...so keep your eyes straight ahead and don't look back

The crisp air made it feel more like Fall than Spring, but as I limped along Rock Creek on my morning run this past Saturday the bright sun made for a beautiful day despite the unseasonably cool late-April temperatures. I was headed up Beach Avenue (which is closed to vehicular traffic on weekend mornings) just a little north of the old Pierce Mill when I noticed a very young boy ferociously peddling his small bicycle southbound through the park without the assistance of training wheels…or what appeared to be any immediate adult supervision. He was really motoring, venturing out well-ahead of his other riders, and he had an expression on his face that somehow seemed like a cross between exhilaration and terror.

He was moving along well for a kid learning to balance a bike without assistance. You know the wobbly look of a new young rider…and if you think hard, you might even remember the feeling. Like all new cyclists, the boy was on the precipice of disaster. But for the most part he was laser focused on the road ahead of him and able to quickly correct any momentary lapses in balance with a swift adjustment of his weight or quick tweak of the handlebars. Just before we passed in opposite directions, the kid seemed to realize he was well-ahead of his fellow riders and inexplicably turned hurriedly to his left to glance back over his shoulder. As he twisted to look, he inadvertently jerked the handlebars to the left as well, and in an heartbeat his adventure all went to hell. In what seemed like an instant, the bike swerved violently as he slammed hard against the pavement and almost immediately started wailing.

He was screaming loudly when a lone female cyclist directly behind him (wasn’t a part of his group) stopped to come to his aid.  I reluctantly (just telling it like it is here…I hate interrupting runs) stopped at the 2-mile mark to see if I could help as well. Just as I got there another woman who appeared to be the boy’s mother rode up frantically. As the youngster cried (he didn’t appear to be hurt badly if at all), the first woman (who’d had a perfect view of the whole thing coming up fast behind him) told the worried mother that the boy was riding along smoothly, but that he'd turned to look behind him and suddenly crashed hard. Within minutes there were probably ten nervous Good Samaritans (or at least folks who wanted to tell a heroic story later that evening at an upscale Northwest restaurant) gathered round seemingly trying to comfort the child. Seeing he was in about four good hands, I resumed my run and wound my way creek-side up Beach toward the three-mile half-way point at the Rock Creek Park Ranger Station. 

Not long after crossing the stone bridge about a mile south of the turnaround point, I ironically spotted a much younger lad who was also attempting to maneuver his bicycle also without the benefit of training wheels. Unlike the previous rider that was coming at me, this little boy was peddling my direction. I was about 30 yards behind him when I first spotted him, and the child was on the adventure of his young life. He tried bravely to balance his bike as his loving father jogged along-side him steadying him with one hand on the bike seat and one hand on his son's right shoulder. Then, as I got closer, I heard the father repeating “you can do it…just keep your eye on the road…look straight ahead…and keep your eye on the road.” As I got closer, I heard the father say “I have to stop and tie my shoe” and he suddenly gave the kid a little push to give him some momentum as he let go. The terrified little boy screamed. He was shouting “I can’t, I can’t…Dad…don’t let go!” But the father stood behind him (his shoe wasn’t really untied) and encouraged him to keep going shouting “just keep your eye on the road…don’t look back…you can do it…I’ll be right there.”

Well, the kid did pretty good initially, but it wasn’t long before he lost control and veered into the curb crashing horribly. Actually, that’s not what happened. The petrified boy kept peddling, and though it appeared at first like it would end in certain catastrophe, the fledgling rider slowly gained control of his two-wheel bike and managed to keep it steady for the first ten yards. Then it was twenty, and thirty and what seemed like the length of a football field. I said “great job” as I passed him, and as his father continued to shout approval from behind (he was now jogging slowly not really trying to to catch up and continued to coach his son to look forward) as the exhilarated boy started shouting “Dad…look…I did it, I did it, I did it!”

Almost every adult has some memory of their maiden voyage on a bike without training wheels. There’s something about taking that first leap without the benefit of the stabilizing aid as a safety net. You don’t get an unlimited amount of chances to do something big in life as an adult, and the difference between those that truly achieve and those that just cruise like me often boils down to taking risk…even when there’s a gazillion good reasons not to. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to have a little push too, so if you’re considering whether or not to do something bold, think about the John Burroughs quote…“Leap and the net will appear.” Over the course of my life I’ve often been skeptical if the net really will appear...but the more I think about it now, the more I realize the most talented people are just like the boys in the park. They just need to leap and keep looking forward. If they do, there’s a good chance they’ll never really need a net. If they do fall, they can just hit the pavement and get up and keep riding.  

Have a great Friday and an even better weekend. If you get chance, do something you love with the people that care about you. When they tally up the score at the end of the game, it’s moments like those that will mean far more than anything you think is more important now. You can start the day off right with a little good music...and if you do, you’ll have a better Friday and a better weekend too. May seem risky…but it’s only three minutes of listening and besides…it’s guaranteed. Now honestly, how many of those do you really get these days?

Gonna wash my soul...

...and this is going to be a short post

There’s been more than one mention of the value of silence in this space over the years, and perhaps even a greater number of references to the power of brevity. These uncommon traits, or perhaps they’re more learned talents, are revered by me both because of their unfortunate scarcity in my area of work and my personal inability to master either of them.

In the wake of the senseless Boston marathon bombings, thousands of the cities unsettled commuters were inspired by the power of brevity this past week by an IBEW Local Union 103 billboard that sits prominently at its headquarters along-side the busy I-93 Expressway. The sign, often used to display the organization’s promotional messages or to post community related information, rotated two brief and uncomplicated messages.

 

One said simply “Pray for Boston.” However it was the other message that seemed to really resonate, that somehow summed it all up as it cycled up every 10 or so seconds. Against a dark background there was one word displayed in large white capital letters. One word.

It read simply COWARDS.

 

 



Enjoy a little music

...and if you get a chance to hold open a door...go for it

The sales representative from a longtime business vendor had a puzzled look on her face as I darted ahead to push through the revolving door as we exited the building on the way to a working lunch.  As we headed down the street toward the restaurant, she laughed as I  awkwardly maneuvered around to the street-side of the sidewalk.

“What’s with you?” she asked… “have you been taking dance classes?”

“No” I smiled… “I just don’t want all the time I spent reading that Emily Post Etiquette book to go to waste. It may be kind of dated but it says I’m supposed to walk on the street side.”

“That’s so funny” she replied. “I’ve ever heard of that before.”

“Just out of curiosity” she smartly shot back… “What did it say about going through doors?”

“Yeah, I saw the look on your face. I didn’t know it either but the book notes that apparently the dude is supposed to push through a revolving door first (especially if it’s not moving). It’s kind of old-school, but to me, it still seems like the right thing to do.”

“Hmmm,“ she said, “never heard of that one either. Makes you kinda wonder about the origin of all those old rules and what ever happened to them all.” 

Not really sure about the original source, but my first introduction to any of this was observing my old-school father, who despite his rough-n-tumble upbringing and blue-collar profession seemed to have somehow mastered the art of chivalry and general etiquette. He strongly suggested I read the book he gave me on the subject (somehow that seems like an etiquette violation) and I  first read that blue Emily Post paperback book on Etiquette about 25 years ago.

As many have horrifically witnessed, I’ve long-since forgotten most of the manners I’d picked up in that book, but I stumbled across it the other day while looking through a box of junk stored in the home gym. I quickly skimmed through it, confirming the revolving door and sidewalk rules, and brushing up on some other dandies that I routinely violate like passing the food counter-clockwise when serving guests family style or placing your utensils across your plate (from upper right to lower left) to indicate when you’re finished eating. The quick review got me to thinking about all the common mistakes I make around general manners, so I googled the top-ten most common manners mistakes, and this is a conglomeration of what appeared on a couple of sites. Unfortunately, the research only validated how far I’ve regressed in this area.

Here they are:

Mistake #1

Skipping an introduction. You don't introduce just one friend to another…even if you’ve forgotten the other person’s name.

Shoot…I do this all the time…even when I know both names. Seems like too much trouble to have to say “Liz, I’d like you to meet Amanda…Amanda, this is Liz.” I usually just introduce the one person and wait for the other to introduce themselves.

Mistake #2

Being a vague guest. For example, you're invited to a party but never respond. Or, you're going for an overnight visit but fail to tell your hosts when you'll arrive and leave.

How can this be wrong? I do this at least twice a month. What if you don’t want to go and you need time to think up some way to lie your way out of the unwanted invite? Or what if I just want to get there when it’s convenient for me?  Well…apparently both are uncool and you have a duty to respond in timely way  and to show up when you’re supposed to.

Mistake #3

Arriving at a party with a present in hand, even though the invitation says "no gifts, please."

I’m downright polished in this area.  Even better at showing up with no gift when you’re supposed to bring one. By the way…apparently it’s bad form to wait the allotted full-year to give a wedding gift.

Mistake #4

Asking someone you barely know the ethnic origin of her name.

Uh…oh…

Mistake #5

Asking the host of the party for a tour of his or her house

Again…A+ in this area for me. I never ask. Usually wait for the dinner or party to get going, they I discretely slip off to the “bathroom” and give myself a self-guided tour. You don’t want to open the medicine cabinet or scrutinize pictures with the host standing right there.

Mistake #6

Responding to a dinner invitation with "We'd love to come! Just so you know, I'm on a low-carb diet, and Julie’s a vegetarian."

Kind of feeling like Emily Post Phi Beta Kappa on this one. I’m never so brazen to provide limits on what’s served. Sometimes I even help with menu planning with something like “We both like porterhouse.”

Mistake #7

I’m actually omitting this one…because I’ve made this mistake so many times it’s embarrassing.

Mistake #8

Using a speakerphone without asking the person on the other end first.

I know this is bogus. I routinely do this while other people are in the room specifically to demonstrate to others what a jackass the person on the other end can be. I even have a workaround if people ask if they’re on speaker. I pick up the receiver…rest it on my shoulder and then hit the speaker button. When I have to talk (the others in the room can hear what I’m saying), I just hit the button again.

Mistake #9

Making comments about children — "How old is he?" or "Isn't she thin?" — in their presence.

Yep…not a good record here. Have even asked how old she is only to find out it isn’t a she.

Mistake #10

Allowing yourself a year after the wedding to come through with a present.

See…I was showing off earlier…what did I tell you.

Below is another list from another site about chivalry. Some will HATE this…but what the heck.

1. Always open doors.

Thanks Dad.

2. Help with the coat.

Again…better than average here.

3. Offer to pay

Rarely miss here…thanks Gerry

4. Offer your jacket

Used to be better...

5. Ask if she/he needs anything

Work to do here for sure…

6. Always be polite and don’t swear

Sh*t…can’t even tell you how far I’ve digressed here.

7. Do not lose your temper

Sh*t!!! But what if they really piss you off?

8. Do not stare

Hell…I can’t even hold eye contact. Plus…I just swore again.

9. Do not spit

Pretty good here…especially in meetings. Sometimes though l like to make that really gross nasally sound some guys make just before they hack a loogie.

10. Respect your elders

Thanks Dad, Donald, Grandpa, Uncle Ted. That was good advice

What’s the point of all this? Don’t know really but it’s probably less about protecting folks from mud splashed by the carriage than it is about treating others the way you’d like to be treated. Have a great weekend, and if you can, try to spend a little time practicing the Golden Rule. You never really know how long you’re going to have to treat other people well.

If you can, start the weekend with a little good music

Meet me in Paris...

 

 

 

...and there isn't a cloud in the sky

When people fantasize about cars, an American made 1972 shiny red Ford Pinto is not usually what comes to mind. It wasn’t what came to my mind either when dreaming about my first vehicle, but that’s the one my hardworking IBEW electrician father made me buy (mostly with my own savings) when I received my license at 16 in 1978. It was sitting with a “For Sale” sign at the Chuck Morris Standard Oil service station on the corner of Westwood and National (next to Pronto Market…which became the 2^nd Trader Joe’s store) in West Los Angeles, and though I was horrified by the prospect of driving a rig that came equipped with an exploding gas tank upon rear-end impact, my dad liked the idea that the car had low miles, was in impeccable shape and had been mechanically maintained by the fastidious crew-cut owner of the old-school service station.

To be fair, I’m pretty sure we were unaware of the built-in flare feature when we got the car.  We purchased it for about $900 as I recall (my dad chiseled Chuck down from $1200), and at the end-of-the-day (we bought it in the afternoon), my dad felt confident that the car provided a very good value.

I never really understood his odd emphasis on prudency. Like most families in our Wonder Years neighborhood, it seemed to me we were living well as my dad’s IBEW collectively bargained wages and unparalleled work ethic blended well to provide us a what seemed to me like a very comfortable existence. Other than our home, we never purchased anything on credit. He finally broke the no-credit code and partially financed a brand-spanking new Gold 1972 Oldsmobile Ninety Eight Regency (with black velour interior and 8-track quadrophonic stereo) and I remember my mom telling me she didn’t sleep for a week wondering how they’d ever manage the roughly $90 monthly payments over a period of 3 full years. (They kept that car for at least 10 years…and passed it down to me sometime in about 1983).

Even when I dropped out of UCLA to join the IBEW apprenticeship and started making what seemed to me like big dough at the time, my dad was always on my case to save at least some of the money. I remember one time after telling him I’d dined at the famed West Hollywood restaurant Chasen’s yet again, he grimaced and asked how many times I’d gone to the place (he only ended up going twice in his entire life…once when they burned their mortgage and again when I graduated from the apprenticeship), and I responded by saying something like “I don’t know…five or six times.”

He asked how much dinner had cost (seems to me it was about $70 or so), and suggested I try to take a little of my high-living money and set it aside in a bank account. I remember laughing at the concept…telling him (even pointing my finger at his face…not sure why I’m still alive) that he was mired in the Depression and those “brother can you spare a dime” days were gone forever. He encouraged me to take just $50 a month and put in the bank or better yet…invest it in the stock market…but I laughed telling him that would amount to only $600 bucks a year and that it would make no difference in my life.

“But in ten years that will be $6,000,” he said… “with interest…it will be more than double that (you could get double digit interest in those days) and you’re going to need to have something for a rainy day.” But at the wise old age of 18 I knew better, and certainly didn’t need my conservative Depression era dad mapping out my already bright financial future.

Several years later I was riding with Uncle Donald (my Mom’s older brother) in his beat up old Ford up Highway 75 just north of Breckenridge Minnesota after a Sunday night fried Walleye supper at the Eagle’s Club. As we rode along the farming countryside toward the town of Kent, Minnesota, my uncle asked how much I had to “give” for petrol in Los Angeles.

I’d only been driving for a couple of years at that point…and I didn’t have a clue how much I was paying for gas. “I don’t know” I replied.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he asked.

“I mean I don’t know” I shot back. “More importantly, though, I don’t care. Gas is gas…what do I care whether it’s 55 cents a gallon or 58 cents?”

“Well in Breck (short for Breckenridge) you can get high-test for 49 cents at the Texeco station by Piggly Wiggly and at the Pro Gold station in Kent you have to give 52 cents just for Ethyl.”

“So what” I shot back. “Who cares?  Why do you even care? You own farmland worth millions.”

“Well it isn’t worth millions...but how do you think I got what I have?” he inquired.

“Not by worrying about what you pay for gas” I smartly replied.   “I wouldn’t drive across Wilshire Boulevard to save five cents a gallon on gas, even if it was for super. You’re just like my dad…stuck in the Depression. I just don’t understand why you think this nonsense over a couple of pennies matters.”

“Well” he said, “if you ever had to stand in a bread line…it would become instantly clear to you. Trust me…over the long haul…it matters…and if you think things will always go smoothly, you need to know they can come crashing down in a heartbeat. It’s wise to save for a rainy day.”

About ten years later I was walking along a meandering trophy trout river in Alaska during a high-end corporate fly-fishing trip  (if you’re wondering why I was there…it’s a long story) with a cat named James J. LaBlanc. He was the President of a New Orleans drug store chain called K&B Drugs (think purple signs). He was the quintessential self-made guy, who started at the Big Easy institution as a Pharmacist in the 70s before slowly working his way up the ladder to the chain’s very top spot. As we made our way up the picturesque shoreline in this truly epic fishing paradise on a perfect afternoon, I asked Jim if he’d be kind enough to pass along some financial wisdom that might be helpful for a young guy like me. He stopped and grinned, at which point I asked him what he smiling about.

“Well, first off” he said, “nobody’s ever asked me that before and I’m kind of amazed that you just did.” Then, after smiling some more, we had an exchange that went pretty close to the following…

“You know, just hearing you ask that makes me wish I’d inquired in a similar way when I was about your age…but I never did. If I had, and knowing what I know now, I’d have put my head down and worked. Then, I’d have taken the most amount I could afford at the time and plopped  it into a mutual fund each month that mirrors the S&P 500. That would have allowed me to dollar-cost-average my per share purchase price, and overtime, had I stuck with it, I would have cleaned up.”

“But I can probably only afford to set aside a couple of hundred bucks a month” I responded… “that won’t amount to anything.”

“Well, I’m guessing you can set aside more than you think.  For instance, how often do you eat out at restaurants?” he replied.

“Well, almost every night” I shot back.

“Skip it two nights a week and make a sandwich at home. Take the extra money and set it aside in some index fund like Vangaurd 500 with a low expense ratio, and always keep adding the new money. You will experience the miracle of compound interest” he said with a smile… “It’s the new money that makes the difference, and if you stick with it over time, it will change your life. If you want to take it a step further…buy on the lows and pull some money off the table when things seem too good to be true. You may want to think about buying some dirt too…God ain’t making any more of it.”

“It just doesn’t seem like it will make much difference” I responded.

“Oh but it will” he said with an even broader grin, “and had I followed that very same advice when I was your age…I could have bought the state of Alaska by now. “Besides,” he said, “it’s just smart to do…you never know when you’ll have a rainy day.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. What’s with these successful people and rain? When am I going to run into some well-to-do self-made man or woman that advises me to spend discretionary money like a drunken sailor on new Cadillacs, big screen TVs, fancy dinners at Bobby Van’s steakhouse and high-end bottles of Silver Oak Cabernet?

About 15 (maybe 20) years ago I read a book called something like “The Millionaire Next Door.” The premise of the paperback was that the flashy young couple next door to you with the new Beamer, maid and gardener that is mortgaged to the hilt often isn’t the one with the bread. It’s the understated old cat standing across the street watering his lawn with the hose in plaid pants, a windbreaker, and an old baseball cap with an even older Olds Cutlass parked in the driveway that probably has the millions.

Even though I got a late start, thankfully I heeded a little of Jim’s advice (still spend way too much trying to prove my Silver Oak theory). If I had only listened more to my dad and my Uncle Donald…I’d be sleeping in today. Thanks to the American labor movement I am sleeping in tomorrow though…and the next day too. Have a great weekend, and if you can, spend some time doing the things you enjoy with the people that matter most to you. Nothing stays the same forever...so enjoy the sunny days while you can.

Here it comes...