(Orig Post 9/2005) ------That Vision Thang; Or, Right Dreaming; Or, Separating Beef from Baloney
(Ed. note; This post goes back to Sept of 2005----some of the dream thang has seen some progress--the war has been another matter. Stay tuned.)
I've been thinking a lot lately about "that vision thang." You remember. Pres. George Bush Sr. was criticized cause he said going further into Iraq "wasn't prudent." We ridiculed him big time for being less than macho. He didn't have the vision thang.
His son, Pres. George Bush Jr. had the "vision thang." He was bold, forthright, and honest, not like his Democratic predecessor. Even if his dad told him Iraq would not be "prudent," son had the "vision thang."
Thinking back, it seems we have been real tough on our real visionary leaders---think of Pres. Jimmy Carter in his button down sweater, telling us to turn the lights off and turn the temps down and to get the alternative fuels program ready. We simply laughed at his vision thing, and are paying for our laughter today.
Even in Evansville, I occasionally have trouble with the "vision thang." As my readers know, I believe that the four walls of the house that is Evansville, are School, Library, Park, and Public Safety. Hence, I have urged a combined facility for EMS, Fire and Police. Maybe in some spare space. We have lots of it in the TIF district.
I have been reading Freud on Dreams, tring to get the dream just right. I have been thinking real hard about the objectives of Public Safety. However, no matter how meticulously I plan the sleep, I NEVER wake up with the dream of the Community Center in the Ceramic Shop, the Police in the Dean center, and the two ambulances of EMS packed right to the walls of the City Hall Basement.
Maybe one of my fellow bloggers can help me with the dream procedure. I must be doing something wrong! There is right thinking. I am just trying to have RIGHT DREAMING.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:52 AM
0 comments:
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Saturday, December 3, 2005
"Father D"---or a short history of blarney---a true, or mostly true story
Father D; Or, A short history of Blarney
Father D; Or, a short history of blarney
If you search on the Yahoo search line for the name Woulfe, you will find that this is an Irish name. The family is from Tempelglantine. If you know anything about Ireland, you know that it was real big on potatoes, and blarney.
One of the uncles of mine was Father D, the brother of my grandmother, who came to America right after the seminary. He was assigned to the first Irish parish in St. Paul, up on the top of the hill as you enter St. Paul on Hwy 94. The entire hill in the 1880s was filled with little shanties where the Irish who worked on the railroad lived. In a short 40 years from 1880 to 1920, the Irish moved from nothing to being in charge of the Irish political machine that ran St. Paul.
Father D used to come to all the family gatherings. Like my First Communion, Confirmation, etc. I remember one such occasion when the adults were telling stories about some of the locals. I presume, in retrospect, that they might have been sipping wine while they chatted. My relatives were going over some of our local stuff. If we had a problem with increasing the money collected, Fr. D had the solution. He simply took out every other strand in the collection basket and then anyone who put change in the basket was instantly embarrassed. The collection basket revenue doubled instantly. Father seemed to have the solution for everything in my young mind.
Then someone mentioned that there was a somewhat racy and fast crowd in the lake set. In fact, some had pretty loose morals. It was shocking. Fr. D said he indeed had faced that problem also, but had solved the problem quite simply. One lady in particular seemed to come to Church each Sunday in the most provocative of dresses. Finally, one Sunday, he felt that it had simply had gone too far. Surely the Lord must be deeply offended. Father D felt he was being called to make an example of this exact offence. So, he just motioned over to the altar boy to go and get the chasuble. He draped it over the young women with the shocking dress that was so provocative. Then he gave her Communion.’’
It was a pretty shocking story for a young 12-year-old to handle. Over the years as an alter boy, I came across some pretty provocative women in Church…I always wondered whether the priest would send for the chasuble for these women; but no, they never did. As the years went on, I imagined that that dress must have been VERY provocative indeed. On the other hand, when I got about forty, I began to wonder just where Father D was at and whether celibacy might have been wearing on him a bit.
As the years have rolled on, I have understood that it was just the blarney. There was a little truth, maybe the part about the beautiful women. And there was a little exaggeration, maybe the part about the chasuble. And then I am never quite sure. Each Sunday I wonder whether this Sunday will be the time that the chasuble is finally called for.
Father D; Or, a short history of blarney
If you search on the Yahoo search line for the name Woulfe, you will find that this is an Irish name. The family is from Tempelglantine. If you know anything about Ireland, you know that it was real big on potatoes, and blarney.
One of the uncles of mine was Father D, the brother of my grandmother, who came to America right after the seminary. He was assigned to the first Irish parish in St. Paul, up on the top of the hill as you enter St. Paul on Hwy 94. The entire hill in the 1880s was filled with little shanties where the Irish who worked on the railroad lived. In a short 40 years from 1880 to 1920, the Irish moved from nothing to being in charge of the Irish political machine that ran St. Paul.
Father D used to come to all the family gatherings. Like my First Communion, Confirmation, etc. I remember one such occasion when the adults were telling stories about some of the locals. I presume, in retrospect, that they might have been sipping wine while they chatted. My relatives were going over some of our local stuff. If we had a problem with increasing the money collected, Fr. D had the solution. He simply took out every other strand in the collection basket and then anyone who put change in the basket was instantly embarrassed. The collection basket revenue doubled instantly. Father seemed to have the solution for everything in my young mind.
Then someone mentioned that there was a somewhat racy and fast crowd in the lake set. In fact, some had pretty loose morals. It was shocking. Fr. D said he indeed had faced that problem also, but had solved the problem quite simply. One lady in particular seemed to come to Church each Sunday in the most provocative of dresses. Finally, one Sunday, he felt that it had simply had gone too far. Surely the Lord must be deeply offended. Father D felt he was being called to make an example of this exact offence. So, he just motioned over to the altar boy to go and get the chasuble. He draped it over the young women with the shocking dress that was so provocative. Then he gave her Communion.’’
It was a pretty shocking story for a young 12-year-old to handle. Over the years as an alter boy, I came across some pretty provocative women in Church…I always wondered whether the priest would send for the chasuble for these women; but no, they never did. As the years went on, I imagined that that dress must have been VERY provocative indeed. On the other hand, when I got about forty, I began to wonder just where Father D was at and whether celibacy might have been wearing on him a bit.
As the years have rolled on, I have understood that it was just the blarney. There was a little truth, maybe the part about the beautiful women. And there was a little exaggeration, maybe the part about the chasuble. And then I am never quite sure. Each Sunday I wonder whether this Sunday will be the time that the chasuble is finally called for.
December 2005: "The Hearse"----a true story
The Hearse; Or, On the importance of natural advertising; Or, Memories of "Harold and Maude"
The Hearse; Or On the importance of natural advertising
One of the famous advertising stories of Minneapolis is the story of “Paul Stafford Electric.” He was a fellow student of Don Sheehan in 1994. The truth was that advertising expenses were so large for Paul Stafford Electric that he asked Don Sheehan for some advice. Paul had been buying trucks for his electricians to drive to the job site and in the space of one year, the number of accidents of his electricians had sent his insurance premiums skyrocketing. In addition, gas prices were skyrocketing along with advertising, and after paying all the expenses, there was little to celebrate about.
Don Sheehan came upon a novel strategy. First, Paul Stafford went to the local mortuary and purchased some used hearses. The price was about $1500 for a used hearse those days. Then he purchased some small trailers that he could tow to the job site after the trailer hitch was put on the hearse. In the trailer were all the proper electrical supplies necessary for the job. Then he placed the distinctive advertising on the hearse and trailer. The rest is history. The name of Paul Stafford Electric is known throughout Minneapolis and the best part is that he pays no advertising.
I pondered that if it worked for Paul Stafford, it would work for me too. So, yes, I did talk to Paul Stafford and he did give it his blessing. I purchased a hearse and used it in the computer business. I can tell you that it worked wonders and I also learned that those hearses have wonderful premium sound systems, precisely because the music is so soothing for the recently departed.
As young girls, Amy and Julie loved riding in the hearse and riding in the back in the midst of heavy traffic on the 35W following the hearse. They loved to shock drivers behind by quickly opening the curtains and shouting “boo.” The petrified look in the drivers faces was thrilling. The girls did not know what a “hearse” was, and just called it the “pretty car with the curtains.”
It is not clear whether the interest in hearses was due to my love of the movie "Harold and Maude," or whether it was because I was always the alter boy at St. Jude’s Church who got to go to Calvary Cemetary with full motorcycle escort when I was in 8th Grade. I do think it was simply that the advertising expenses were zero. Yes, when I was on the road, my CB handle was “Hearseman.
This is simply an example of “natural advertising.” I will have other examples in further posts.
The Hearse; Or On the importance of natural advertising
One of the famous advertising stories of Minneapolis is the story of “Paul Stafford Electric.” He was a fellow student of Don Sheehan in 1994. The truth was that advertising expenses were so large for Paul Stafford Electric that he asked Don Sheehan for some advice. Paul had been buying trucks for his electricians to drive to the job site and in the space of one year, the number of accidents of his electricians had sent his insurance premiums skyrocketing. In addition, gas prices were skyrocketing along with advertising, and after paying all the expenses, there was little to celebrate about.
Don Sheehan came upon a novel strategy. First, Paul Stafford went to the local mortuary and purchased some used hearses. The price was about $1500 for a used hearse those days. Then he purchased some small trailers that he could tow to the job site after the trailer hitch was put on the hearse. In the trailer were all the proper electrical supplies necessary for the job. Then he placed the distinctive advertising on the hearse and trailer. The rest is history. The name of Paul Stafford Electric is known throughout Minneapolis and the best part is that he pays no advertising.
I pondered that if it worked for Paul Stafford, it would work for me too. So, yes, I did talk to Paul Stafford and he did give it his blessing. I purchased a hearse and used it in the computer business. I can tell you that it worked wonders and I also learned that those hearses have wonderful premium sound systems, precisely because the music is so soothing for the recently departed.
As young girls, Amy and Julie loved riding in the hearse and riding in the back in the midst of heavy traffic on the 35W following the hearse. They loved to shock drivers behind by quickly opening the curtains and shouting “boo.” The petrified look in the drivers faces was thrilling. The girls did not know what a “hearse” was, and just called it the “pretty car with the curtains.”
It is not clear whether the interest in hearses was due to my love of the movie "Harold and Maude," or whether it was because I was always the alter boy at St. Jude’s Church who got to go to Calvary Cemetary with full motorcycle escort when I was in 8th Grade. I do think it was simply that the advertising expenses were zero. Yes, when I was on the road, my CB handle was “Hearseman.
This is simply an example of “natural advertising.” I will have other examples in further posts.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
On Freedom of Speech; On muscles; On Weight Equipment and more
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Memories of John Jones: Or why the equipment does not make the muscles;On why laws don't make freedom of speech or assembly--people do
Many of you may remember John Jones, the owner of Jones Barbells on Union Street. He was an avid flyer, a flight instructor and a weight lifter known nationally by his plane with the Jones Barbell logo on it. He was the son of a World War II ace pilot.
There are many John Jones stories. He was a very simple and direct and honest person. Sometimes disturbingly so for high and mighty types. John was most at home in his welding overalls with the top glass shield that he retracted, like Dark Helmet, when he came from the back welding area to help a customer. He loved welding, and selling was just extra.
Back in 1990 I wandered into the shop to see his weight equipment and explained to the big guy that I had been a long distance runner in my youth, and a slow one at that, but needed to regain my leg strength. He said not a word. He just waved me to follow him back to the leg press section of the display room. He showed me his patented leg press machine, the one that had the special safety and he designed to prevent back injuries. I was an easy sale.
As I cleared out my storage chest recently of the many race t-shirts over the years, I had to smile. John never said that my dream of running again was crazy, like most of the relatives. He just showed me what was necessary.
Everything was on a handshake with John. His word was good. I would buy everything he had eventually. Finally, when I asked about some new piece, he quietly said, "Dick, you just need to use what you have. It's up to you, not the equipment."
That was just what I needed to hear then.
To those of you that attended the recent peace vigil, I applaud your showing up to express your opinion by free assembly. To those who take the other side, I applaud your right to express it.
The question is not for those who show up. The question I have is ----Who is the real Observer. Is it me? I think not. I have to write a bit each day with my name on it. The observers are those who just log on to observe what the rest are talking about. I know because I get the traffic reports.
John Jones told me something that I did not want to hear. The equipment was not going to get the muscles. It was up to me.
To those who are just observing, think about expressing yourself without fear. Think
about telling a friend about The Evansville Observer. The Observer is not about me. It is really about the comments. It's about the discussion. The Observer is just a place to talk. A place to chat about
Memories of John Jones: Or why the equipment does not make the muscles;On why laws don't make freedom of speech or assembly--people do
Many of you may remember John Jones, the owner of Jones Barbells on Union Street. He was an avid flyer, a flight instructor and a weight lifter known nationally by his plane with the Jones Barbell logo on it. He was the son of a World War II ace pilot.
There are many John Jones stories. He was a very simple and direct and honest person. Sometimes disturbingly so for high and mighty types. John was most at home in his welding overalls with the top glass shield that he retracted, like Dark Helmet, when he came from the back welding area to help a customer. He loved welding, and selling was just extra.
Back in 1990 I wandered into the shop to see his weight equipment and explained to the big guy that I had been a long distance runner in my youth, and a slow one at that, but needed to regain my leg strength. He said not a word. He just waved me to follow him back to the leg press section of the display room. He showed me his patented leg press machine, the one that had the special safety and he designed to prevent back injuries. I was an easy sale.
As I cleared out my storage chest recently of the many race t-shirts over the years, I had to smile. John never said that my dream of running again was crazy, like most of the relatives. He just showed me what was necessary.
Everything was on a handshake with John. His word was good. I would buy everything he had eventually. Finally, when I asked about some new piece, he quietly said, "Dick, you just need to use what you have. It's up to you, not the equipment."
That was just what I needed to hear then.
To those of you that attended the recent peace vigil, I applaud your showing up to express your opinion by free assembly. To those who take the other side, I applaud your right to express it.
The question is not for those who show up. The question I have is ----Who is the real Observer. Is it me? I think not. I have to write a bit each day with my name on it. The observers are those who just log on to observe what the rest are talking about. I know because I get the traffic reports.
John Jones told me something that I did not want to hear. The equipment was not going to get the muscles. It was up to me.
To those who are just observing, think about expressing yourself without fear. Think
about telling a friend about The Evansville Observer. The Observer is not about me. It is really about the comments. It's about the discussion. The Observer is just a place to talk. A place to chat about
Thursday, September 8, 2005
A Caution: "On Think and Grow Rich"
If you ever were a salesman or business owner you have many inspirational books on your bookshelf. One needs them to stay motivated. Enthusiastic.
One of the most famous of these inspirational books is "Think and Grow Rich" by Napolean Hill. Other favorites are "See You at the Top" by Zig Ziegler or "Shut up and Sell" by Don Sheehan. Then there are the audio tapes for driving in the car.....the real estate closing tapes...ABC, always be closing etc. Anyway, you get the idea....
If you are married and a salesman, you are probably also reading a book, or even two books by John Gray.....like..."Men are from Mars,,Women from Venus"....The reason that you are reading the books by John Gray is either because you don't have a clue about women as sales prospects, or you don't have a clue about what is happening to your marriage----or both.
Reading inspirational books is fun. However, one warning. It is important to review "walking the walk" as well as "talking the talk." What I mean, of course, is that one does need to know that Napolean Hill died penniless....It is also important to know that John Gray is on his 4th marriage.
O.K. Now when you are reading the books, you can have a better sense of perspective. I don't want to ruin any enthusiasm here, but, it is important to know. Behold, you may be in far better shape that the authors were. In fact, you may not even need the books.
Just a thought for the day.
One of the most famous of these inspirational books is "Think and Grow Rich" by Napolean Hill. Other favorites are "See You at the Top" by Zig Ziegler or "Shut up and Sell" by Don Sheehan. Then there are the audio tapes for driving in the car.....the real estate closing tapes...ABC, always be closing etc. Anyway, you get the idea....
If you are married and a salesman, you are probably also reading a book, or even two books by John Gray.....like..."Men are from Mars,,Women from Venus"....The reason that you are reading the books by John Gray is either because you don't have a clue about women as sales prospects, or you don't have a clue about what is happening to your marriage----or both.
Reading inspirational books is fun. However, one warning. It is important to review "walking the walk" as well as "talking the talk." What I mean, of course, is that one does need to know that Napolean Hill died penniless....It is also important to know that John Gray is on his 4th marriage.
O.K. Now when you are reading the books, you can have a better sense of perspective. I don't want to ruin any enthusiasm here, but, it is important to know. Behold, you may be in far better shape that the authors were. In fact, you may not even need the books.
Just a thought for the day.
Stillwater Struggles to Regain Control over Lumberjack Days
Sometimes it takes a whole village----It has been taking everyone in Stillwater, Mn. to try to piece together what actually happened during last years Lumberjack Days. They had "Lynyrd Skynyrd" as the feature band and had plenty of fine beer, so what could have gone wrong? Turns out they had just too much beer and were a couple hundred porta potties short. Anyway, sometimes trying to get in touch with your heritage just backfires.
Stillwater is a special place for me, cause I used to picnic above Stillwater on the bluff in "Pioneer Park," Wonderful view. A scene right out of Huck Finn. Something to check out.
If you go to the Lumberjack days, there will be some bland bands they are hoping will keep everybody away, or at least a few of you who came for the music. I will try to keep you informed on how the weekend turned out.
As a P.S., the only lumberjacks I knew of were a Mr. Tozer, who was a lumber baron of Stillwater and left money for students of Washington county for college scholarships ----hundreds of them over the past 50 years. Many of my siblings and friends owe their schooling to his generosity. So, this weekend, Mr. Tozer, we remember. Thank you.
Stillwater is a special place for me, cause I used to picnic above Stillwater on the bluff in "Pioneer Park," Wonderful view. A scene right out of Huck Finn. Something to check out.
If you go to the Lumberjack days, there will be some bland bands they are hoping will keep everybody away, or at least a few of you who came for the music. I will try to keep you informed on how the weekend turned out.
As a P.S., the only lumberjacks I knew of were a Mr. Tozer, who was a lumber baron of Stillwater and left money for students of Washington county for college scholarships ----hundreds of them over the past 50 years. Many of my siblings and friends owe their schooling to his generosity. So, this weekend, Mr. Tozer, we remember. Thank you.
Sunday, September 4, 2005
"The Saxophone and the Sunglasses"---a mostly true story
The Saxophone and The Sunglasses
Some of you have kindly written wondering where my old dark blue 1989 Lincoln Towncar is. Well, it is still running. My oldest daughter, who always dreamed of owning a Honda is driving the Lincoln "ghetto cruiser" and fitting it into the parking spots in Madison designed for a Honda. Anyway, recently, I got to sit in the car and think of the good old days, and I flipped down the visor and tons of Cd's fell in my lap. Quickly, I inserted some in the CD player, desperately looking for some rock and roll. No, they were all Blues, Jazz and hip hop. Worse, most were in Italian. " When did this all begin?" I mused. Then I remembered about the Saxophone and the Sunglasses.
One Sunday night when my oldest was a sophmore at EHS, I overheard a stressful discussion in the kitchen, and as I usually did, I walked right into it. " What's the problem," I asked. " Well," she replied, " tomorrow is the first Jazz Band practice." "So, what?" I ventured. "Well," " I don't have a saxophone and don't know how to play it since I play flute."
" Just ask Mr. Z," I said, "and if he says you can play sax, I will go get the sax at Ward Brodt. Call me at lunch and leave me a message. On monday, there was a short, breathless message on the recorder. " Go get the sax!"
That afternoon both girls came home from school and were giggling and excited. I had to ask, " Well what happened?" "Oh," the oldest said, Mr. Z said to come tonight and just fake it and then gradually play what I felt comfortable with." It's going to be no problem, I can fake it fine."
What followed was the most intense three weeks of learning ever in our home. Scales, swearing, broken reeds, trips to the music store for riff books, arguments about why it is important to stop playing at midnight so the old folks can sleep. After three weeks of almost no sleep for us, the playing sounded pretty darn good. She said, " Well, I need to go to Janesville!" " What ever for?" I asked. "The Sunglasses", she replied. I did understand. If you play the sax, you need the approved style of sunglasses.
As I sat in the old blue Lincoln with the lap full of jazz cds, I thought of what had happened because of that one open door, that one moment when a musical passion had been ignited because the maestro had opened the door to a lifelong obsession.
If you do make a contribution to the instrument fund at EHS,( EHS musical inst fund, attn Mr. Z) you might consider that it is not the instrument you are giving, but the entrance ticket for a lifelong passion for music. If you were present at the "Good Question" gig at "Real Coffee" recently, you got an idea of how much fun this can be.
Some of you have kindly written wondering where my old dark blue 1989 Lincoln Towncar is. Well, it is still running. My oldest daughter, who always dreamed of owning a Honda is driving the Lincoln "ghetto cruiser" and fitting it into the parking spots in Madison designed for a Honda. Anyway, recently, I got to sit in the car and think of the good old days, and I flipped down the visor and tons of Cd's fell in my lap. Quickly, I inserted some in the CD player, desperately looking for some rock and roll. No, they were all Blues, Jazz and hip hop. Worse, most were in Italian. " When did this all begin?" I mused. Then I remembered about the Saxophone and the Sunglasses.
One Sunday night when my oldest was a sophmore at EHS, I overheard a stressful discussion in the kitchen, and as I usually did, I walked right into it. " What's the problem," I asked. " Well," she replied, " tomorrow is the first Jazz Band practice." "So, what?" I ventured. "Well," " I don't have a saxophone and don't know how to play it since I play flute."
" Just ask Mr. Z," I said, "and if he says you can play sax, I will go get the sax at Ward Brodt. Call me at lunch and leave me a message. On monday, there was a short, breathless message on the recorder. " Go get the sax!"
That afternoon both girls came home from school and were giggling and excited. I had to ask, " Well what happened?" "Oh," the oldest said, Mr. Z said to come tonight and just fake it and then gradually play what I felt comfortable with." It's going to be no problem, I can fake it fine."
What followed was the most intense three weeks of learning ever in our home. Scales, swearing, broken reeds, trips to the music store for riff books, arguments about why it is important to stop playing at midnight so the old folks can sleep. After three weeks of almost no sleep for us, the playing sounded pretty darn good. She said, " Well, I need to go to Janesville!" " What ever for?" I asked. "The Sunglasses", she replied. I did understand. If you play the sax, you need the approved style of sunglasses.
As I sat in the old blue Lincoln with the lap full of jazz cds, I thought of what had happened because of that one open door, that one moment when a musical passion had been ignited because the maestro had opened the door to a lifelong obsession.
If you do make a contribution to the instrument fund at EHS,( EHS musical inst fund, attn Mr. Z) you might consider that it is not the instrument you are giving, but the entrance ticket for a lifelong passion for music. If you were present at the "Good Question" gig at "Real Coffee" recently, you got an idea of how much fun this can be.
Saturday, September 3, 2005
"Let's Keep Everything just the way it was."--a true story
Thursday, September 01, 2005
"Let's keep everything just the way it was."
In my college years, I lived with my grandmother in St. Paul, in a home just like my home on East Main. It was in the suburbs in 1912, at the end of the trolly line, though it is in the inner city now.
One Sunday, my dad drove me in from White Bear Lake for the move. He said, "Nana likes things just the way they were when Grandpa died. Just remember----- it is her house." "O.K., I said," " No problem."
This was in 1963. Grandpa had died in 1930. The victrola in the corner of the living room looked right out of an FDR fireside chat. The radio dial was on a AM station that had died years ago. I expected any minute a breaking bulletin announcing a further chapter in the Pacific war. Anyway, all the wallpaper was mint original. True Historic Preservation stuff. The rugs were all oriental. And of course the floors were oak and the sliding pocket doors really slid hard, since nobody knew how to adjust them anymore.
The furniture was the problem--the living room furniture was vintage 1920's, but the springs had been shot for at least 30 years. So, nobody could sit on them or a serious back injury would result. The dining room furniture was useful since it was all oak
.
Nana had a story for everything. Yes, the green historic lighting was ok outside, but not as grand as when the "lamplighters" used to come each night on the wagon and reach up and light the kerosene lamps with a wick. Now that was grand.
Years later, I learned that folks occasionally react to loss that way. They will want to keep things just the way they were. There is therapy for it now. No need for a person to suffer that way....fixed in time and not being truly alive.
At the Homecoming Parade in Evansville this year, I had the opportunity to watch the parade from the true center of the Historic District. What a glorious day of fall colors. The residents I spoke too, however, were not too jovial. They had just gotten their assessments for being Historic and the assessments had gone sky high. They pleaded with me, "Can't we just be old and not "Historic?"
"NO, I replied," "That cannot be." We are old on East Main and proud of it. You are Historic. You have to keep things just the way they were."
"Let's keep everything just the way it was."
In my college years, I lived with my grandmother in St. Paul, in a home just like my home on East Main. It was in the suburbs in 1912, at the end of the trolly line, though it is in the inner city now.
One Sunday, my dad drove me in from White Bear Lake for the move. He said, "Nana likes things just the way they were when Grandpa died. Just remember----- it is her house." "O.K., I said," " No problem."
This was in 1963. Grandpa had died in 1930. The victrola in the corner of the living room looked right out of an FDR fireside chat. The radio dial was on a AM station that had died years ago. I expected any minute a breaking bulletin announcing a further chapter in the Pacific war. Anyway, all the wallpaper was mint original. True Historic Preservation stuff. The rugs were all oriental. And of course the floors were oak and the sliding pocket doors really slid hard, since nobody knew how to adjust them anymore.
The furniture was the problem--the living room furniture was vintage 1920's, but the springs had been shot for at least 30 years. So, nobody could sit on them or a serious back injury would result. The dining room furniture was useful since it was all oak
.
Nana had a story for everything. Yes, the green historic lighting was ok outside, but not as grand as when the "lamplighters" used to come each night on the wagon and reach up and light the kerosene lamps with a wick. Now that was grand.
Years later, I learned that folks occasionally react to loss that way. They will want to keep things just the way they were. There is therapy for it now. No need for a person to suffer that way....fixed in time and not being truly alive.
At the Homecoming Parade in Evansville this year, I had the opportunity to watch the parade from the true center of the Historic District. What a glorious day of fall colors. The residents I spoke too, however, were not too jovial. They had just gotten their assessments for being Historic and the assessments had gone sky high. They pleaded with me, "Can't we just be old and not "Historic?"
"NO, I replied," "That cannot be." We are old on East Main and proud of it. You are Historic. You have to keep things just the way they were."
Monday, August 22, 2005
"The Sugar Daddy Christmas"; or, The Christmas Story
The Sugar Daddy Christmas; Or, A Christmas Story
Several years ago, the stress of the Christmas season seemed to have destroyed all the joy---the desire to get the perfect gift for others and the complementary desire to get the perfect gift from the perfect family member just screamed out for change. So, I designed what the kids have come to call the "Sugar Daddy Christmas." Prior to Christmas we would focus soly on the religious nature of the holiday. All the advent ceremony. All the reflections on waiting. All the cleaning out of the old and preparation for the new. Then, on the day after Christmas, we would go total capitalist.
On Christmas Day, each family member would give one gift to each other, with a strict price limit of $10. It would hopefully be a book, some body lotion or something of interest. A handmade gift would be the ideal. Then on Christmas Eve, we would celebrate at the Cathedral in Madison at midnight with all the brass instruments.
On the Day after Christmas, each person would get a "Sugar Daddy" envelope with $100 in it for the shopping spree. Each would then go on the shopping spree and keep all the receipts. The person who got the most value measured in discounts from original retail, would get an additional $50.
This shopping spree was quite a competitive event. The girls were all amazed how much those precious things before Christmas were discounted just one day later. What an added benefit for just having a religious emphasis before Christmas. Religion seemed to have some economical side benefits. Molly, the youngest, did get some purchasing help from one of the boyfriends, Greg, who devised a purchasing strategy of using deeply discounted toys to win the contest. However, in the end, the first year, Amy was the declared winner.
Now they all just ask, "Are we still doing the Sugar Daddy?" When the answer is yes, they know there is no stress. They have asked for stiff penalties for anyone who goes over the $10 limit however. No exceptions allowed. It is a real challenge to keep the gift under $10. It is also a challenge to keep the spirit of Christmas from being destroyed by Madison Ave.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:13 AM
Several years ago, the stress of the Christmas season seemed to have destroyed all the joy---the desire to get the perfect gift for others and the complementary desire to get the perfect gift from the perfect family member just screamed out for change. So, I designed what the kids have come to call the "Sugar Daddy Christmas." Prior to Christmas we would focus soly on the religious nature of the holiday. All the advent ceremony. All the reflections on waiting. All the cleaning out of the old and preparation for the new. Then, on the day after Christmas, we would go total capitalist.
On Christmas Day, each family member would give one gift to each other, with a strict price limit of $10. It would hopefully be a book, some body lotion or something of interest. A handmade gift would be the ideal. Then on Christmas Eve, we would celebrate at the Cathedral in Madison at midnight with all the brass instruments.
On the Day after Christmas, each person would get a "Sugar Daddy" envelope with $100 in it for the shopping spree. Each would then go on the shopping spree and keep all the receipts. The person who got the most value measured in discounts from original retail, would get an additional $50.
This shopping spree was quite a competitive event. The girls were all amazed how much those precious things before Christmas were discounted just one day later. What an added benefit for just having a religious emphasis before Christmas. Religion seemed to have some economical side benefits. Molly, the youngest, did get some purchasing help from one of the boyfriends, Greg, who devised a purchasing strategy of using deeply discounted toys to win the contest. However, in the end, the first year, Amy was the declared winner.
Now they all just ask, "Are we still doing the Sugar Daddy?" When the answer is yes, they know there is no stress. They have asked for stiff penalties for anyone who goes over the $10 limit however. No exceptions allowed. It is a real challenge to keep the gift under $10. It is also a challenge to keep the spirit of Christmas from being destroyed by Madison Ave.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:13 AM
Thursday, January 27, 2005
"The CB Radio," or If You Need Help, call 911
Recently I have been busy cleaning out my garage. In an old faded box I found a CB radio I used to take on the road during sales trips in years past. The CB had an 800 number on it for customer service. Even though it had been 20 years, I thought I would dial the number. When the human answered the phone, "GE Service," I was stunned.
I have gotten used to all the recordings. You know the ones. When you call, even though you might call at the very instant they open, the friendly recording lets me know they are busy helping customers. If it is a medical provider, they are nice enough to say, "If you need help, call 911."
It seems that 911 is the total health care provider these days. In fact it seems that the attitude is that service is never included in the product. People are just too busy doing more important things than the business they are in.
I have gotten used to all the recordings. You know the ones. When you call, even though you might call at the very instant they open, the friendly recording lets me know they are busy helping customers. If it is a medical provider, they are nice enough to say, "If you need help, call 911."
It seems that 911 is the total health care provider these days. In fact it seems that the attitude is that service is never included in the product. People are just too busy doing more important things than the business they are in.
"The Last Latte"---FICTION or "She Never Settled."
He gathered up his courage and pushed open the door. It was not his favorite type of task. She had died suddenly in Europe on a business trip. A distant relative. Now he had to take care of the final details.
He pushed open the door and entered the large Italian tiled entrance room and spoke to the the very professional looking woman at the desk. " I have come for the urn of Gloria Fitzgerald, please. "Oh yes," she said, " I have been expecting you.".
Now as the woman left to retrieve the urn, all the memories swept over him. He thought of the last time he had visited with Gloria. It was at the Caribou Coffee at Hwy 101 and Hwy 12 in Minnetonka. She was a very high test woman. Very well traveled. Very particular as to all the details. Very much a perfectionist in every way. " Yes," he thought, "Her favorite phrase was " I just never could settle. "
Quietly chatting with her while the very busy staff at Caribou Coffee brewed her beverage, their chat was interrupted by the manager booming out------" Latte, low fat, extra froth, extra hot, half pump vanilla, sweet and low---and yes half caff--"
"That's ME, That's ME " she said, with her hand waving above her head. Just then it seemed as though a spotlight shone on her like some rock star as she rose to the stage to get her latte. It was just those overhead cone lamps at Caribou. It seemed like a stage to him.
As the lady returned with the urn, he quickly signed the paper. "Well," he thought, "that was her last latte." "She never did settle."
Posted by Evansville Observer at 10:01 AM
Newer Post Older Post Home
He pushed open the door and entered the large Italian tiled entrance room and spoke to the the very professional looking woman at the desk. " I have come for the urn of Gloria Fitzgerald, please. "Oh yes," she said, " I have been expecting you.".
Now as the woman left to retrieve the urn, all the memories swept over him. He thought of the last time he had visited with Gloria. It was at the Caribou Coffee at Hwy 101 and Hwy 12 in Minnetonka. She was a very high test woman. Very well traveled. Very particular as to all the details. Very much a perfectionist in every way. " Yes," he thought, "Her favorite phrase was " I just never could settle. "
Quietly chatting with her while the very busy staff at Caribou Coffee brewed her beverage, their chat was interrupted by the manager booming out------" Latte, low fat, extra froth, extra hot, half pump vanilla, sweet and low---and yes half caff--"
"That's ME, That's ME " she said, with her hand waving above her head. Just then it seemed as though a spotlight shone on her like some rock star as she rose to the stage to get her latte. It was just those overhead cone lamps at Caribou. It seemed like a stage to him.
As the lady returned with the urn, he quickly signed the paper. "Well," he thought, "that was her last latte." "She never did settle."
Posted by Evansville Observer at 10:01 AM
Newer Post Older Post Home
"Do You Believe In Pinocchio
One of the great journeys that we all seem to go through is not only deciding what we like and dislike, but also what we believe and do not believe. This journey is short for some, and long for others. Exciting for some, disturbing for others. The results are not always predictable.
Years ago, one of my kids, on the way home from church, said, "Well, Dad, I just don't believe that. It's just baloney. It's just a story."
I replied, "Well, I suppose you don't believe in Pinocchio either?" "Of course not," she replied," That's just a story too."
"Well," I said, " let's put the question another way. " Do you believe that when people lie they are changed and become a deformed person?" " And that the transformation is obvious to all around them?"
" I never thought of Pinocchio that way." she replied. " In that case, I guess I DO believe in the story of Pinocchio."
Then I said, " Ditto for the other stories that you say you don't believe in. Don't let the details of the story confuse you about the real meaning. You might be surprised in how much you really believe.
So how about you? Do you believe in Pinocchio? You make the call.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 12:09 PM
Years ago, one of my kids, on the way home from church, said, "Well, Dad, I just don't believe that. It's just baloney. It's just a story."
I replied, "Well, I suppose you don't believe in Pinocchio either?" "Of course not," she replied," That's just a story too."
"Well," I said, " let's put the question another way. " Do you believe that when people lie they are changed and become a deformed person?" " And that the transformation is obvious to all around them?"
" I never thought of Pinocchio that way." she replied. " In that case, I guess I DO believe in the story of Pinocchio."
Then I said, " Ditto for the other stories that you say you don't believe in. Don't let the details of the story confuse you about the real meaning. You might be surprised in how much you really believe.
So how about you? Do you believe in Pinocchio? You make the call.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 12:09 PM
"What Business Are YOU in?; Or, The Miracle Business
Sometimes one can be in the right place at the right time. When I began in the hospital business with Unity Hospital, they had just added 100 beds, were rapidly growing and having erratic census. That all adds up to problems. The usual problems of growth. It was just like a bad first half of football. With a few adjustments, the second half could be glorious. So it was for me.
I worked very hard in the first 90 days, and with the right staff, we saw an amazing change in results. I was excited. We all were. I then got the call that the big guy, the head administrator, Mr. Haines, wanted to see me. Face time with him was big. People fought for it. Remembered it. I was just a little nervous as I headed up to the office suite.
When I entered the offices, his secretary told me,"Go right in, Dick. He's waiting for you." That made me even more nervous.
Once in his office, I was startled by his appearance. He was dressed in a surgical outfit, with the mask propped up on his forehead. Sticking out from the bottom of the outfit was his wing tip shoes.
He shook my hand warmly and said, "Good to meet you, Dick. Sit down and relax."
"Excuse my appearance, Dick, but I have just had an unbelievable morning. One of our board members' daughters was rushed to the hospital this morning with a rare complication, and her life and the babies life were in question. I am close with the family, and came in with her. It was very tense. But at the critical moment, Dr. X made all the right decisions, and both her and her baby will be just fine. It was really an amazing thing. It was like a miracle. I'm still on a natural high from the experience."
Then he went on. " Dale has told me nice things about what you have done. I want you to keep up the good work. But above all, I want you never to forget what business we are in. We are in the miracle business. Yes, we are surrounded by numbers, numbers, numbers, and it seems after some long days, that numbers might be what this is all about. Really, if you ever get to the point where that is all it is about, your career is really over. We are in the miracle business!"
After shaking hands and thanking him for his time, I went back to my office. The meeting was nothing like what I had expected. His words, I have never forgotten.
Every guru, every consultant who ever came to any business I have ever worked for always started the session with the words " What business are you in?" Mr. Haines knew.
So I ask you. What business are you in?
I worked very hard in the first 90 days, and with the right staff, we saw an amazing change in results. I was excited. We all were. I then got the call that the big guy, the head administrator, Mr. Haines, wanted to see me. Face time with him was big. People fought for it. Remembered it. I was just a little nervous as I headed up to the office suite.
When I entered the offices, his secretary told me,"Go right in, Dick. He's waiting for you." That made me even more nervous.
Once in his office, I was startled by his appearance. He was dressed in a surgical outfit, with the mask propped up on his forehead. Sticking out from the bottom of the outfit was his wing tip shoes.
He shook my hand warmly and said, "Good to meet you, Dick. Sit down and relax."
"Excuse my appearance, Dick, but I have just had an unbelievable morning. One of our board members' daughters was rushed to the hospital this morning with a rare complication, and her life and the babies life were in question. I am close with the family, and came in with her. It was very tense. But at the critical moment, Dr. X made all the right decisions, and both her and her baby will be just fine. It was really an amazing thing. It was like a miracle. I'm still on a natural high from the experience."
Then he went on. " Dale has told me nice things about what you have done. I want you to keep up the good work. But above all, I want you never to forget what business we are in. We are in the miracle business. Yes, we are surrounded by numbers, numbers, numbers, and it seems after some long days, that numbers might be what this is all about. Really, if you ever get to the point where that is all it is about, your career is really over. We are in the miracle business!"
After shaking hands and thanking him for his time, I went back to my office. The meeting was nothing like what I had expected. His words, I have never forgotten.
Every guru, every consultant who ever came to any business I have ever worked for always started the session with the words " What business are you in?" Mr. Haines knew.
So I ask you. What business are you in?
"My Honorable Opponent."
Some time ago, when I was in high school, I was a short, bookish guy with thick glasses. Yes, I know this is hard to imagine. I decided to try out for the debate team. The topic for debate that year was "Should the UN be significantly strengthened?" I was assigned to the first negative and after the first "warmup" debate within the team, our coach, Mr. Ryan, taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.
"Well," he said, " that was a good first debate. Great energy. With some improvement you will be a great team. However, here are some thoughts. First, this is not mudwrestling, and we need to understand the difference. Some of you were surprised by your opponent's argument. The reason? You had not argued both sides of the question. So that is the assignment for next week. We will have another debate and you will not be assigned your part till then. We will draw straws at 3:30pm to decide your part. The thought of knowing both sides of an issue had never occured to me. Now it was the very first rule.
Mr. Ryan went on," The second skill I am about to teach you is deadly. It is "My honorable opponent." Before you make a key point, first you say, "My honorable opponent has said," and then state EXACTLY and FAIRLY what your opponent has argued. The mistake most people make is that they never can do this. Once you have done this, the audience thinks," Wow, what a wonderful guy he is". Then you pause ever so slightly as if to smile. Show some confidence. Then you say the magic word "HOWEVER." Then you take your sword and slay your opponent. verbally of course.
Thus, it would go like this. "My honorable opponent has said that the sky is green." (pause) HOWEVER, pause) my opponent is mistaken, It is clearly blue." Remember, always elevate your opponent before you slay him, figuratively of course. This is why before every sporting event, when the TV announcer asks what the coach thinks of the opposition, you would think that the opponent is the greatest team that has ever played the game. He is preparing the prey for the harvest. You are to do likewise.
"Well," he said, " that was a good first debate. Great energy. With some improvement you will be a great team. However, here are some thoughts. First, this is not mudwrestling, and we need to understand the difference. Some of you were surprised by your opponent's argument. The reason? You had not argued both sides of the question. So that is the assignment for next week. We will have another debate and you will not be assigned your part till then. We will draw straws at 3:30pm to decide your part. The thought of knowing both sides of an issue had never occured to me. Now it was the very first rule.
Mr. Ryan went on," The second skill I am about to teach you is deadly. It is "My honorable opponent." Before you make a key point, first you say, "My honorable opponent has said," and then state EXACTLY and FAIRLY what your opponent has argued. The mistake most people make is that they never can do this. Once you have done this, the audience thinks," Wow, what a wonderful guy he is". Then you pause ever so slightly as if to smile. Show some confidence. Then you say the magic word "HOWEVER." Then you take your sword and slay your opponent. verbally of course.
Thus, it would go like this. "My honorable opponent has said that the sky is green." (pause) HOWEVER, pause) my opponent is mistaken, It is clearly blue." Remember, always elevate your opponent before you slay him, figuratively of course. This is why before every sporting event, when the TV announcer asks what the coach thinks of the opposition, you would think that the opponent is the greatest team that has ever played the game. He is preparing the prey for the harvest. You are to do likewise.
"Pro Bono"
Every young law student in America during his/her law school days participates in some "pro bono" legal work. It is part of the training of the legal profession. It is also a training as to the mission of serving that the legal profession has prided itself in over the centuries.
Sometimes this "Pro bono" work is introduced to law students BEFORE they even enter law school. Sometimes they are informed of this aspect of their law studies in the very FIRST orientation session conducted by the admission department.
Click on the post for a link to the American Bar Association that describes this mission.
After extensive search in the vast resources of the local libraries, the only reference to this "pro bono" concept in our fair city that can be gleaned from ancient historical records is that once upon a time a long time ago, a distinguished law practitioner was heard to say, " We never thought of "pro bono."
Sometimes this "Pro bono" work is introduced to law students BEFORE they even enter law school. Sometimes they are informed of this aspect of their law studies in the very FIRST orientation session conducted by the admission department.
Click on the post for a link to the American Bar Association that describes this mission.
After extensive search in the vast resources of the local libraries, the only reference to this "pro bono" concept in our fair city that can be gleaned from ancient historical records is that once upon a time a long time ago, a distinguished law practitioner was heard to say, " We never thought of "pro bono."
"On Sale;" "On Saving"
Officially the word "sale" has meant nothing for many years now. The word "sale" is all over stores nationwide. The other night when my eldest daughter came home for a birthday, she was excited about a "special sale" at a upscale womans store where she works part time. It was the year that she spent in Italy that gave her a thrist for fine clothes that has been hard to recover from. She is kind to me on my style choice. She says that I am "classic" not "trendy." That means that I wear sweatshirts and stuff that would be banned in Europe, but that she understands. Anyway----
She explained what the net cost after the 20% discount was---- and it startled me. It seems that one can get a wonderful deal and yet still be far out of my range of purchase price.
Another word that is far out of fashion is the word "saving." I recently got excited about a coupon that I got at the local grocery store for $1 off my favorite coffee. The bag of regular grind was about $2 and I treasured the coupon till the next trip to the store. Only to find out that presto---the price of the $2 bag had mysteriously gone to $3. In an earlier time of yesteryear when the Lone ranger and Tonto roamed the earth, this was called "fraud." It seems that it is just normal business now. I call it "The Coupon Con." The savings are always ZERO.
Alas "sale" and "saving" are not only lost words, but the whole idea of saving has been lost. Consider that currently Americans have dipped into a "negative savings rate" which has only happened in one other time---namely 1933.
It seems that Americans probably know deep down that they are in the red. It's just too painful to confront it.
Anyway----those are two words that I always enjoyed----"sale" and "save." I will really miss them. And yes, the Lone Ranger and Tonto too.
She explained what the net cost after the 20% discount was---- and it startled me. It seems that one can get a wonderful deal and yet still be far out of my range of purchase price.
Another word that is far out of fashion is the word "saving." I recently got excited about a coupon that I got at the local grocery store for $1 off my favorite coffee. The bag of regular grind was about $2 and I treasured the coupon till the next trip to the store. Only to find out that presto---the price of the $2 bag had mysteriously gone to $3. In an earlier time of yesteryear when the Lone ranger and Tonto roamed the earth, this was called "fraud." It seems that it is just normal business now. I call it "The Coupon Con." The savings are always ZERO.
Alas "sale" and "saving" are not only lost words, but the whole idea of saving has been lost. Consider that currently Americans have dipped into a "negative savings rate" which has only happened in one other time---namely 1933.
It seems that Americans probably know deep down that they are in the red. It's just too painful to confront it.
Anyway----those are two words that I always enjoyed----"sale" and "save." I will really miss them. And yes, the Lone Ranger and Tonto too.
"Natural Accounting"; or Cutting Back on Pasta but loading up on Ice Cream
The other night as I was eating dinner, as I launched into a second helping of barbequed chicken breast, I mentioned to my daughter that I had just burned off 600 calories on the Nordic Trac, and thus felt very entitled to enjoying a second helping.
"Dad," she replied, " I don't think you get it. There is 1000 calories on your plate right now. No matter what you say, your body does the accounting. You are gaining weight!"
Being the parent, naturally, I was a little taken aback at the insubordination involved in a youngster speaking when not spoken to. Yet, as I reviewed the content of her little speech, I had to admit that the accounting certainly did not add up to the rhetoric. In fact that has been an ongoing theme lately. I have been encountering rhetoric that simply does NOT add up in a lot of areas of my reporting career.
"But....but... I have been cutting back on PASTA," I explained......"O.K., I guess I have been eating a little more ice cream......Maybe that is the problem. Ya think?"
"DA", she responded.
In dieting, the pea pod game just does not work. One cannot get away with saving a little in pasta and making it up in ice cream. The Lord does the accounting----the net result is obvious to all.
So. It's time to get the spreadsheets out. Time to get the pea pod specialists a little light to shine on the numbers. Time to get the real accounting.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 7:00 PM
"Dad," she replied, " I don't think you get it. There is 1000 calories on your plate right now. No matter what you say, your body does the accounting. You are gaining weight!"
Being the parent, naturally, I was a little taken aback at the insubordination involved in a youngster speaking when not spoken to. Yet, as I reviewed the content of her little speech, I had to admit that the accounting certainly did not add up to the rhetoric. In fact that has been an ongoing theme lately. I have been encountering rhetoric that simply does NOT add up in a lot of areas of my reporting career.
"But....but... I have been cutting back on PASTA," I explained......"O.K., I guess I have been eating a little more ice cream......Maybe that is the problem. Ya think?"
"DA", she responded.
In dieting, the pea pod game just does not work. One cannot get away with saving a little in pasta and making it up in ice cream. The Lord does the accounting----the net result is obvious to all.
So. It's time to get the spreadsheets out. Time to get the pea pod specialists a little light to shine on the numbers. Time to get the real accounting.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 7:00 PM
"Never Underestimate the Power of a Parakeet"
Last November when we received our natural gas bill, it was a real shock. When we all were assembled for dinner, I gave the formal notice of the necessity for a "budget summit."
Calmly and rationally, I went over the numbers. Something had to change. Everything was on the table. As far as the heat was concerned, the only solution was what I termed the "limbo rock" solution. How low can we go? Whatever it took.
Quickly, my daughter went to the thermostat. "It goes down to 45 degrees," she exclaimed. If it goes down that low, my parakeet will DIE! (shriek)
I had not made the precation of switching to decaff coffee. That may have been the fatal error. I did count to 10 however. Then, I simply said, "Well, I guess it is just the parakeet or me."
In a heartbeat, I realized that I had made an error. In quickly glancing around the table, I realized that I did not have the votes for victory. Alas.
So---I did what I had seen many politicos do in the past year when they were facing defeat--I asked for a brief recess. Recess granted.
In the next few minutes, I realized that I needed to consider the needs of everyone--even the parakeet. Then----- we fashioned a solution together. The parakeet would move to my daughter's room with the electric heat and the rest of the house would go to 45 degrees. Such an easy solution when I just was forced to consult.
So----what did I learn from it all?
Never underestimate the power of a parakeet
Calmly and rationally, I went over the numbers. Something had to change. Everything was on the table. As far as the heat was concerned, the only solution was what I termed the "limbo rock" solution. How low can we go? Whatever it took.
Quickly, my daughter went to the thermostat. "It goes down to 45 degrees," she exclaimed. If it goes down that low, my parakeet will DIE! (shriek)
I had not made the precation of switching to decaff coffee. That may have been the fatal error. I did count to 10 however. Then, I simply said, "Well, I guess it is just the parakeet or me."
In a heartbeat, I realized that I had made an error. In quickly glancing around the table, I realized that I did not have the votes for victory. Alas.
So---I did what I had seen many politicos do in the past year when they were facing defeat--I asked for a brief recess. Recess granted.
In the next few minutes, I realized that I needed to consider the needs of everyone--even the parakeet. Then----- we fashioned a solution together. The parakeet would move to my daughter's room with the electric heat and the rest of the house would go to 45 degrees. Such an easy solution when I just was forced to consult.
So----what did I learn from it all?
Never underestimate the power of a parakeet
"Rewrite"
What is the number one goal of the Evansville School District for the current academic year? Yes. Very good class. To Improve Student Writing.
You must know that one of the most difficult aspects of the writing of The Observer, is hearing from my editorial staff that there might be a flaw of some sort in an article that I have written. It is difficult indeed to hear this from an outsider, a blogger from the net, but to hear it from your own staff cuts to the bone. The term REWRITE” is very hard to hear. In fact there are other variations of the word that are hard to hear-------like REDO or……REFIGURE……or RECALCULATE…..or in kid slang---GO FIGURE
There is a real rush of excitement with the new technology now to publish as soon as one has written something. That is an impulse that can be deadly indeed.
To fight off the rush to publish, I have brought back to life an old Apple Ibook and write the first draft on it. That slows me down a little. Publishing to the net is a few more steps then. The perfect thing is if a good night sleep comes between the writing and the publishing. Such a problem. These are the types of problems that writers of old dreamed of.
So, when my editors come home at night, and review what I have done, and point out a fatal flaw here and there, I just cannot say, “That is a done deal. It CANNOT be changed. It just has to be that way. There is NO other choice about it. “
If I ever hint of such inflexibility, my editorial crew just chants-------NOT.
Or, they say, “ It’s just easy to correct…Here’s how…”
SO----I am just a little impatient when I am dealing with our school board or our city government or DOT or any level of government that tells me that that the numbers just have to be that way----or that it has been all decided in private and there is no time for other consideration because the decision must be made now……and besides the accountants are on vacation..
I keep hearing the voices of my kids------Dad---it’s easy to fix it…click,…click….click….
Yes….it is time to confront it. REVISE----REWRITE----REDO---REFIGURE-----RECOMPUTE-----
Whether it is great writing or great budgeting----it is required. It is not optional.
You must know that one of the most difficult aspects of the writing of The Observer, is hearing from my editorial staff that there might be a flaw of some sort in an article that I have written. It is difficult indeed to hear this from an outsider, a blogger from the net, but to hear it from your own staff cuts to the bone. The term REWRITE” is very hard to hear. In fact there are other variations of the word that are hard to hear-------like REDO or……REFIGURE……or RECALCULATE…..or in kid slang---GO FIGURE
There is a real rush of excitement with the new technology now to publish as soon as one has written something. That is an impulse that can be deadly indeed.
To fight off the rush to publish, I have brought back to life an old Apple Ibook and write the first draft on it. That slows me down a little. Publishing to the net is a few more steps then. The perfect thing is if a good night sleep comes between the writing and the publishing. Such a problem. These are the types of problems that writers of old dreamed of.
So, when my editors come home at night, and review what I have done, and point out a fatal flaw here and there, I just cannot say, “That is a done deal. It CANNOT be changed. It just has to be that way. There is NO other choice about it. “
If I ever hint of such inflexibility, my editorial crew just chants-------NOT.
Or, they say, “ It’s just easy to correct…Here’s how…”
SO----I am just a little impatient when I am dealing with our school board or our city government or DOT or any level of government that tells me that that the numbers just have to be that way----or that it has been all decided in private and there is no time for other consideration because the decision must be made now……and besides the accountants are on vacation..
I keep hearing the voices of my kids------Dad---it’s easy to fix it…click,…click….click….
Yes….it is time to confront it. REVISE----REWRITE----REDO---REFIGURE-----RECOMPUTE-----
Whether it is great writing or great budgeting----it is required. It is not optional.
"The Heart of the Matter."
Some years ago. Four I believe. There was a celebration. It was a celebration of transition, achievement, exhaustion and exhileration. It was held in the gym of the old Evansville High School or the new Intermediate school. All the local politicians were there as well as the color guard. Former Supr. Albrecht had planned the celebration to aid the transition of young Evansville students to their new school. The end of the construction was in view. Time to take off the hard hats. Time to begin the celebration.
I got to the event a half hour early. Got the time wrong. The gym was empty. I wondered. I was told, "The kids will sit on the floor."
Soon the kids began to file in. Led by the teachers of their class and sat in military precision. They seemed to be making the transition just fine. No trauma that I could see. In fact, they seemed to be taking the new facilities as conquering heros. Yes. It was going to be a real party.
Soon the whole auditorium was filled. Every student in the whole district was there it seemed to me. The band played the national anthem. The Mayor welcomed the dignitaries. Supr Albrecht did the formal welcome and thanked all for their efforts. He tried to explain and then choked up in the effort to explain what the costs of the new building had been, and what the achievement meant for him and the community.
Then he simply said. "Now I would like to turn the program over to Mr. Steve."
The whole auditorium erupted in applause. Mr. Steve walked to the mike and strummed the old guitar to see if it was o.k. It was just fine.
Then he said, "Let's begin with the "The Grove Song." Do you all remember the words?"
"YES," they chanted. YES!
As the song began, I noticed that EVERY child in the auditorium knew EVERY word. As the second verse began, they even began to use hand movements. It was a little like the "hand jive." "Wow," I thought. This is just like an Elvis concert. It's a real happening.
"He must have taught every child," I thought.
Yes, that is the heart of the matter.
I got to the event a half hour early. Got the time wrong. The gym was empty. I wondered. I was told, "The kids will sit on the floor."
Soon the kids began to file in. Led by the teachers of their class and sat in military precision. They seemed to be making the transition just fine. No trauma that I could see. In fact, they seemed to be taking the new facilities as conquering heros. Yes. It was going to be a real party.
Soon the whole auditorium was filled. Every student in the whole district was there it seemed to me. The band played the national anthem. The Mayor welcomed the dignitaries. Supr Albrecht did the formal welcome and thanked all for their efforts. He tried to explain and then choked up in the effort to explain what the costs of the new building had been, and what the achievement meant for him and the community.
Then he simply said. "Now I would like to turn the program over to Mr. Steve."
The whole auditorium erupted in applause. Mr. Steve walked to the mike and strummed the old guitar to see if it was o.k. It was just fine.
Then he said, "Let's begin with the "The Grove Song." Do you all remember the words?"
"YES," they chanted. YES!
As the song began, I noticed that EVERY child in the auditorium knew EVERY word. As the second verse began, they even began to use hand movements. It was a little like the "hand jive." "Wow," I thought. This is just like an Elvis concert. It's a real happening.
"He must have taught every child," I thought.
Yes, that is the heart of the matter.
"The Budget "GAP"
Well, budget time is here again. No---I am not talking about the school or the city, but right here in our own home. We have been doing a lot of sharing of feelings about that "gap." There is even a rule that we switch to "decaf coffee" during the discussion.
Anyway, this budget "gap" discussion in our home has been going on for 27 years. A long time ago, I had been to a seminar somewhere about "group process technique" and decided to try out the new fangled ideas. I ventured to share those ideas with my fiance. I said, "Just write your dreams down on a sheet of paper. I will write my dreams down on a sheet of paper. Then we will merge the list and each separately number the dreams from 1-50. Then we will get the composite priorities.
"All my dreams?" she asked.
"No, just the ones that involve money." Since money was a big part of a lot of the dreams, a lot of dreams were on those lists.
I have promised not to go over the differences in those two lists. However, I do remember one funny difference. She had listed life insurance as number 5 and I had listed it as number 35. (Her dad was a life agent). Over the years though, we have agreed on where this stands on the list.
So-----we have different "gaps"----the gap between what we dream of and what we have to spend. Lots of companies and yes other organizations have "gaps" depending on what THEY dream of. Only when the discussion has been COMPLETED is the "gap" decided-----NOT before.
During "Open Government" or Sunshine Week---this week---we celebrate citizens joining in on the discussion. The Observer celebrates their input and their discussion.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 8:55 AM
Anyway, this budget "gap" discussion in our home has been going on for 27 years. A long time ago, I had been to a seminar somewhere about "group process technique" and decided to try out the new fangled ideas. I ventured to share those ideas with my fiance. I said, "Just write your dreams down on a sheet of paper. I will write my dreams down on a sheet of paper. Then we will merge the list and each separately number the dreams from 1-50. Then we will get the composite priorities.
"All my dreams?" she asked.
"No, just the ones that involve money." Since money was a big part of a lot of the dreams, a lot of dreams were on those lists.
I have promised not to go over the differences in those two lists. However, I do remember one funny difference. She had listed life insurance as number 5 and I had listed it as number 35. (Her dad was a life agent). Over the years though, we have agreed on where this stands on the list.
So-----we have different "gaps"----the gap between what we dream of and what we have to spend. Lots of companies and yes other organizations have "gaps" depending on what THEY dream of. Only when the discussion has been COMPLETED is the "gap" decided-----NOT before.
During "Open Government" or Sunshine Week---this week---we celebrate citizens joining in on the discussion. The Observer celebrates their input and their discussion.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 8:55 AM
"The Lincoln Towncar--a true story"
Last week, after returning from getting our 1996 Mazda 626 repaired at Utzig Carstar Center in Janesville, I was pretty enthusiastic about the quality of the workmanship of their shop. So enthusiastic in fact, that I began dreaming of restoring my 1989 Lincoln Towncar.
You may remember the story. I had lent it to my oldest daughter who lives in Madison while the title for her Mazda was sorted out. That took almost a year, and in the meantime, that old Blue Lincoln was fit into the parking place the size of a small Honda. The resulting picture was not pretty.
My daughter had a very strict car repair budget. In fact, it was zero. Like many new college grads, it was not a real high priority. The drivers side door did not open properly, and I noted this as she returned the car to me. "Well," she said, "I don't really consider it a problem till one has to crawl in from the back." That is one tough minded budgeter.
So, I went over to the now famous Carstar branch office in the Brown Seed Building on Water Street,(882-0807) and spoke with Jim. I told him of the larger restoration dream and of the immediate problem--the drivers door.
When he asked me how many miles it had on it, I replied, "209,000." He smiled.
"Let me be direct with you, Mr. Woulfe," he said, "Do you think you are emotionally attached to this car?"
The question was a bodyblow. I replied, "Of course I am." I then reeled off a whole litany of why restoration was in order. First, it was a minister's car. It even had the religious symbol on the left rear window. And it had the true test of a minister's car---the premium stereo system that is so necessary for soothing the nerves of one called to the higher estate. Furthermore, I elaborated, I was really trying to be a proper role model for conservatism and was trying to give back to the community. O.K. maybe that argument was going too far.
"Well," he said, "Let's begin with the drivers door."
I got the estimate. Left a satisfied camper. I know I will have to let the car go. The slipping transmission is a sign that the end may be near. It just is so hard to let go sometimes. Hard to let junk be junk. The decision is so clear when you have to pay cash for the repairs.
My neighbors have suggested that I should apply for the Lincoln to be restored under TIF #5. I just can't get the nerve to fill out the application. It seems such a big stretch of interpretation of "real property" to include my Lincoln. Just think of the precedent. There would be just as much tax increment as some of the proposed improvements, but still...O.K. it would be serious negative increment short term, but long term...in 20 years...the numbers just might work out...maybe.
O.K. I need to be realistic.
I need to let junk be junk. I will deal with the prestige...
Prestige Salvage that is.
You may remember the story. I had lent it to my oldest daughter who lives in Madison while the title for her Mazda was sorted out. That took almost a year, and in the meantime, that old Blue Lincoln was fit into the parking place the size of a small Honda. The resulting picture was not pretty.
My daughter had a very strict car repair budget. In fact, it was zero. Like many new college grads, it was not a real high priority. The drivers side door did not open properly, and I noted this as she returned the car to me. "Well," she said, "I don't really consider it a problem till one has to crawl in from the back." That is one tough minded budgeter.
So, I went over to the now famous Carstar branch office in the Brown Seed Building on Water Street,(882-0807) and spoke with Jim. I told him of the larger restoration dream and of the immediate problem--the drivers door.
When he asked me how many miles it had on it, I replied, "209,000." He smiled.
"Let me be direct with you, Mr. Woulfe," he said, "Do you think you are emotionally attached to this car?"
The question was a bodyblow. I replied, "Of course I am." I then reeled off a whole litany of why restoration was in order. First, it was a minister's car. It even had the religious symbol on the left rear window. And it had the true test of a minister's car---the premium stereo system that is so necessary for soothing the nerves of one called to the higher estate. Furthermore, I elaborated, I was really trying to be a proper role model for conservatism and was trying to give back to the community. O.K. maybe that argument was going too far.
"Well," he said, "Let's begin with the drivers door."
I got the estimate. Left a satisfied camper. I know I will have to let the car go. The slipping transmission is a sign that the end may be near. It just is so hard to let go sometimes. Hard to let junk be junk. The decision is so clear when you have to pay cash for the repairs.
My neighbors have suggested that I should apply for the Lincoln to be restored under TIF #5. I just can't get the nerve to fill out the application. It seems such a big stretch of interpretation of "real property" to include my Lincoln. Just think of the precedent. There would be just as much tax increment as some of the proposed improvements, but still...O.K. it would be serious negative increment short term, but long term...in 20 years...the numbers just might work out...maybe.
O.K. I need to be realistic.
I need to let junk be junk. I will deal with the prestige...
Prestige Salvage that is.
"The Junk Yard Con"
Over the past five years, in Minnesota and Wisconsin, there has been a change in the way car titles have been handled that has virtually eliminated the business of "rebuilding" autos. You may wonder why. The following is my understanding of the change and why this has happened.
Years ago, there were three "status" classifications of auto titles, "clear", "junk" and "salvage." The "clear" title has never been in a accident. The "junk" title was reserved for a car that was in an accident and after inspection by an auto adjuster, was totaled, and MUST go to the junkyard and could only be used for parts. The third classification, or "salvage" title is what this post is about.
The "salvage" title is a car that is in an accident but the car is deemed to be able to be repaired and put on the road. Usually, it is necessary for the state in question to "inspect" these cars prior to service. The rules about this "inspection" varied from state to state. Once the car previosly deemed "salvage" was inspected, the title was deemed "cured" and the word "salvage" was removed from the title.
I think you can see where this might cause problems. Let's say the car was a new 1990 car that was in an accident and not the "salvage" word was removed. Now the owner wants to sell that car to an innocent third party buyer. It is represented as a 1990 car and the value of the "Kelley Blue Book" is quoted. However, Kelly Blue Book pricing is NOT applicable to salvage repaired cars. Once a car has been through salvage, the value NEVER can be returned to the Kelley Blue Book numbers.
So---states like Wisconsin have ruled that once a car has been rebuilt, if they were deemed salvage, they will always have the word SALVAGE on the title.
SO--the Days of the Junk Yard Con are over.
O.K. now some of you are wondering--------- wondering whether this applies to real estate as well as cars. I will let YOU make up your mind on that question. However, if a property is worth 1.2 million and party A agrees with party C, a city, that it will be worth 2.0 million, and taxed accordingly forever, is it ever possible for that property to be transferred to an innocent third party purchaser?
Put another way, if three of you agree that the sky is red, if a fourth person says it is blue, does that make the sky red? In the matter of junk titles, the State of Wisconsin thinks not. How about in the case of real estate? I will leave that up to you.
You make the call.
Years ago, there were three "status" classifications of auto titles, "clear", "junk" and "salvage." The "clear" title has never been in a accident. The "junk" title was reserved for a car that was in an accident and after inspection by an auto adjuster, was totaled, and MUST go to the junkyard and could only be used for parts. The third classification, or "salvage" title is what this post is about.
The "salvage" title is a car that is in an accident but the car is deemed to be able to be repaired and put on the road. Usually, it is necessary for the state in question to "inspect" these cars prior to service. The rules about this "inspection" varied from state to state. Once the car previosly deemed "salvage" was inspected, the title was deemed "cured" and the word "salvage" was removed from the title.
I think you can see where this might cause problems. Let's say the car was a new 1990 car that was in an accident and not the "salvage" word was removed. Now the owner wants to sell that car to an innocent third party buyer. It is represented as a 1990 car and the value of the "Kelley Blue Book" is quoted. However, Kelly Blue Book pricing is NOT applicable to salvage repaired cars. Once a car has been through salvage, the value NEVER can be returned to the Kelley Blue Book numbers.
So---states like Wisconsin have ruled that once a car has been rebuilt, if they were deemed salvage, they will always have the word SALVAGE on the title.
SO--the Days of the Junk Yard Con are over.
O.K. now some of you are wondering--------- wondering whether this applies to real estate as well as cars. I will let YOU make up your mind on that question. However, if a property is worth 1.2 million and party A agrees with party C, a city, that it will be worth 2.0 million, and taxed accordingly forever, is it ever possible for that property to be transferred to an innocent third party purchaser?
Put another way, if three of you agree that the sky is red, if a fourth person says it is blue, does that make the sky red? In the matter of junk titles, the State of Wisconsin thinks not. How about in the case of real estate? I will leave that up to you.
You make the call.
"The Amazing Finish"
Each year in St. Paul there is a ritual called the St. Paul Winter Carnival. It goes back to ancient times when a reporter from New York who was visiting St. Paul in January complained that there was nothing to do. Deeply hurt, the folks of St. Paul have developed a long laundry list of things to do at precisely the coldest time of the year.
The symbolism of the event is that the forces of evil, the vulcans, are pitted against the forces of the spring, or warm weather, and at the climax of the festival that occurs on Saturday--last Saturday--- the Vulcans are defeated. For decades these vulcans used to be dressed up as little devils and rode on old fire trucks, with their lips greased up with a dark colored grease, and then leapt off the fire trucks and kissed the ladies that were shopping in Downtown St. Paul. This was a source of excitement for almost a hundred years till some ladies dressed in Ann Taylor attire and sipping latte in their Hondas were deeply offended by the greasy kisses and sued the city. But---I digress.
On Saturday, with the winds putting the temp below zero, I ran the "Securian Frozen 5k Race" which begins the climactic final Saturday of the St. Paul Winter Carnival. Click on the post for all the details. I was proudly wearing my Blue Devil cap that sells at Prairie Threads for a mere $10, and set off from the start finish line by a starter guy dressed as a polar bear. Anyway, the race is an out and back course along the river along Shephard Road. While the times are not available, let me say that I was running just behind a middle aged runner who was running with a very large dog, The final 1/4 mile of the race is coming back up hill to the finish at 6th and Robert where the race officials are warm above in the cozy skyway and announce the finishers over loud speakers.
As I approached the last 1/4 mile I made a valiant effort to pull even with the man-dog running team, but because it was uphill I began very labored breathing. I noticed that the dog was using a similar breathing technique. In fact, it was hard to tell my breathing sound from the dog's. Just as we hit the final tape, I pulled up to inch the victory.
My brother, who was manning the digital camera for historical preservation purposes, took the instant replay shot. Just then overhead, the loudspeakers blared, " Now representing The Evansville Observer of Evansville, Wisconsin, is Richard Woulfe." Then there was loud applause. Then a quick silence. The fans appeared confused as to exactly who was the Observer, whether it was in fact me, or the large heavy breathing dog.
I promise next year to wear a very distinctive t-shirt that proclaims The Evansville Observer. After all, I'm just not any old dog, I am The Evansville Observer.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 8:46 AM
The symbolism of the event is that the forces of evil, the vulcans, are pitted against the forces of the spring, or warm weather, and at the climax of the festival that occurs on Saturday--last Saturday--- the Vulcans are defeated. For decades these vulcans used to be dressed up as little devils and rode on old fire trucks, with their lips greased up with a dark colored grease, and then leapt off the fire trucks and kissed the ladies that were shopping in Downtown St. Paul. This was a source of excitement for almost a hundred years till some ladies dressed in Ann Taylor attire and sipping latte in their Hondas were deeply offended by the greasy kisses and sued the city. But---I digress.
On Saturday, with the winds putting the temp below zero, I ran the "Securian Frozen 5k Race" which begins the climactic final Saturday of the St. Paul Winter Carnival. Click on the post for all the details. I was proudly wearing my Blue Devil cap that sells at Prairie Threads for a mere $10, and set off from the start finish line by a starter guy dressed as a polar bear. Anyway, the race is an out and back course along the river along Shephard Road. While the times are not available, let me say that I was running just behind a middle aged runner who was running with a very large dog, The final 1/4 mile of the race is coming back up hill to the finish at 6th and Robert where the race officials are warm above in the cozy skyway and announce the finishers over loud speakers.
As I approached the last 1/4 mile I made a valiant effort to pull even with the man-dog running team, but because it was uphill I began very labored breathing. I noticed that the dog was using a similar breathing technique. In fact, it was hard to tell my breathing sound from the dog's. Just as we hit the final tape, I pulled up to inch the victory.
My brother, who was manning the digital camera for historical preservation purposes, took the instant replay shot. Just then overhead, the loudspeakers blared, " Now representing The Evansville Observer of Evansville, Wisconsin, is Richard Woulfe." Then there was loud applause. Then a quick silence. The fans appeared confused as to exactly who was the Observer, whether it was in fact me, or the large heavy breathing dog.
I promise next year to wear a very distinctive t-shirt that proclaims The Evansville Observer. After all, I'm just not any old dog, I am The Evansville Observer.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 8:46 AM
"The Cast of the Roundabout"
Last night, right in the midst of the public hearing about the coming road construction on Main Street in Evansville something pretty remarkable happened. Well, it is really about what was averted. Namely disaster. Precisely a gender war that could have been very damaging indeed for all of Evansville.
The street designer was in the midst of explaining how a "roundabout" worked, when Ald. Sornson rose to object because of the possible danger of roundabouts. He said, "Do you know how many old women drivers we have in this town? These roundabouts are going to be far too complicated for them to understand. Why, I can see them taking a left turn and hitting somebody head on. Causing lots of accidents. This is going to be real expensive."
The old pro, Bill Hammann, tried to intervene, saying, "Now John...." John was not to be stopped however. He started to go on.
There were maybe 4 women out of 50 people in the room. Two were mayoral candidates and they were reviewing their position papers on the issue...
Another woman was the new reporter for the Janesville Gazette, the famed, Gina Duwe. She was just reaching for her pen and raising it to write.....
I had just seen the movie," The China Syndrome", the previous night, staring Jane Fonda, which tells a story of a possible nuclear meltdown. Right in the middle of the meeting, I began to hear the intermittent horns of meltown about to happen.....
Just then a burly guy in the front row spoke up, "John, we have seen how you drive, and we are concerned about YOU too."
Everyone in the room laughed. Then they began breathing again. Gina Duwe put down her pen. Disaster was avoided.
So there it was. Right before the debate began on who were the worse drivers, old women or old men. Evansville saved by just one burly guy who spoke up.
Even today, in the coffee shops, people are wondering, "Who was that burly guy?"
So, sometimes you wonder why the Observer is at all these meetings. Yes, even I sometimes wonder. It is because sometimes there is a little something that the mainstream news omits that you really need to know. Like how a disaster was avoided.
The Observer is on the job.
The street designer was in the midst of explaining how a "roundabout" worked, when Ald. Sornson rose to object because of the possible danger of roundabouts. He said, "Do you know how many old women drivers we have in this town? These roundabouts are going to be far too complicated for them to understand. Why, I can see them taking a left turn and hitting somebody head on. Causing lots of accidents. This is going to be real expensive."
The old pro, Bill Hammann, tried to intervene, saying, "Now John...." John was not to be stopped however. He started to go on.
There were maybe 4 women out of 50 people in the room. Two were mayoral candidates and they were reviewing their position papers on the issue...
Another woman was the new reporter for the Janesville Gazette, the famed, Gina Duwe. She was just reaching for her pen and raising it to write.....
I had just seen the movie," The China Syndrome", the previous night, staring Jane Fonda, which tells a story of a possible nuclear meltdown. Right in the middle of the meeting, I began to hear the intermittent horns of meltown about to happen.....
Just then a burly guy in the front row spoke up, "John, we have seen how you drive, and we are concerned about YOU too."
Everyone in the room laughed. Then they began breathing again. Gina Duwe put down her pen. Disaster was avoided.
So there it was. Right before the debate began on who were the worse drivers, old women or old men. Evansville saved by just one burly guy who spoke up.
Even today, in the coffee shops, people are wondering, "Who was that burly guy?"
So, sometimes you wonder why the Observer is at all these meetings. Yes, even I sometimes wonder. It is because sometimes there is a little something that the mainstream news omits that you really need to know. Like how a disaster was avoided.
The Observer is on the job.
"Billy Bob's Auto Parts," a partially true story
Billy Bob’s Auto parts
After I bought my first car, I began to learn the ins and outs of auto expenses. On the vast salary of a fry cook at the Pioneer Drive Inn, yes it was just like Mel’s Diner in American Grafitti , I quickly learned about the benefits of buying salvage auto parts. Thank goodness we had a fine auto salvage yard. … “Billy Bob's Salvage.”
One day I had a key part on my Blue 1965 Mustang fail. I told my dad, “Well, no problem, I’ll just go to Billy Bob’s. They have everything.” My dad smiled and said, “Well, I suppose you're a friend of Billy Bob?" “Of course not, Dad". I replied. He pointed out to me that he had noticed that in the matter of quality, there were two grades. The finest went to the FRIENDS of BILLY BOB, and the lowest quality went to everyone else. I was shocked to hear of such a thing.
Over the years, I have noticed that my dad’s observation was indeed correct, in auto parts, and well… in almost everything. In fact, there is a saying in our family… WE DON’T DO BILLY BOB.
Posted by Evansville Obse
After I bought my first car, I began to learn the ins and outs of auto expenses. On the vast salary of a fry cook at the Pioneer Drive Inn, yes it was just like Mel’s Diner in American Grafitti , I quickly learned about the benefits of buying salvage auto parts. Thank goodness we had a fine auto salvage yard. … “Billy Bob's Salvage.”
One day I had a key part on my Blue 1965 Mustang fail. I told my dad, “Well, no problem, I’ll just go to Billy Bob’s. They have everything.” My dad smiled and said, “Well, I suppose you're a friend of Billy Bob?" “Of course not, Dad". I replied. He pointed out to me that he had noticed that in the matter of quality, there were two grades. The finest went to the FRIENDS of BILLY BOB, and the lowest quality went to everyone else. I was shocked to hear of such a thing.
Over the years, I have noticed that my dad’s observation was indeed correct, in auto parts, and well… in almost everything. In fact, there is a saying in our family… WE DON’T DO BILLY BOB.
Posted by Evansville Obse
"A modest Proposal for the Improvement of Justice in Evansville
Beloit is about to begin it's own version of Court TV. It will begin broadcasting the municipal court on TV. It's going to be "Judge Joe." It will appeal to those viewers who need to know about their neighbors and what they have been up to, as in disorderly conduct and such. (Click on the post for the full story.)
We in Evansville know a bit about marketing and we can certainly do better. We have seen Judge Judy. O.k. Let's see. We have Judge Tom Alisankus. Now "Judge Tom" would not seem to rhyme much. We need something like "Judge Rocky" to really get attention. But------ if we just shortened the last name a bit-----yes-----Judge Ali---
It's now "Court TV with Judge Ali"-----that's catchy.
All the revenue from ads would go to support the municipal court. That would be instead of going on high speed chases. Think of the benefits.
We would create jobs for camera folks and make up and lighting. What a fantasy! Revenue way over budget!
Let's not rush too fast on the idea though----We should talk to the Judge first. After all, we should let him have a say in his own name change. Then, there is the question of whether "Judge Ali" is dignified enough." I will let the bloggers weigh in on that. However, it sure is powerful enough. It would strike fear. It sure would deter crime. Just think of the headlines, "Judge Ali levys huge fine...." So it all comes down to the "fear" and "respect" aspects of the name change.
I will leave it up to you.
You make the call.
We in Evansville know a bit about marketing and we can certainly do better. We have seen Judge Judy. O.k. Let's see. We have Judge Tom Alisankus. Now "Judge Tom" would not seem to rhyme much. We need something like "Judge Rocky" to really get attention. But------ if we just shortened the last name a bit-----yes-----Judge Ali---
It's now "Court TV with Judge Ali"-----that's catchy.
All the revenue from ads would go to support the municipal court. That would be instead of going on high speed chases. Think of the benefits.
We would create jobs for camera folks and make up and lighting. What a fantasy! Revenue way over budget!
Let's not rush too fast on the idea though----We should talk to the Judge first. After all, we should let him have a say in his own name change. Then, there is the question of whether "Judge Ali" is dignified enough." I will let the bloggers weigh in on that. However, it sure is powerful enough. It would strike fear. It sure would deter crime. Just think of the headlines, "Judge Ali levys huge fine...." So it all comes down to the "fear" and "respect" aspects of the name change.
I will leave it up to you.
You make the call.
"The Ambulance Ride---" a true story
In the late 1970's, my father was in failing health, and the physicians were searching for the right combination of medications to help him.
The family home was in Mahtomedi, Mn., a small town exactly the size of Evansville, about 30 minutes outside of St. Paul. My folks were living in a small cottage near White Bear Lake. It was the middle of winter that year. Now Mahtomedi was staffed with 1 full time police officer, and 1 gentleman who we shall call TC ( the grandkids still remember the story.) who worked half time driving the winter snow plow and also was the on call person as ambulance driver. Now TC was a former neighbor of ours, and we knew him well. Wonderful guy. The only slight draw back was the fact that he had lost one eye in an injury, his right eye, and this had certain drawbacks. He did wear a black patch over the eye----it did give him a certain Captain Hook effect.
About 3am one cold snowy winter night, I received a breathless call from my brother alerting me to head to St. Paul Ramsey Hospital. It seems that Dad had awoke in the middle of the night with severe breathing problems and mom had called the ambulance.
Upon arriving at the hospital in about an hour---it was snowing and slippery and the plows had not gone out yet----I headed to the emergency waiting area to look for my mom. Upon inquiring at the desk, I was told that my mom was in the emergency ward as well. Stunned, I went over to the chairs nearby to sit and wait.
Some of the fellow patient's relatives in the waiting room heard the name "Woulfe" and came over to talk to me.
It seems that TC was under some considerable pressure under the circumstances to get to the ER fast, being that yes my dad's condition was not good, and also because the plows were to be on the job at 4AM---and that was going to cut it close. You must understand that everybody in Mahtomedi was counting on him. No snowplowing and nobody went to work.
So, speeding down the left passing lane on 35E, TC was making good time in difficult conditions. Then, at the last minute, TC realized that dad was not going to St. John's Hospital on the East side, but going to St. Paul Ramsey which was a sharp right exit at downtown. That is where the right eye would have been helpful.
Making a bold, sharp, right lane change, the ambulance, one of those older Ford van types, lost precious traction and proceeded to do a complete 360 before TC regained control and while not making the exit, did manage to exit downtown--yes, well sliding sideways anyway, and circle back to the hospital. However, as the relatives in the ER recounted, many vehicles hit the ditch in panic in order to avoid that ambulance. Many folks were subsequently treated at Ramsey for high anxiety from the experience.
It appears from their explanation that my mom was admitted for heart irregularity and shortness of breath as well as my dad, who blissfully was dimly aware of the drama around him.
Over the years here in Evansville thus, I have had a great respect for the dedication of our ambulance crew, because I vividly realize how far ambulance training has come. However, if I see any eye patches, especially on the right eye, it would bring back some deja vu all over again.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 6:03 AM
The family home was in Mahtomedi, Mn., a small town exactly the size of Evansville, about 30 minutes outside of St. Paul. My folks were living in a small cottage near White Bear Lake. It was the middle of winter that year. Now Mahtomedi was staffed with 1 full time police officer, and 1 gentleman who we shall call TC ( the grandkids still remember the story.) who worked half time driving the winter snow plow and also was the on call person as ambulance driver. Now TC was a former neighbor of ours, and we knew him well. Wonderful guy. The only slight draw back was the fact that he had lost one eye in an injury, his right eye, and this had certain drawbacks. He did wear a black patch over the eye----it did give him a certain Captain Hook effect.
About 3am one cold snowy winter night, I received a breathless call from my brother alerting me to head to St. Paul Ramsey Hospital. It seems that Dad had awoke in the middle of the night with severe breathing problems and mom had called the ambulance.
Upon arriving at the hospital in about an hour---it was snowing and slippery and the plows had not gone out yet----I headed to the emergency waiting area to look for my mom. Upon inquiring at the desk, I was told that my mom was in the emergency ward as well. Stunned, I went over to the chairs nearby to sit and wait.
Some of the fellow patient's relatives in the waiting room heard the name "Woulfe" and came over to talk to me.
It seems that TC was under some considerable pressure under the circumstances to get to the ER fast, being that yes my dad's condition was not good, and also because the plows were to be on the job at 4AM---and that was going to cut it close. You must understand that everybody in Mahtomedi was counting on him. No snowplowing and nobody went to work.
So, speeding down the left passing lane on 35E, TC was making good time in difficult conditions. Then, at the last minute, TC realized that dad was not going to St. John's Hospital on the East side, but going to St. Paul Ramsey which was a sharp right exit at downtown. That is where the right eye would have been helpful.
Making a bold, sharp, right lane change, the ambulance, one of those older Ford van types, lost precious traction and proceeded to do a complete 360 before TC regained control and while not making the exit, did manage to exit downtown--yes, well sliding sideways anyway, and circle back to the hospital. However, as the relatives in the ER recounted, many vehicles hit the ditch in panic in order to avoid that ambulance. Many folks were subsequently treated at Ramsey for high anxiety from the experience.
It appears from their explanation that my mom was admitted for heart irregularity and shortness of breath as well as my dad, who blissfully was dimly aware of the drama around him.
Over the years here in Evansville thus, I have had a great respect for the dedication of our ambulance crew, because I vividly realize how far ambulance training has come. However, if I see any eye patches, especially on the right eye, it would bring back some deja vu all over again.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 6:03 AM
"The Secret"
There is a secret in Evansville. It is a secret that many of the bloggers know. It is a secret that every weightlifter and athlete knows. It is a secret that every musician or guitar player knows. What is this secret?
What is the number 1 Academic Goal of the Evansville School District for the 2005-2006 school year?
The answer is: (drum roll) To Improve Student Writing.
At the recent Evansville School Board meeting it was explained that the district is implementing the 6+1 traits writing methodology. The rationale: "The State and ACT Test scores indicate need for improvement in writing. Improvement in writing has been shown to improve performance in other academic areas."
It is clear that in reviewing the traffic statistics for the Evansville Observer that our local bloggers are doing their best to improve the average time spent writing per day for Evansville. Some bloggers have barely taken time to sleep in their effort to increase that average. I commend them. Others need to begin writing however. The bloggers can't do it all. It is time for students to start their engines.
Over at the weight room, that's door #26, the lifters learn that you have to train every day to be a champion. In music, you learn to sing and train your voice--every day-- to be a champion singer. In guitar playing, you aint going to be a champion if you don't play every day. Ok... it's a passion so it aint no problem. The drummers...well...they saw "Blue Man Group.".. they know... The point is. It's the same rule. " Every day. "
I have challenged some of the local bloggers to watch to see when after writing every day to note and then email me when they begin writing the stories in their sleep..... When, after listing the topics on a note card, the stories just come and are ready in the morning. The bloggers have been a little defiant. They have said "If you train like that every day on ANYTHING you would be changed. "
Yes
That is the secret
What is the number 1 Academic Goal of the Evansville School District for the 2005-2006 school year?
The answer is: (drum roll) To Improve Student Writing.
At the recent Evansville School Board meeting it was explained that the district is implementing the 6+1 traits writing methodology. The rationale: "The State and ACT Test scores indicate need for improvement in writing. Improvement in writing has been shown to improve performance in other academic areas."
It is clear that in reviewing the traffic statistics for the Evansville Observer that our local bloggers are doing their best to improve the average time spent writing per day for Evansville. Some bloggers have barely taken time to sleep in their effort to increase that average. I commend them. Others need to begin writing however. The bloggers can't do it all. It is time for students to start their engines.
Over at the weight room, that's door #26, the lifters learn that you have to train every day to be a champion. In music, you learn to sing and train your voice--every day-- to be a champion singer. In guitar playing, you aint going to be a champion if you don't play every day. Ok... it's a passion so it aint no problem. The drummers...well...they saw "Blue Man Group.".. they know... The point is. It's the same rule. " Every day. "
I have challenged some of the local bloggers to watch to see when after writing every day to note and then email me when they begin writing the stories in their sleep..... When, after listing the topics on a note card, the stories just come and are ready in the morning. The bloggers have been a little defiant. They have said "If you train like that every day on ANYTHING you would be changed. "
Yes
That is the secret
Refelctions on "Mr. and Mrs. Smith"--the movie; On marriage...and the Open Meeting Law
Recently we've had a debate in our family. After viewing "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" staring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, I theorized that this indeed was the perfect marriage. Rough in the beginning. O.K. very rough. And then in the end it is just perfect ballet.
My middle daughter, who wishes to remain anonymous, objected strenuously. She is a psychology major and I inquired whether the textbooks describe the marital bond as similar to that of Brad and Angelina. "Heavens no, dad. Are you saying that marriage is like the elevator scene where she nearly kills Brad?"
"Yes," I replied. "That is so real." "The only part that seems too long is the scene at the end where they move in perfect harmony with the machine guns killing all the enemy. Without even a nick or scratch from flying fragments. I am still waiting for that in real life.
Recently "Fred" has written about what he learned about the "open meeting" law at a recent municipal conference for new aldermen. He says:
"One thing I'm learning is that the requirements of open-ness and transparency in local government gives rise to a general slowness in getting things done. For example, alders can almost never have private conversations among themselves about issues. The monthly meetings, held in the public eye, are where we must discuss things before coming to decisions. That's to protect us from accusations of "secret deals" etc, and to ensure that you the citizens have access to the decision-making process."
So, as a matter of debate, I would propose that meetings in our fair city should resemble the relationship of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie during most of the movie----with wild differences of thought that are aired---but rather in public not in private.
If one ever sees orchestrated movement in perfect harmony we will know that something is wrong--terribly wrong. It is only an absolute miracle if all alders could agree in the normal happening of things on anything, and then probably only if they had chatted in private before the meeting or something. Heaven forbid.
So there it is. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" the movie and the politics. If we ever see perfect harmony, perfect lawyering, perfect grant proposals, perfect public works and perfect dancing with machine guns----or perfect harmony in voting---we will know.
Now. Who is the Brad Pitt? O.K. you all can fight about it.
My middle daughter, who wishes to remain anonymous, objected strenuously. She is a psychology major and I inquired whether the textbooks describe the marital bond as similar to that of Brad and Angelina. "Heavens no, dad. Are you saying that marriage is like the elevator scene where she nearly kills Brad?"
"Yes," I replied. "That is so real." "The only part that seems too long is the scene at the end where they move in perfect harmony with the machine guns killing all the enemy. Without even a nick or scratch from flying fragments. I am still waiting for that in real life.
Recently "Fred" has written about what he learned about the "open meeting" law at a recent municipal conference for new aldermen. He says:
"One thing I'm learning is that the requirements of open-ness and transparency in local government gives rise to a general slowness in getting things done. For example, alders can almost never have private conversations among themselves about issues. The monthly meetings, held in the public eye, are where we must discuss things before coming to decisions. That's to protect us from accusations of "secret deals" etc, and to ensure that you the citizens have access to the decision-making process."
So, as a matter of debate, I would propose that meetings in our fair city should resemble the relationship of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie during most of the movie----with wild differences of thought that are aired---but rather in public not in private.
If one ever sees orchestrated movement in perfect harmony we will know that something is wrong--terribly wrong. It is only an absolute miracle if all alders could agree in the normal happening of things on anything, and then probably only if they had chatted in private before the meeting or something. Heaven forbid.
So there it is. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" the movie and the politics. If we ever see perfect harmony, perfect lawyering, perfect grant proposals, perfect public works and perfect dancing with machine guns----or perfect harmony in voting---we will know.
Now. Who is the Brad Pitt? O.K. you all can fight about it.
"The Story of the Zen Master," or; How Things Change
Once upon a time a Zen Master and his favorite student were climbing a huge mountain. Yes, it was a very hot day. The climb was getting pretty difficult. Pausing to take a breath, the young student asked the teacher, " Master, how does one reach enlightenment?"
The Zen Master paused and then ----------punched the student in the mouth......When the student awakened, he reached enlightenment.
I have thought a lot about that story over the years. I remarked to a friend recently that as a human being we have the burden and responsibility to look forward to the future. Is it not prudent to plan accordingly?
"Well that's a nice theory," he replied, "but that's not how things really work. Right before HUGE change, people get REAL tired. They can't bear to think of the change to come. Whether this is at GM or anywhere. Then-----and ONLY THEN---when the crisis erupts---like Pearl Harbor---is there energy to address the challenge. All I am saying, Wolfman (he always did call me wolfman) your theory is BOGUS. Folks do not want to see. The reality is right before them, but it is too painful to see.
I guess it is the same thing with "Nirvana" or whatever------ the Zen thing. It is really not out there somewhere. It is really right in front of our noses----It's just that it takes a punch in the mouth to see it.
The Zen Master paused and then ----------punched the student in the mouth......When the student awakened, he reached enlightenment.
I have thought a lot about that story over the years. I remarked to a friend recently that as a human being we have the burden and responsibility to look forward to the future. Is it not prudent to plan accordingly?
"Well that's a nice theory," he replied, "but that's not how things really work. Right before HUGE change, people get REAL tired. They can't bear to think of the change to come. Whether this is at GM or anywhere. Then-----and ONLY THEN---when the crisis erupts---like Pearl Harbor---is there energy to address the challenge. All I am saying, Wolfman (he always did call me wolfman) your theory is BOGUS. Folks do not want to see. The reality is right before them, but it is too painful to see.
I guess it is the same thing with "Nirvana" or whatever------ the Zen thing. It is really not out there somewhere. It is really right in front of our noses----It's just that it takes a punch in the mouth to see it.
Back to the Future 2016: A Nightmare Dream
(Ed. note: Due to reader request, I have republished a noted nightmare of mine.
Alas, the nightmare might be coming true.)
Last week there were three things that came together----the school board election, watching the old version of "Back to the Future," and our neighbors having a new baby. The suspense was building on election day when I saw the pickup truck in the driveway ready to go with the babyseat ready. There is just a special look that I have picked up over the years that alerted me--maybe it was the fact that the pickup was turned around with engine near the street for fast exit.
Anyway, that night, I had a dream I was on the way home from the hospital with a newborn. We were driving a pretty exotic car so I knew it was about 2016. Just as we entered the city limits, my wife said to me, "Don't forget to stop by the school so we can drop off the baby."
Yes. In the years since 2006, with enrollments dropping, and with the need for keeping buildings filled--- and teachers employed--- there came to be a push to enlarge the notion of "It takes a whole village" to raise a child, to the mantra, "Schools raise kids--- They know better." Quickly it moved from 4 yr. old kindergarten to 3yr. old pre-kindergarten and so on. Finally when the Coca Cola contract was cancelled at several schools, "Pampers" offered the schools a special volume discount, and nobody could resist the purchasing power and knowhow of schools. Yes. Schools really did know how to raise kids from day one.
When I awoke from the dream, I realized that it was just post election trauma. Sometimes when one loses an election, there is a slight disturbance in the dream pattern. No, the school busses were running as usual. The kids were standing outside ready to go to school. What a relief. For now, parents were still parents.
Alas, the nightmare might be coming true.)
Last week there were three things that came together----the school board election, watching the old version of "Back to the Future," and our neighbors having a new baby. The suspense was building on election day when I saw the pickup truck in the driveway ready to go with the babyseat ready. There is just a special look that I have picked up over the years that alerted me--maybe it was the fact that the pickup was turned around with engine near the street for fast exit.
Anyway, that night, I had a dream I was on the way home from the hospital with a newborn. We were driving a pretty exotic car so I knew it was about 2016. Just as we entered the city limits, my wife said to me, "Don't forget to stop by the school so we can drop off the baby."
Yes. In the years since 2006, with enrollments dropping, and with the need for keeping buildings filled--- and teachers employed--- there came to be a push to enlarge the notion of "It takes a whole village" to raise a child, to the mantra, "Schools raise kids--- They know better." Quickly it moved from 4 yr. old kindergarten to 3yr. old pre-kindergarten and so on. Finally when the Coca Cola contract was cancelled at several schools, "Pampers" offered the schools a special volume discount, and nobody could resist the purchasing power and knowhow of schools. Yes. Schools really did know how to raise kids from day one.
When I awoke from the dream, I realized that it was just post election trauma. Sometimes when one loses an election, there is a slight disturbance in the dream pattern. No, the school busses were running as usual. The kids were standing outside ready to go to school. What a relief. For now, parents were still parents.
"The Honeymoon; or; "It's not like the Movies".
This past Easter, one of my daughters came home from California to visit. In chatting, she told a story of a college chum that had recently gotten engaged. The chum had explained that all throughout college she thought she was just friends of a guy, but suddenly realized after the separation of graduation that it was something more.
Her final words to my daughter were," It's not like the movies."
What a rude shock. It's like all the investment in the long genre of "Princess Bride," and all the rest has been in vain. So--I guess there is the myth of the movies and then there is the way it really is.
Come to think of it, the honeymoon is like that. It really begins earlier in the plans for the wedding. Who to invite. How to please everybody. How to pay all the bills. That process of growth from engagement to the wedding day is very real and is the first real project that a young bride and groom undertake together. (insert your own story here.)
Last night I headed off to the inaguration or installation of the new mayor of Evansville, Sandy Decker, and the new alderman. For the record, I took neither a pen nor pad of paper. I took no tape recorder. I was just going to revel in the moment. Just enjoy. Just smell the roses so to speak. I figured that this was the honeymoon period. This was a sacred time. I needed to give some distance and abstain from writing.
The oath of office was wonderful The mayor had a beautiful corsage and the new male alderman were dressed in the casual sweater look. By the time I had visualized how they might look in white sport coats and pink carnations, the oaths were completed and the first item of business was ready.
The first item seemed pretty simple. The Motion to appoint the Evansville Review the official newspaper of the city for one year. There was a brief discussion of the request for an increase from $850 to $900 per month for the contract price. There was some discussion of the long ordinance printings that had resulted in extra charges that Kelly Gildner explained in detail.
Then, out of the blue, newly elected alderman, Tony Wyse, indicated he had concerns about the objective reporting of The Review in the recent campaign. That seemed to ignite a firefight of dialogue. Gina Duwe of the Gazette reached for her pen. Alas---- I had left mine home. I could not believe that the honeymoon had been so short. Finally, right in the midst of a long letter to the editor read by Kelly Gildner, Sandy Decker did gavel for silence and called for the vote which was unanimous--for the contract. It had to be one of the most contentious unanimous votes in recent memory----by my memory anyway.
The meeting then proceeded and there was open frank discussion about conflict of interest issues, inequity of committee assignments, feelings of members regarding their assignments, etc. etc.
In short----it was frank open discussion like I have not heard much and after a good night of sleep, I find refreshing. We have a new mayor and new alderman. There is a learning curve. This is the honeymoon.
It just does not look like I thought it would.
The Observer is on the job. I promise to take pen and pencil and recorder next time. I promise.
It's not like the movies.
Her final words to my daughter were," It's not like the movies."
What a rude shock. It's like all the investment in the long genre of "Princess Bride," and all the rest has been in vain. So--I guess there is the myth of the movies and then there is the way it really is.
Come to think of it, the honeymoon is like that. It really begins earlier in the plans for the wedding. Who to invite. How to please everybody. How to pay all the bills. That process of growth from engagement to the wedding day is very real and is the first real project that a young bride and groom undertake together. (insert your own story here.)
Last night I headed off to the inaguration or installation of the new mayor of Evansville, Sandy Decker, and the new alderman. For the record, I took neither a pen nor pad of paper. I took no tape recorder. I was just going to revel in the moment. Just enjoy. Just smell the roses so to speak. I figured that this was the honeymoon period. This was a sacred time. I needed to give some distance and abstain from writing.
The oath of office was wonderful The mayor had a beautiful corsage and the new male alderman were dressed in the casual sweater look. By the time I had visualized how they might look in white sport coats and pink carnations, the oaths were completed and the first item of business was ready.
The first item seemed pretty simple. The Motion to appoint the Evansville Review the official newspaper of the city for one year. There was a brief discussion of the request for an increase from $850 to $900 per month for the contract price. There was some discussion of the long ordinance printings that had resulted in extra charges that Kelly Gildner explained in detail.
Then, out of the blue, newly elected alderman, Tony Wyse, indicated he had concerns about the objective reporting of The Review in the recent campaign. That seemed to ignite a firefight of dialogue. Gina Duwe of the Gazette reached for her pen. Alas---- I had left mine home. I could not believe that the honeymoon had been so short. Finally, right in the midst of a long letter to the editor read by Kelly Gildner, Sandy Decker did gavel for silence and called for the vote which was unanimous--for the contract. It had to be one of the most contentious unanimous votes in recent memory----by my memory anyway.
The meeting then proceeded and there was open frank discussion about conflict of interest issues, inequity of committee assignments, feelings of members regarding their assignments, etc. etc.
In short----it was frank open discussion like I have not heard much and after a good night of sleep, I find refreshing. We have a new mayor and new alderman. There is a learning curve. This is the honeymoon.
It just does not look like I thought it would.
The Observer is on the job. I promise to take pen and pencil and recorder next time. I promise.
It's not like the movies.
"On the Strong Finish', or: Why "Q" Yells "Focus" at the 2 mile mark
When my older daughters were in cross country, all the parents would be near the 2 mile mark. We all urged them to "finish strong." Q was there and always urged them to "focus, " but never said exactly on what. Anyway, one race at the golf course, my oldest, Amy, questioned my support. "What's the point, Dad? I am running terrible today; I feel awful. Who cares how I finish at this point?"
She did have a point. However, now that I have had some time to think about, like six years or so, I think the answer is that it is all in the habit of giving everything to the dream. The habit is more important than the particular time.
I think the finish might just define what a person is made of. Anyone can start a race. Most get to the half way point. The fade in the final stretch is legendary.
So, go ahead and FINISH STRONG. When I figure out the "focus" thing Q was yelling about I will write about that too.
She did have a point. However, now that I have had some time to think about, like six years or so, I think the answer is that it is all in the habit of giving everything to the dream. The habit is more important than the particular time.
I think the finish might just define what a person is made of. Anyone can start a race. Most get to the half way point. The fade in the final stretch is legendary.
So, go ahead and FINISH STRONG. When I figure out the "focus" thing Q was yelling about I will write about that too.
"Why Don't My Kids Understand?---a short Lesson in Math
Some years ago, I was bemoaning with a friend that it seemed that my kids had no clue as to where I was coming from. If men were from Mars, and women were from Venus, it was very unclear what planet my kids were from.
After listening intently, he said, "Well, I think I understand."
"Do you remember when the first time was when you really understood where your parents were coming from?"
"Oh yes," I replied. " I remember exactly. It was the momemt we brought our first born, Amy, home from the hospital at birth."
"And how old were you then?" he asked.
"I was 35."
"And how old were you when you graduated from college?"
"21", I replied.
Then he smiled and said, "Well, It took you 14 years from graduation till you had a clue, so I guess to be fair, you should at least give them that long, wouldn't you think?"
After listening intently, he said, "Well, I think I understand."
"Do you remember when the first time was when you really understood where your parents were coming from?"
"Oh yes," I replied. " I remember exactly. It was the momemt we brought our first born, Amy, home from the hospital at birth."
"And how old were you then?" he asked.
"I was 35."
"And how old were you when you graduated from college?"
"21", I replied.
Then he smiled and said, "Well, It took you 14 years from graduation till you had a clue, so I guess to be fair, you should at least give them that long, wouldn't you think?"
"The Statue and the Post"
At the entrance of The Eager Free Public Library is a very large statue. The bronze statue of Mr. Almeron Eager. The man who donated the money, $10,000 in 1907 for the library. $10,000 in 1907 dollars would be how much today? I would guess it would be over $500,000 but some of you finance pros can tell me.
Every young child points to the statue as he/she enters the library. For non-English speaking kids they also ask, "Quien es este?" In my rough Spanish I mention dinero and they understand that Mr. Eager donated it. Then they usually respond, "Gracias." Thank You.
Everyone knows about the statue. Few know the rest of the story. As The Observer, the rest of the story is what I write about.
The donation of Mr. Eager had three conditions; 1) that the library was to be "Free." That was no small matter in 1907. There were few free libraries open to all citizens. 2) The city of Evansville had to pledge to support the library out of the city budget. This was no small task. Many in town did not want the burden of this expenditure. and 3) In addition to naming the library the "Eager Free Public Library", a statute of Mr. Eager had to be placed in the entrance. Without these three conditions being met, the ownership of the library would revert to the Eager family.
So. Surprise, Surprise. When the statue arrived. It was TOO HEAVY for the library floor to support. What shock and awe. Quick thinking. If you go to the basement you will notice the pillar that is right below the statue. Without that pillar put in after the library was erected, we would never have had the statue, and all of the history that goes with it.
That is really the way it is. The statues we cannot really control in life. But beneath each statue is a pillar that supports it. Makes the fame work. As The Observer, I always pay more attention to the pillar---- Rather than the statue. The pillar is where the strength comes from. So just as in basketball we say "Be like Mike." Rather---"Be like the pillar. "
Every young child points to the statue as he/she enters the library. For non-English speaking kids they also ask, "Quien es este?" In my rough Spanish I mention dinero and they understand that Mr. Eager donated it. Then they usually respond, "Gracias." Thank You.
Everyone knows about the statue. Few know the rest of the story. As The Observer, the rest of the story is what I write about.
The donation of Mr. Eager had three conditions; 1) that the library was to be "Free." That was no small matter in 1907. There were few free libraries open to all citizens. 2) The city of Evansville had to pledge to support the library out of the city budget. This was no small task. Many in town did not want the burden of this expenditure. and 3) In addition to naming the library the "Eager Free Public Library", a statute of Mr. Eager had to be placed in the entrance. Without these three conditions being met, the ownership of the library would revert to the Eager family.
So. Surprise, Surprise. When the statue arrived. It was TOO HEAVY for the library floor to support. What shock and awe. Quick thinking. If you go to the basement you will notice the pillar that is right below the statue. Without that pillar put in after the library was erected, we would never have had the statue, and all of the history that goes with it.
That is really the way it is. The statues we cannot really control in life. But beneath each statue is a pillar that supports it. Makes the fame work. As The Observer, I always pay more attention to the pillar---- Rather than the statue. The pillar is where the strength comes from. So just as in basketball we say "Be like Mike." Rather---"Be like the pillar. "
Reflections on Family Tree Maker--the Irony
Well, it's Family Reunuion time again. Time to pack into the car and travel long distances to pot lucks. Time to reestablish all those links of Family.
Some time back I remember a tremendous surge in our family to load every precious memory into a software package known as "Family Tree Maker." In fact, we crashed several computers in the process. So much time was invested that we still have one computer that my spouse can't throw away even though we can't access the data.
Years ago, I heard of a woman who took her young son to the doctor. The son had a mysterious illness. The parents were deeply worried that it was something terminal. The doctor gently asked the woman, " Now tell me of your family medical history." The woman came to the doctor visit prepared with all sorts of notes. "Finally," she thought." all my research has paid off." And proceeded to give the doctor a thorough database of it. The doctor listened very patiently. When she had finished, the doctor gently asked, " Now please tell me of your husband's medical history. " "Well," she replied," I dont know anything about my husbands medical history or any of his relatives."
Before all you genetics gurus out there are too hard on this young woman, I would just ask you a simple question. In your family tree, in Family Tree Maker, are you compiling the history of both sides of the family or just one? In my experience, over 90% of families only consider the geneology of their parents and siblings "relevant." Interesting concept of Family. Only half of their Family Tree is ever filled out.
Ditto for the writing of history. Did you ever notice that a family history is deeply affected by who the surviving spouse is that writes the history. Yes, this is a clear argument for all you men out there to survive a little longer. It might clearly affect the way history is written.
So, as you head out on the long trip to meet the distant relatives, gaze across the car and go ahead, ask your spouse a little about the family history that you have left out of Family Tree Maker. It takes a lot of work to create a Family. It's time to begin!
Some time back I remember a tremendous surge in our family to load every precious memory into a software package known as "Family Tree Maker." In fact, we crashed several computers in the process. So much time was invested that we still have one computer that my spouse can't throw away even though we can't access the data.
Years ago, I heard of a woman who took her young son to the doctor. The son had a mysterious illness. The parents were deeply worried that it was something terminal. The doctor gently asked the woman, " Now tell me of your family medical history." The woman came to the doctor visit prepared with all sorts of notes. "Finally," she thought." all my research has paid off." And proceeded to give the doctor a thorough database of it. The doctor listened very patiently. When she had finished, the doctor gently asked, " Now please tell me of your husband's medical history. " "Well," she replied," I dont know anything about my husbands medical history or any of his relatives."
Before all you genetics gurus out there are too hard on this young woman, I would just ask you a simple question. In your family tree, in Family Tree Maker, are you compiling the history of both sides of the family or just one? In my experience, over 90% of families only consider the geneology of their parents and siblings "relevant." Interesting concept of Family. Only half of their Family Tree is ever filled out.
Ditto for the writing of history. Did you ever notice that a family history is deeply affected by who the surviving spouse is that writes the history. Yes, this is a clear argument for all you men out there to survive a little longer. It might clearly affect the way history is written.
So, as you head out on the long trip to meet the distant relatives, gaze across the car and go ahead, ask your spouse a little about the family history that you have left out of Family Tree Maker. It takes a lot of work to create a Family. It's time to begin!
"The Story of Miss Endres: or, on "Sharing Concerns"
In my earlier life, I worked in a middle sized metro hospital. Our nursing director was Ms. Endres. She was a larger than life person, with a blazing sense of humor and she had the ability to cut through to the essence of problems. She was heavy set, and at that time in frail health. As a department head, I always loved the meetings that she was present for.
One January, when the hospital was very full, and we were all at peak stress, there was a meeting of the department heads. There was a presentation by a person on a problem occuring in the surgical unit. There were personalities and staffing issues involved. Anyway, after the report, it was time for Ms. Endres to speak.
" Well," she said, "This is really just bull." If we need PR, we can always go to Eric (the PR dept) and have him paper it over, but this is health care, and we need to get to the root of the problem here. Yes, this is about a complaint, but if you look closely at the upper line on each admission to this hospital, you will see the words "Complaint/Diagnosis". So, I don't want to offend all you professionals in any way, but you really are "Complaint specialists" and the day you are not able to respond with sensitivity and speed, is the day you have burned out and need to find a different line of work. In other words, you may work miracles but you need to get through the "complaint" part first. That's the only way to work the miracle."
" So," she went on, "tomorrow I will meet with the physicians involved and with the administrator and the charge nurses involved and we will get to the bottom of this. We can solve it and will. Together as a team we can get it done."
Well, the effect in the room was as though a bolt of lightning had struck. A good bolt of lightning. Not a tornado.
Later that year, I would add the responibility of "Complaint adminstrator" to my list of duties, and had the responsibility of resolving complaints small and large, from the $1.50 pair of slippers to the larger errors. Every complaint was logged and assigned for resolution. There was a standard of 3 days for a billing error. Medical issues were handled stat, which is immediately. Because all complaints, or "concerns" ,large or small,were centrally logged, any administrator could access any concern to find the status. There was never a "I don't know but I will get back to you." There was never telephone tag. That was a route to nowhere.
At the end of the year, I presented a report. It showed that of all the "complaints". 99% were handled in the objective time frame. Less than 1/2 1% were serious and they were resolved.
More importantly, of the small complaints, some system errors were discovered that saved the hospital lots of money and changes were made in how things were done. It got to the point where my staff would ask on the phone if there was any question at all that the patient had about their bill that they did not agree with or understand. By asking and even inviting "concerns", the customers were a lot more satisfied and the process improved very noticibly. I notice many companies on the phone use this technique. They establish that you are satisfied.
Hence, I have always been interested in "Complaint mechanisms". If you click on the post, you will see one of the 1,000,000 search items for this on Yahoo. The central point of almost all these systems is that there is a central log where "concerns" are logged and resolved. Without that key ingrediant, an organization simply is not interested in resolving problems. Organizations without it are simply spinning wheels.
So, I would theorize that it is always easy to expound on how we would solve the wars far away. It is the "wars" close that are more difficult. I urge governments, school districts, and corporations to take grievance resolution seriously and implement systems to make this happen.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 11:12 AM
One January, when the hospital was very full, and we were all at peak stress, there was a meeting of the department heads. There was a presentation by a person on a problem occuring in the surgical unit. There were personalities and staffing issues involved. Anyway, after the report, it was time for Ms. Endres to speak.
" Well," she said, "This is really just bull." If we need PR, we can always go to Eric (the PR dept) and have him paper it over, but this is health care, and we need to get to the root of the problem here. Yes, this is about a complaint, but if you look closely at the upper line on each admission to this hospital, you will see the words "Complaint/Diagnosis". So, I don't want to offend all you professionals in any way, but you really are "Complaint specialists" and the day you are not able to respond with sensitivity and speed, is the day you have burned out and need to find a different line of work. In other words, you may work miracles but you need to get through the "complaint" part first. That's the only way to work the miracle."
" So," she went on, "tomorrow I will meet with the physicians involved and with the administrator and the charge nurses involved and we will get to the bottom of this. We can solve it and will. Together as a team we can get it done."
Well, the effect in the room was as though a bolt of lightning had struck. A good bolt of lightning. Not a tornado.
Later that year, I would add the responibility of "Complaint adminstrator" to my list of duties, and had the responsibility of resolving complaints small and large, from the $1.50 pair of slippers to the larger errors. Every complaint was logged and assigned for resolution. There was a standard of 3 days for a billing error. Medical issues were handled stat, which is immediately. Because all complaints, or "concerns" ,large or small,were centrally logged, any administrator could access any concern to find the status. There was never a "I don't know but I will get back to you." There was never telephone tag. That was a route to nowhere.
At the end of the year, I presented a report. It showed that of all the "complaints". 99% were handled in the objective time frame. Less than 1/2 1% were serious and they were resolved.
More importantly, of the small complaints, some system errors were discovered that saved the hospital lots of money and changes were made in how things were done. It got to the point where my staff would ask on the phone if there was any question at all that the patient had about their bill that they did not agree with or understand. By asking and even inviting "concerns", the customers were a lot more satisfied and the process improved very noticibly. I notice many companies on the phone use this technique. They establish that you are satisfied.
Hence, I have always been interested in "Complaint mechanisms". If you click on the post, you will see one of the 1,000,000 search items for this on Yahoo. The central point of almost all these systems is that there is a central log where "concerns" are logged and resolved. Without that key ingrediant, an organization simply is not interested in resolving problems. Organizations without it are simply spinning wheels.
So, I would theorize that it is always easy to expound on how we would solve the wars far away. It is the "wars" close that are more difficult. I urge governments, school districts, and corporations to take grievance resolution seriously and implement systems to make this happen.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 11:12 AM
"Why Don't They Speak English?"; or, The Story of the Pokie Little Puppy
Thursday, September 01, 2005
"Why Don't They Speak English?"; Or, The Story of the Pokie Little Puppy
Some years back, I wandered into a local store where the owner, suddenly asked me, "Mr. Woulfe, Why don't your students speak English?"
"Well," I replied, "I bet you were a great reader. Can you remember the first book you ever read?"
"I sure can," she replied. "It was The Pokie Little Puppie." "I remember it like it was just yesterday."
"Well," I asked, "Can you remember how old you were at the time?"
"Yes, I sure do remember. I was seven."
"And I bet your mother read to you each night?" "Oh yes," she replied.
"And I bet you were pretty sharp, too," I asked. "Well, I hope so," she replied.
"Well," I said, "It took you seven years and you were quite bright, so let's just wait seven years and we will see how my students are doing then."
"Why Don't They Speak English?"; Or, The Story of the Pokie Little Puppy
Some years back, I wandered into a local store where the owner, suddenly asked me, "Mr. Woulfe, Why don't your students speak English?"
"Well," I replied, "I bet you were a great reader. Can you remember the first book you ever read?"
"I sure can," she replied. "It was The Pokie Little Puppie." "I remember it like it was just yesterday."
"Well," I asked, "Can you remember how old you were at the time?"
"Yes, I sure do remember. I was seven."
"And I bet your mother read to you each night?" "Oh yes," she replied.
"And I bet you were pretty sharp, too," I asked. "Well, I hope so," she replied.
"Well," I said, "It took you seven years and you were quite bright, so let's just wait seven years and we will see how my students are doing then."
"Lessons on Renting a Limo; or the story of Mark's 40th"
"A Tipping Point--a case study" or; Mark's 40th or; Lessons on Renting a Limo
Sometimes a very small event can change a life, or even in some cases several lives. A case in point was my brother in law, Mark's 40th birthday party. A little background. I married into a very competitive family where all the brothers and male inlaws revel in competing...well..in just about everything. During our 30's we competed on cars, mortgages, fishing, power boats...etc. In fact, the guys got together each year for an annual fishing trip which we billed as really a performance review. We held meetings with secret minutes where each of us could get awards for besting the others. I remember with fondness my special award for the lowest 15yr mtg rate, which was 4.375. I still treasure the award. Anyway....
For Mark's 40th birthday, his buddy, Mert, wanted to do something special. Like a gathering of all the guys in the company and a dinner out and nightclubing and to top it off, a special limo to take them from place to place, and expecially home.
Being competitive, Mert, wanted to impress Mark with how thrifty he was and negotiated real hard on the limo. He wanted the lowest rock bottom price in the world. Finally, thrilled, he got an unbelievable deal. An older stretch Lincoln limo with special suicide doors. It was a classic, not trendy, but at the right price.
It was truly a night to remember. The meal was great. The guys were in rare form. On the way home, however, the limo driver stopped at a gas station to use the rest rooms. When the guys in the limo tried to get out of the limo, they discovered that the door handles did not work. They could not get out.
I never did get the entire story, and that is rare for The Observer. What spiritual awakening really happened back in that limo of guys. I do know that Mark was heard telling Mert " I don't ever want to hear the word "deal" again. No "bargains". Never again. Ok?"
Mark now drives a Lexis. Has a huge home on a lake. And a huge powerboat. All the best. And, when he rents a limo, he always checks the doors first.
Sometimes a very small event can change a life, or even in some cases several lives. A case in point was my brother in law, Mark's 40th birthday party. A little background. I married into a very competitive family where all the brothers and male inlaws revel in competing...well..in just about everything. During our 30's we competed on cars, mortgages, fishing, power boats...etc. In fact, the guys got together each year for an annual fishing trip which we billed as really a performance review. We held meetings with secret minutes where each of us could get awards for besting the others. I remember with fondness my special award for the lowest 15yr mtg rate, which was 4.375. I still treasure the award. Anyway....
For Mark's 40th birthday, his buddy, Mert, wanted to do something special. Like a gathering of all the guys in the company and a dinner out and nightclubing and to top it off, a special limo to take them from place to place, and expecially home.
Being competitive, Mert, wanted to impress Mark with how thrifty he was and negotiated real hard on the limo. He wanted the lowest rock bottom price in the world. Finally, thrilled, he got an unbelievable deal. An older stretch Lincoln limo with special suicide doors. It was a classic, not trendy, but at the right price.
It was truly a night to remember. The meal was great. The guys were in rare form. On the way home, however, the limo driver stopped at a gas station to use the rest rooms. When the guys in the limo tried to get out of the limo, they discovered that the door handles did not work. They could not get out.
I never did get the entire story, and that is rare for The Observer. What spiritual awakening really happened back in that limo of guys. I do know that Mark was heard telling Mert " I don't ever want to hear the word "deal" again. No "bargains". Never again. Ok?"
Mark now drives a Lexis. Has a huge home on a lake. And a huge powerboat. All the best. And, when he rents a limo, he always checks the doors first.
Do You Believe in Halloween?
Thursday, September 01, 2005
---Halloween---;Or, I believe in things Seen and Unseen; Or, Why Flip Wilson was wrong.
One of the amazing things is how all kids really get Halloween. There is no long textbook required. Kids all around the world have some sort of celebration like this.
As a youngster, in church, reciting the Creed....maybe there were some boring parts about the liturgy, but certanly not the words, "I believe in things Seen and Unseen." Yes, that was something that I could really believe in. Something I could understand at a young age.
Some think that Halloween is just about candy, just about sugar. I don't think so. Although I will grant sugar is pretty big these days.
How come when we get older it gets so difficult? So difficult to get from the Seen to the Unseen. We think of Flip Wilson. "What you see is what you get." Was Flip Wilson right?
It seems to the Observer that there is a whole lot more we get besides the obvious. Stuff we were not counting on. For better. For worse. In fact, in the holiday season, when I go back to visit with the old chums from high school and college, it used to be so easy to separate out the beauty queens and cheerleaders from the rest; So easy to know the jocks from the nerds. Not today. Seems they all look alike. It is pretty shocking.
Seems like Flip Wilson was wrong. The kids are right. You get a lot more than meets the eye. There really is Seen and Unseen.
Happy Halloween.
---Halloween---;Or, I believe in things Seen and Unseen; Or, Why Flip Wilson was wrong.
One of the amazing things is how all kids really get Halloween. There is no long textbook required. Kids all around the world have some sort of celebration like this.
As a youngster, in church, reciting the Creed....maybe there were some boring parts about the liturgy, but certanly not the words, "I believe in things Seen and Unseen." Yes, that was something that I could really believe in. Something I could understand at a young age.
Some think that Halloween is just about candy, just about sugar. I don't think so. Although I will grant sugar is pretty big these days.
How come when we get older it gets so difficult? So difficult to get from the Seen to the Unseen. We think of Flip Wilson. "What you see is what you get." Was Flip Wilson right?
It seems to the Observer that there is a whole lot more we get besides the obvious. Stuff we were not counting on. For better. For worse. In fact, in the holiday season, when I go back to visit with the old chums from high school and college, it used to be so easy to separate out the beauty queens and cheerleaders from the rest; So easy to know the jocks from the nerds. Not today. Seems they all look alike. It is pretty shocking.
Seems like Flip Wilson was wrong. The kids are right. You get a lot more than meets the eye. There really is Seen and Unseen.
Happy Halloween.
Car Care and Cardiology---a true story
Car Care and Cardiology
-
Update----
Yesterday, I had to take the green Mazda in to see if
I could get the air bag sensor light to stop flashing.
It has been a very draining couple of months with car
care expenses, so I was very aprehensive. The
estimate was about $400.
After waiting two hours, I asked what was up. The
service guy said they had put in the new air bag wheel
sensor and that the codes were still flashing and that
they would have to "Check further".
I said," No. No check further, take out the new part,
put in the old and give me my car back. Further, it is
probably a diagnosis error and I want you to cut the
labor in half."
I paced in the parking lot in 90 deg heat for 45
minutes swearing, praying and wondering what to do now
that it appeared that we would never fix the car.
Indeed, God was dead. So....I said...
"Yo...God...if you are around, big guy, I would
appreciate some help here."
Ten minutes later, Sue called telling me she was
working late. I shared my total despair.
On the way home with the car, the cell phone rang.
Sue had some words from Laura from cardiology. Laura
said to fill the gas in the car to full and force all
the air out of the tank. She had heard on "Click and
Clack" that the sensors were so sensitive that this
could set them off. I filled it up. The blinking
lights on the airbag disppeared.
Does God live? Well.... I do know when we get
our best car care from cardiology, something is up.
-
Update----
Yesterday, I had to take the green Mazda in to see if
I could get the air bag sensor light to stop flashing.
It has been a very draining couple of months with car
care expenses, so I was very aprehensive. The
estimate was about $400.
After waiting two hours, I asked what was up. The
service guy said they had put in the new air bag wheel
sensor and that the codes were still flashing and that
they would have to "Check further".
I said," No. No check further, take out the new part,
put in the old and give me my car back. Further, it is
probably a diagnosis error and I want you to cut the
labor in half."
I paced in the parking lot in 90 deg heat for 45
minutes swearing, praying and wondering what to do now
that it appeared that we would never fix the car.
Indeed, God was dead. So....I said...
"Yo...God...if you are around, big guy, I would
appreciate some help here."
Ten minutes later, Sue called telling me she was
working late. I shared my total despair.
On the way home with the car, the cell phone rang.
Sue had some words from Laura from cardiology. Laura
said to fill the gas in the car to full and force all
the air out of the tank. She had heard on "Click and
Clack" that the sensors were so sensitive that this
could set them off. I filled it up. The blinking
lights on the airbag disppeared.
Does God live? Well.... I do know when we get
our best car care from cardiology, something is up.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
"Errors Cost You Money"
Many years ago, I was a financial consultant for a major Wall Street firm. Shortly after passing my Series 7 Exam, I was working a public offering for a new series of bond funds, which were in fashion at the time. It was just before lunch. I had a stack of "tickets" or orders and carried them to "the wire", which is what we called the teletype operator that sent the orders to New York. As I presented the orders to the operator, I noticed on the very bottom of each ticket the words:
"Errors cost you money."
Just then the branch manager, who was excited about the effort of everyone during that week, offered to buy lunch at the local pizza place. I thought that was a wonderful idea. On the way over to the pizza place, I asked him, " What's the deal with the "Errors cost you money," on the bottom of every ticket."
"Well," he smiled, "If there is a stock symbol error or quantity error on the ticket, and the stock has to be sold out to remedy the error, the difference due to the error is taken from your paycheck. Also, if someone promises to pay for something.....and then does not.....and the stock or bond has to be sold......the difference is taken from your paycheck."
"What if someone lies," I asked.
"You have to hear and know the customer," he replied. "That is your first responsibility. Don't worry; You will learn quickly."
He was right. When lies cost you money, and the money comes out of one's paycheck....one learns quickly....to hear quite precisely.
This is what all bankers call the "Know Your Customer Rule." It is the very first rule of banking. In a small town, it is pretty easy. On the telephone it gets harder.
In the recent Evansville School Board Forum, Tris Lahti was heard to remark that "Who cares if we built a few too many sports facilities and the numbers are a little out of line with our peers."
Who cares?
One has to care because errors in planning cost everyone---taxpayers....students...parents...business....and teachers.......
The reason that it is important to involve the community in any decision about our schools is that we have a huge stake in the plan. Conflict of interest, whether it is in the form of an architectual firm who gets fees for building doing the planning..........or in the form of board candidates who have relatives on the school district payroll....is a detriment to objective review of our community needs.
Now more than ever, we in Evansville need experienced citizens who are committed to avoiding conflict of interest to run for our Evansville School Board. That is why I am running. I do need your vote on April 3rd. Every vote will count. It is spring break. Don't forget to vote.
"Errors cost you money."
Just then the branch manager, who was excited about the effort of everyone during that week, offered to buy lunch at the local pizza place. I thought that was a wonderful idea. On the way over to the pizza place, I asked him, " What's the deal with the "Errors cost you money," on the bottom of every ticket."
"Well," he smiled, "If there is a stock symbol error or quantity error on the ticket, and the stock has to be sold out to remedy the error, the difference due to the error is taken from your paycheck. Also, if someone promises to pay for something.....and then does not.....and the stock or bond has to be sold......the difference is taken from your paycheck."
"What if someone lies," I asked.
"You have to hear and know the customer," he replied. "That is your first responsibility. Don't worry; You will learn quickly."
He was right. When lies cost you money, and the money comes out of one's paycheck....one learns quickly....to hear quite precisely.
This is what all bankers call the "Know Your Customer Rule." It is the very first rule of banking. In a small town, it is pretty easy. On the telephone it gets harder.
In the recent Evansville School Board Forum, Tris Lahti was heard to remark that "Who cares if we built a few too many sports facilities and the numbers are a little out of line with our peers."
Who cares?
One has to care because errors in planning cost everyone---taxpayers....students...parents...business....and teachers.......
The reason that it is important to involve the community in any decision about our schools is that we have a huge stake in the plan. Conflict of interest, whether it is in the form of an architectual firm who gets fees for building doing the planning..........or in the form of board candidates who have relatives on the school district payroll....is a detriment to objective review of our community needs.
Now more than ever, we in Evansville need experienced citizens who are committed to avoiding conflict of interest to run for our Evansville School Board. That is why I am running. I do need your vote on April 3rd. Every vote will count. It is spring break. Don't forget to vote.
On the Perfect Marriage: On "Mr. and Mrs. Smith--the Movie"; On Politics...and more
Recently we've had a debate in our family. After viewing "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" staring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, I theorized that this indeed was the perfect marriage. Rough in the beginning. O.K. very rough. And then in the end it is just perfect ballet.
My middle daughter, who wishes to remain anonymous, objected strenuously. She is a psychology major and I inquired whether the textbooks describe the marital bond as similar to that of Brad and Angelina. "Heavens no, dad. Are you saying that marriage is like the elevator scene where she nearly kills Brad?"
"Yes," I replied. "That is so real." "The only part that seems too long is the scene at the end where they move in perfect harmony with the machine guns killing all the enemy. Without even a nick or scratch from flying fragments. I am still waiting for that in real life.
Recently "Fred" has written about what he learned about the "open meeting" law at a recent municipal conference for new aldermen. He says:
"One thing I'm learning is that the requirements of open-ness and transparency in local government gives rise to a general slowness in getting things done. For example, alders can almost never have private conversations among themselves about issues. The monthly meetings, held in the public eye, are where we must discuss things before coming to decisions. That's to protect us from accusations of "secret deals" etc, and to ensure that you the citizens have access to the decision-making process."
So, as a matter of debate, I would propose that meetings in our fair city should resemble the relationship of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie during most of the movie----with wild differences of thought that are aired---but rather in public not in private.
If one ever sees orchestrated movement in perfect harmony we will know that something is wrong--terribly wrong. It is only an absolute miracle if all alders could agree in the normal happening of things on anything, and then probably only if they had chatted in private before the meeting or something. Heaven forbid.
So there it is. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" the movie and the politics. If we ever see perfect harmony, perfect lawyering, perfect grant proposals, perfect public works and perfect dancing with machine guns----or perfect harmony in voting---we will know.
Now. Who is the Brad Pitt? O.K. you all can fight about it.
That's how I see it. You heard it on The Evansville Observer
My middle daughter, who wishes to remain anonymous, objected strenuously. She is a psychology major and I inquired whether the textbooks describe the marital bond as similar to that of Brad and Angelina. "Heavens no, dad. Are you saying that marriage is like the elevator scene where she nearly kills Brad?"
"Yes," I replied. "That is so real." "The only part that seems too long is the scene at the end where they move in perfect harmony with the machine guns killing all the enemy. Without even a nick or scratch from flying fragments. I am still waiting for that in real life.
Recently "Fred" has written about what he learned about the "open meeting" law at a recent municipal conference for new aldermen. He says:
"One thing I'm learning is that the requirements of open-ness and transparency in local government gives rise to a general slowness in getting things done. For example, alders can almost never have private conversations among themselves about issues. The monthly meetings, held in the public eye, are where we must discuss things before coming to decisions. That's to protect us from accusations of "secret deals" etc, and to ensure that you the citizens have access to the decision-making process."
So, as a matter of debate, I would propose that meetings in our fair city should resemble the relationship of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie during most of the movie----with wild differences of thought that are aired---but rather in public not in private.
If one ever sees orchestrated movement in perfect harmony we will know that something is wrong--terribly wrong. It is only an absolute miracle if all alders could agree in the normal happening of things on anything, and then probably only if they had chatted in private before the meeting or something. Heaven forbid.
So there it is. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" the movie and the politics. If we ever see perfect harmony, perfect lawyering, perfect grant proposals, perfect public works and perfect dancing with machine guns----or perfect harmony in voting---we will know.
Now. Who is the Brad Pitt? O.K. you all can fight about it.
That's how I see it. You heard it on The Evansville Observer
"When you Walk..Walk...When you Run,...Run.....Don't Wobble"
Falling off the Bicycle--a true story; Reflections on the Evansville growth bicycle
For over a decade, my wife and I annually receive a brochure from UW Plattville about the European bike tour, that features a 10 day bike ride---Usually there are three different countries to choose from.
As far as dreams go, this one has been on the back burner. Now that two of the kids have finished college, however, we are facing a dream crisis of sorts---the bike trip requires being fit enough to bike 50 miles a day for a week. Yes, I did do the 56 mile Sugar River Trail roundtrip some years ago, but did take a week off afterwords. We do need to get the dream in our lifetime, so....
The other night we both went out to begin training again. I wore my yellow "Lance Armstrong" t-shirt just for the occasion. About the 5 mile mark, I got a little thirsty and noticed that my wife had forgotten her water bottle. Having watched the Tour de France, I knew just what to do. I yelled to my fellow peloton rider, wife, to bike beside so I could pass the water bottle. Just as she was reaching, or over-reaching for the bottle.....she crashed to the pavement.
My wife is a sonographer for a local hospital, and her arm and hands, and yes mind are the keys to her occupation. In a heartbeat, we both held our breath. .....Ok. no broken hips or arms. relax...
Sometimes in pursuing a dream, one can, in the frenzy of things fall off the growth bicycle. Sometimes in reaching too far and not being in touch, reality can come and readjust the dream big time.
For me, it bought back my favorite Zen saying, " When you walk, walk. When you run, run. Don't wobble. "
When you are on the growth bicycle it is important not to overreach. The pavement comes quickly.
For over a decade, my wife and I annually receive a brochure from UW Plattville about the European bike tour, that features a 10 day bike ride---Usually there are three different countries to choose from.
As far as dreams go, this one has been on the back burner. Now that two of the kids have finished college, however, we are facing a dream crisis of sorts---the bike trip requires being fit enough to bike 50 miles a day for a week. Yes, I did do the 56 mile Sugar River Trail roundtrip some years ago, but did take a week off afterwords. We do need to get the dream in our lifetime, so....
The other night we both went out to begin training again. I wore my yellow "Lance Armstrong" t-shirt just for the occasion. About the 5 mile mark, I got a little thirsty and noticed that my wife had forgotten her water bottle. Having watched the Tour de France, I knew just what to do. I yelled to my fellow peloton rider, wife, to bike beside so I could pass the water bottle. Just as she was reaching, or over-reaching for the bottle.....she crashed to the pavement.
My wife is a sonographer for a local hospital, and her arm and hands, and yes mind are the keys to her occupation. In a heartbeat, we both held our breath. .....Ok. no broken hips or arms. relax...
Sometimes in pursuing a dream, one can, in the frenzy of things fall off the growth bicycle. Sometimes in reaching too far and not being in touch, reality can come and readjust the dream big time.
For me, it bought back my favorite Zen saying, " When you walk, walk. When you run, run. Don't wobble. "
When you are on the growth bicycle it is important not to overreach. The pavement comes quickly.
"Welcome Failure: Failure is the Breakfast of Champions"---a true Story
Chinese Fortune Cookie Corner: "Welcome Failure: Failure is the Breakfast of Champions"---a true story
Yesterday I had to take my youngest to Janesville for a driver education road lesson. Before the lesson, we had a little time together for her to shop and then to share a bit of Chinese at the Food Court.
I have a habit of opening the fortune cookie first--- before the meal. The Fortune Cookie read: " Welcome Failure: Failure is the Breakfast of Champions."
I have mentioned in an earlier post, that over thirty years ago, right after a fortune cookie that read, "Not Now, but Soon," I had received a layoff from an employer. Ever since, I have paid strict attention to those fortune cookies. That being said, I wish they were more precise. The vagueness in unnerving.
Relax. The driving lesson went fine.
I think the Chinese were directing the fortune cookie towards those who did not know that the world of school and life are different. Nobody gets 99.992% success all the time and still ranks at the median of the class.
Most folks are blessed with enough failures so they have a balanced view of their strengths and weaknesses. Or at least the whims of the world.
After reflection, I feel pretty confident that I have had enough failures thank you. I do not need any more.
Then again, maybe the Chinese fortune cookie WAS talking about that planning commission meeting last week---what a devastating failure in the unanimous defeat of the efforts of the community of the 4th Ward to prevent the bar on Exchange Street. Was that what the cookie was talking about? We will never know for sure.
The Observer still recommends that this specific fortune cookie be eliminated from the mix till it can be more specific. I hope the Chinese Observer is taking notes.
Yesterday I had to take my youngest to Janesville for a driver education road lesson. Before the lesson, we had a little time together for her to shop and then to share a bit of Chinese at the Food Court.
I have a habit of opening the fortune cookie first--- before the meal. The Fortune Cookie read: " Welcome Failure: Failure is the Breakfast of Champions."
I have mentioned in an earlier post, that over thirty years ago, right after a fortune cookie that read, "Not Now, but Soon," I had received a layoff from an employer. Ever since, I have paid strict attention to those fortune cookies. That being said, I wish they were more precise. The vagueness in unnerving.
Relax. The driving lesson went fine.
I think the Chinese were directing the fortune cookie towards those who did not know that the world of school and life are different. Nobody gets 99.992% success all the time and still ranks at the median of the class.
Most folks are blessed with enough failures so they have a balanced view of their strengths and weaknesses. Or at least the whims of the world.
After reflection, I feel pretty confident that I have had enough failures thank you. I do not need any more.
Then again, maybe the Chinese fortune cookie WAS talking about that planning commission meeting last week---what a devastating failure in the unanimous defeat of the efforts of the community of the 4th Ward to prevent the bar on Exchange Street. Was that what the cookie was talking about? We will never know for sure.
The Observer still recommends that this specific fortune cookie be eliminated from the mix till it can be more specific. I hope the Chinese Observer is taking notes.
"Rocky VII,..Rocky VII"
One of the traditions of the dental clinic where our family goes is what I call the "announcement." When you arrive for your appointment, over the speaker of the clinic booms the voice of the front desk receptionist, "Annie7, Annie7" or whichever dental hygenist is assigned to you plus the number 7. The number 7 is the universal number which means that the customer has arrived. It is time to serve. It is showtime.
In Evansville recently, a discussion has ensued over whether if 95% of the folks in Evansville believe in a target for growth, it is to be considered the "public will" or just "mostly the public will" and something to be disregarded. The decision will come at the Evansville Common Council meeting in August. Plan on attending.
There has also been discussed whether it is possible for Sylvester Stallone to really come back in Rocky VII. Miracle Max thinks the patient is dead. "Grumps" says it is never too late for "Rocky" especially when "Eye of the Tiger" is playing in the background.
Click on the post for the analysis of "Fred" on the issue of Smart Growth for Evansville and what it all means for the meeting in August.
For the Observer, I wish to simply announce:
"Rocky VII, Rocky VII"
It is time to show up. The customers have arrived. It is time to serve.
In Evansville recently, a discussion has ensued over whether if 95% of the folks in Evansville believe in a target for growth, it is to be considered the "public will" or just "mostly the public will" and something to be disregarded. The decision will come at the Evansville Common Council meeting in August. Plan on attending.
There has also been discussed whether it is possible for Sylvester Stallone to really come back in Rocky VII. Miracle Max thinks the patient is dead. "Grumps" says it is never too late for "Rocky" especially when "Eye of the Tiger" is playing in the background.
Click on the post for the analysis of "Fred" on the issue of Smart Growth for Evansville and what it all means for the meeting in August.
For the Observer, I wish to simply announce:
"Rocky VII, Rocky VII"
It is time to show up. The customers have arrived. It is time to serve.
"True Love" or "Where is Miracle Max When We Need Him?"
(Ed. note. Due to the many requests of readers, I have reprinted this post of 7-13-2006. Enjoy. )
Many of you remember the blogger "Miracle Max" who posted for many days here on the Observer site. It sure would be nice to get his advice during this period in our local history---here is the question.
First a little background. In the movie "Princess Bride", after Wesley and the princess get out of the forest and the pit of despair, Wesley is apparently killed and he is dragged to the house of "Miracle Max."
"Miracle Max" is not too happy to come out of retirement to treat Wesley. He performs a preliminary test and asks Wesley...."What do you seek?" Wesley says something. Miracle Max says that Wesley has said "Tru Blave"----that he just wants to be brave which is not a strong enough reason to save him.
The wife of Miracle Max then strongly speaks up and says that Wesley has instead said "True Love." And she insists that this is a noble calling worth saving his life for.
Well. The rest of the movie is pretty clear cut.
Here is my question. Was this just a hearing problem with Miracle Max? or something deeper. I have always wondered.
Recently on our local scene, 95% of the folks in Evansville have said that they want a growth rate of 27% or less. Some say that they cannot hear this. I am the Observer and would give anyone a chance. A benefit of the doubt.
This may just be a hearing problem.
You make the call.
Many of you remember the blogger "Miracle Max" who posted for many days here on the Observer site. It sure would be nice to get his advice during this period in our local history---here is the question.
First a little background. In the movie "Princess Bride", after Wesley and the princess get out of the forest and the pit of despair, Wesley is apparently killed and he is dragged to the house of "Miracle Max."
"Miracle Max" is not too happy to come out of retirement to treat Wesley. He performs a preliminary test and asks Wesley...."What do you seek?" Wesley says something. Miracle Max says that Wesley has said "Tru Blave"----that he just wants to be brave which is not a strong enough reason to save him.
The wife of Miracle Max then strongly speaks up and says that Wesley has instead said "True Love." And she insists that this is a noble calling worth saving his life for.
Well. The rest of the movie is pretty clear cut.
Here is my question. Was this just a hearing problem with Miracle Max? or something deeper. I have always wondered.
Recently on our local scene, 95% of the folks in Evansville have said that they want a growth rate of 27% or less. Some say that they cannot hear this. I am the Observer and would give anyone a chance. A benefit of the doubt.
This may just be a hearing problem.
You make the call.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
