I moved to East Tennessee in 1966. During the first year I was there, the local news would feature some remote moonshine still that the Revenuers had busted up in the mountains of Tennessee, North Georgia and Alabama. I eventually got to know some locals and a couple brought me some "black pot" moonshine. I don't know what that meant, but was assured that it was the good stuff and would not make you go blind.
I have never been much of a drinker, but I did sample some of the local products. I can honestly say, I didn't care for it. To me, it tasted like real strong Saki. One of my co-workers brought me a gallon of "shine" from Alabama. He delivered it in a plastic one gallon milk jug. I brought it back to Texas on vacation and gave it to my Dad. He took it to a local lab and it was analyzed to be 90 proof.
After 14 years in Tennessee, we moved back to Texas. I had not thought much about home grown whiskey until I got a call from an old Tennessee friend some years back. We will call him Wes.
Wes and several of his brothers had grown up on Mowbray Mountain just North of Chattanooga. They exposed me to a culture you don't see very often in Texas. All were hard working men, that got jobs in the city but never left their mountain roots. Wes was driving through Texas on his way to visit his military son in California and said he would like to see me. I was thrilled and offered to put him and his wife up for a few days.
They spent two nights and I showed them the "Southeast Texas" Sites and culture. Had a most enjoyable visit reliving the 60's and 70's in Tennessee.
When it came time for them to leave and say our good-byes, Wes said, "I got something for you". He pulled out an old Jim Beam bottle that was full of Moonshine. To demonstrate the quality of the gift, Wes took a sip, made an awful face, stomped the floor and replied, "Smooooth!" I never found out for sure. I asked Wes how in the world he got that stuff since Moon shining was almost a lost art.
Wes said that it was pretty hard to find. When he started planning his trip, he visited a couple of old mountain men. One said that he only made it for special occasions and to come back in a month and there would be such an occasion. The other one he approached told him, "Wes, I don't make that stuff anymore. You know, that you can make a lot more money growing dope".
PROGRESS in the Mountains.
I kept the bottle for several years at our beach house and offered any visitor a sip. No one ever took me up on it. That stuff was so strong that it survived Hurricane Ike.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
What We Need Is A Great Vision
I remember reading the book "Black Elk Speaks". In the book the Great Oglala Sioux Holy Man described his vision. I don't remember much about the vision other than it had something to do with "Blue Men" and the destruction of the earth's resources. I also recall that the Sioux Chief, Crazy Horse had a vision about a white owl protecting him or something like that. These visions to Native Americans were powerful motivators.
As I was thinking about these visions, it dawned on me I could recall only two Great Visions in my lifetime. One was J F Kennedy's goal of putting "A Man On the Moon" in ten years. An entire nation was energized and the technological benefits from the Space Program have been immense.
The other great vision was that of Martin Luther King. His "I Had A Dream" speech provided REAL "Hope and Change" for the World's Greatest Nation.
Today, we have no such Vision. All we have are personal agendas and party line voting. The most recent Presidential election just confirmed that.
What we need is a great Vision! Something that can energize a nation. Something can provide long term, lasting benefits to our entire country. Not just benefit certain demographic or political groups.
I have a proposal:
The Mission would be to generate enough energy such that our entire country becomes an energy exporter. The implementation strategy would include the use of all known sources of energy; green and hydrocarbon. The primary focus would be in utilizing the abundance of natural gas and the development of the technology and infrastructure to support this and other types of energy utilization.
It is my belief that this effort would create many new jobs as new technologies were developed and implemented. The trade deficit would be reduced by exporting products and technology. Without any dependence on trade with foreign countries such as Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, etc., we would be able to make better decisions without regard to impacting our economy.
I have this personal vision of being able to power my well water irrigation system with wind energy,
solar energy providing the electricity to operate my natural gas compressor in the garage while it refuels my pick up overnight.
As I was thinking about these visions, it dawned on me I could recall only two Great Visions in my lifetime. One was J F Kennedy's goal of putting "A Man On the Moon" in ten years. An entire nation was energized and the technological benefits from the Space Program have been immense.
The other great vision was that of Martin Luther King. His "I Had A Dream" speech provided REAL "Hope and Change" for the World's Greatest Nation.
Today, we have no such Vision. All we have are personal agendas and party line voting. The most recent Presidential election just confirmed that.
What we need is a great Vision! Something that can energize a nation. Something can provide long term, lasting benefits to our entire country. Not just benefit certain demographic or political groups.
I have a proposal:
Become Energy Independent by 2022
The Mission would be to generate enough energy such that our entire country becomes an energy exporter. The implementation strategy would include the use of all known sources of energy; green and hydrocarbon. The primary focus would be in utilizing the abundance of natural gas and the development of the technology and infrastructure to support this and other types of energy utilization.
It is my belief that this effort would create many new jobs as new technologies were developed and implemented. The trade deficit would be reduced by exporting products and technology. Without any dependence on trade with foreign countries such as Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, etc., we would be able to make better decisions without regard to impacting our economy.
I have this personal vision of being able to power my well water irrigation system with wind energy,
solar energy providing the electricity to operate my natural gas compressor in the garage while it refuels my pick up overnight.
Friday, September 7, 2012
This, Bud, Is For You!
Back in the late 1970's in Chattanooga, I had started running to improve my endurance for off road motorcycle events. To provide some incentive I set a goal of running in the Chickamauga Chase that was held every year. It was a 15K (9.3mi.) run on the roads of the Civil War battlefield of the same name. Overtime I eventually got more interested in running than motorcycles. The physical benefits were fantastic. I met many people through the events and initiated numerous others to become interested and take up the activity. One of those eager "proteges" was a co-worker named Bud Wisseman. I had about a year up on Bud when he got started. At that time running shoes were still in the early development stage and you couldn't find a pair of Nike Air Max at the Foot Locker. Heck, you couldn't even find a Foot Locker or an Academy for that matter. I had a running friend in Houston that introduced me to New Balance, but I had to order them from Massachusetts. I sent a sketch of my foot and bought a pair of NB 320. Wow! They sure beat running in my Chuck Taylor Converse All Stars.
I recall sitting in my office with Bud and going over the drawings necessary to get a good pair of training shoes. Bud was rather slow at first, but extremely persistent. A bunch of us would meet at various locations and team up for our routine runs. Usually pairing up by pace and the desired distance we wanted to run on that particular day. I recall running on a rather warm day at Chickamauga. Bud was in a group behind me. We had already finished when Bud came in. He looked terrible. I asked him what happened and he replied, "Some rednecks in a pickup had passed and threw a chocolate shake on him"
Well, Bud was an engineer and very meticulous. Like most of us he kept records of his runs. He kept increasing his distances and improving his times in local 5, 10 and 15K runs. In December 1979, I transferred back to Texas. Earlier in the year I had run two of my best races; a 40:01 10K and a 15K in about 62min 42sec. After moving to SE Texas, two deteriorating knees and oppressive heat slowed down my running until I was advised by my orthopedic surgeon to give it up. And I did.
Bud on the other hand kept plodding along.
Periodically I would hear from Bud and that he had stayed with his running. He was running every day. He would call when he reached a particular milestone. At one point I was vacationing back in Chattanooga when I attended a pizza party for Bud to celebrate his 10.000th mile. I had not heard from Bud in probably 8 to 10 years. Last week, out of the blue, my cell phone rings and it is Bud.
He has stayed with his running but slowed down a bit on his times, but not his distance. But, that is somewhat understandable. After all, Bud is 74 years old now. After a most enjoyable discussion, I learned that Bud has now run over 55.000 miles since that day in my DuPont office. He has not missed a day of running in over 25 years. That's 9130 days in a row. If I heard him correctly he has run 24 Boston Marathons and if he qualifies this year, he won't need to qualify any more and will be listed in the permanent records. He's come a long way from that chocolate shake bath at Chickamauga Battlefield Park. He will probably live to be 100 if he doesn't get run over by a truck on Hixson Pike.
As for me, I haven't run in 25 years and after two knee replacements and 70 pounds, I probably won't.
But, after our discussion, I decided to get off the couch and I started a walking program. So far I have walked a mile ever other day since our discussion. At that rate I will be 365 years old when I reach 55,000 miles. Bud, your milestones are safe. You are my Hero
I recall sitting in my office with Bud and going over the drawings necessary to get a good pair of training shoes. Bud was rather slow at first, but extremely persistent. A bunch of us would meet at various locations and team up for our routine runs. Usually pairing up by pace and the desired distance we wanted to run on that particular day. I recall running on a rather warm day at Chickamauga. Bud was in a group behind me. We had already finished when Bud came in. He looked terrible. I asked him what happened and he replied, "Some rednecks in a pickup had passed and threw a chocolate shake on him"
Well, Bud was an engineer and very meticulous. Like most of us he kept records of his runs. He kept increasing his distances and improving his times in local 5, 10 and 15K runs. In December 1979, I transferred back to Texas. Earlier in the year I had run two of my best races; a 40:01 10K and a 15K in about 62min 42sec. After moving to SE Texas, two deteriorating knees and oppressive heat slowed down my running until I was advised by my orthopedic surgeon to give it up. And I did.
Bud on the other hand kept plodding along.
Periodically I would hear from Bud and that he had stayed with his running. He was running every day. He would call when he reached a particular milestone. At one point I was vacationing back in Chattanooga when I attended a pizza party for Bud to celebrate his 10.000th mile. I had not heard from Bud in probably 8 to 10 years. Last week, out of the blue, my cell phone rings and it is Bud.
He has stayed with his running but slowed down a bit on his times, but not his distance. But, that is somewhat understandable. After all, Bud is 74 years old now. After a most enjoyable discussion, I learned that Bud has now run over 55.000 miles since that day in my DuPont office. He has not missed a day of running in over 25 years. That's 9130 days in a row. If I heard him correctly he has run 24 Boston Marathons and if he qualifies this year, he won't need to qualify any more and will be listed in the permanent records. He's come a long way from that chocolate shake bath at Chickamauga Battlefield Park. He will probably live to be 100 if he doesn't get run over by a truck on Hixson Pike.
As for me, I haven't run in 25 years and after two knee replacements and 70 pounds, I probably won't.
But, after our discussion, I decided to get off the couch and I started a walking program. So far I have walked a mile ever other day since our discussion. At that rate I will be 365 years old when I reach 55,000 miles. Bud, your milestones are safe. You are my Hero
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Good Dog, Joe Fred
During 2011 I lost my dog, Joe Fred. Joe Fred was 14 and the best dog I ever had. A chocolate lab that weighed about 90 pounds with an even temper. He only barked at the deer in the pasture and an occasional stranger. Occasionally, he would corner a rabbit or squirrel. I don't know how he ever moved fast enough to catch them. Must have caught them asleep in the yard. He could jump the fence, but would only do it if you were on the other side and he felt left out. He would ride mainly in the bed of the truck, But, if it was raining, he rode in the cab while my wife rode in the back.When Joe Fred was still a pup, we had just bought a beach cabin on Bolivar Peninsula. The cabin was a "fixer upper" and was in a state of remodeling. We had no air conditioning and left the windows and doors open at night. That first summer a "red tide " had caused a massive saltwater catfish kill and they were all over the beach. I awoke one morning with Joe Fred licking my face. I instantly detected a very foul odor. I looked on the floor and Joe Fred had brought me one of those rotting catfish. As the years went by we spent a lot of time at the beach. He was my constant companion. If I tried to fish in the surf, he would swim out to where I was standing.
Joe Fred and his litter mate and sister, Reno.
A good dog is hard to replace.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Scars Are Tattoos With Better Stories
Last week one of my co-workers got a new tattoo. It was her second tattoo. The first one she got about nine months earlier. The interesting thing was she was 49 years old before she got the first one and the second came a week after her 50th birthday. She told me that once she got the first one, she just had to get another one. I have heard many people say, that once you get one, you immediately want another one. Her boyfriend isn't too thrilled and she plans to hide them from her Mother.
My office mate has several tattoos. The last one was designed to honored a friend that passed away at an early age. It included images that celebrated their special relationship.
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| Dragon |
Half of the tattoos are on women and half on men. Most are not visible unless you ask to see them
As for myself, I have no tattoos, just scars. Once while sitting in my chair while wearing shorts,
my daughter looked at my knees and said, "Dad, if you had one more scar, we could play tic tac toe.
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| Scars from five surgeries. Two football, two from being clumsy and one from a knee replacement |
Friday, June 15, 2012
The Smoke Must Have Been Going Straight Up
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| Drew and Cynthia on their wedding day |
Some time during every one's life they will meet someone special. Someone you call "friend". One of those people in my life is Drew Kimura. A devoted family man, excellent work ethic and a love of the outdoors. He has been an avid surfer most of his life and likes to fish. It was the fishing that inspired this story.
We worked together for a number of years and he was always trying to get me to go fishing with him.
I like fishing, but am not overly enthusiastic about it. My idea of a good day fishing is sitting on the bank in a lawn chair and hoping that I don't catch anything I will have to clean. I like to throw 'em back.
One day Drew came to me and said let's take a day of vacation tomorrow and go fishing. The smoke is going to be going straight up. This meant that there would be no wind and supposedly the fishing would be good. I agreed to go and signed up for a day of vacation.
We met somewhere before daylight. I mean, it was really early and really dark. We drove to Bolivar Peninsula and planned to start fishing about daylight at Rollover Pass. It started raining on the drive down there. When we got there we started to fish between down pours. At one point I said, "Drew, you know, if we left right now, we could get back to the plant and not waste a vacation day". Being
the optimist, he said, "No, it's going to clear up". So we kept fishing.
I had not even had a bite and was wet and cold. I decided to go sit in the car for a while. Drew climbed out on the pilings, using his surfing balance skills to keep from falling into the surf. He managed to catch a red fish, trout or something. I tried another time or two with no luck. By now we had been there awhile and I was miserable. I mentioned that if we left then we could get back to work and only have to take a half day vacation. Drew was still wanting to fish and suggested that we go to "The Pocket" at the other end of the Peninsula. We did and no better luck. By then I was hating fishing and not too fond of Drew either.
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| Drew catching a wave in his advanced years |
Finally we called it a day and started back. As we drove home it had stopped raining but water was over the beach road near High Island. We turned on the radio and caught the news. The weatherman came on and said that it had rained eleven (11) inches in Winnie that day. I don't know what the smoke was doing because visibility had been limited to 10 feet all day long.
I have not fished with Drew since. He is a good man and still a good friend. He has been successful in his life, has a beautiful wife, great kids and now grand kids. But, I tell you one thing,
"He ain't no meteorologist.
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| No Smoke |
Eliminate The Three Second Rule
Do you ever wonder why some people get sick a lot and others never seem to? Does it have something to do with genetics? What about personal habits? Or, is it just dumb luck? In thirty years of work, I only missed one day due to knee surgery. Some people I know will consistently miss three or four instances with two to three days per instance every year.
I know a couple of people that are almost OCD about disinfecting. They flush the toilet with their foot, use a paper towel to open the bathroom door, read health department inspection reports before selecting a restaurant and NEVER, EVER eat anything they drop on the floor. One person I know would leave a restaurant table to wash his hands if someone he knew came by and shook his hand. Yet, they still get sick. Why?
I have a theory.
Everyone has good and bad bacteria in their body. The good guys fight the bad guys. When germs enter your body, the good bacteria attack it. If the bad bacteria over powers the good, then they get sick.
The super clean people that carry a disinfectant squirt bottle on their belt rarely get germs in their body. This causes the good bacteria to not get much action. As a result they get lazy and puny due to no activity. The good bacteria in a super clean person just lay around on their couch and get weak. They argue over who's turn it is to get up and fight the occasional invader. Eventually, excessive bad germs enter and the "white hats" can't win. The super clean person gets sick.
On the other hand, someone like myself, will eat a French fry that has been on the floor for 30 minutes, wash their hands only when they are dirty, pick their nose, scratch their butt and wear the same shirt two days in a row. If several days go by without spilling anything really good, I will drop a M&M on the floor on purpose.
The good bacteria in someone like myself gets plenty of exercise and are continually growing and getting stronger. It is like they are on steroids. They are aggressive and efficient in fighting the "heavies" and almost always win the battle. Thus, these people rarely get sick.
Therefore, I am recommending that not only should the three second rule be eliminated, but a requirement established that everyone must eat what they drop on the floor. Not only would we have a healthier society, but health care costs would be reduced.
I know a couple of people that are almost OCD about disinfecting. They flush the toilet with their foot, use a paper towel to open the bathroom door, read health department inspection reports before selecting a restaurant and NEVER, EVER eat anything they drop on the floor. One person I know would leave a restaurant table to wash his hands if someone he knew came by and shook his hand. Yet, they still get sick. Why?
I have a theory.
Everyone has good and bad bacteria in their body. The good guys fight the bad guys. When germs enter your body, the good bacteria attack it. If the bad bacteria over powers the good, then they get sick.
The super clean people that carry a disinfectant squirt bottle on their belt rarely get germs in their body. This causes the good bacteria to not get much action. As a result they get lazy and puny due to no activity. The good bacteria in a super clean person just lay around on their couch and get weak. They argue over who's turn it is to get up and fight the occasional invader. Eventually, excessive bad germs enter and the "white hats" can't win. The super clean person gets sick.
On the other hand, someone like myself, will eat a French fry that has been on the floor for 30 minutes, wash their hands only when they are dirty, pick their nose, scratch their butt and wear the same shirt two days in a row. If several days go by without spilling anything really good, I will drop a M&M on the floor on purpose.
The good bacteria in someone like myself gets plenty of exercise and are continually growing and getting stronger. It is like they are on steroids. They are aggressive and efficient in fighting the "heavies" and almost always win the battle. Thus, these people rarely get sick.
Therefore, I am recommending that not only should the three second rule be eliminated, but a requirement established that everyone must eat what they drop on the floor. Not only would we have a healthier society, but health care costs would be reduced.
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| Bring on those nasty germs |
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Just Living the American Dream
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| Webb Farm near Colmesneil, Texas After spending a Saturday at one of my friends annual BBQ, I was reminded of a line from an old Eddie Arnold song. "I've got a hump-backed mule, a plow and a tater patch and eggs that are gonna hatch some day... I'm the luckiest man in the world" It really doesn't take a lot to be successful if you are comfortable in your own skin. Each year Don's family assembles at the old farm house for a couple of weeks. They cut fire wood, fix up things, hunt deer and hogs and play copious amounts of dominos. One weekend they invite friends and other family members up for some washers, bean bag toss, BBQ and some good country eatin'. We usually make it up for the Big BBQ day. While I was looking at some of the pictures I took, I realized that any of us could have been Eddie Arnold. Analyzing the picture I noticed that there were doctors, lawyers, engineers, educators and many other succussful folks. These were just hard working people from humble roots that were living the American Dream. I noticed that we had several Vietnam Era Veterans. There was also a recent Army vet that had just been discharged after several years of tough combat in Afghanastan. But the most amazing attendee was a WWII Vet with two combat jumps under his belt as a member of the 11th Airborne in the Pacific. One of those jumps was into the POW camp of Los Banos near Manila to free civilians and prisoners before the Japanexe excecuted them. A collection of Americans enjoying the simple things of life. |
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
One and Done
I just saw on the news that Justin Beiber is being investigated for assault of a Los Angeles photographer. I must admit that I don't know much about Beiber or his music. But, I believe that he is about 5'6" tall and a 16 or 18 year old kid that probably weighs about 105 pounds soaking wet. Sounds like an ambulance chasing lawyer might be involved somewhere. The photographer will probably show up in court with bandages on his head claiming permanent brain damage, a ruined career and a sex life in shambles that even the best Cialis commercial can't help.
This "Breaking News" story reminded me of one of my employees in Tennessee during my early years in management. Howard (his real name) was a mechanic in a textile fiber plant. Like many of the senior employees in the mid-60's, he was a WWII veteran. Well, Howard had a daughter that was married to some young man and they lived in a trailer park. Apparently their marriage was a little rocky and Howard had been involved more than once in reconciling some of their differences.
During one particular mediation, Howard used the son-in-law's guitar to help the young man see the error of his ways. He wasn't playing Willie Nelson Ballads, but used the stringed instrument to beat the kid about his head and shoulders. When he finished persuading him, all he was left holding was the yoke of the guitar.
The young man was not satisfied with the conclusion and filed assault charges against Howard. Howard got himself a lawyer.
A little known fact at the time was that Howard was not just any WWII veteran. He had lost a leg during the War. He wore a prosthesis and walked without a limp. I did not know he only had one leg . Well, when it came time for Howard to appear in court, his attorney had him take off the wooden leg, pin up his pants leg and come into court on crutches.
Verdict: Not Guilty
This "Breaking News" story reminded me of one of my employees in Tennessee during my early years in management. Howard (his real name) was a mechanic in a textile fiber plant. Like many of the senior employees in the mid-60's, he was a WWII veteran. Well, Howard had a daughter that was married to some young man and they lived in a trailer park. Apparently their marriage was a little rocky and Howard had been involved more than once in reconciling some of their differences.
During one particular mediation, Howard used the son-in-law's guitar to help the young man see the error of his ways. He wasn't playing Willie Nelson Ballads, but used the stringed instrument to beat the kid about his head and shoulders. When he finished persuading him, all he was left holding was the yoke of the guitar.
The young man was not satisfied with the conclusion and filed assault charges against Howard. Howard got himself a lawyer.
A little known fact at the time was that Howard was not just any WWII veteran. He had lost a leg during the War. He wore a prosthesis and walked without a limp. I did not know he only had one leg . Well, when it came time for Howard to appear in court, his attorney had him take off the wooden leg, pin up his pants leg and come into court on crutches.
Verdict: Not Guilty
Monday, May 28, 2012
Was it a Boondoggle?
It was in the early 1990s and I was attending a business meeting in Hilton Head, South Carolina. Some people might refer to that as a "boondoggle". But, that was usually the people that didn't get to go. Anyway, I was attending this business meeting. The lodging was a block of condos with several rooms. Somebody assigned five or six attendees to each condo. I was assigned to a three bedroom condo. It had two bedrooms down stairs with two separate beds in each one. Upstairs was the third bedroom, containing one king size bed. Since I was the first to arrive, I staked claim on the room upstairs so I wouldn't have to share a room. It was later that day I discovered six people had been assigned to that particular condo. Do the math!!
Turned out not to be a problem as my "roommate" stayed out all night and didn't bother my sleep pattern.
After working diligently all day in the business meetings, the organizers treated us to an outside shrimp boil along the pine tree shaded Atlantic shore. Dress was "business casual". For me that meant blue jeans and a polo shirt. Since I only knew a few of the participants, I randomly selected a seat and introduced myself to those around me. As we peeled a few shrimp, the discussion turned to the dress code. The guy across from me was wearing a white shirt with what looked like embroidery all over the front. Someone asked him what kind of shirt he was wearing. He replied, "It is a Mexican wedding shirt." I promptly responded, "Who wears it, the bride or the groom?"
After a few seconds of quite, the guy responded, "Sometimes it is hard to distinguish between sarcasm and ignorance"
Turns out he was some pretty high ranking guy in the company.
That was the last boondoggle I was invited to.
Turned out not to be a problem as my "roommate" stayed out all night and didn't bother my sleep pattern.
After working diligently all day in the business meetings, the organizers treated us to an outside shrimp boil along the pine tree shaded Atlantic shore. Dress was "business casual". For me that meant blue jeans and a polo shirt. Since I only knew a few of the participants, I randomly selected a seat and introduced myself to those around me. As we peeled a few shrimp, the discussion turned to the dress code. The guy across from me was wearing a white shirt with what looked like embroidery all over the front. Someone asked him what kind of shirt he was wearing. He replied, "It is a Mexican wedding shirt." I promptly responded, "Who wears it, the bride or the groom?"
After a few seconds of quite, the guy responded, "Sometimes it is hard to distinguish between sarcasm and ignorance"
Turns out he was some pretty high ranking guy in the company.
That was the last boondoggle I was invited to.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Why Me...?
Many years ago when we lived in Chattanooga we lived across the street from the Hudsons. One day we were visiting with them while we stood in their drive way in front of their garage. The kids were playing in their front yard and we were engaging in some "neighborly talk". The Hudson's Siamese cat had some baby kittens and she had moved them to the first landing on the stairs leading to the back door inside the garage, about three feet above the floor.
As we visited two small dogs wandered up. They were part beagles or some other small dog breed. Both dogs were friendly and and enjoyed attention. One of the dogs drifted into the garage totally unaware of the Mama cat and her kittens on the landing. As the dog got close to the landing the Mama cat came off the landing and attacked the unsuspecting mutt. Whereupon, the dog took off running and yelping. When it got to the second dog, it attacked his perfectly innocent buddy.
I have thought about this incident many times since those days. Every time I see someone take out their frustrations or wrath on some unsuspecting person, I am reminding of that second dog in the Hudson's yard. You just never know when you might be one of those dogs.
As we visited two small dogs wandered up. They were part beagles or some other small dog breed. Both dogs were friendly and and enjoyed attention. One of the dogs drifted into the garage totally unaware of the Mama cat and her kittens on the landing. As the dog got close to the landing the Mama cat came off the landing and attacked the unsuspecting mutt. Whereupon, the dog took off running and yelping. When it got to the second dog, it attacked his perfectly innocent buddy.
I have thought about this incident many times since those days. Every time I see someone take out their frustrations or wrath on some unsuspecting person, I am reminding of that second dog in the Hudson's yard. You just never know when you might be one of those dogs.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
You Always Have a Choice.
Sometimes the things people say just stick in your mind. Some of those conversations I recall as if they were yesterday. Some because they were embarrassing, some were prophetic, some provided key learning's and some were just funny.
One of the first examples occurred in my high school math class. Miss Lera MacFarland was an outstanding math teacher and probably one of the biggest influences in my life. I remember when we were discussing the use of the slide rule and its importance in college. Most engineering students wore their slide rule on their belt like a holster. Miss Mac said that someday college students would wear computers on their belts instead of the slide rule. I remembering snickering and thinking that old fool was loosing her mind as the computers of the day were vacuum tube monstrosities that occupied large rooms in climate controlled environments. By the time I graduated. Texas Instruments had developed and was selling the SR10 Calculator. A mini computer that could more accurately do everything a slide rule could do. You guessed it! It could be worn on your belt.
Another incident occurred many years later. I was responsible for the operations and maintenance of all plant utilities, services and logistics. I preferred time in the field where the action took place over time in the office. One day I visited a job several of my mechanics were working. Larry Plant was one of the best mechanics I ever worked with. Larry, obviously not used to superintendent's visiting the field asked me, "What are you doing out here"? Upon which I replied, "I am trying to catch y'all goofing off". Without hesitation, Larry said, "Well as little as you know about maintenance and as much as we know about goofing off, you will never catch us"
Another incident occurred within that same group of mechanics. In order to improve our efficiency, I had developed a process of increasing flexibility of the skilled mechanics and operators. During peak periods of work, we would move people around to avoid sending work to off-site contractors, thus reducing costs and saving jobs. Planning for a large shutdown I told, Ray Strickland, one of the auto shop mechanics, I needed him to work in the valve shop during the shutdown. Ray expressed his displeasure, whereupon I told him, "you are just going to have to take one for the team". Being the quality of person he was he said no more.
After a couple of days into the shutdown, I decided to give the valve shop a visit to see how things were working out. During that period of time Barry Switzer was still the Cowboys coach but was catching a lot of heat. When I showed up, Ray came up to me and said he had been thinking about what I had told him about the team thing and declared, "We are a lot like the Cowboys, We need a new Coach"!! I loved that guy!!
Another thing I remember came from one of my peers, Lloyd Brumfield. He was discussing some of the work done by David Bleakley. Dave is one of the BEST people I have ever known. A top notch electrician with a super attitude. Lloyd, speaking of Dave, said, "It is hard to lead someone that is moving faster than you are"
One time while riding to the Houston airport with Jack Hodge, he said something that I have remembered from that day forward. We left my house about an hour later than I would normally do when traveling alone. About half way there Jack was driving about 85 mph. I blurted out, "You are making me nervous". Jack, a rather deep thinker, responded, "Nervous, Can I make you rich?" After pondering what he said, I realized that meant I was the one choosing to be nervous. He had just created the environment. From that day I have realized that we all choose the way we act. We can blame it on the surroundings, but individually, we make our own decisions. So, the next time someone "makes you mad", just remember YOU are the one that chose to be mad.
You always have a choice. And, you are responsible for that choice
One of the first examples occurred in my high school math class. Miss Lera MacFarland was an outstanding math teacher and probably one of the biggest influences in my life. I remember when we were discussing the use of the slide rule and its importance in college. Most engineering students wore their slide rule on their belt like a holster. Miss Mac said that someday college students would wear computers on their belts instead of the slide rule. I remembering snickering and thinking that old fool was loosing her mind as the computers of the day were vacuum tube monstrosities that occupied large rooms in climate controlled environments. By the time I graduated. Texas Instruments had developed and was selling the SR10 Calculator. A mini computer that could more accurately do everything a slide rule could do. You guessed it! It could be worn on your belt.
Another incident occurred many years later. I was responsible for the operations and maintenance of all plant utilities, services and logistics. I preferred time in the field where the action took place over time in the office. One day I visited a job several of my mechanics were working. Larry Plant was one of the best mechanics I ever worked with. Larry, obviously not used to superintendent's visiting the field asked me, "What are you doing out here"? Upon which I replied, "I am trying to catch y'all goofing off". Without hesitation, Larry said, "Well as little as you know about maintenance and as much as we know about goofing off, you will never catch us"
Another incident occurred within that same group of mechanics. In order to improve our efficiency, I had developed a process of increasing flexibility of the skilled mechanics and operators. During peak periods of work, we would move people around to avoid sending work to off-site contractors, thus reducing costs and saving jobs. Planning for a large shutdown I told, Ray Strickland, one of the auto shop mechanics, I needed him to work in the valve shop during the shutdown. Ray expressed his displeasure, whereupon I told him, "you are just going to have to take one for the team". Being the quality of person he was he said no more.
After a couple of days into the shutdown, I decided to give the valve shop a visit to see how things were working out. During that period of time Barry Switzer was still the Cowboys coach but was catching a lot of heat. When I showed up, Ray came up to me and said he had been thinking about what I had told him about the team thing and declared, "We are a lot like the Cowboys, We need a new Coach"!! I loved that guy!!
Another thing I remember came from one of my peers, Lloyd Brumfield. He was discussing some of the work done by David Bleakley. Dave is one of the BEST people I have ever known. A top notch electrician with a super attitude. Lloyd, speaking of Dave, said, "It is hard to lead someone that is moving faster than you are"
One time while riding to the Houston airport with Jack Hodge, he said something that I have remembered from that day forward. We left my house about an hour later than I would normally do when traveling alone. About half way there Jack was driving about 85 mph. I blurted out, "You are making me nervous". Jack, a rather deep thinker, responded, "Nervous, Can I make you rich?" After pondering what he said, I realized that meant I was the one choosing to be nervous. He had just created the environment. From that day I have realized that we all choose the way we act. We can blame it on the surroundings, but individually, we make our own decisions. So, the next time someone "makes you mad", just remember YOU are the one that chose to be mad.
You always have a choice. And, you are responsible for that choice
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Excuse Me
In December 1979 I accepted a job transfer from Chattanooga, Tennessee to the Beaumont, Texas plant.
It took about a month to get my family moved and in the meantime, I stayed with my parents while the kids were finishing the mid term in school. At that time I was still riding dirt bikes and training for 10K road races. I was probably in the best shape of my life.
While staying with my parents I renewed my relationship with Blue Bell Ice Cream. Mainly Homemade Vanilla with chocolate syrup. I put on a few pounds the first three or four months back in Beaumont.
I still had not adjusted to the more casual dress code of Southeast Texas. I wore slacks, shirt and tie each day to work. It was one day when Blue Bell and Sartorial Splendor led to the following event.
In addition to the slacks, shirt and tie, I usually wore wing tip shoes over a pair of black or brown
over-the-calf socks. While bending over to pick up something off the floor, I ripped the seam out of my pants. A number of female clerks worked in the building. I asked one of them, Mary Crippen, if she had a needle and thread as I planned to sew up my pants. Mary asked why I needed them and upon finding out volunteered to do the patch work for me. Knowing that my seamstress skills were limited, I accepted her offer. She told me to go into the men's room, take off my pants and hand them to her on the other side of the door.
Before entering the bathroom, I got a cup of coffee to take with me while I waited on her to make the repairs. There I was standing in the men's room with shirt and tie, wing tip shoes and knee length nylon socks and my jockey shorts drinking coffee when one of my employees walked in. He took one look at me and said, "Excuse me", turned around and walked out.
It took about a month to get my family moved and in the meantime, I stayed with my parents while the kids were finishing the mid term in school. At that time I was still riding dirt bikes and training for 10K road races. I was probably in the best shape of my life.
While staying with my parents I renewed my relationship with Blue Bell Ice Cream. Mainly Homemade Vanilla with chocolate syrup. I put on a few pounds the first three or four months back in Beaumont.
I still had not adjusted to the more casual dress code of Southeast Texas. I wore slacks, shirt and tie each day to work. It was one day when Blue Bell and Sartorial Splendor led to the following event.
In addition to the slacks, shirt and tie, I usually wore wing tip shoes over a pair of black or brown
over-the-calf socks. While bending over to pick up something off the floor, I ripped the seam out of my pants. A number of female clerks worked in the building. I asked one of them, Mary Crippen, if she had a needle and thread as I planned to sew up my pants. Mary asked why I needed them and upon finding out volunteered to do the patch work for me. Knowing that my seamstress skills were limited, I accepted her offer. She told me to go into the men's room, take off my pants and hand them to her on the other side of the door.
Before entering the bathroom, I got a cup of coffee to take with me while I waited on her to make the repairs. There I was standing in the men's room with shirt and tie, wing tip shoes and knee length nylon socks and my jockey shorts drinking coffee when one of my employees walked in. He took one look at me and said, "Excuse me", turned around and walked out.
Monday, February 27, 2012
The Burn Master
I recently read a Facebook post from a friend describing how a fire they started to clear some brush along a fence line almost got away from them. Living in the country gives me the opportunity to burn brush routinely. Fortunately, I have had many years of training and several near incidents before I decided to become a "Burn Master"
My first experience with fire was in North Texas. For some reason my Grandparents would set fire to the pasture and burn it off. The kids were issued wet burlap sacks and when the fire line got close to the fence posts, we would beat it out. Usually you would have to go back several times as the fire kept springing back up.
Years later while trying to make some money to pay for college expenses, I was working for my Dad. He had a secondary business cleaning up FHA repossessed houses. Bobby Katz and I were each straw bosses of separate crews. When we would get a house we would haul off all of the debris, mow, edge and clean the yards. After that we would keep them mowed until they were sold. Some houses would be relatively clean and some would have so much junk, numerous trips to the dump were required to leave the house and garage "Broom Clean".
On one particular occasion, Bobby and I were working together when we went to a new house on the list late in the work day. Upon arrival it was apparent that this was to be a big job. The house and garage were full of junk, In addition, an old chicken coop was in the back and was also full. We made the decision to come back the next morning and burn the chicken coop and everything else that was combustible. Since open burning was still allowed at that time, it would save us several trips to the dump.
The next morning we arrived, pulled the metal out of the coop, threw in some boards and boxes and set the thing on fire. Within minutes the fire was out of control. It had jumped to a nearby tree and the water hose we had wouldn't reach. Before we knew it, the local fire truck arrived and quickly brought the situation under control. When the fire captain came up to me to tell me everything was OK, I asked if they would mind sticking around as we were going to "light-off" the garage next. It was at that point I knew he was serious and we could face consequences.
In the early 80's we had moved to the country and burning brush was a way of life. One Spring, I had a small burn pile. I started it burning, raked a good fire break and went to the front where I was sitting in a lawn chair reading a book. The cordless phone I had brought with me started to ring. It was my neighbor suggesting that I might want to check my fire. When I went around the back the fire had jumped my fire break and was burning the leaves in the yard. It had reached the flower bed and rack of firewood. Although not threatening, the flames burning the azaleas was leaping high in the air. I grabbed the leaf rake and as I was beating out the fire line, I looked up and the volunteer fire department had showed up. They unrolled their hose and put out the wood pile. The fireperson on the nozzle was the 16 year old daughter of one of my DuPont co-workers. Needless to say I heard about that for awhile.
Since that episode I have studied hard and become a Certified Burn Master. It came in handy years later after Hurricanes Rita, Humberto and Ike caused extensive damage and a lot of burning to clean up the mess.
My first experience with fire was in North Texas. For some reason my Grandparents would set fire to the pasture and burn it off. The kids were issued wet burlap sacks and when the fire line got close to the fence posts, we would beat it out. Usually you would have to go back several times as the fire kept springing back up.
Years later while trying to make some money to pay for college expenses, I was working for my Dad. He had a secondary business cleaning up FHA repossessed houses. Bobby Katz and I were each straw bosses of separate crews. When we would get a house we would haul off all of the debris, mow, edge and clean the yards. After that we would keep them mowed until they were sold. Some houses would be relatively clean and some would have so much junk, numerous trips to the dump were required to leave the house and garage "Broom Clean".
On one particular occasion, Bobby and I were working together when we went to a new house on the list late in the work day. Upon arrival it was apparent that this was to be a big job. The house and garage were full of junk, In addition, an old chicken coop was in the back and was also full. We made the decision to come back the next morning and burn the chicken coop and everything else that was combustible. Since open burning was still allowed at that time, it would save us several trips to the dump.
The next morning we arrived, pulled the metal out of the coop, threw in some boards and boxes and set the thing on fire. Within minutes the fire was out of control. It had jumped to a nearby tree and the water hose we had wouldn't reach. Before we knew it, the local fire truck arrived and quickly brought the situation under control. When the fire captain came up to me to tell me everything was OK, I asked if they would mind sticking around as we were going to "light-off" the garage next. It was at that point I knew he was serious and we could face consequences.
In the early 80's we had moved to the country and burning brush was a way of life. One Spring, I had a small burn pile. I started it burning, raked a good fire break and went to the front where I was sitting in a lawn chair reading a book. The cordless phone I had brought with me started to ring. It was my neighbor suggesting that I might want to check my fire. When I went around the back the fire had jumped my fire break and was burning the leaves in the yard. It had reached the flower bed and rack of firewood. Although not threatening, the flames burning the azaleas was leaping high in the air. I grabbed the leaf rake and as I was beating out the fire line, I looked up and the volunteer fire department had showed up. They unrolled their hose and put out the wood pile. The fireperson on the nozzle was the 16 year old daughter of one of my DuPont co-workers. Needless to say I heard about that for awhile.
Since that episode I have studied hard and become a Certified Burn Master. It came in handy years later after Hurricanes Rita, Humberto and Ike caused extensive damage and a lot of burning to clean up the mess.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Leaving the Mosquitoes Behind
I was about five when my Mother told me we were moving to Beaumont. It was about 1949 and we were living with my Grandfather, Daddy Wall, on the corner of E.Worth and Dooley in Grapevine.( I don't think the streets had names then, but I listed them just in case you wanted to go see the old bois d'arc tree.) My paternal Grandparents as well as my cousins, aunts and uncles and anyone else I was kin to also lived in Grapevine. My Dad had taken a job with Lamar Tech School of Vocation (Now Lamar Institute of Technology). As I recall, I was not fond of the move and I remember my Mother telling me about the advantages of moving to a new place. I remember she said, "The good thing about Beaumont is the mosquitoes are too big to come through the screens at night"Was she ever right!! You see, this was before air conditioning was common and most houses had an attic fan that pulled a breeze through the open windows at night. The window was protected by a window screen that kept the critters at bay as the cool breeze lulled you to sleep. Ahh! no problem with mosquitoes biting you while you slept.
We owned a house on the last developed street south of town. At night you could hear the sounds and sometimes voices, coming from the Spindletop Oil field just a few blocks away.
However, it did not take long to find out why the mosquitoes didn't come through the screens. They were too big to come through the screens, but, they could open the door if they wanted to. They were huge. And there was plenty of them. Black marsh mosquitoes even hurt when they bite. At night they would come out and bite any exposed skin available. I remember playing baseball at night at the Babe Ruth Park (Now Vincent-Beck Stadium) and looking down at my white sanitary socks exposed from the baseball leggings and seeing nothing but black. You could kill hundreds of them with one swat. Later as more folks got window A/C units the would plug the filters. Livestock were often killed by the overwhelming infestations.
One such mosquito control was the Mosquito Truck. It would ride up and down the streets spraying a dense fog of some unknown chemical pesticide. If we were outside when it came, we would run behind the truck getting lost in the fog. (They may be what is wrong with some of my friends today).
Another mosquito control device was the pic. It was a coil that you would light and would burn slowly, emitting some type of smoke that kept them away. It worked well in small enclosed areas.
Particularly the drive-in movie. You would pick up your date and say let's go to the drive in. The response would always be, "You got a pic?"
After finishing college I moved to Chattanooga and found the mosquito population to be very small.
I can recall some of my Tennessee co-workers from time to time complaining about the mosquitoes.
I would merely say, "You don't know mosquitoes."
When I moved back to SE Texas in 1980, the mosquito problem was pretty much under control. There is even a County Agency called "Mosquito Control". They spray overhead with airplanes, much like an agriculture crop duster. They will be bad for a few days after a rain, but the planes will be out and then, no problem.
After Hurricane Rita they got real bad again. It took awhile to get them under control. Some of the regular planes must have been damaged in the storm. The aerial spraying was done by a C-130 plane.
It was a strange site to see a large low flying aircraft flying overhead until you realized what they were doing.
Today, Malathion is the pesticide of choice. I am sure in time it will be shown to cause cancer in some laboratory rat and be banned. But, it does the job.
If you ever want to know what it was like in the 50's and 60's, just go to the beach right after a good rain. You will find black marsh mosquitoes that are too big to come through the screens.
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