Dear bloggers,

I wanted to share with you one of the red-letter days in my life, which happened not too long ago.

My daughter and chief executive officer of Matt Lamb Studios, Sheila Lamb-Gabler, joined me for a day of meetings and other things.  We started at about 8 o’clock in the morning, running hither and thither and yon.

Our last event was at a venue at which we were to meet people I’m working with in Ireland, for the purpose of hopefully bringing together all the universities, colleges, secondary schools, grammar schools, and preschools into a peace program based on the Umbrellas for Peace.

With great anticipation, Sheila and I arrived at 6 pm, half an hour early, to meet the participants.  When we arrived, our car was immediately processed by the valets, and we were presented a bill for $15 to cover the parking.  We were then ushered ino the building, where a gentleman approached us and asked where we were going.  He directed us upstairs and took pains to tell us there was no toilet on that floor.  With that knowledge, I went upstairs.

After a couple minutes, I noticed my daughter was not behind me.  A few minutes later, she reappeared, with the man barking at her saying her pants had a Levi label, and that was not appropriate to the dress code.  I had Ralph Lauren cargo pants on, with big pockets and zippers.  I asked him to examine my pants to see if they were also objectionable to this building.

He said he thought I was all right, but Sheila would have to leave immediately.

I inquired whether this infraction would cause the building to collapse or the air to turn toxic.

He seemed baffled by the question and didn’t answer.

I thought of Groucho Marx’s famous quote, “I don’t care to belong to any club that would have me as a member.”

There was no way I could stay there under this cloud of suspicion, so on my request we were escorted down into an antechamber that was not in the building itself, but adjacent to it.  It was a part, I suppose, where the participants wouldn’t see us, almost like the hospital rooms where they put tuburcular patients or people with other diseases that could be transferred.

I thought it was very strange that this building was an institution that was supposed to be concerned with matters of openness, communication, and education:  a place open to all kinds of interpretations of facts that are meant to be questioned; an institution that does not discriminate, but considers the real possibilities of life.

So it intrigued me that—as I was entering this institution to talk about my whole message of peace, tolerance, understanding, hope, and love, and how that can be put into our school systems—that I was shut down at the door because of what my daughter and I were wearing.  To me, it really brought forward the need for this kind of program of exploration, of finding out how and why we do things as a species.

Now, I understand very directly why there are dress codes, smoking areas, stop lights, and so on.  If you’re going into a building knowing the rules, then you know what you’re getting into.

But if you’re coming from the outside, as many people from around the world are, then it’s similar to the rules in a nudist camp.  Everybody knows you’re not supposed to be wearing anything.  I’m sure there are people who want to wear ties to dinner.  But other people would say, “Yes, but the tie can’t go beneath the bellybutton!”

I suppose these mutations of what’s right and wrong are what keep culture what it is, and keep human beings who and what they are.

In any event, when we returned to our car, the valets didn’t refund our $15.  We still gave them $2 tip.  So it cost us $17 to get thrown out of a building.

When my daughter told this story to her teenage children, they immediately texted everybody and their brother, and we were immediately dubbed “Super-Dukes.”

Now, I’m known by many titles.  I was given an honorary doctorate degree, so some people might know me as “Dr...”  Some people know me as “His Excellency” because I’m a Papal Knight...  or as “Monsignor” because I’m an ambassador to Montemarte.  Recently I was presented with the Golden Cross of the E.U., which carries the title “Don...”

But when I die, as far as I’m concerned, my name will be “Super-Duke.”

And if you yourself should ever be expelled from somewhere for reasons that seem to make no sense, make sure you're a "Super-Duke," too!

Signed,
Super-Duke