Editor, James Evans | Editorial Director, Alyse O’Steen | Editorial Projects
& Research Director, Annie Pruitt | Art Director, Eddie Nelms
Contributors: Michelle A. Gourdine, M.D. | Matt Kelley | Michelle Lesifko
Britni C.M. Lonesome | Maricel Mariano | Christie Mazza | Alyse O’Steen

Welcome to Channel Magazine

Editor's Note

“The final test of a leader is that he [or she] leaves behind in other men [or women] the conviction and the will to carry on.” –Walter Lippmann

I was a small boy at the time, eye-level to my dad’s waist – a seemingly enormous man then. The year was 1979, and my parents had recently moved our family to a new and much safer neighborhood. The family car at the time was a 1977 Chevrolet Caprice Wagon – cream-colored with door-high faux oak panels that extended the full length of the car and across the back door. Classic 20th Century GM… our car and new house shared similar square footage.

We moved countless predictable and forgettable things into the new house using that car, but one was not so forgettable – at least not for me. It was a large box-spring.

My dad took me along to pick it up. After a few bounces, my dad paid for the box-spring, and a man from the store helped us take it to the car. We carried it parallel to the ground – my dad holding the handles on the right, the salesman held the left. I took a corner.

When we reached the car, my dad opened the back door, and the two men attempted to slip the box-spring straight into the car, still parallel to the ground. I watched as they made numerous attempts to push the box-spring into the car. Unfortunately, the width of the back door was an inch or two too small.

After the third attempt, and before noticeable frustration set in, I said to my dad, “Maybe you should turn it diagonally.” He looked my way and then traced the doorframe with his eyes; he looked back to me again and raised his side of the box-spring. Now at an angle – taking advantage of the cached inches between the door’s lower left corner and upper right – the two men pushed, as I watched, the full length of the box-spring disappear within the car. As he closed the back door, my father looked at me and smiled, etching this memory in my mind. Not because he was pleased with me, but rather me with him.

I have no doubt, now or then, that the two men would have found a solution, but they let me lead the way, and it was the best kind of practice.

My father was still the leader. He drove home, and I sat in the passenger seat watching him watch the road I could not see.

I do not believe leaders, good or bad, evil or noble, are born; other leaders make leaders. A leader’s effectiveness should not be judged by the number of followers, but rather the number of leaders that follow.

–James Evans, Editor