenging times can bring forth the best in all of us.  As Lenny always said, "at the end of the day, you must ask yourself one question: Did I make a difference?  And the answer had better be 'yes'." 

It was 8:55 a.m. today when I received the news from my dear colleague Eric: Batman was dead.  Batman, aka the Route 29 Batman, aka the Baltimore Batman, aka the Lamborghini Batman.

Aka Lenny Robinson, one of the finest human beings I have ever known.  Aka a man who walked away from a multi-million dollar business to don a Batman suit, visit sick children in hospitals and raise funds for charities.  Aka a superhero who applied his business skills to renegotiate immeasurable hospital debts to allow parents to care for their terminally ill children.

Surely this had to be a hoax.  Another cruel attempt at attention from someone.  A misprint.

I checked Lenny's Facebook page to see note after note of condolences.  Picture after picture of a dashing middle aged guy in a Batman cowl with kids who were overjoyed to see him.  Many of these kids had no hair or tubes sticking out of their noses.  Others were in wheelchairs or on crutches.  Every single message said "RIP".

My friend Lenny Robinson was really gone.  Killed because his car broke down and someone hit it into him. Gone in the flash of a mechanical malfunction.  Gone because the Batmobile broke down at the wrong time.

I walked into my first meeting of the day, our academic kickoff at Saint Francis (where I teach) in a daze.  I simply could not believe that Batman could die.  How could this be possible?  Or right?  Lenny Robinson represented the best in all of us, the idea that we could choose to serve others instead of ourselves.  That we could beat the bad guys by caring enough.  That childhood diseases, supervillains, and the evils of apathy could all be overcome if we stood shoulder to shoulder.

Particularly when a guy in a Batman suit was leading the charge.  And now he was gone.  Victim of the most mundane of fates.  A guy whose really awesome car stopped running in the worst possible way.

I've been trying all day to make sense of this.  To try to understand if there is a logic behind this visceral existence why the guy in charge would take a man like Lenny out of the system.  Didn't he show us all the way it's supposed to be done?  How to make the hard choices, like walking away from wealth to serve others.  How to bring a smile to a terminally ill child's face.  How to raise thousands of dollars to cure diseases.

How to be the Batman.

In my meanderings, something else also occurred to me; heroes only come out of adversity and challenge. Of tragedy.  Without witnessing the death of his parents, young Bruce Wayne never would have become Batman.  In a perfect world, he would never have had a reason to don a cape and cowl and stalk the evildoers of Gotham City.  In a perfect world, we would never have needed a Lenny Robinson to fight the evils of sadness and hopelessness that haunt so many young cancer patents either. 

Thank God he answered the call.

Lenny's decision to give of himself did much more than turn a few frowns upside down; he inspired the rest of us to realize that we also had the power to take action.  To choose NOT to turn away from things that needed done.  Even without an awesome car or incredible Batsuit, to realize that we had the power to make a difference.

During his visit to Saint Francis in November 2014, I had the great privilege of spending three days in Lenny's company.  From his smile to his engagement with everyone he met, Lenny was the real deal, a man who wanted to be with people.  His interest in the human condition was no act but a normal state of being.  He wanted to KNOW the people he was shaking hands with.  On the final day of the "Batflash" week, Lenny spent almost 14 hours in a costume made of rubber and leather weighing almost 30 pounds. On the edge of exhaustion, dehydration, and probably heat stroke, he refused to quit until everyone who wanted to meet him got an autograph and a handshake.

He remained in character during the entire screening of "Legends of the Knight" and was just as thrilled to see the film as the first time he had seen it. 

Lenny told me that his visit to Saint Francis was one of the greatest highlights of his time as Batman; he was blown away by the warmth and enthusiasm of everyone with whom he came in contact.  We treated him like a rock star because he was; a living embodiment of the spirit of Saint Francis in a black leather and rubber super hero costume.

I got to speak with Lenny a few more times after his visit; it was always a thrill to hear "KT!" coming from the other end of the line.  Our conversations were never short and he never failed to ask about everyone in my family.  Based on his love for people and interest in getting to know those around him, I cannot imagine that Lenny drew a big distinction between "business" and "personal"; to him, everything was about people.

In a perfect world, people like Lenny don't get ripped out of our lives in freak traffic accidents.  In a perfect world, people like Lenny remain in your life for years, going from being a new friend to an old friend.  In a perfect world, you don't have to say goodbye to a person like Lenny so soon.

But this is not a perfect world, which is why Lenny did what he did in the first place.  He answered the call and turned the tables on negativity.  He put laughter in the place of tears and smiles in the place of sorrow. Lenny's Batman filled the need and mended hearts. 

But it's like I said before.  Heroes are born from tragedy.  From adversity.  In our case, from the loss of a man in a seemingly senseless way.   The worst that can happen to us can bring out the best in us.  Those of us who drew inspiration from this amazing man owe it to him to turn this terrible thing, this loss of our friend, into something positive.  To capture the energy released by his passing and redirect towards positive ends. By pulling a little harder.  By remembering how to work for positive change in our communities, help for our neighbors, and compassion for others, we can be heroes too. 

Together, we all can be Batman.  We have to be.  For Lenny.  For all of us.

Tonight, as I swallow hard and realize the truth that my friend Lenny is gone, I remember a cool November evening back in 2014, leaving a TV station in the passenger seat of the Batmobile as the driver hits the spinning red light.  A giant smile beams from under the cowl as he steps on the accelerator and waves at the cavelcade of traffic rubbernecking past us.  Years melt away and I'm 8 years old and this guy behind the wheel really is Batman, giving me a ride.   I've waited all my life for this moment; here it is and here HE is and all I can do is laugh and pinch myself in disbelief. 

Thanks to my wife, I also remember breakfast with Lenny the last morning he was on campus, getting ready to drive back home.  No cape, no costume, just a great person comfortable in his own skin, knowing that he had found his mission in life.

And now he is gone.  But my belief in him is not.  I don't honestly know why bad things have to happen to good people, but I do know we have the power to choose what we do with our grief.

Thank you, Lenny Robinson, Batman, for everything.