40 / CHRONICLESnally put, the pursuit of excellence cannhelp bring one to personal maturity, tonthe “goods of the soul,” to selfcompletion,nto virtue.nThe gnawing weaknesses in our nationalncharacter—the pervasiveness ofndrug abuse (Americans now consumen60 percent of the world’s production ofnillegal drugs), the proliferation of pornographynand of white-collar crime,nthe breakdown of the family—must benaddressed not only in social, but innpersonal terms, and in personal virtue.nBecause whatever the contributing socialnfactors, these infirmities emanatenfrom the person, and it is there theynmust ultimately be cured.nThe doctrine of virtue is an ancientnand unfortunately obscured one. Itnwas already taken for granted by thencontemporaries of Socrates. Agathon,nin Plato’s Symposium, organized hisnideas around the four cardinal virtuesnof prudence, justice, fortitude, andntemperance. This intellectual frameworknwas one of the great discoveriesnin the history of man’s selfunderstanding;nand it continues —ndespite its attenuated form—to be partnand parcel of our Western tradition.nThe doctrine of virtue speaks to bothnthe kind of being a human person is asna consequence of his createdness andnthe kind of being he ought to striventoward — by being prudent, just,nbrave, and temperate.nThe very nature of virtue is tonstrengthen, to perfect. Virtues providenstrength, they bestow character, andnthey permit—to the extent this ficklenworld will allow—happiness, becausenthey empower their holders to liventemperately, nobly, truthfully. Thenearly Greeks were enthusiastic aboutnthe notion of virtue because of theirndiscovery—needed again in our ownntimes—that happiness requires livingna rational life, with all its many relationshipsnbeyond self And that rationalityndemands self-dominion and thenstrength to make choices that are truento reality rather than to pride, passion,nfalse hope, or excessive desire.nBut virtue, like muscle, requiresnopposition and resistance in order tondevelop, which is why the workplace—benthat carpenter bench, computernterminal, or kitchen—is a gymnasiumnof virtue. All work situationsnpresent a constant challenge to improve.nTo make and build oneself, tongrow in character through rational,nupright conduct. To put things innorder. To give and relate to others. Tonmake friends, to encourage, to empathize,nto understand, to love. This isnstill worker, but not so much as makernor doer or entrepreneur. This is workernbecoming himself . . . becomingntruly man.nThe professional person is powerfullynmotivated today by the search fornexcellence. Let us hope that searchncan transcend the desire to just havenmore, and extend to “being more.”nLet us hope that search will strike at andeeper chord, especially in thosenhearts graced to know that the fullndevelopment of one’s abilities in thenpursuit of excellence, the true pursuitnof happiness, involves a personal—anmoral—as well as a professional effort.nAnd if that man or woman isnreceptive to the Judeo-Christian tradition,nhe or she realizes that the rewardsnof this effort are imperishable.nThomas L. Mammoser is director ofncorporate communications for Walgreenns.nLetter From thenHeartlandnby Jane GreernThe 62nd Annual KilldeernMountain Rodeo RoundupnJuly 4. There’s a sad littie cluster ofnpeeling white bleachers, but they facenthe sun. Most locals elect to sit on anblanket on the hillside opposite, wherenthe view is great in spite of the dust. Tonkeep the blowing grit down, a tractornand sprayer work the arena to a perfectnmoistness; children in battered Stetsonsnand their best boots hug the fencenand squawk in pleasure when the windnblows the spray at them. Four smallnclones in white long-sleeved shirts andnbig black hats climb up to sit astride anbarrel, the most natural way to watchnthe show.nKilldeer, population 790, clings to ancurve on ND 22 just above ND 200.nThe Killdeer Mountains, north andnwest of town, once site of a nearbloodlessnArmy-Indian battie, rise incongruouslynfrom the clear plain, annndark reminder that anything is possible.nOne can drive around the mountainsnin about half an hour, climbnthem in 15 minutes, and from the topnsee forever across mildly rolling grasslandsnand chest-high wheat, hazy innthe heat. Only 150 miles from Canada,nKilldeer nonetheless acknowledgesnmainly the “west” in “Midwest.”nAt 2:00 exactly, a stunning, widenostrillednbuckskin carrying an evennmore stunning blond (red boots, rednhat, white satin shirt, red satin pants itnwould take a paramedic crew with anJaws of Life to pry her out of) prancesninto the arena and then breaks into anneasy lope. The woman is Miss RodeonNorth Dakota, the buckskin just anotherntaut, obedient part of her body.nMost men would stand to see hernbetter, and some men to see her horse;nall the men here, and the women withnthem, stand because Miss RodeonNorth Dakota bears the American flag,nits pole tucked neatly into the top ofnher right boot. She circles twice, thennreins up slightiy east of center. Behindnher are two horsemen with the statenand rodeo association flags.nThe local VFW has planned a specialnIndependence Day ceremony. Angate swings open, an anonymousnwoman behind the fence starts hernragged tattoo on a snare drum, and andozen more-than-middle-aged men innunmatched uniforms enter, out ofnstep. The drill sergeant shouts directionsnso that no one is hurt too badly innthe melee of negotiating turns. Theyncarry Old Glory, too, and come to anhalt in the center of the arena. Inwatch, amused and touched—thennnotice that every cowboy hat in sight isnover its owner’s heart. No one smilesnat this rag-tag remnant of the localnarmed forces. Their memories are notnthat short.nFive of the VFW carry rifles. Theynaim, with less precision than sincerity,nstraight at the announcer high in hisnbooth, and fire. Again. Again. Thenhorses hate it. When the twitchyneckednbuckskin gathers himself tonleap. Miss Rodeo North Dakota, perfectlynstill, moves her lips a little, andnhe freezes.nA local woman will sing our nationalnanthem. I expect the worst and amngratified and surprised: her voice isnconfident, tone-true, rich and shimmery,nwhat city folks call “country-n