Cats & Dogs

Most families with a pet make the big choice: cats or dogs. (True enough, there are some families which seem to be magnets for strays of all types, and hence end up with “all of the above”.) My guess is one who is raised with either cats or dogs, makes the same choice when they are adults. Its like toothpaste, odds are you will use what you had as a kid. When I was growing up our family always had a dog. After all, we were “dog” people. Our preference was for frisky, affectionate, lap sized dogs. They would have the “run of the house”, which included under the table scraps from dinner, shared secretly. The only requirements were they did their business outside, and had to put up with the commotion, which was usually going on around them. I remember Poopsie, my childhood dog, who seemed to abide by the house rules, most of the time.  He still holds the record for licking clean a platter, which served the Thanksgiving turkey.

My two aunts lived together all their lives, and were great dog fans.  Dear sisters that they were, and sharing all they did for so long, never confuse them on two points. Mary liked Army and Neely liked the Navy. There was the annual bet on the football game, which Neely generally won in recent years. Also, they had specific and clear preferences in terms of dogs: Mary loved her dachshunds, and Neely was partial to terriers. In over their 70 plus years of living together, they had a long list of dogs. When one died, their dog tag was placed in an honored place in the kitchen, above one of the many dog-napping areas. I never counted them, but there were dozens.

When Carol & I moved back to the west coast, we soon found Sam at a Solano Avenue pet store. He was our preparation for parenting, which quickly followed. He a “mixed bred”, had lots of energy, and was a constant companion. We let him explore the neighborhood, and he always seemed to come back by bedtime or for a meal. One night he wasn’t home, so Carol & I went out looking. We walked to the nearby Cal campus, a frequent walking place for us. Repeated calls of his name yielded no results.  That sinking feeling of a lost dog grew. However, we subsequently saw him running around a plot of grass, with friends. We called him and he immediately returned with an inquisitive look on his face: “what are you two doing here?” When Greg came, we took many family walks in the hills. One day we met a neighbor with a high-strung miniature dog. I could tell that dog always got on Sam’s nerves. After the usual sniffing, Sam lifted his leg and left his signature on the confused miniature. I will never know if the owner saw it, I could barely keep from laughing out loud.

We both ran a lot and Sam stayed lean by running along. I took him on a 20 mile run one time, and he made it, despite being bone tired and having sore paws when we got home. Join the club. Sam was with us until both kids were almost out of high school. His body kind of gave out, and he lost that wonderful energy and interest in companionship. More naps, less eating, more quiet time, and an increasing number of accidents. At an advanced age for Sam, our vet gave us the news we all knew: Sam was on a steep decline and was probably suffering.  We decided to “put him down”, and stayed touching him as he left us. That was a very sad day for our family, lots of tears and a sorrowful goodbye. Greg & Steve may have felt some reprise, since they were no longer on the hook for walking Sam. That was probably not in the top 100 things they liked doing.

I was ready to get another dog; after all I was a dog person. I figured cats were neurotic, and “different”. However, practical mama said without a clear solution to walking the dog twice a day that option wasn’t available. She was right. Somehow we got to the position that a) we wanted another animal in the house, and b) it wasn’t going to be a dog. Thus one Saturday fifteen years ago we ventured to the SPCA and looked at cats. It was easy to dismiss most as being too big, listless, or indifferent. (What little they knew.)  However, we saw a very small cat with a twinkle in his eye. He was mangy, and had some scars and scrapes from being “dropped off”. He could not have been more than on foot long, and weighed less than a dinner burrito. Soon we paid to have him fixed, given shots, and we had a new pet. His was named Kit Kat, or more formally, Kit Kat the Magnificent. He came home with us, and spent the first week hiding in the smallest places he could find. Enticing him to come out and eat and get to know us was tricky. However, in time he learned to trust us, and learned our few house rules: no scratching the furniture, do your business outside, and don’t wake us up.

 
They say dogs have owners, cats have helpers. We were prepared for feline indifference, but were we surprised. Kit Kat loved to play, particularly with the frustrating laser pointer (skillfully directed at various moving places), and an assortment of strings and things, which developed his pouncing instincts. He spent lots of time exploring his outdoors, which went well beyond our yard. Soon he assumed the responsibility of managing our property. Periodically a dead rat, mouse, or what ever was laid as homage on the back door mat.

When we would travel Kit Kat would have a cat sitter. He would always complain when we came home, letting us know his various issues. However, after sufficient lap time, special meals, and other spoiling, a detente would be re-established. Kit Kat pretty much had his way. When he would agree to be brushed, or pet, he would climb up on one of our laps. However, when he tired of the attention, he left. By my rough count he had about six favorite places to nap, and logged as much nap time as a typical Cal Trans crew. He spent hours on Carol lap as her nurturing instincts were picked up quickly.

Sadly, the fall and early winter this year were not a good time for Mr. Kit Kat. It seemed clear his sight was failing, as he had more trouble eating, his appetite waned, he seemed listless, and sleep even more. Breathing became labored, and on and on. The vet confirmed the obvious, the future looked dim.

Trips to the vet became more frequent. His usual fierce resistance to such visits gave way to silent acceptance. All he seemed to want to do was be alone in some small, hidden space. We tried everything we could to give him comfort and show him how much we loved him.

A week before Christmas, we went to hear the Messiah, which is a family tradition. Nothing gets me more in the holiday felling than that evening, usually attending the American Bach Society’s performance at Grace Cathedral. Again, this year’s performance was inspiring, however both of us felt something was wrong. We left at intermission, which is something we had never done before. Sadly, our instincts were right. Mr. Kit Kat had left us for the new world of no dogs or fleas, plenty of fresh food, and comfy places to nap.

What joy and closeness we felt to Mr. Kit Kat, despite the fact one and perhaps both our sons are allergic to cats, dander, or whatever.

I bet there are no laser pointers in cat heaven.

The Masters

Last weekend I had the unbelievable opportunity to attend the Masters Golf tournament. I would like to share some impressions and things I heard.

For the non-golfer, I want to give some background.  It has been contested in early April since 1934. It lasts from Thursday to Sunday, ignoring the par three and putting contests on Wednesday. Certain players earn the right to enter (those who have won in the past, for example), others are invited. Each year a few amateurs are invited. Each day from early in the morning to the afternoon, the field plays 18 holes on this 7,435  yard course (now, that is a long course!). At the end of play of Friday, the field is reduced to those with the best 60 scores (or so). To make the cut, one usually needs to shoot close to par. On Saturday and Sunday pairs start at 9 or so, with the best players teeing off last. If one stays in one place, he or she sees players every ten minutes or so, the spacing between groups. Since it takes about 4 hours to play a round, the tournament lasts seven or eight hours a day.  Following a player in the gallery is tricky since they can move quicker than you can, and many choose to stay in one place, obviously taking the best vantage places early. The winner is the competitor who finishes the 72 holes with the lowest score. In case of a tie, as was the case this year, those tied go back and play until one player has a lower score than the other on one hole (“sudden death”). To make things interesting, the weather sometimes plays a factor, given wide ranges of temperature and sometimes rain.

Its History

Bobby Jones was a golf pioneer in the 1920s. He remained an amateur throughout his career, and in 1930 he won the US and British Amateur, US Open, and the Open Championships in 1930. (At that time, that was considered the Grand Slam, which now includes the Masters. His legacy also includes his prominent role in creating the Masters. After retiring from competitive golf, Jones and Cliff Roberts acquired the 365 acres of the former Fruitland Nurseries, and commissioned Dr. Alister Mac Kenzie (designer of Claremont Country Club) to design the course. The course opened in 1933. The first tournament was contested in 1934, and won by Horton Smith who beat Craig Wood, runner up in the first three events. (Wood subsequently won in 1941).

Jones directs Roberts in 1956

Golf can be a tough game. Anyone who can shoot close to par is an exceptional player. At Augusta every three par has had at least one hole in one recorded, as all five pars have had double eagles (a score of three under par), and all four pars have had eagles (a score of two under par). However, things don’t always go as planned. Someone shot a 13 on 12, a 155 yard three par. Consider this range. The best score for each hole adds to 32, 40 under par. The worst, an incredible 166. Typically most tournament scores come in the range of 65 to 80 per round.

One of the invitees each year is the club champion from Augusta. He plays in the first group, but his scores are not shown on the daily pairing sheets. The player is shown on the sheet as “Marker”, again reflecting the privacy of the club.

The Rules

Augusta National Golf Club is private, very private. Other than members, few know who are “in”. In 2004, USA Today published a list of about 300, said to be the membership list. Last April the club made news as it admitted the first female members, Condoleezza Rice and Darla Moore. Its leadership has a firm hand on what is done, and how. During its nearly 80 year history it has had only 6 Chairmen. The first, Cliff Roberts served for 42 years. I was told that after his election into the club, Dwight Eisenhower  attended his first annual meeting. At the conclusion, Roberts  asked if there were any questions. Ike raised his hand. Roberts then announced the meeting was closed without addressing the puzzled former president.

Small portable viewing chairs are widely used, but can’t be left on the course. However, when the gates open at 8AM we saw many desirable areas already filled. The rumor is certain caddies “take care of friends”, and place the chairs before 8 AM. No one seems to move others chairs, or squeeze in.  If a chair is unused, it is OK to sit, but when the owner returns, you are expected to leave immediately.

Master's Chairs

The gallery of 50,000 people or so, must follow strict rules of demeanor, or they may be asked to leave. There is no running within the club. No requests for autographs.

Beer sales stop each day at 4PM. Sunday we headed to one of the huge food buildings a bit after noon. Time for a beer and sandwich, then back to watching. Unfortunately, no beer was offered. We came to understand that each Sunday the Preacher of a local Baptist church calls when the service is over. Only then can beer be sold. He ran long our year, and thus we enjoyed the lemonade.

        No Beer Before It's Time

My biggest frustration of the weekend was the club’s strict policy (no need to say so, since all policies seemed strict) forbidding cell phones or cameras. I get it, taking pictures of golfers swinging can be distracting, but I wish I had been able to take pictures of the grounds. (Go to www.masters.com, and you will see what I mean.)  Here is a picture of the beautiful, but treacherous 12^th hole.

The 12th Hole Beckons

Our Way

When a golfer’s club cuts into the ground while striking the ball it is called a divot. Go to most courses and you see lots of divots on the fairways. You also see the “gouge” where the divot was removed. Good courses fill those gouges with sand and lawn seed to replace the grass. I was amazed to not see divots on the fairways. Grounds-men pick them up, and gouges are filled quickly with green tinted seed and sand. Golfers pick up their tees after teeing off, thus the tee boxes are pristine each time.

The 12^th is often a critical hole in a round. Even though it is the shortest hole on the course, winds, and other conditions can dictate between a 6 to 9 iron. Rae’s Creek has spoiled many a  round. To assure more consistency, the club has installed systems under the green which regulate the amount of moisture in the ground, and thus the “softness” of the green.

Each year the prior year champion hosts a dinner of all previous winners as the tournament begins. Last year’s winner, Bubba Watson,  won a  playoff by making an incredible shot out of the trees on 10. (See the shot by going to www.pgatour.com and typing Bubba’s 2012 shot). Being a good Southerner he offered chicken breasts and macaroni & cheese for the dinner last week. Nick Faldo quipped :”I was a little stunned we didn’t get a coloring book with the menu”.

This Year

I won’t spend time talking about what happened, other than saying Australian Adam Scott sunk a birdie putt on the second play-off hole to edge Angel Cabrera for the win. However, I will share a couple things which we saw. Not quite half the field hailed from the US with the balance of finalists coming from 14 countries. South Africa topped the list with 6.

The youngest competitor ever was a 14 year old amateur named Guan Tianlang of China. He is a lanky kid who has a spine which seems to move with the ease of Jell-O. He was able to make the cut, despite falling short in distance off the tee. That made him  one of two amateurs to play on the weekend. He has a wonderful game, but Sunday wasn’t his best day. On the 440 yard 17^th, his drive sliced (went right) into the trees. Here is where it gets weird. A spectator was standing in the area carrying a plastic bag of merchandise. Guan’s ball landed in the bag. A commotion ensued, as an official had the gentleman stand exactly where he was. We happened to be only yards away, so we get there quickly. Soon, the embarrassed player came to hit. It was ruled the bag was a man-made object, and thus the ball could be removed without penalty. It was dropped, as proscribed. Then Guan, showing his knowledge of the game, asked if the area was ground under repair. (Golf gives players few advantages. However, the rules allow for relief of a ball lands in ground under repair. Since the man was standing in one of the paths across a fairway, the official ruled that was the case). Thus, Guan got further relief, no closer to the hole. Here is where it gets interesting. Unfortunately, the ball was 30 or so yards from several trees which looked to be 50-60 feet tall. Guan steadied his stance, swung smoothly (but with power), and the ball cleared the trees by 10 feet or more, and landed in the 17^th fairway. Try that shot sometime, much less with millions of people watching around the world.

One remarkable accomplishment of Guan. To shot par, it is assumed you two putt each hole. Of course, it never works out that way. The bane of all golfers is to three putt (or more), on any hole. He never three putted the whole tournament.

Guan was also involved in one of the two “issues” of the tournament. Pros are expected to play quickly, despite all the money on the table. If an unacceptable gap opens in front of a player, he is warned to speed up play. Failure to do so results in a stroke penalty. Guan was assessed such a stroke on Friday, which almost made him miss the cut.

Guan Ripping

Tip to Guan, try earth tones or more neutral colors next year. Those orange pants were a bit strong.

The far more severe penalty was assessed on Tiger Woods. Friday, as part of a charge he was making, he hit a near perfect shot approaching 12, which regrettably hit the flag pole which shows the pin location. The ball rolled back and ended in the water. Tiger took a drop assuming the measure point was where his entered the hazard (i.e. crossed into the hazard). As Jay Cassell taught me the week prior the rule states relief is granted from where it last enters the hazard. In this case that was the other side of the water, thus Woods took a more favorable, and incorrect drop. He was assessed a two stroke penalty after his round was finished, when the error was seen by the officials. That change from a great score to an 8, cost Woods the tournament.

Pay Day

Adam Scott had a good week at Augusta. He won first place, earning $1,440,000. That is about $5,000 for every shot he made, or about $70,000 per hour of play (counting warm up time). His caddy is also happy. By tradition professional caddies earn a couple thousand per tournament, plus a negotiated share of his player’s winnings. Most say that is between 3-10% of winnings. In addition to the check each winner has his name inscribed on the permanent trophy which stays at the club, and also receives: a sterling replica of the trophy, a gold medal, and a Green jacket. The jackets are custom made for each player by the Brooks Uniform Company in New York. The winner can wear the jacket for the first year, but them it comes back to the club where it can be worn when available. Regrettably, those who have won more than once, get only one green jacket.

Cabrera finish was a mixed blessing. While he pocketed $864,000 for his considerable talent, the putt he missed in the second hole of the play off cost him just under $600,000. You do the math. I must say he was very gracious in his concession. He also captured the essence of golf when he said “Golf gives and takes, sometimes you make the putts, sometimes you just miss them, but that’s golf”.

The club also recognizes those who excel, such as the low amateur, any who record a double eagle ( only four have been recorded, and each on a separate hole), eagles, and holes in one (23 recorded prior to this year, 15 of which occurred in 16). Those win crystal vases, medals, or trophies.

I was told the 300 or so members of Augusta receive a bill once a year. That bill reflects usage and their share of expenses. Most think this great club is very inexpensive because of the significant Master’s related revenue.

The sale of merchandise would make a retailer’s mouth water. Nearly every visitor gets something, and many “load up” with goodies to take home. Unlike most sports venues prices are very reasonable. Golf hats, shirts, and the like were normal prices.

The food concessions are almost always crowded (but move quickly), this is no big money maker. Sandwiches are $1.50 for a Classic Chicken to $3 for the BBQ. Beers are $3 (domestic), and $4 (imported). Compare those prices to any other pro event you frequent.

It Takes a Village

CBS has had the right to televise the Masters for some time. They do an excellent job of coverage. In talking with one of their technical people, I was told they have 800 employees assigned to the event. Some come three weeks before the start to “get things ready”. By Wednesday of the following week, all of the TV towers (as well as bleachers, and other signs of the tournament) are gone.

Our club has a dozen or so groundskeepers who work hard to keep it looking good. I was told Augusta has 80. I was told they sometimes ice or heat the azaleas to assure maximum color for the tournament. The grounds are surrounded by pine trees, but you never see a pine cone on the ground. I have no idea how many “clean up” people work, but it has to be hundreds. I never saw a trash box more than half full. I never saw a garbage on the ground.

Face it, when you have that many people in one place, all be it spread out, you need a lot of rest rooms. However, here again the Masters has this down. For men there is a long line but it moves very quickly, since inside are “spotters” who direct patrons to open areas.

These guys are good

The record for the front nine is 30, while the record for the back nine is 29. Five of those six scores were recorded on the final round of the tournament, when pressure is the highest.

On Sunday morning I watched Phil Mickelson warm up for about twenty minutes. I watched him hit a wedge a dozen or so times. Each time he took a divot of maybe an inch of ground. The next shot did the same, just one inch back. And on and on. However, Phil played poorly, despite winning in 2004, 06 and 10. He was widely quoted as saying “he had an off year”, and his well known swing coach Butch Harmon are continuing to work on “technical and fundamental” issues.

I also watched Bubba Watson, the defending champion, practice a fairway wood. He hit a low cut shot, then a high fade shot, then a low fade, then a high draw, then a low draw. He shaped the ball with incredible consistency. Each shot was about 200 yards. However, golf had a mean turn of events for he and his playing partner Kevin Na. Both recorded 10’s at the par three 12^th hole. Both filled Rae’s Creek with three golf balls.

When you sit behind the seventh green, your first impression is its uneven topography. (Perhaps a very verdant lunar surface?) Depending on the pin placement, golfers will either hit below the pin and try to roll up, or hit above the pin, and roll the ball back. The later often looks like a teenager jumping in a car and putting it in reverse. Seven is also a great place to watch putting skills. Given the pin placement on Sunday we saw those who were on the far side of the green start their putts heading away from the hole, knowing the ball will roll about 270 degrees counter clockwise. Most of those putts ended up within a few feet of the hole.

Tips

If you are ever invited to attend, drop everything and make your plans. This is a chance in a life time, and is incredible in light of the beauty of the course, its rich history, and the ability of the players.

As discussed above, golf stuff is available at the masters. Shirts, jackets, ball markers, etc. Go to the merchandise store early your first day. Then pay to have your things shipped (or store them in your car, if close). Don’t schlep the bag around, and don’t wait as many popular items sell out quickly.

Your first morning should be spent walking the course. See the tee boxes and greens, by moving around. Stands are a great play to watch on many holes. Buy a chair and place it early each morning where you want to end up. Late holes will be active late in the day, obviously. Bring or buy binoculars.

Do some reading before you go to get a sense of the course and its history. Learn about Greg Norman’s horrific collapse in 1996, or Gene Sarazan’s double eagle on 15 (the shot heard round the world) to force a play-off in 1935. See the 2004 movie Stroke of Genius which chronicles Bobby Jone’s life.

Spend some time at Amen Corner. There are few places in the world which are more beautiful, and there are some very interesting golf shots made in the area.

Follow the rules, and do nothing to jeopardize your host’s “loss of credentials”. Reselling tickets, acting like a jerk, etc. can result in “loss of credentials”. i.e. the ticket holder losing future ticket rights. That would be a very bad day.

Finally, if you go, try the palmetto cheese sandwich and tell me how it is.

Zero Dark Thirty

Director Kathryn Bigelow recently released another gripping war movie, Zero Dark Thirty. Thus far 10 million (or so) have seen this film domestically. The film has legs which is more than can said for some of the combatants. It was nominated for Best Film in 2012, but Ms. Bigelow was not nominated as Best Director, as was expected by many. ZDT chronicles the decade long efforts of the US intelligence community and military to avenge the 9/11 attack. ZDT comes after Ms. Bigelow’s Best Movie of 2010, Hurt Locker. Hurt Locker showed the brutality of wars fought with snipers and explosive devices in small scale war, as opposed to massive troop engagements in earlier wars.

Jessica Chastain, ZDT

Clair Danes, Homeland

Unfortunately, I found ZDT fell far short of Hurt Locker. Its message wasn’t clear. Some critics have argued this is an “anti-torture” statement. Others observe that crucial information was obtained by tough interrogations tactics, torture, thus is it “pro-torture”.  Further, there is a furor around the film about what information may have been leaked to the producers, and accusations of possible political motivations of its content. While I don’t always believe where there is smoke there is fire, but it seems fairly smoky here. (The Fog of War?)

What struck me while I was watching ZDT was that our entire US counter-terrorism effort is largely dependent on attractive, neurotic, young women as played by Jessica Chastain in ZDT or Claire Danes in the incredible HBO series Homeland. Single minded (and single) these heroines don’t have a life, work 24/7 on Red Bull, chips, or other “junk” food, live in messy apartments (when they do go home), open refrigerators which have only limp celery, days old Chinese takeout, and sour milk. However, they won’t rest until evil is taken out.

ZDT is slang for a very early time of departure. Sources I found suggest this started as a military term, but has drifted into business speak. Like a New York minute, or going the final mile it is used widely. ZDT. While most are still sleeping, a few are off and on their way. Getting started. For the past several years I was a regular ZDT (particularly in the winter) participant as I joined my ride pool into San Francisco before the buses started running. My ride-mates were all investment managers who wanted to be in the office when the US stock market opened. (This is another example of east coast bias. Those from Connecticut suburbs, or where ever, can arrive at a leisurely 9:30, Starbucks in hand, and see the market open. Their west coast counterparts routinely miss Letterman and Leno and must beat the sun many months a year to hear the opening bell). I loved this group because it was 25 minutes of sharing about investing, the economy, music, what’s happening, and life in general. My last remaining life-line to the hip world.

My ZDT link was to get to the gym before work, being a morning person. However, any reference to the military ends there. My work outs remain “middle aged”, the only “enemy” was the residual of that Fenton’s sundae from the night before.  

Similarly, the group of guys I worked with for nearly 10 years (and some well beyond that) were the antithesis of military hierarchy. They work in a focused, but collegial manner, and always have time to chat about the latest game results (boo-hoo the 49ers lost in SB 47, but destiny assures they will win in two years, if not next year), business trends (America has problems, but is the best house in the ghetto, thus a strong dollar, for now anyway), or political folly (too many examples!!).

Bridgeway Capital Advisors is a great place to work, has a solid business niche, and delivers excellent service and advice to its clients. I genuinely like those guys, and enjoyed the chance to work with them on various projects. However, something inside me told me I should turn over a new leaf. After all I had been at this for a long, long time. When I started working in June 1967. (Some of the ride pool weren’t born):

·         LBJ was president and was ensnarled in little Vietnam

·         The Dow Jones Industrial Average was flirting with 1,000, now it is over 13,000

·         The average income in the US was about $7,500, now something like $40,000

·         A ticket to see Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner cost $1.25, now ZDT costs $8-9, a buck more if in 3D

·         And Green Bay won the first Super Bowl. The cost of a 30 second spot for that game was the cost for 1 second in yesterday’s contest.

One week before starting work, on our Hawaiian Honeymoon

Thus, late last year our Managing Partner, Jack Goodman and I started talking about my transition out of BCA. It was a sad recent Saturday morning when I cleaned out my office in a couple of banker boxes. I felt like a significant chapter in my life was coming to an end. That was something over 10,000 bright, new days which offered challenges and usually enjoyable collaboration with teams. (Perhaps more on this later, but I want to get back to the topic at hand).

Never one to pass an opportunity to have some fun, Jack & Catherine Goodman hosted a dinner last night to acknowledge this transition. Despite the end of the Super Bowl pushing a lovely dinner back 30 minutes or so, we had a great evening of remembering back. Catherine is a gracious hostess who served a memorable dinner. No roast here, either to eat (we feasted on what was probably an Italian chicken dish with olives and prunes), or kidding me about all my miscues.

Knowing my tendency to collect golf balls, and my lack of skill, I was given some camouflage golf balls, which I plan to give opponents. They will never find them. I also received the book 1,000 Places To Go Before You Die, and interestingly our traveling friends Rod and Sylvia Hurd had only gone to 487 of them, so far. The book resonated with my career since customers were always telling me “where to go”.  Acknowledging my minimalist wardrobe, I got the all time gift of a gangsta’ gold and diamond watch. It makes a garish set of gold capped teeth, a gold medallion Dollar sign, and $2,000 lighted rims for a chopped “ride” all seem bland as the Cosmopolitan Club of New York. And, I got world’s biggest fortune cookie, which advised taking more naps, or similar.

New School

Old School                  

                                                                            

Note of disclosure. In my new state, the times on those watches are PM, not AM.

I know the party went on beyond when most of us had planned. Thanks to all for their patience, knowing it was a “school night”, and ZDT would come sooner than wanted.

Genuine thanks to all who made that night so special to Carol and me. I apologize for this unconventional thank you note. We look forward to staying in touch.

Thad's

Sunday mornings sometimes start with un-Christian thoughts, as well meaning, but tardy, parishioners arrive to their church and find a full parking lot. Not so with Thad's. Parking was not an issue, as the church is in a cluster of artsy work buildings in West LA. Also absent were the traditional organ, a choir, and hymnals, which were well replaced by a small group of singers, guitarists, a drummer and a great trombone player. Finally, gone was any hint of church vestments or religious symbols (no cross). The minister was wearing a clean tee shirt, jeans, and spoke with a Starbuck's coffee cup in his hand. Readers and musicians were casual. What was clear is this is a warm and supportive community with a very gifted, charismatic minister, and God's presence.

This is very different from what I consider "old school" Episcopal churches. I kept thinking of All Souls Berkeley, where I grew up; formal, quiet, reserved, and full of penance. "We're not in Kansas anymore".

Old School Episcopal Church
Payette, Idaho

 

 

Thad's?

The church website (www.thads.org) explains that it was founded nearly 6 years ago, when a young Associate Rector of an established Episcopal church (redundant?) heard a calling to a less conventional ministry. That inner voice kept telling him his calling was different, far more non-traditional. (That is saying something since much of the Episcopal Church is staid.) Finally, he knew he had to act. Within the Episcopal Church, but new. And, very different. Evidently when it was announced this new venture would happen, those who followed left. It reminded me of Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire leaving his firm with one follower and a gold fish. He did better, he got two.

                  

One might ask who is Thad? Seminarians know that Thaddeus was one of the 12 apostles of Christ. Sometimes called Jude Thaddeus or other variations. To the Catholics he is the patron saint of desperate cases or lost causes. (Not applicable here!) Some say he was a brother of Jesus, but this is debated. The point is he is one of the most obscure apostles, if not the outright winner. Thus, the congregation thought he was a perfect namesake. Their future would be written by them, not based on history.

 

 

Da Man

                                                                 

The Sunday we attended, despite an almost perfect southern California day,  the congregation was somewhere between 150-200, which probably reflects to summer malaise which impacts many church's attendance. Regular attendance is higher, and sometimes includes Reese Witherspoon.

The space is inviting. Clean walls, a stage with three simple, but appealing, banners, and all the stuff needed to play music. The congregation enters around ten AM, and enjoys the soft music which greeted them. The minister was seated on a director's chair enjoying this transition, and appeared to be deep in thought. Chairs were comfortable, and movable. Light background chatting, as friends greeted each other.

Some sang the opening song along with the musicians, but most were happy to just listen. The service bulletin is 4 pages, and had an insert which had your homework (more later). The graphics are crisp and hip, if I know what that is.

Their church is reading the bible, and our day they were considering Proverbs 14. Those of you who are well versed in the Bible know this contains 35 admonitions or advice. Most know the bible was written by many different people over long period of time. As we have painfully seen, some can find justifications for just about anything in those words. In 2005, as many others have done before him, Eugene Peterson wrote The Message, which translates the Bible into very contemporary language.

For example, Proverbs 14:33 in the New King James version is “Wisdom rests in the heart of him who has understanding, But what is the heart of fools is made known”. That becomes:  "Lady Wisdom is at home in an understanding heart- fools never even get to say hello” in the Message. I am not qualified or interested in choosing one over the other. I do conclude many will understand the latter, and may struggle with the former.

The core of this church seems to be the understanding the bible’s message, and applying it to our times. That is a shared exploration with discussions, not a monologue by a priest.

 

After the reading, the minister, Jimmy Bartz, explained this week he did something which was very hard for him to do. He did not prepare a sermon. Rather he explained that today he would ask random members of the church to come up, pull one of the 35 quotes from Proverbs 14 out of a jar, read it, and then he would try to apply that message to his life or more generally. Real time preaching, no time for re-writes or edits. (I remember our son explaining a similar challenge in a class when he was in seminary). I thought this was going to be interesting, and it was.

Each time as a member drew a slip form the jar, there was some anticipation. Groans or snickers as the audience reacted to the challenge being offered. It was fun. Jimmy watched carefully when a proverb was read, and sometimes smiled, perhaps suggesting “he got that one”. On one or two he seemed to wait a short time and develop his thoughts. Each time he spoke for a couple of minutes on the point. Often he would bring in more than one observation.

My favorite message was the one which dealt with truthfulness. (Probably number 2 or 5). I never thought he would be stumped, but this one took more time. After some time he talked about how "little lies" creep into our lives. Evidently his daughter is entering a school where the teacher, parents, and student sign a contract each pledging to the other what they will do. No brainer, just sign the darn form. However, Jimmy balked since one of the provisions, while well intended, was probably "not going to happen". Similarly he related a story of an ex-high school sweetheart meeting many years later when both were married to others. After catching up, the woman suggested the four of them have dinner. Again, rather than saying “Sure, that would be great” (never intending to follow up), once again out comes “That’s never going to happen”. His point is little white lies can creep into one’s life and become more common, if you don’t resist.

After taking on a half dozen of these proverbs, he asked how this resonated with the congregation. People got up and explained what they heard, or how it impacted them. Jimmy made an insightful comment when he said he was ready to not answer some of the proverbs, had they been drawn. It wasn’t he didn’t have an answer, he just wanted to put them in the compost heap for the while. Prayers for the People followed, and then we passed the peace (hugs and handshakes) as people either listened to the last set, or walked out to mingle and socialize. Coffee and snacks were offered.

 

So who is this guy? Jimmy Bartz was raised in Texas where he went to college. He then attended Virginia Theological Seminary (one of our best, but always take NYC’s General and the points in their annual football “game”). He returned to Texas to be ordained, and started at our largest church, over 8,000 members. He was later called to All Saints in Beverly Hills. However, as discussed above, he kept feeling this calling to do something more creative, less structured. He was sure the cynicism he felt of some traditional church practices was not what God intended for him. He listened to anyone who had left a traditional role, and do something a little different. Businessmen, ministers, thinkers, you name it, he listened. He remains "all in" to build this community, however he is very cautious in making sure the base is solid before trying something new.

New School - Thad's
West Los Angeles, CA
(Jimmy is on the right)
 

 

 

Yes, the church is like most other churches: it has a vestry, has a volunteer nursery for kids, seeks outreach activities (Thad's Dads), has a budget, and even has a prayer conference call every Tuesday at 6:30 AM. What was interesting to me was the large number of the church's endangered species, men in the 30-50 age group.

In thinking about it, I think this is a classic “win - win” situation. The Episcopal Church, like many others, is watching average Sunday attendance decline. I am guessing the average age of attendees is also trending up. There is the constant challenge to deliver a program which competes with all the other things available in our busy lives. Our national church has about 7,000 churches. They benefit from congregations like Thad’s which are exploring religion and our faith in very new and exciting ways.  Equally, those pioneers benefit by being part of our family of about 2 million Episcopalians. While the long term trend of attendance is discouraging, one can’t help but be optimistic when considering gifted ministers like Jimmy Bartz. The future looks bright indeed.

 

Homework? Read and consider the message in Proverbs 14. I bet a high percentage of attendees do just that, and somehow that contemplation and its impact on their daily lives will make LA just a little more livable.  Who knows, someone may even let another driver cut in front on a busy freeway. I’m just saying it could happen.

 

                                                          

 

 

 



Are You Tough Enough?

A cloud of bilious orange smoke (from a military smoke bomb) signaled the start of the Nor Cal Tough Mudder on Saturday. It followed what seemed like a string of interminable disclaimers, announcements, and incantations. The testosterone level in that 50 square yard start area could have moved a mountain. The 300 or so entrants in that first flight (of 17) were starting a 12 plus mile experience which featured 24 obstacles while climbing up (and down) from Squaw Valley’s village to one of its peaks some 2,900 feet higher. Everyone who entered knew they were going to get muddy, jump into several snow lakes or pools of very cold, often muddy water, and feel at least fatigue for somewhere between a few to several hours. Why would they do this? It certainly wasn’t the offer for those who finished: a free Mullet (or Mohawk) haircut, a tattoo, a tee-shirt (and garish orange headband) and a pint of beer.

Tough Mudder started back east a couple of years ago. It was intended to be the hardest experience of its kind. Its definition isn’t meant to be a comparison of alternatives like ultra marathons like the Western States 100, the Trans Tahoe Swim, or even the fabled Ironman triathlon. What’s the difference? Mud, barbed wire, and sometimes sadistic “obstacles”. Such as what?  Read on.

Since formation, TM has gone viral, essentially by word of mouth and the Internet. (Forbes said TM is one of the 50 names you need to know in 2011). In 2011 there will be  a dozen such events around the world, mostly in the US. They are usually contested at altitude. In our case Squaw Valley starts at about 6,000 feet. Some have extreme weather, as recently seen in Southern California. In that event the temperature at the mountain peak was 10 degrees, with wind. Over 100 entrants were pulled for hypothermia. In each case, the course is “tested” on Saturday and Sunday. Note, if a contestant wants, he or she can enter both days for a discount. Even better, one can “double” the same day for no additional charge. (I am sure someone has or will do this). Part of the allure of this event is it is so informal. Race promoters (we will get to the math in a minute) are “loose” with details. Our event was billed at 11 miles, but we passed a marker for mile 12 before we got to the finish line. Tough Luck. Since this is an “experience”, it is not seen as a race. While top finishers are recognized, the goal for most others is to be able to yell the “F” word, as they cross the finish line. “FINISHED!”

The promoters of Tough Mudders seem hip, irreverent, quick to change. They may be riding a wave which may be more in control than them. While I don’t know any details, let’s “do the numbers”.

Revenue is largely the entrant’s fee, which probably averaged $125. (Early applicants get a cheaper rate.) That’s $875,000 for Squaw Valley, cha-ching. Add tickets purchased by spectators, a likely five digit fee paid by Squaw Valley (which probably saw $3mm of incremental revenue from meals, lodging, etc in the area), sale of event gear, and finally a nice cut of the inflated cost of photos sold. A gross revenue of $1-1.25 mm is probably reasonable for the weekend. Of course there are costs. One hundred temps working for a week to build and take down all the sites probably costs a hundred thousand. (Remember, there are some skilled trade’s men, who pull the average pay up). Insurance, equipment rental, materials would add another $100 -150,000. I assume the beer and Power Bars, etc. was comped for promotional consideration. Thus, net revenue sounds like $600-750,000 for the weekend. Yearly net revenue sounds like $7-10mm. Note, in their short history they have raised over $2mm for the Wounded Warrior Project.

I am betting as the popularity of TM grows, they will cut tougher and tougher deals with host locales. I won’t be surprised to see Nor Cal move next year, as it did this. Tough Luck Squaw Valley. In addition, the fields are growing each time they hold one. Last year there were 11 start groups, this year 17. Good Luck for TM. Note, a 20% increase in participants probably triggers 3% increase in costs. Good margin increase.

Getting back to the event Saturday, my adventuresome friend Rob Bond and I re-signed with his sons’ team Debbie Does Northern California. This year we were about half the size of our 15 person team last year. However, I bet that is not a trend, particularly since those Bond Boys each were top finishers! Way to go Chris & Jeff. And, of note, Zach Righellis flew from the Middle East to compete.

I anticipate some of you may be asking what is it like. Here are some impressions which stand out, and some thoughts on how I approached this event.

Tapering       I work out a lot. I like the release, and the challenge, although it is not as satisfying as the competition of sports. Lousy knees stopped my running, playing squash, and the like. Tough Luck. Getting ready for TM, I worked on upper body strength, essentially doubling such work for the 6 weeks before the event. On the Tuesday before the event, I started tapering. Each day I did less cardio-work, and more stretching. I wanted to be fresh and ready for a long day. Good concept, but I am generally not described as a calm person, so having all that unused energy is tricky. I got through this phase fine, although slept a bit less. At the starting line I was sure I had plenty "in the tank". I assumed the only reason I wouldn’t finish is an injury. I never rule out that happening.

That morning          I usually sleep well, 6-7 hours a night, sometimes 8. I generally feel refreshed when I get up, which is usually 4:30-5:30. (You got it, I don't see the 10PM news much.) I had a restless night’s sleep the night before, in part because we went to bed before some of you had eaten dinner. I had two vivid dreams, not related to the event, so I know I slept. Never really thought too much about the event. When I arose, I realized I like the quiet, dark space of early morning. While the registration line was big and chaotic, I was in my own small zone. The half hour before the event I was alone, despite being surrounded by people heading every which direction, officials rushing to finish one last thing, and the constant noise of people yelling to each other, exchanging pre-event greetings and good luck. Ready to go. Let’s see what happens…..

                                                            7:15 AM Checking In

When did it start? The first 100 yards of the course were very steep. Some ran, but most walked figuring there was a very long way to go. To me the event started about 5 minutes later when we climbed a short hill to meet Kiss the Mud. The pond of muddy water was 20 feet wide and probably twice as long. Walking through this would have been mildly uncomfortable, since you would get wet and probably get some sand in your shoes. TM amped this up. First, they made the water cold by adding ice. Second, they installed barbed wire with small, but painful, barbs about 18” above the water’s surface. Thus, you were forced to crawl through the water, essentially keeping you head slightly above water. However, it gets better.  You did this with 299 other people, so you could only go as fast as the people in front of you. If they stopped, you did. Too cold? Tough Luck. Cut or caught on barb wire. Tough Luck. When I emerged, I had sand and small pebbles in my shirt, on my arms & legs, and of course in my shoes. The scrapes on arms and legs had started. I am thankful the sun was out so we were dry in 10 minutes or so.

                                    

                                                            Kiss the Mud

What was the hardest obstacle?  I failed three obstacles, despite repeated tries on one. I believe that was called Everest. Think of a skate board half pipe with 10’ high sides. In TM’s case there is only one side wall, and that is vertical for the final 7 or 8 feet. Thus, the challenge is to run as fast as you can on a slippery, slopped plastic surface, then extend your arms so others on top of the wall can pull you up. I went 0-3 on this one, and have the black & blue marks on my shin to prove it. Tough Luck.

Number two was a structure which had 20 or so rows of a series of about 30 chin up bars, each about 18” apart. Think monkey bars. They started at about 8’ above the surface, but build to perhaps 10’, then trended back down at the end. Navigating just that would just take a lot of upper body strength. TM adds two features. First, the bars were greased and roll when gripped. Second, if you let go you fall into very cold water. As I was headed to yet another dunking, I was having second thoughts about the huge plate of pasta I had the night before. Tough Linguine.

However, number Uno in terms of difficulty was two obstacles, which I managed to do. In Walk the Plank you climbed a 15’ structure, and then jumped into a lake. What made that tough was the fact you knew the water was going to be very cold. It was. Next you swam 30 yards to get to get to the Underwater Tunnels. However, don’t underestimate the challenge of swimming when you can’t get your breath (because of the cold and altitude) and with heavy shoes on. When you get to the second phase you are required to swim under three sets of barrels. The last time I was breathing so hard was when I saw my first X rated movie.

As we were driving home, I asked Rob what was the toughest for him. He hated Boa Constrictor. Last year this was just a horizontal 30 foot length of pipe, through which I could barely fit my shoulders. Object is to crawl through, and not get freaked. (Yes, if the guy in front stops, you do to.) To add to the fun, this year the pipes were cut into the ground more. The first half dropped maybe 3 feet. Thus, at the end was, you guessed it cold, muddy water. Swim through that (barb wire above, so no walking), then realize you need to hold your breath to get to where there is enough clearance to breathe normally as you ascend. My knees and forearms ache thinking of the hard gravel which was all around.

Would you do it again?      Sure.

Did you lose weight?          Remember the huge plate of oil & garlic pasta Friday night? Did I mention the great burger Friday afternoon? I figure I burned about 2,500 calories in the event, which got me just about even from the above.

Any brilliant take aways?    I can easily walk a 4” wide beam for a fairly long distance. (I do this on curbs and the like all the time.) One of the last obstacles was Twinkle Toes. Walk about 50 feet on a 4” beam. Of course, if you fail, you go in deep, cold water. Tough Luck. My legs felt OK as I stood at the front of the beam. I thought I could do this. As I took my first step, my legs were shaking. I took about 30 very tentative steps which might have covered all of 10 feet.  Then I was in the water, once again. Thus, fatigue steals balance and judgment. The next morning I went out to play golf. Pared the first hole, and I thought this feels great. I soon realized my hands felt like cement. Shot a horrible 98, and was lucky to do that. Recovery time is a bit slower than when I was in my 30s. Finally, I was surprised driving home wasn’t uncomfortable. Sunday my body felt tired, but not too much pain. Monday it got a bit worse. So don’t assume you have paid the full price for something like this for a few days.

So what gives? Why did 7,000+ people pay $15-50 per hour to expose themselves to all this? I am not sure I know much about TM, but the following factors make sense to me:

• It all starts with that American entrepreneurial spirit. Two young guys came up with an idea, and probably invested less than $50,000 of their money (or that of friends). They have developed this concept effectively, and one can be sure they aren’t about to stop. According to the above math, they are now netting a few to several million dollars a year, in their development stage activity. Probably, they will never grow to the scale of General Motors. However, the US government will likely not be asked to bail them out. The US still develops great new ideas and products, even if we don’t make much anymore.
• Next, add a pinch of camaraderie. In the modern world all of us spin in our separate orbits. How many of you really know your neighbors? Last time you worked on a group project? TM goes to great lengths to explain it is an experience, not a race. Many of the obstacles require entrants to help one another. In addition, while you are on the course for hours, there is time to talk with others struggling up a hill or having finished some obstacle. Met Barbara and Molly, two 40ish moms who are members of Boot Camp in Las Vegas. They work out hard a few days a week. Tough Mammas.
• Finally, Americans are still pioneers. Always testing the limits, willing to press on into the unknown. No one could predict with 100% confidence they would finish. Too much stuff could happen. I have no idea what percentage of the entrants do finish but I am sure it is well less than 100%. The constant sound of the helicopter hovering over the course reminded me someone was being cautious. Along the way I watched a guy fall awkwardly from about 9 feet attempting to scale a wall, watched a young woman turn an ankle which immediately started to turn colors and swell, and  others grimacing with cramps, or other signals which cried No Mas. Tough Luck.

DAB, Rob, Chris and Jeff Bond at the Finish

If you are interested there is lots of information available. The Tough Mudder web site (www.toughmudder.com) is a good place to start. They have recorded over 1 million Facebook “likes”. Lots of photos from Nor Cal event. You can also see the team of 20 or so Gen Ys who run this machine. The king pin appears to be a guy named Will Dean, a Brit and Harvard MBA, who wanted something different. Another source is You Tube. Just type Nor Cal Tough Mudders and you can see the video of those who carried cameras.

See you there next year.

 

September 20, 2011