Thursday, February 13, 2014

A Sure Thing

Life is full of uncertainty. We generally can’t predict the future. We all know this. However, that doesn’t stop some from offering a sure thing.
  1. Facebook will double on its first trading day, because "it is the future". God forbid. (It was up less that one percent the first day, and lost value most of the first ten days of trading.)
  2. The Broncos will win the Super Bowl, because of Peyton Manning's experience. (They may, just not in 2014.)
  3. Rain will come to parched California. (But when?)

My experience is the more something is “for sure”, the less likely it will happen. Fervor seldom trumps causative factors. For example, my will (and hope) seem to have little influence on whether Cal wins or loses. (Here, I can predict a sure thing. My brother Jon will write some snide comment about Cal, but that’s genetic).

Despite the above, I can offer you a sure thing. More unusually, I can do so based solely on one first hand experience, and some prior watching others in the same situation.

You can’t help but love your grandchildren.

Carol and I waited patiently for grandkids, while friends were blessed with one after another. Some even had great grand kids! They shared photos, stories, and episodes of truly incredible events. At one Mother’s Day dinner, Carol told her boys “her biological clock as a grandma was ticking”. Fervor once again had no influence.

However, good things come to those who wait. On Halloween, 2013 our son Steve and his wife Stili gave the world Nikola. There has never been a better Halloween treat. We get almost daily photos, and recording of his cooing, giggling, and what ever. We can’t get enough.

The appeal is clear, he is a bundle of joy, change and contradictions, all in one.

Joy
It is hard to wake up some times. Yet, most mornings Nikola is beaming with smiles and cooing. Forget about it, after he has been fed, that is assuming he isn’t off to sleep.

He loves to snuggle, particularly wrapping those tiny hands around your neck. True bliss. I have discovered the melting point of an otherwise sane adult.

Change
He is so curious.  He loves to be toured around their apartment viewing all the pictures, paintings, and decorations. Books usually engage, at least for some time.

His features change ever so slowly. We see “huge” differences, even though we have been gone a few weeks.

Contradictions
He is a healthy young boy, nearly 16 pounds and 26” long at three and a half months. Yet his nose is the size of a small blueberry.  His foot is about the length of my index finger, but straighter.

He does get cranky, who doesn’t. Sometimes he reaches his wits end, and our world is filled with crying, frantic leg and arm movement, and anything else he thinks of. However, sooner or later he calms down, and usually transitions to sleep, often with a tranquil smile on his face. (Hint to new Grandparents, if all else fails run a hairdryer at a low speed in a dark room. It usually works.)

Still need convincing? Here is the clincher. I married a woman who grew up in sunny Los Angeles. A perfect day for her is to sit on the beach. Now with a good book, then with her girl friends, and boys that followed. She loves the warmth of the sun, and the calming sound of the tide’s ebb and flow. You get it, she isn’t a fan of the cold. In the past three months (read Winter) she has taken three trips to Cleveland. Last week she was there during one of the really cold spells in Oberlin.  Let it snow.

My job for the month of February is to assist as Steve and Stili manage their day jobs. They are such devoted parents, but have careers. Christine comes and helps seven hours a day, five days a week, and I do whatever is needed. All the while, the Little Prince dictates our every move. As I write, it is 11 degrees, yesterday it topped out at 16. Whatever. Let it snow.

As the doting grandpa, I take lots of pictures. Here he is from earlier this week. (If you would like the full ninety slide presentation, complete with sound track, let me know.)


Hey, you want a really sure thing? Buy stock in Southwest Airlines (LUV, $21.28). It’s the best way to get to Cleveland from the bay area. It is sure to double, maybe even this year.



Thursday, January 2, 2014

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.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013


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 12th 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 12th 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 17th, 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 17th 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 12th 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.

Monday, February 4, 2013


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.