Recently there have been a lot of news stories on the massive changes needed and being imposed by Ford and General Motors to become competitive again. These stories also focus on the benefits that these two and other old line companies offer and extend to their retirees. Having grown up in Detroit and began my career starting with Ford and subsequently having worked at two parts suppliers, I have a soft spot and keen interest in the automotive industry.
The recent news stories are that the US auto industry is not competitive. The industry supports 2.2 retired workers for each active worker in the US. Depending on the source, health care benefits for retirees, which comes out of the operating budget of these companies, costs the US automakers $1,500 a car more than any of their foreign competitors.
It is easy to beat up on General Motors. They had over 50% of the US market share in the 1950’s and early 60’s. By 1996 it was 31%. In 2003, the market share had dropped to 23% and has stayed a point or two around this dismal level.
Ford is no better off. Their latest market share is 16, a long way from the high twenties it had achieved with the double barreled hits of the Taurus and the Explorer circa 1990.
Both companies have had to heavily incent their cars in the past year. Even with zero financing and “you pay what we pay” employee discounts to all, they have still lost share. Not only have they lost share but lately real cash. GM posted losses for the past five quarters culminating with a whopping $4.8B in Q4 2005. The total loss for 2005 was $5.6 B.
But this letter is not about the auto industry, quality, foreign competition, the Toyota Production System, or any other kind of analysis of the long slow slide of the US automotive manufacturers. No, this letter is about those, in my peer groups, who have worked at such companies their entire working lives and are on the brink of retirement. Well at least thinking about retirement, and wondering about the security of their pensions.
The biggest news regarding pensions was when IBM recently announced that they would freeze their pensions in 2008. Basically, they will turn off their program at that time. Whatever one had accrued in terms of pension stipend at that time will be all the company will pay no matter how much longer one might work for IBM. The company reported it would save $3B per year by doing this. That is real money.
In the January 22nd New York Times, there was an article entitled, When your pension is frozen. “The worst impact is generally felt by worker in late middle age whose pension is frozen.” Often these folks have worked for the company a long time, if not their entire working career. As being in my generation, they are starting to look forward to retiring, perhaps getting 50-60% of their end of career salary until they AND their spouse pass on. Some in this group claim they are not really interested in retiring or “in the 2 years, 3 months and 14 days” until they are eligible. I know many people, friends and family, reader of this letter, who have worked for either Ford or GM their entire careers. They are lifers. In Detroit, the auto companies dominate. Many people got into the companies and stayed. As they progressed in their careers, the lure to remain often became the pot of gold, or lifestyle, at the end of the rainbow.
Just as my contemporaries started working, the retirement threshold began dropping. It went from 65 to 62 to 60 and then the concept of “30 and Out” was negotiated into labor contracts and then instituted for white collar workers as well. The 30 and Out was really based on adding ones years of service and age. If that number, called points, was above 85 and ones age was at least 55, then one could retire. So, if you begin work at age 20 and worked for thirty years, you could retire at age 55. The company, depending on the plan, would pay you 50-60% of your last salary, depending on years of service and the particulars of the company plan.
This is a spectacular benefit. The benefit comes, however, at a spectacular cost. Imagine someone retiring at age 55 and getting an annual stipend of $50K. Imagine further that this retiree or his/her spouse living for thirty years. The total payout to this couple is $1.5M. That is real money. It has to come from somewhere.
Here are two factors to consider regarding the history of retirement and pension plans. The very idea of retirement is less than 100 years old. These concepts were born during the Great Depression. As written in a March 2004 Harvard Business Review article, It’s Time to Retire Retirement, “Desperate to make room in the workforce for younger workers, governments, unions, and employers institutionalized retirement programs as we know them today, complete with social security and pension plans.” Prior to this, people simply worked until they were physically or mentally incapable. Many worked until they died. The safety net was one’s family. Think of family farming as the best example of this.
The nature and designs of these plans were not conjured out of thin air. They were, in fact, designed on two assumptions that seemed valid at the time. First, the work force would continue to expand and, second, thr selection of 65 years of age as the retirement age. Both assumptions are no longer valid. Given that the plans have not adapted, they are essentially unsustainable. Hence the movement to eliminate or revamp pension plans, or, more drastically, to return to the more age old, though not necessarily more effective, model of self-reliance.
In considering the workforce expansion assumption, we must again look at the US auto industry. As stated earlier, specifically for GM and Ford, there are 2.2 retired workers for every active employee in the US. The pyramid these plans were based on, a very large number of workers supporting a small number of retirees is completely inverted. The workforce in most major industries has not expanded but actually declined due to automation and efficiency. For the US market, we also compound this trend with the movement of the most man-power intensive production work to the cheapest labor markets on the planet. These cheap labor markets do not have, and hence are not burdened, with the retirement and pension plans as found in Europe and North America. So in reality, production costs are even cheaper than simply comparing hourly labor rates.
You don’t have to go to China or India to see the burden a company like General Motors faces with this disproportionate number of retirees. GM has 459K manufacturing retirees in North America. In contrast, the North American operations of Honda, Nissan, and Toyota have only 1,500, 400, and 100 respectively. Even if the health care and pension benefits were the same, it is easy to see the advantage these three companies have over GM.
Just after World War II, workers in the United States could withhold their labor to achieve economic gains. In those heady days, management would grudgingly concede because US manufacturers essentially had a monopoly because the industrial infrastructure in Europe and Japan were blown to bits in the war. This period of intense and seemingly limitless prosperity lasted until the Oil Crisis of the 1970’s when it also became clear the Japanese were providing higher quality and cheaper electronic and automotive goods. It was about this time that the unions were actually beginning to advocate for a four day work week having already achieved total healthcare (zero/minimal co-pay medical, dental, and vision care), COLA (Cost of Living Adjustments to compensate, and probably adding to, inflation), and the aforementioned 30 and Out. There has been a steady decline in the leverage of American labor and thus an erosion of benefits since then.
The second part of the assumption, age 65, is no longer valid either. Government statistics (National Vital Statistics Reports, Life Expectancy Tables) readily available on the internet reveal some surprising facts. 65 years old was chosen because in 1930, a person aged 20, i.e. entering the workforce, was expected to live 45.94 years more or to the age of 65.94. Life expectancy at birth in 1910 of these same twenty year olds was 51.49 years. The difference in life expectancy was due to the high level of infant/youth mortality back then from diseases we now have better control over. The retirement age of 65 was simply chosen because half the workforce was predicted already have passed on by then.
Consider my generation, our life expectancy at birth, circa 1950, was 68.27 years. When we became 20 in 1970, our life expectancy grew to 73 years old. In 2000, when people in this group turned 50, they were expected to live another 30 years or to a whopping 80 years old.
The point of these geriatric demographics is that we are living longer. Pensions plans created in the early 1900s were designed to kick in when about half the population had already passed on. Not only do people live longer, but the retirement age has dropped from 65 to 62 then 60 to 55 for the luckiest of us. The cost per retiree to companies has grown dramatically because of this.
The wealthiest, most successful, of us will still be able to retire due to stocks, options, and well funded 401(k) plans. My boss recently quoted a most surprising statistic from Money Magazine that said the median worth of 401(k)s is a paltry $55K. For people in their 50s, the median value jumps to $100K. Assuming that the saving level is consistent for those with and without pensions, this basically means more than half the people not on a traditional pension plan will not have enough savings to retire. Or at least, they will not easily be able to retire at age 60. One of the fixes for Social Security, which is basically a contributory retirement plan, is simply to “up” the age at which benefits begin to 70. So much for 30 and Out…
Pension plans are fading away rapidly. Most major corporations, at least those I know about, stopped offering them to new hires in the late 1980s. For employees with earlier dates of hire, the companies usually offered employees the option of staying with the pension program requiring some employee contribution or to go with the new annuity plan which besides requiring the employee to fund had a portability factor. Most legacy employees stayed with the pension plan and thus committed to remain with that company until retirement.
In the past 20 years, the number of traditional pension benefit plans in the US has dropped from over 100K to 31K. The 31K plans still cover 44M people. Of these 31K plans, 1,108 were in distress as of June 2005. They are in distress because their assets are $50M below that needed to deliver on their promised benefit. In total, these plans are $354B short. That is real money
Not to worry, however. The US government is there to help. Besides Social Security, which suffers the same pressures as any traditional pension plan, there is the Pension Benefit Guaranty Corporation, more affectionately known as the PBGC. The sole purpose of this agency, as far as I can tell, is to provide the insurance safety net should companies mismanage their way into bankruptcy and drain their pension funds in the process. The PBCG is under funded by $23.3B. If one major company defaults, the PBCG would probably go under.
The government is looking at ways to shore up the PBGC. There are numerous bills in congress as they realize that this issue can quickly became the hottest issue in politics should people perceive their futures are in jeopardy. Senator Ted Kennedy has even introduced a bill putting a moratorium on the freezing of pensions until Congress can deal with these issues. We saw how President Bush’s idea privatizing the Social Security System was still born. It will be real interesting to see how the political ramifications unfold as the baby boomers are now retiring. Any government solution would probably involve taxing the children and grandchildren of the boomers and most of these generations will have no pension type retirement benefits and maybe no social security. “The rising cost of entitlements is a problem that is not going away!” President Bush just uttered these words in his state of the union address just as I was about to send this letter out.
Me? My retirement plans? At this time, besides buying the occasional lottery ticket and standing in front of the mirror and repeating, “Welcome to Wal-Mart,” my plans are to keep working.
Showing posts with label Volume II. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Volume II. Show all posts
Saturday, January 10, 2009
December 2005: Christmas/Holiday Letters
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November 2005: Charisma & Megalomania
Around the 18th of November, I began to worry about what I might write about this month. I got to the office, fired up my laptop, and checked both work and personal e-mails. I had recently signed up with the History Channel website (www.historychannel.com) to receive their gratis “This Day in History” e-mail. I enjoy browsing this e-mail everyday reading some items in detail and skimming most. I enjoy revisiting events that happen ten, twenty, or forty years and seeing if I recall the facts correctly and whether my perspective on the event has changed. On the 18th, the lead story marked the anniversary of the 1978 mass suicide of Jim Jones and his followers in Guyana.
That story was shockingly fascinating at the time and fascinates me still twenty-eight years later. I am amazed by the ability of someone, anyone, like Jim Jones to attract and mesmerize so many people into following him. They not only believed in his “message” but dedicated their entire lives to Jim Jones and the People’s Temple, as his church was called. People gave up their possessions, spouses, and children to follow this man. They not only followed him spiritually but decided, or let him decide, they should live in his commune. He started the commune in California only to move it to Guyana, hardly the first choice for the “let’s leave everything and go live on a commune” set.
James Warren Jones was born on May 13, 1931 in Crete, Indiana. In the 1950’s, he became a preacher and founded a church that he named “Wings of Deliverance” which he later changed to the “People’s Temple Full Gospel Church.” In 1964, he was ordained in the more mainstream Christian Denomination Disciples of Christ. Living then in California, Jones developed and advocated a concept called Apostolic Socialism based on social justice and the equal treatment of African Americans. Because of his involvement with the poor, the popularity of his church and his seeming respectability, then San Francisco Mayor George Mascone appointed Reverend Jim to the city’s housing commission!
It was about this time that Jones began to veer. He claimed to be an embodiment of Jesus, Akehnaten (Amenhotep IV), Buddha, Lenin, and Father Devine (an African American preacher of the early 1900’s who basically believed and convinced a small throng that he was God). It was a safe bet that with these revelations, the People’s Temple had assumed cult status.
In 1977 with the beginning of an investigation for tax evasion, Jones moved the People’s Temple and most of its one thousand adherents to Guyana, the impoverished little country on the Caribbean coast of South America. He wanted to create an agricultural utopia but he also wanted his followers to think of him as God. Back in California, those that did not go to Guyana began to complain about beatings and murders within the People’s Temple. Some even reported about a plan for mass suicide.
As a result of these allegations, Congressman Leo Ryan of California led a mission to Guyana to investigate. They arrived in Jonestown and interviewed residents over a three day period. When an attempt was made on the congressman’s life, the group decided to leave Guyana immediately. They took some twenty People’s Temple members who wished to leave. As they were boarding their plane, armed guards from Jonestown began shooting at them. The congressman, three journalists, and a defector were killed. Later that same day, Jones instructed the 914 remaining residents of Jonestown, including 276 children, to commit mass suicide. Most drank cyanide laced Kool-Aid, while others were injected with cyanide, and the less enthusiastic were simply shot. As the Kool-Aid drinkers lay in a most orderly array, Jones preached impending salvation to them. Jones was found seated in a chair dead from a bullet to his head. It was never clear if it were from his own hand.
Of course, Jim Jones was not the first or last of this type of charismatic megalomaniacs. The other that comes to my mind, simply because I was subject to the media blitz when the end came was David Koresh and the Branch Davidians. Koresh was born in 1959 as Vernon Wayne Howell to a fifteen year old unwed mother in Houston. In his youth, he was abused by his father, grew up a loner and was dyslexic. Koresh was involved in the Seventh Day Adventist Church but was thrown out as a result of questioning and arguing scripture with the elders. The fact that he wanted to marry a fifteen year girl he was in love with and had made pregnant also may have factored into the decision.
Upon leaving the Adventists, Koresh joined the splinter Branch Davidian Sect led by one Lois Roden. They were headquartered in Waco, Texas and their compound was called the Mt. Carmel Center. When Lois died, Koresh and Lois’ son George vied for leadership of the Branch Davidians. George won out but Koresh soon returned and took over with what can only be called an armed insurgency in which George was shot. In the ensuing trial, Koresh and his gang were unbelievably acquitted whereas George was arrested for an unrelated previous murder and was committed to a mental institution.
At this point, Koresh adopted the name David Koresh: David for King David and Koresh was the Hebrew version of Cyrus, the famed Persian King. He allowed polygamy in the sect and is believed to have fathered a dozen children, some to girls that were as young as twelve and thirteen. Koresh died on April 19, 1993 at the end of a fifty-one day siege by the FBI and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms that culminated in an all out assault of the Mt. Carmel Center by the Feds. Eighty-five Branch Davidians including Koresh and seventeen children barricaded themselves for a fight to the death. They all died in a fire that was either as result of the attack or as government reports theorized was deliberately set by Koresh and his followers leading most to believe these Branch Davidians committed mass suicide.
We have all met charismatic people in our lives. They are natural leaders. People gravitate to them, are charmed by them, want to be around them, and try to curry favor from them. I have examples from the first days of school, even in kindergarten, until today in the workplace. Sometimes, we call these people CEOs, presidents, generals, or religious titles and they become the stuff legends are made of. They have that blend of charisma and ego that get everyone behind them and enables them to accomplish great things.
But, there is a dark side as well. Channeling ones ego and charisma to do good or great things is not always so easy. For some, it is easier to become addicted to the power inherent in these gifts i.e. the ability to control and manipulate others. It is an addiction as potent as heroin and can twist one’s mind. We see and recognize the sometimes thin line between genius and insanity, or in this case, between beloved charismatic leadership and terrifying megalomania. The same natural gifts and skill sets can make you Winston Churchill or Joseph Stalin, Billy Graham or Jim Jones.
I had a boss who was charismatic. He was a great leader. He motivated all who worked for him. He pulled us all together and created a cohesive team from what was a dysfunctional department. We followed willingly and eagerly. He valued our input and thoughts. Sure, he had an ego, but certainly one that also enjoyed seeing his team do well, prosper and advance. He always wanted a divisional presidency. By continually delivering results, he eventually got his goal. The job, however, was beyond his organizational and motivational skill set. The personality and style which got him the job were all suddenly useless. He veered and became a real SOB. I could not believe how quickly and completely it happened. His people hated him, even now, five years later. He decided to retire, or was retired, when it was clear that things were not going well. Thankfully, his true personality and nature re-emerged.
What is charisma? The word comes from the Greek word, kharisma, meaning gift. Charisma is the innate ability of one draw the attention and admiration of others. Charismatic people have an air of confidence, being in control, easily engaging others, and simply attracting others to be around them.
Charisma differentiates a good leader from a good manager. A charismatic leader easily draws and involves others to his or her aspirations and endeavors. A good manager is an able administrator. When one person is both a great leader and a great administrator, I would call this person a great leader. Often charismatic leaders in business, coaching or religion will have a #2 that is a very good manager.
Certainly, Jim Jones and David Koresh had charisma. What caused them to use their gifts in such a negative way? I believe that they became addicted to the power over others. They both thought of themselves as gods. The word megalomania came to mind. I looked it up and found that the roots of this word are also from the Greek; megalo meaning big or huge, and mania meaning mad. Megalomania now has a clinical name. It is called Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). It is characterized by extreme feelings of self-importance, a high need for admiration, and a lack of empathy. I missed the crucial point about empathy. Certainly, if ones ego is off the charts, there can be no empathy for others as they have to be lesser beings in comparison.
Sociologists estimate that .7-1% of the population are megalomaniacs. Probably charisma has the same incidence rate. Assuming that charisma and megalomania are independent traits and have the same incidence rate of 1 % or 1 out of 100, then the incidence rate of charismatic megalomaniacs is .01% or 1 out of 10,000. I hope there are not this many potential Jim Joneses out there. Probably there are other factors, e.g. jail, which keeps these nutballs (note: nutball is neither an acceptable nor politically correct clinical term) from actually wreaking any more havoc then we have already experienced.
There is always a lighter side
(in this case two):
I. As an undergraduate, I had a very nice lady Dr. Fran Cousins as my advisor in my sophomore year. Being a professor of Sociology, she strongly encouraged me to take a sociology course. I had signed up for a philosophy course and she thought I would get more out a related sociology course, which she just happened to be teaching. I never would have even considered taking any sociology course firm in my belief that it was pseudo-academic discipline or some other sophomoric mumbo jumbo.
Whenever we met on campus, we would chat and she would encourage me to take sociology courses. It got to be a wonderful game we played. Obviously, the seeds planted by Dr. Cousins way back in 1972 blossomed and resulted in this Sociology 101 paper. I tried looking her up on the Michigan website and even Googled her name to no avail. I am assuming she is long retired and perhaps even passed on. I was just going to send her my Sociology 101 paper for her to comment on. She would have been so happy and probably recommend some courses I should consider taking.
II. The Jim Jones story also brought up another related memory. In 1978, a young lady named Robbie Timmons became a newscaster one of the local Detroit TV stations. She was a little awkward and tried too hard at her job. I was teaching at the University of Michigan-Dearborn campus. The editor of the school paper was in one of my classes. As a result, I read the campus paper more than I might have in other circumstances. The editor felt the same way about Ms. Timmons and began roasting, tormenting and lampooned her in the pages of the paper. It was relentless and pretty entertaining.
Then, unexpectedly, the station she worked for fired her in March of 1979, just in time for the April Fools issue of the paper. The entire issue was dedicated to the mass suicide of University of Michigan Students distraught with the canning of Ms. Timmons. It was hilarious. There were pictures of students lying dead all over campus, in the hallways, draped over building signs, in the library, randomly scattered on the grounds. The issue was so good, it made the evening news. A few weeks later Ms. Timmons herself came to campus for Robbie Timmons Day. Ms. Timmons soon got another position and is still broadcasting the news in Detroit. I smile and think the zany mass suicide students might have actually helped her career.
That story was shockingly fascinating at the time and fascinates me still twenty-eight years later. I am amazed by the ability of someone, anyone, like Jim Jones to attract and mesmerize so many people into following him. They not only believed in his “message” but dedicated their entire lives to Jim Jones and the People’s Temple, as his church was called. People gave up their possessions, spouses, and children to follow this man. They not only followed him spiritually but decided, or let him decide, they should live in his commune. He started the commune in California only to move it to Guyana, hardly the first choice for the “let’s leave everything and go live on a commune” set.
James Warren Jones was born on May 13, 1931 in Crete, Indiana. In the 1950’s, he became a preacher and founded a church that he named “Wings of Deliverance” which he later changed to the “People’s Temple Full Gospel Church.” In 1964, he was ordained in the more mainstream Christian Denomination Disciples of Christ. Living then in California, Jones developed and advocated a concept called Apostolic Socialism based on social justice and the equal treatment of African Americans. Because of his involvement with the poor, the popularity of his church and his seeming respectability, then San Francisco Mayor George Mascone appointed Reverend Jim to the city’s housing commission!
It was about this time that Jones began to veer. He claimed to be an embodiment of Jesus, Akehnaten (Amenhotep IV), Buddha, Lenin, and Father Devine (an African American preacher of the early 1900’s who basically believed and convinced a small throng that he was God). It was a safe bet that with these revelations, the People’s Temple had assumed cult status.
In 1977 with the beginning of an investigation for tax evasion, Jones moved the People’s Temple and most of its one thousand adherents to Guyana, the impoverished little country on the Caribbean coast of South America. He wanted to create an agricultural utopia but he also wanted his followers to think of him as God. Back in California, those that did not go to Guyana began to complain about beatings and murders within the People’s Temple. Some even reported about a plan for mass suicide.
As a result of these allegations, Congressman Leo Ryan of California led a mission to Guyana to investigate. They arrived in Jonestown and interviewed residents over a three day period. When an attempt was made on the congressman’s life, the group decided to leave Guyana immediately. They took some twenty People’s Temple members who wished to leave. As they were boarding their plane, armed guards from Jonestown began shooting at them. The congressman, three journalists, and a defector were killed. Later that same day, Jones instructed the 914 remaining residents of Jonestown, including 276 children, to commit mass suicide. Most drank cyanide laced Kool-Aid, while others were injected with cyanide, and the less enthusiastic were simply shot. As the Kool-Aid drinkers lay in a most orderly array, Jones preached impending salvation to them. Jones was found seated in a chair dead from a bullet to his head. It was never clear if it were from his own hand.
Of course, Jim Jones was not the first or last of this type of charismatic megalomaniacs. The other that comes to my mind, simply because I was subject to the media blitz when the end came was David Koresh and the Branch Davidians. Koresh was born in 1959 as Vernon Wayne Howell to a fifteen year old unwed mother in Houston. In his youth, he was abused by his father, grew up a loner and was dyslexic. Koresh was involved in the Seventh Day Adventist Church but was thrown out as a result of questioning and arguing scripture with the elders. The fact that he wanted to marry a fifteen year girl he was in love with and had made pregnant also may have factored into the decision.
Upon leaving the Adventists, Koresh joined the splinter Branch Davidian Sect led by one Lois Roden. They were headquartered in Waco, Texas and their compound was called the Mt. Carmel Center. When Lois died, Koresh and Lois’ son George vied for leadership of the Branch Davidians. George won out but Koresh soon returned and took over with what can only be called an armed insurgency in which George was shot. In the ensuing trial, Koresh and his gang were unbelievably acquitted whereas George was arrested for an unrelated previous murder and was committed to a mental institution.
At this point, Koresh adopted the name David Koresh: David for King David and Koresh was the Hebrew version of Cyrus, the famed Persian King. He allowed polygamy in the sect and is believed to have fathered a dozen children, some to girls that were as young as twelve and thirteen. Koresh died on April 19, 1993 at the end of a fifty-one day siege by the FBI and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms that culminated in an all out assault of the Mt. Carmel Center by the Feds. Eighty-five Branch Davidians including Koresh and seventeen children barricaded themselves for a fight to the death. They all died in a fire that was either as result of the attack or as government reports theorized was deliberately set by Koresh and his followers leading most to believe these Branch Davidians committed mass suicide.
We have all met charismatic people in our lives. They are natural leaders. People gravitate to them, are charmed by them, want to be around them, and try to curry favor from them. I have examples from the first days of school, even in kindergarten, until today in the workplace. Sometimes, we call these people CEOs, presidents, generals, or religious titles and they become the stuff legends are made of. They have that blend of charisma and ego that get everyone behind them and enables them to accomplish great things.
But, there is a dark side as well. Channeling ones ego and charisma to do good or great things is not always so easy. For some, it is easier to become addicted to the power inherent in these gifts i.e. the ability to control and manipulate others. It is an addiction as potent as heroin and can twist one’s mind. We see and recognize the sometimes thin line between genius and insanity, or in this case, between beloved charismatic leadership and terrifying megalomania. The same natural gifts and skill sets can make you Winston Churchill or Joseph Stalin, Billy Graham or Jim Jones.
I had a boss who was charismatic. He was a great leader. He motivated all who worked for him. He pulled us all together and created a cohesive team from what was a dysfunctional department. We followed willingly and eagerly. He valued our input and thoughts. Sure, he had an ego, but certainly one that also enjoyed seeing his team do well, prosper and advance. He always wanted a divisional presidency. By continually delivering results, he eventually got his goal. The job, however, was beyond his organizational and motivational skill set. The personality and style which got him the job were all suddenly useless. He veered and became a real SOB. I could not believe how quickly and completely it happened. His people hated him, even now, five years later. He decided to retire, or was retired, when it was clear that things were not going well. Thankfully, his true personality and nature re-emerged.
What is charisma? The word comes from the Greek word, kharisma, meaning gift. Charisma is the innate ability of one draw the attention and admiration of others. Charismatic people have an air of confidence, being in control, easily engaging others, and simply attracting others to be around them.
Charisma differentiates a good leader from a good manager. A charismatic leader easily draws and involves others to his or her aspirations and endeavors. A good manager is an able administrator. When one person is both a great leader and a great administrator, I would call this person a great leader. Often charismatic leaders in business, coaching or religion will have a #2 that is a very good manager.
Certainly, Jim Jones and David Koresh had charisma. What caused them to use their gifts in such a negative way? I believe that they became addicted to the power over others. They both thought of themselves as gods. The word megalomania came to mind. I looked it up and found that the roots of this word are also from the Greek; megalo meaning big or huge, and mania meaning mad. Megalomania now has a clinical name. It is called Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). It is characterized by extreme feelings of self-importance, a high need for admiration, and a lack of empathy. I missed the crucial point about empathy. Certainly, if ones ego is off the charts, there can be no empathy for others as they have to be lesser beings in comparison.
Sociologists estimate that .7-1% of the population are megalomaniacs. Probably charisma has the same incidence rate. Assuming that charisma and megalomania are independent traits and have the same incidence rate of 1 % or 1 out of 100, then the incidence rate of charismatic megalomaniacs is .01% or 1 out of 10,000. I hope there are not this many potential Jim Joneses out there. Probably there are other factors, e.g. jail, which keeps these nutballs (note: nutball is neither an acceptable nor politically correct clinical term) from actually wreaking any more havoc then we have already experienced.
There is always a lighter side
(in this case two):
I. As an undergraduate, I had a very nice lady Dr. Fran Cousins as my advisor in my sophomore year. Being a professor of Sociology, she strongly encouraged me to take a sociology course. I had signed up for a philosophy course and she thought I would get more out a related sociology course, which she just happened to be teaching. I never would have even considered taking any sociology course firm in my belief that it was pseudo-academic discipline or some other sophomoric mumbo jumbo.
Whenever we met on campus, we would chat and she would encourage me to take sociology courses. It got to be a wonderful game we played. Obviously, the seeds planted by Dr. Cousins way back in 1972 blossomed and resulted in this Sociology 101 paper. I tried looking her up on the Michigan website and even Googled her name to no avail. I am assuming she is long retired and perhaps even passed on. I was just going to send her my Sociology 101 paper for her to comment on. She would have been so happy and probably recommend some courses I should consider taking.
II. The Jim Jones story also brought up another related memory. In 1978, a young lady named Robbie Timmons became a newscaster one of the local Detroit TV stations. She was a little awkward and tried too hard at her job. I was teaching at the University of Michigan-Dearborn campus. The editor of the school paper was in one of my classes. As a result, I read the campus paper more than I might have in other circumstances. The editor felt the same way about Ms. Timmons and began roasting, tormenting and lampooned her in the pages of the paper. It was relentless and pretty entertaining.
Then, unexpectedly, the station she worked for fired her in March of 1979, just in time for the April Fools issue of the paper. The entire issue was dedicated to the mass suicide of University of Michigan Students distraught with the canning of Ms. Timmons. It was hilarious. There were pictures of students lying dead all over campus, in the hallways, draped over building signs, in the library, randomly scattered on the grounds. The issue was so good, it made the evening news. A few weeks later Ms. Timmons herself came to campus for Robbie Timmons Day. Ms. Timmons soon got another position and is still broadcasting the news in Detroit. I smile and think the zany mass suicide students might have actually helped her career.
Friday, January 9, 2009
October 2005: 24/7
Advertising: I got into the elevator in our office building one Monday this past September. I noticed that “they” had installed a small TV screen in each car. I was curious to see what these screens would be used for. I was assuming that these screens would be used to broadcast company news, information, stock price and such. Went the system went live, I realize that I had guessed wrong.
These little screens were part of something called the Captivate Network (http://www.captivate.com/). The Captivate Network is a Gannett enterprise. Gannett also brings us the USA Today newspaper. The Captivate website proudly proclaims that they bring news, information, and advertising to 1.9 million hard to reach business professionals. “We deliver quality digital advertising and programming to a captive audience of more that 1.9 million educated, affluent consumers in the elevators of premier office towers across North America.”
I was offended by the intrusion during my 30 second elevator up or down. I was offended before I perused the Captivate website. I was a bit more offended when they actually used the words “captive audience.” They claim to reach more executives than Forbes. I am sure they do. They have 5,800 screens across North America.
Maybe I am too old, I am after all “the other side of fifty.” I found this benign little screen that is always half content and half advertising a huge intrusion. The elevator is a bit of quiet time when I am alone and a time to exchange pleasantries when in the company of others. Do I really need to know the weather report and be subjected to Hummer ads when in the elevator?
I love the name: Captivate. I truly feel captive. Thankfully, the network is only video, no audio. I routinely position myself in the corner of the elevator where the obtrusive little screen is hardest to see. I feel like the protagonist, Winston Smith, in George Orwell’s novel, 1984, huddled in the corner of his room trying to avoid the prying video eye of Big Brother while he scribbled his thoughts, subversive to the state. Probably in a short time I will be used to the Captivate screen, not caring anymore and thus open, subliminally, to the barrage of advertising and never fully understanding why I have a sudden desire to book all my travel on Travelocity.
Several years ago, they built a North Entrance to Grand Central Terminal. I use the entrance at 48th Street and Park Avenue, a mere block and half from my office. From there, via a long three to four block walk underground, one has access to all the gates of the Grand Central. It is a great short cut to the trains that is even more convenient in foul weather.
The underground passageway is kind of stark. There are lots of beige tiles and beige painted plaster board on the walls. The floor is a beige-ish terrazzo and the ceiling is simply off white panels and fluorescent lights. To decorate the passageways, artwork has been added. The route I take has been adorned with mosaics and cast wall decorations of the countries and peoples of Asia. The are pleasant and well done pieces.
About a year after the opening of the North Entrance, they began what I considered a bothersome trend: advertisements. I am not talking about posters or lightboxes. I am talking about mini, 4’x15’, billboards that are glued right to the walls. If that were not enough, smaller versions, 5’x5’, of the same ads are affixed to the floors at both ends of the escalators. Yes, that is right advertising on the floor. The ads, all dedicated toone company or product, are up for 2-3 weeks, about the time it takes for the floor ads to get really scuffed up and dirty. The current ads are for a high end Bulgari watch, ostentatious in size with lots of dials and buttons: the Assioma. The ads previous to the Assioma were for a new TV show based on Chris Rock’s childhood. The ads all seem to be for television shows or high end consumer goods.
The wall ads surprised but did not bother me. I was truly mystified and taken aback by the floor ads. Why floor ads? Leave the ceilings and floors alone. We have enough advertisements. I also couldn’t understand how product managers would allow their product images, their creative babies, to be trampled over by hoards of commuters. They get dirty. The product image is basically defaced. But then, I never have fully understood marketing and the people who make a living doing it.
I must admit that there was one ad that I appreciated. It was for J’Adore, a perfume by Christian Dior. The ad feature the Estonian supermodel Carmen Kass where she appeared to be waist deep in a pool of gold.
Ads have even made their way onto taxi cabs. Why not? There are taxis aplenty in Manhattan. The taxis have been outfitted with light box or light marquis on the roof of the cabs. The ones that seems to stick in my mind are those sponsored by ESPN. These light boxes flash scores for various events. Do I really need to know or be reminded that the NJ Devils beat the Boston Bruins 3-0 in last night’s game? Does anyone that has a little bit of interest in NY baseball not already know the score of the most recent Yankees and Angels game?
Some one obviously conceptualized these taxi devices, had them made, and somehow sold ESPN on the concept. How did they calculate the return on that investment? I am quite certain the ROI on this baby is simply immeasurable.
These new horizons in advertising are done simply because they can be. The technology is there. Advertisers must be convinced these ads are reaching a specific demographic, consistently.
It is odd that I am complaining about excessive and intrusive advertising. I work for a consumer products company. Advertising is a key business driver and I certainly understand the importance of it. Still, I wish they had not started considering elevator cars and hallway floors as advertising opportunities. I certainly hope they stop there. I am, sadly, convinced that this trend will continue and will no doubt be surprised an offended further by whatever the next level of intrusion will be.
Television: Beyond advertising, we are bombarded with 24/7 television and media. When I grew up in Detroit, we had five television stations, period. We had the three major networks and a public television on UHF. We had the bonus of a fifth station in Detroit. With Windsor, Ontario just across the river, we were able to receive the Canadian Broadcasting Network as well. We had five whole channels and that is you were lucky, wealthy, or techie enough to have a UHF converter. We had one TV in the house and it was black and white with no remote.
We also experienced test patterns. Test patterns were the graphic a station would broadcast when they were not on the air. Yes, for those of you who do not know or cannot remember, those five television stations did not broadcast around the clock. There was no 24/7.
I had actual forgotten this fact until in 2003 when I was watching a special on the 40th anniversary of the assassination of President Kennedy. The show I was watching showed footage of Walter Cronkite reflecting on the events of that sad and shocking day. Cronkite was pointed out that it was 11:40 pm and they had stayed on the air 10 minutes past their normal broadcast day because of the gravity of the events.
It is amazing that we now have hundreds of channels, depending on the size of your cable or satellite bill. They all run 24/7 even if infomercials have replaced test patterns in the wee hours of the morning on the less popular networks. Funny though, even with hundreds of channels the same five channel phenomena is still experienced with surprising regularity. After flipping through five channels in the bygone era or 500 hundred channels today, one can still say, “There’s nothing on.” The difference is that channel surfing through hundreds of channels can take up most of an evening. Jerry Seinfeld noted once on his show when commenting on the male propensity for channel surfing. “We don’t want to watch TV; we want to watch whatever else is on TV.” This results in an endless search to find just the right thing to watch for the next 30 seconds. While this may be bothersome to whoever is not controlling the remote control or clicker, there is really nothing to worry about. Most households have more TVs than inhabitants these days. Everyone can have their own TV and clicker. If this weren’t enough, the new iPods can now download and play personal video.
Americans watch an average of four hours of TV a day. I wonder how accurate this statistic is. Based on me, a personal sample of one, the TV may be on for four hours but I am not necessarily watching it. I tend to be multi-tasking. I am watching CBS Sunday morning while I am typing this letter. Hey, I wonder if a lack of total focus accounts for the typos and grammatical errors in these e-letters.
But, TV is good. It broadcasts the Three Stooges and University of Michigan Football. Hmmm…every Three Stooges episode, just Curly’s and Shemp’s mind you, on my iPod. That will do wonders for my productivity!
Cell Phones: Everyone loves cell phones and loves to complain about them. I am no different. They are really handy whenever we need and use them and a major pain when others use them in our presence.
We all have access to phones: cell phones and home phones. We can e-mail and text message from phones and Blackberries. We can constantly be in touch. We can be in touch with family, friends, loved ones, colleagues, associates, telemarketers, and spammers, all around the world via this technology. The bad thing, there is no down time, except for sleep. However for good sleep, you have to remember to turn your phone off.
I have been on the train platform seeing people talking on their cell phones at 5:30 am. Who are they talking too? I assume, and hope, they are Wall Street types buying, selling, and trading with their European or Asian offices. But in eavesdropping (only for sociological research for this e-letter) the conversations do not sound like high powered business. Recently, at this early hour, I overheard, “Oh did I wake you up? Oh, I am sorry. Call me later when you get up?” Very funny.
Often at the airport, you hear conversations like, “Hey, it’s me… I am at the airport… just waiting… yeah, 7:45… sure… ok…. No, but I’ll try.” It is amazing how these conversations are all the same no matter whether they are in English, Spanish or Armenian. There is a lot of talking going on, mostly about nothing.
Many states have passed laws limiting the use of cell phones while driving. One has to have a hands free system or cell phone use is prohibited. It is not so much the talking while driving that is a problem, research has actually shown that the very act of having ones hand to ones ear, like we do when talking on a cell phone, diverts ones attention from other tasks… like driving. It reminds me of the old joke:What is worse a drunk driver or a driver talking on his cell phone? The driver on the cell phone is much worse. The drunk driver is really trying to drive.
I read somewhere that we may soon be able to use cell phones and access the internet on airplanes. Planes are one of the last remaining sanctuaries from being connected 24/7. None of my colleagues I have polled like this idea. But, we will all use our phones and laptops on airplanes if allowed. We cannot help ourselves.
On the train, cell phone use is at extremes. Some people can speak on the phone and you cannot even hear them. Their conversations are short and usually just to inform someone what train they are on for either a pick-up or dinner plans. Others are incredibly loud and carry on long conversations. I have seen fellow passengers crumple up paper and throw it at these loud talkers. It can be quite funny.
Wrap-up: We live in a 24/7 world. Technology has enabled an unprecedented level of connectivity and information. It is, of course, a two edged sword. It frees us and chains us at the same time. I love it. I hate it.
There were so many other facets of these topics I could have written about e.g. cell phones ringing at funerals and concerts. I am sure I will cover them in some future letter. I look forward to hearing your take on these topics both positive and negative.
Also, let me know if I should begin to accept advertising in this e-letter, you know, for tasteful, high quality products like Ginsu Knives, Unbelievably Quick Weight Loss or Hair restoration products, Ronco and As Seen on TV products, and non-prescription ED products that really work.*
Here is an example. Ron… this one is on me. You will have to pay next time.
These little screens were part of something called the Captivate Network (http://www.captivate.com/). The Captivate Network is a Gannett enterprise. Gannett also brings us the USA Today newspaper. The Captivate website proudly proclaims that they bring news, information, and advertising to 1.9 million hard to reach business professionals. “We deliver quality digital advertising and programming to a captive audience of more that 1.9 million educated, affluent consumers in the elevators of premier office towers across North America.”
I was offended by the intrusion during my 30 second elevator up or down. I was offended before I perused the Captivate website. I was a bit more offended when they actually used the words “captive audience.” They claim to reach more executives than Forbes. I am sure they do. They have 5,800 screens across North America.
Maybe I am too old, I am after all “the other side of fifty.” I found this benign little screen that is always half content and half advertising a huge intrusion. The elevator is a bit of quiet time when I am alone and a time to exchange pleasantries when in the company of others. Do I really need to know the weather report and be subjected to Hummer ads when in the elevator?
I love the name: Captivate. I truly feel captive. Thankfully, the network is only video, no audio. I routinely position myself in the corner of the elevator where the obtrusive little screen is hardest to see. I feel like the protagonist, Winston Smith, in George Orwell’s novel, 1984, huddled in the corner of his room trying to avoid the prying video eye of Big Brother while he scribbled his thoughts, subversive to the state. Probably in a short time I will be used to the Captivate screen, not caring anymore and thus open, subliminally, to the barrage of advertising and never fully understanding why I have a sudden desire to book all my travel on Travelocity.
Several years ago, they built a North Entrance to Grand Central Terminal. I use the entrance at 48th Street and Park Avenue, a mere block and half from my office. From there, via a long three to four block walk underground, one has access to all the gates of the Grand Central. It is a great short cut to the trains that is even more convenient in foul weather.
The underground passageway is kind of stark. There are lots of beige tiles and beige painted plaster board on the walls. The floor is a beige-ish terrazzo and the ceiling is simply off white panels and fluorescent lights. To decorate the passageways, artwork has been added. The route I take has been adorned with mosaics and cast wall decorations of the countries and peoples of Asia. The are pleasant and well done pieces.
About a year after the opening of the North Entrance, they began what I considered a bothersome trend: advertisements. I am not talking about posters or lightboxes. I am talking about mini, 4’x15’, billboards that are glued right to the walls. If that were not enough, smaller versions, 5’x5’, of the same ads are affixed to the floors at both ends of the escalators. Yes, that is right advertising on the floor. The ads, all dedicated toone company or product, are up for 2-3 weeks, about the time it takes for the floor ads to get really scuffed up and dirty. The current ads are for a high end Bulgari watch, ostentatious in size with lots of dials and buttons: the Assioma. The ads previous to the Assioma were for a new TV show based on Chris Rock’s childhood. The ads all seem to be for television shows or high end consumer goods.
The wall ads surprised but did not bother me. I was truly mystified and taken aback by the floor ads. Why floor ads? Leave the ceilings and floors alone. We have enough advertisements. I also couldn’t understand how product managers would allow their product images, their creative babies, to be trampled over by hoards of commuters. They get dirty. The product image is basically defaced. But then, I never have fully understood marketing and the people who make a living doing it.
I must admit that there was one ad that I appreciated. It was for J’Adore, a perfume by Christian Dior. The ad feature the Estonian supermodel Carmen Kass where she appeared to be waist deep in a pool of gold.
Ads have even made their way onto taxi cabs. Why not? There are taxis aplenty in Manhattan. The taxis have been outfitted with light box or light marquis on the roof of the cabs. The ones that seems to stick in my mind are those sponsored by ESPN. These light boxes flash scores for various events. Do I really need to know or be reminded that the NJ Devils beat the Boston Bruins 3-0 in last night’s game? Does anyone that has a little bit of interest in NY baseball not already know the score of the most recent Yankees and Angels game?
Some one obviously conceptualized these taxi devices, had them made, and somehow sold ESPN on the concept. How did they calculate the return on that investment? I am quite certain the ROI on this baby is simply immeasurable.
These new horizons in advertising are done simply because they can be. The technology is there. Advertisers must be convinced these ads are reaching a specific demographic, consistently.
It is odd that I am complaining about excessive and intrusive advertising. I work for a consumer products company. Advertising is a key business driver and I certainly understand the importance of it. Still, I wish they had not started considering elevator cars and hallway floors as advertising opportunities. I certainly hope they stop there. I am, sadly, convinced that this trend will continue and will no doubt be surprised an offended further by whatever the next level of intrusion will be.
Television: Beyond advertising, we are bombarded with 24/7 television and media. When I grew up in Detroit, we had five television stations, period. We had the three major networks and a public television on UHF. We had the bonus of a fifth station in Detroit. With Windsor, Ontario just across the river, we were able to receive the Canadian Broadcasting Network as well. We had five whole channels and that is you were lucky, wealthy, or techie enough to have a UHF converter. We had one TV in the house and it was black and white with no remote.
We also experienced test patterns. Test patterns were the graphic a station would broadcast when they were not on the air. Yes, for those of you who do not know or cannot remember, those five television stations did not broadcast around the clock. There was no 24/7.
I had actual forgotten this fact until in 2003 when I was watching a special on the 40th anniversary of the assassination of President Kennedy. The show I was watching showed footage of Walter Cronkite reflecting on the events of that sad and shocking day. Cronkite was pointed out that it was 11:40 pm and they had stayed on the air 10 minutes past their normal broadcast day because of the gravity of the events.
It is amazing that we now have hundreds of channels, depending on the size of your cable or satellite bill. They all run 24/7 even if infomercials have replaced test patterns in the wee hours of the morning on the less popular networks. Funny though, even with hundreds of channels the same five channel phenomena is still experienced with surprising regularity. After flipping through five channels in the bygone era or 500 hundred channels today, one can still say, “There’s nothing on.” The difference is that channel surfing through hundreds of channels can take up most of an evening. Jerry Seinfeld noted once on his show when commenting on the male propensity for channel surfing. “We don’t want to watch TV; we want to watch whatever else is on TV.” This results in an endless search to find just the right thing to watch for the next 30 seconds. While this may be bothersome to whoever is not controlling the remote control or clicker, there is really nothing to worry about. Most households have more TVs than inhabitants these days. Everyone can have their own TV and clicker. If this weren’t enough, the new iPods can now download and play personal video.
Americans watch an average of four hours of TV a day. I wonder how accurate this statistic is. Based on me, a personal sample of one, the TV may be on for four hours but I am not necessarily watching it. I tend to be multi-tasking. I am watching CBS Sunday morning while I am typing this letter. Hey, I wonder if a lack of total focus accounts for the typos and grammatical errors in these e-letters.
But, TV is good. It broadcasts the Three Stooges and University of Michigan Football. Hmmm…every Three Stooges episode, just Curly’s and Shemp’s mind you, on my iPod. That will do wonders for my productivity!
Cell Phones: Everyone loves cell phones and loves to complain about them. I am no different. They are really handy whenever we need and use them and a major pain when others use them in our presence.
We all have access to phones: cell phones and home phones. We can e-mail and text message from phones and Blackberries. We can constantly be in touch. We can be in touch with family, friends, loved ones, colleagues, associates, telemarketers, and spammers, all around the world via this technology. The bad thing, there is no down time, except for sleep. However for good sleep, you have to remember to turn your phone off.
I have been on the train platform seeing people talking on their cell phones at 5:30 am. Who are they talking too? I assume, and hope, they are Wall Street types buying, selling, and trading with their European or Asian offices. But in eavesdropping (only for sociological research for this e-letter) the conversations do not sound like high powered business. Recently, at this early hour, I overheard, “Oh did I wake you up? Oh, I am sorry. Call me later when you get up?” Very funny.
Often at the airport, you hear conversations like, “Hey, it’s me… I am at the airport… just waiting… yeah, 7:45… sure… ok…. No, but I’ll try.” It is amazing how these conversations are all the same no matter whether they are in English, Spanish or Armenian. There is a lot of talking going on, mostly about nothing.
Many states have passed laws limiting the use of cell phones while driving. One has to have a hands free system or cell phone use is prohibited. It is not so much the talking while driving that is a problem, research has actually shown that the very act of having ones hand to ones ear, like we do when talking on a cell phone, diverts ones attention from other tasks… like driving. It reminds me of the old joke:What is worse a drunk driver or a driver talking on his cell phone? The driver on the cell phone is much worse. The drunk driver is really trying to drive.
I read somewhere that we may soon be able to use cell phones and access the internet on airplanes. Planes are one of the last remaining sanctuaries from being connected 24/7. None of my colleagues I have polled like this idea. But, we will all use our phones and laptops on airplanes if allowed. We cannot help ourselves.
On the train, cell phone use is at extremes. Some people can speak on the phone and you cannot even hear them. Their conversations are short and usually just to inform someone what train they are on for either a pick-up or dinner plans. Others are incredibly loud and carry on long conversations. I have seen fellow passengers crumple up paper and throw it at these loud talkers. It can be quite funny.
Wrap-up: We live in a 24/7 world. Technology has enabled an unprecedented level of connectivity and information. It is, of course, a two edged sword. It frees us and chains us at the same time. I love it. I hate it.
There were so many other facets of these topics I could have written about e.g. cell phones ringing at funerals and concerts. I am sure I will cover them in some future letter. I look forward to hearing your take on these topics both positive and negative.
Also, let me know if I should begin to accept advertising in this e-letter, you know, for tasteful, high quality products like Ginsu Knives, Unbelievably Quick Weight Loss or Hair restoration products, Ronco and As Seen on TV products, and non-prescription ED products that really work.*
Here is an example. Ron… this one is on me. You will have to pay next time.
Inside-the-shell Egg Scrambler
Scrambles the egg RIGHT IN THE SHELL! No need to stir the eggs for French toast and omelets. Perfectly blends an egg inside the shell in seconds. Just crack the eggs and you'll have even and no-lump coating around fried foods like Fried Chicken. Or boil the eggs for hard-boiled eggs with no yolk! Just $19.95
http://www.ronco.com/rco_prodinfo.aspx?pid=RO2001101001&color=&active=desc*Just Kidding
September 2005: Probably more about Warehousing and Latin American Cowboys than you would ever want to know!
Venezuela: I was in Venezuela the last week of August, visiting our plant and warehouse in Valencia. Valencia, two hours west of the capital Caracas, is the most pleasant industrial city I have ever been in.
One evening we went to restaurant called Rucio Moro. Rucio Moro is a very good parilla or grill, serving abundant quantities of beef, chicken and fixin’s in a most informal environment with very lively live music. It is more than this however. Rucio Moro is a restaurant chain owned by the renowned Venezuelan singer, Reynaldo Armas. He is the prominent singer of what I will call the Venezuelan cowboy culture: Musica Criolla
Rucio Moro is actually the name Reynaldo’s horse. Rucio means silver-gray. Moro means Moor or, in the case of a horse, white mark on the forehead. Reynaldo loved his horse. He wrote a song about the passing of the horse. It is his most famous song. The theme of the restaurants is the cowboy culture of Venezuela.
Statues and images of the horse are everywhere. The statues are full size replicas of the horse. One is of Rucio Moro standing; another is of the horse rearing up. There are numerous photos of Rucio Moro all over the restaurant. There are photos of Rucio Moro in the stable, in the pasture, running, with Reynaldo standing, and with Reynaldo riding. This guy loved his horse. But these photos were interspersed with action shots of what looked like Venezuelan Rodeos.
Venezuelan Rodeo? I learned that it is not actually a rodeo. The national sport of Venezuela is called Toros Coleados or Bull Tailing. Men, coleadors, on horseback chase a bull with the goal of grasping onto the tail of the bull and then trying to upend the beast. A rider scores a point only if the bull, for just a second, is fully on its back with its legs sticking straight up. It is a tough and dangerous sport. Grabbing a charging bull’s tail is hard enough but then flipping it is even harder. The rider must contort at all kinds of angles in sync with his horse to roll the bull.
It takes a special breed of horse for this kind of task. The horse must be both compact and incredibly strong. The Coleado horses are bred between two species to achieve the desired size and strength. Rucio Moro, I was led to believe, was such a horse. An entry level horse can cost $25,000. Prized horses go for $75,000 or more.
A Coleado is a day long event. Music abounds. Beer and scotch, mostly scotch which is definitely the national drink of Venezuela, flow very freely. Barbecues are fired up and filled with meat. The crowd is clad, well like cowboys, in jeans, big buckled belts, boots, western shirts, and cowboy hats. The stands are intimately close to the action. Every so often, a fan, not thinking clearly, will stagger into harms way trying to get closer to the action or to cheer his favorite Coleador. Riders, friends, or the simple luck of the completely inebriated often save such fans from serious injury.
The music is special as well. The Coleado Music is definitely country. It is also energetic. I even thought of it as Venezuelan Country Western kind of Rap as the singing is often closer to talking than singing. Singers will ad lib in creating a story and often singers will exchange back and forth trying to out ad lib or rap the other.
The instrumentation is standard. The lead instrument is a harp, a small four stringed guitar called a quarto provides the fill and harmony, and the percussion is solely form maracas. Along with a singer, this is the traditional band. Some years ago, with the advent of amplification, an electric bass was added to the mix. I really like this music.
A while back in Florida, some enterprising fellow, probably a Venezuelan, maybe even Reynaldo Armas, staged a Coleado in Tampa. Fifteen hundred people came. Shortly thereafter the Florida legislature deemed this animal cruelty and banned the sport. I cannot imagine this is much fun for the bulls.
Warehousing: Part of my job involves the management of warehouses in Latin America. I do not actually manage the warehouse on a day to day basis. People in our subsidiaries do that. I craft strategy and policy and then work to ensure the strategy is executed and we manage our facilities to our policies. It has been a fun job.
When I first stared, there was no central management of warehousing. Basically, when there is not enough management attention, people and performance tend not to be world class.
Furthermore, we did not put our best people in our warehouses. One of my close friends and esteemed colleagues, Angel in Mexico, always says that, “Warehousing was the waste basket of manufacturing.” When we had a mediocre performer, it was very likely he might get moved to warehousing thinking that “he can’t do any harm there, it is just a warehouse.”
Our warehouses were dimly lit and grungy. Often the spaces were attached to our factories which over the years had expanded by taking over bits and pieces of the warehouse. Thus, many of our warehouse spaces were not uniform but several rectangular spaces connected by corridors. Storage and stock rotation were haphazard. Some sites were kind of neat and others were simply horrible. You get the results you hold people accountable to by strategy, policy and measurements. As we had none of these, you can imagine the performance.
We decided to upgrade. We decided to upgrade our facilities and improve the capabilities of our people. Over the past eight years, every warehouse has been replaced or refurbished to world class standards… well world class standards for our industry. We have provided training and developmental short term assignments and job rotations for our people. We have even hired sharp young people with actual degrees in logistics. In Mexico, Brazil, and Colombia, we have been recognized by large customers like Wal-Mart as being the best amongst our peer companies.
When I travel, I not only visit our facilities but those of current and potential suppliers of warehouse services. We sometimes need space for overflow. At other times, we are looking to outsource our operations to third parties that can reduce our overall costs including inventory.
Brazil: We have a beautiful Mother or Main Warehouse in Sao Paulo. It was built in 1999. Over these six years, our business has grown in terms of volume and the assortment of products we offer. As a result, our Mother Warehouse is too small to handle the surge of business that comes at the end of the month and more so at the end of the quarter.
Do we build a new warehouse? That is certainly an option. I would rather build a warehouse and have everything under one roof. But, there is uncertainty in the amounts of exporting Brazil will do. There is a real possibility that our current Mother Warehouse might be the right size in 2008 or so. Building a huge, two football field sized warehouse violates a basic religious and warehousing tenet: You don’t build a church for Easter Sunday. Plus, building a warehouse is expensive and even if we lease it, the owner would want a 5-10 year commitment to recoup his investment and turn a profit.
Another option is to secure some “overflow” space. This makes me cringe. Not only do we incur more rent, but also increases in freight do to the shuttling product to and from the overflow facility. In logistics, a decent rule of thumb is to minimize the amount of times a case or pallet is loaded and unloaded onto a truck. With the uncertainty of our product portfolio and export strategy, an overflow site gives us flexibility expand or close as needed. We would negotiate the “divorce clause” prudently. Thus we would be free to get out of an overflow facility in six months if we no longer need it or decide to build a new one.
We decided to go with the overflow scenario and re-evaluate the need for a new facility in the 2007 budget.
There are two choices for our overflow warehouse. One is an extremely low cost bare bones facility that we would used just for space; shuttling product to our Mother Warehouse as needed. The other choice is a well run modern facility that meets matches our current standards for warehousing. We would use this facility not as pure overflow but as a productive facility to process orders and ship directly to customers. The pure overflow is cheaper for warehousing but would incur more freight cost. The more modern facility would cost more but the freight would be less. While I was in Brazil in late September, I went to visit both.
We will probably go with the more modern facility. The story here, though, and pardon the long lead in, is about my tour of the bare bones site..
The bare bones place was old, poorly lit, cavernous, and grungy. It reminded me of most of our warehouses of ten years ago. There were four sections each with arched tin roofs that looked like giant Quonset huts. The place was so old that the arched roof support structures in one of the section were made from wood.
The owner had us lead through a small lobby through part of the warehouse to his office. He had a nice roomy office and an out of place marble desk. He did not speak English. As my Portuguese is at best extremely weak, I was subject therefore to relying on my colleague Eduardo to translate.
We took a tour of the facility. I was impressed with two things. First, this was definitely a glimpse into our past. This facility in terms of age and general condition reminded me of the warehouses we had in our network before the modernization. Second, it was decently organized and neat for what it was. All the goods were stored on the floor and pallets were stacked three high. The floor was in good shape and as clean as you could get an old warehouse floor with a broom. We could definitely use this place as an overflow but I would not want to use it for anything more.
When the tour was over, we went back to the owner’s office. He gave me a bottle of Cachaça, the sugar cane liquor that is used to make Caipirinhas, the national drink of Brazil. I thanked him and thought we were done. Not quite.
The owner then pulled out his cell phone, came and stood next to me. This was odd but then I understood when he had a video on the phone display. It was of a horse, his horse. It was a fifteen second clip that I had the pleasure of seeing three times. I mumbled “nice horse” or even “what a nice horse” a few times and even asked, “Isn’t that a Palomino?” once. It was most definitely a Palomino, a golden Palomino.
Then he gave me a video. As he was handing it too me, I assumed it was a video of his facility and his company’s capabilities. I was oddly impressed that he would market such a bare bones operation with a video. I took the video and saw that it was a Roy Rogers movie. Well that explains the Palomino video clip on his phone. The movie was titled and dubbed in Portuguese.
We sat down, had some coffee. I thought we might talk a little warehousing. That was not the case. It was an opportunity for the owner to open his briefcase and proudly show me… more photos of his horse and all kinds of Roy Rogers memorabilia from fan magazines to catalogs. I was starting to get wierded out. But, I can go with the flow. I looked at everything, and feigned interest. I definitely was curious as to this guy’s Roy Rogers and Palomino hobby or obsession and even more curious as to why he was showing it to me. I understood the man wanting to share his hobby and passion with others but I could not stop trying to figure out how he thought this would help secure any business from us. With the face I maintained looking at the Happy Trails collection of stuff, I could have bluffed my way to victory in the World Series of Poker.
I recall saying to Eduardo, “Eduardo come here and have a look, more pictures of his horse.” For the second time in a month, I was thinking and this time expressed to Eduardo, “This guy really loves his horse.”
Finally we got out of there. We got in the car and I turned to Eduardo and asked, “What the hell was that all about?” Eduardo started roaring with laughter and so did I. I had a barrage of questions. Why is he obsessed with his horse? Roy Rogers? Why did he show me all that stuff? Eduardo could not stop laughing.
Finally, Eduardo told me that a week before the owner, knowing I was coming to visit, had asked him, “You know I don’t speak English nor do my people. How will I relate to this executive from New York?” Eduardo told him, “Don’t worry, Gavoor is a good man and will want to see your facility. I will do all the translating.” Then Eduardo related that he paused, thought, and then told the owner, knowing of his love of Roy Rogers, “You know, I have been to Gavoor’s house. It is like a shrine to Roy Rogers.” According to Eduardo, the owners eyes lit up and a smile came to his face.
I was set up. I was set up big time and world class. I expect this from my musician friends. I never expected this from Eduardo. Sure, we are good friends and definitely share some laughs. But, he really truly got me. We could not stop laughing.
Eduardo asked me why I did not take the video. I did not realize it was a gift, I thought he was just showing it to me like the catalogs, magazines, photos and cell phone video. It turns out that the owner actually paid to have this particular movie dubbed in Portuguese and had Trigger actually speak a la Mr. Ed. I was sorry I did not take the video. We laughed more thinking of how we might have offended our host given that he was of the belief that I was a Roy Rogers mega-fan. He had to be puzzled by my less than enthusiastic reaction. If it was not so funny, I would have really been mad at Eduardo.
Because of this, I did a little Roy Rogers web surfing. Here is what I learned:
- Roy Rogers, King of the Cowboys, was born Leonard Franklin Slye on November 5, 1911 in Cincinnati, Ohio. He died on July 6, 1998.
- Trigger, his Golden Palomino, lived from 1932 to July 3, 1965.
- Dale Evans, Queen of the West, was born Lucille Wood Smith on Halloween in 1912. She passed away on February 7, 2001.
- Roy Rogers was married twice. His first wife died in childbirth
- Dale Evans was married four times. Her first was an elopement at the age of 14.
- When Trigger died, Roy had the hide removed and stretched over a plaster likeness. Trigger was then displayed in the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Museum in California. The museum has been relocated to Branson, MO.
- Dale Evans was a prolific songwriter. She wrote over 200 songs including their theme song “Happy Trails” and the Sunday School staple, “The Bible tells Me So (Jesus loves me yes I know).”
- Most of Roy’s movies were in color when all oaters of the 1930s and 40s were in black and white.
- Their only child died of Down’s Syndrome before the age of two.
- When Trigger died, the butcher that took the hide, John Jones, gound up the meat and sold it to a number of greasy spoon restaurants. He was sentenced to five years in prison for selling adulterated food… yuck!
- Roy and Dale were well known philanthropists advocating for adoption and many children’s charities.
- The Roy Rogers radio show ran eight years. The Roy Rogers Dale Evans TV show ran from 1951 to 1957.
- The both starred in over 30 movies.
One evening we went to restaurant called Rucio Moro. Rucio Moro is a very good parilla or grill, serving abundant quantities of beef, chicken and fixin’s in a most informal environment with very lively live music. It is more than this however. Rucio Moro is a restaurant chain owned by the renowned Venezuelan singer, Reynaldo Armas. He is the prominent singer of what I will call the Venezuelan cowboy culture: Musica Criolla
Rucio Moro is actually the name Reynaldo’s horse. Rucio means silver-gray. Moro means Moor or, in the case of a horse, white mark on the forehead. Reynaldo loved his horse. He wrote a song about the passing of the horse. It is his most famous song. The theme of the restaurants is the cowboy culture of Venezuela.
Statues and images of the horse are everywhere. The statues are full size replicas of the horse. One is of Rucio Moro standing; another is of the horse rearing up. There are numerous photos of Rucio Moro all over the restaurant. There are photos of Rucio Moro in the stable, in the pasture, running, with Reynaldo standing, and with Reynaldo riding. This guy loved his horse. But these photos were interspersed with action shots of what looked like Venezuelan Rodeos.
Venezuelan Rodeo? I learned that it is not actually a rodeo. The national sport of Venezuela is called Toros Coleados or Bull Tailing. Men, coleadors, on horseback chase a bull with the goal of grasping onto the tail of the bull and then trying to upend the beast. A rider scores a point only if the bull, for just a second, is fully on its back with its legs sticking straight up. It is a tough and dangerous sport. Grabbing a charging bull’s tail is hard enough but then flipping it is even harder. The rider must contort at all kinds of angles in sync with his horse to roll the bull.
It takes a special breed of horse for this kind of task. The horse must be both compact and incredibly strong. The Coleado horses are bred between two species to achieve the desired size and strength. Rucio Moro, I was led to believe, was such a horse. An entry level horse can cost $25,000. Prized horses go for $75,000 or more.
A Coleado is a day long event. Music abounds. Beer and scotch, mostly scotch which is definitely the national drink of Venezuela, flow very freely. Barbecues are fired up and filled with meat. The crowd is clad, well like cowboys, in jeans, big buckled belts, boots, western shirts, and cowboy hats. The stands are intimately close to the action. Every so often, a fan, not thinking clearly, will stagger into harms way trying to get closer to the action or to cheer his favorite Coleador. Riders, friends, or the simple luck of the completely inebriated often save such fans from serious injury.
The music is special as well. The Coleado Music is definitely country. It is also energetic. I even thought of it as Venezuelan Country Western kind of Rap as the singing is often closer to talking than singing. Singers will ad lib in creating a story and often singers will exchange back and forth trying to out ad lib or rap the other.
The instrumentation is standard. The lead instrument is a harp, a small four stringed guitar called a quarto provides the fill and harmony, and the percussion is solely form maracas. Along with a singer, this is the traditional band. Some years ago, with the advent of amplification, an electric bass was added to the mix. I really like this music.
A while back in Florida, some enterprising fellow, probably a Venezuelan, maybe even Reynaldo Armas, staged a Coleado in Tampa. Fifteen hundred people came. Shortly thereafter the Florida legislature deemed this animal cruelty and banned the sport. I cannot imagine this is much fun for the bulls.
Warehousing: Part of my job involves the management of warehouses in Latin America. I do not actually manage the warehouse on a day to day basis. People in our subsidiaries do that. I craft strategy and policy and then work to ensure the strategy is executed and we manage our facilities to our policies. It has been a fun job.
When I first stared, there was no central management of warehousing. Basically, when there is not enough management attention, people and performance tend not to be world class.
Furthermore, we did not put our best people in our warehouses. One of my close friends and esteemed colleagues, Angel in Mexico, always says that, “Warehousing was the waste basket of manufacturing.” When we had a mediocre performer, it was very likely he might get moved to warehousing thinking that “he can’t do any harm there, it is just a warehouse.”
Our warehouses were dimly lit and grungy. Often the spaces were attached to our factories which over the years had expanded by taking over bits and pieces of the warehouse. Thus, many of our warehouse spaces were not uniform but several rectangular spaces connected by corridors. Storage and stock rotation were haphazard. Some sites were kind of neat and others were simply horrible. You get the results you hold people accountable to by strategy, policy and measurements. As we had none of these, you can imagine the performance.
We decided to upgrade. We decided to upgrade our facilities and improve the capabilities of our people. Over the past eight years, every warehouse has been replaced or refurbished to world class standards… well world class standards for our industry. We have provided training and developmental short term assignments and job rotations for our people. We have even hired sharp young people with actual degrees in logistics. In Mexico, Brazil, and Colombia, we have been recognized by large customers like Wal-Mart as being the best amongst our peer companies.
When I travel, I not only visit our facilities but those of current and potential suppliers of warehouse services. We sometimes need space for overflow. At other times, we are looking to outsource our operations to third parties that can reduce our overall costs including inventory.
Brazil: We have a beautiful Mother or Main Warehouse in Sao Paulo. It was built in 1999. Over these six years, our business has grown in terms of volume and the assortment of products we offer. As a result, our Mother Warehouse is too small to handle the surge of business that comes at the end of the month and more so at the end of the quarter.
Do we build a new warehouse? That is certainly an option. I would rather build a warehouse and have everything under one roof. But, there is uncertainty in the amounts of exporting Brazil will do. There is a real possibility that our current Mother Warehouse might be the right size in 2008 or so. Building a huge, two football field sized warehouse violates a basic religious and warehousing tenet: You don’t build a church for Easter Sunday. Plus, building a warehouse is expensive and even if we lease it, the owner would want a 5-10 year commitment to recoup his investment and turn a profit.
Another option is to secure some “overflow” space. This makes me cringe. Not only do we incur more rent, but also increases in freight do to the shuttling product to and from the overflow facility. In logistics, a decent rule of thumb is to minimize the amount of times a case or pallet is loaded and unloaded onto a truck. With the uncertainty of our product portfolio and export strategy, an overflow site gives us flexibility expand or close as needed. We would negotiate the “divorce clause” prudently. Thus we would be free to get out of an overflow facility in six months if we no longer need it or decide to build a new one.
We decided to go with the overflow scenario and re-evaluate the need for a new facility in the 2007 budget.
There are two choices for our overflow warehouse. One is an extremely low cost bare bones facility that we would used just for space; shuttling product to our Mother Warehouse as needed. The other choice is a well run modern facility that meets matches our current standards for warehousing. We would use this facility not as pure overflow but as a productive facility to process orders and ship directly to customers. The pure overflow is cheaper for warehousing but would incur more freight cost. The more modern facility would cost more but the freight would be less. While I was in Brazil in late September, I went to visit both.
We will probably go with the more modern facility. The story here, though, and pardon the long lead in, is about my tour of the bare bones site..
The bare bones place was old, poorly lit, cavernous, and grungy. It reminded me of most of our warehouses of ten years ago. There were four sections each with arched tin roofs that looked like giant Quonset huts. The place was so old that the arched roof support structures in one of the section were made from wood.
The owner had us lead through a small lobby through part of the warehouse to his office. He had a nice roomy office and an out of place marble desk. He did not speak English. As my Portuguese is at best extremely weak, I was subject therefore to relying on my colleague Eduardo to translate.
We took a tour of the facility. I was impressed with two things. First, this was definitely a glimpse into our past. This facility in terms of age and general condition reminded me of the warehouses we had in our network before the modernization. Second, it was decently organized and neat for what it was. All the goods were stored on the floor and pallets were stacked three high. The floor was in good shape and as clean as you could get an old warehouse floor with a broom. We could definitely use this place as an overflow but I would not want to use it for anything more.
When the tour was over, we went back to the owner’s office. He gave me a bottle of Cachaça, the sugar cane liquor that is used to make Caipirinhas, the national drink of Brazil. I thanked him and thought we were done. Not quite.
The owner then pulled out his cell phone, came and stood next to me. This was odd but then I understood when he had a video on the phone display. It was of a horse, his horse. It was a fifteen second clip that I had the pleasure of seeing three times. I mumbled “nice horse” or even “what a nice horse” a few times and even asked, “Isn’t that a Palomino?” once. It was most definitely a Palomino, a golden Palomino.
Then he gave me a video. As he was handing it too me, I assumed it was a video of his facility and his company’s capabilities. I was oddly impressed that he would market such a bare bones operation with a video. I took the video and saw that it was a Roy Rogers movie. Well that explains the Palomino video clip on his phone. The movie was titled and dubbed in Portuguese.
We sat down, had some coffee. I thought we might talk a little warehousing. That was not the case. It was an opportunity for the owner to open his briefcase and proudly show me… more photos of his horse and all kinds of Roy Rogers memorabilia from fan magazines to catalogs. I was starting to get wierded out. But, I can go with the flow. I looked at everything, and feigned interest. I definitely was curious as to this guy’s Roy Rogers and Palomino hobby or obsession and even more curious as to why he was showing it to me. I understood the man wanting to share his hobby and passion with others but I could not stop trying to figure out how he thought this would help secure any business from us. With the face I maintained looking at the Happy Trails collection of stuff, I could have bluffed my way to victory in the World Series of Poker.
I recall saying to Eduardo, “Eduardo come here and have a look, more pictures of his horse.” For the second time in a month, I was thinking and this time expressed to Eduardo, “This guy really loves his horse.”
Finally we got out of there. We got in the car and I turned to Eduardo and asked, “What the hell was that all about?” Eduardo started roaring with laughter and so did I. I had a barrage of questions. Why is he obsessed with his horse? Roy Rogers? Why did he show me all that stuff? Eduardo could not stop laughing.
Finally, Eduardo told me that a week before the owner, knowing I was coming to visit, had asked him, “You know I don’t speak English nor do my people. How will I relate to this executive from New York?” Eduardo told him, “Don’t worry, Gavoor is a good man and will want to see your facility. I will do all the translating.” Then Eduardo related that he paused, thought, and then told the owner, knowing of his love of Roy Rogers, “You know, I have been to Gavoor’s house. It is like a shrine to Roy Rogers.” According to Eduardo, the owners eyes lit up and a smile came to his face.
I was set up. I was set up big time and world class. I expect this from my musician friends. I never expected this from Eduardo. Sure, we are good friends and definitely share some laughs. But, he really truly got me. We could not stop laughing.
Eduardo asked me why I did not take the video. I did not realize it was a gift, I thought he was just showing it to me like the catalogs, magazines, photos and cell phone video. It turns out that the owner actually paid to have this particular movie dubbed in Portuguese and had Trigger actually speak a la Mr. Ed. I was sorry I did not take the video. We laughed more thinking of how we might have offended our host given that he was of the belief that I was a Roy Rogers mega-fan. He had to be puzzled by my less than enthusiastic reaction. If it was not so funny, I would have really been mad at Eduardo.
Because of this, I did a little Roy Rogers web surfing. Here is what I learned:
- Roy Rogers, King of the Cowboys, was born Leonard Franklin Slye on November 5, 1911 in Cincinnati, Ohio. He died on July 6, 1998.
- Trigger, his Golden Palomino, lived from 1932 to July 3, 1965.
- Dale Evans, Queen of the West, was born Lucille Wood Smith on Halloween in 1912. She passed away on February 7, 2001.
- Roy Rogers was married twice. His first wife died in childbirth
- Dale Evans was married four times. Her first was an elopement at the age of 14.
- When Trigger died, Roy had the hide removed and stretched over a plaster likeness. Trigger was then displayed in the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Museum in California. The museum has been relocated to Branson, MO.
- Dale Evans was a prolific songwriter. She wrote over 200 songs including their theme song “Happy Trails” and the Sunday School staple, “The Bible tells Me So (Jesus loves me yes I know).”
- Most of Roy’s movies were in color when all oaters of the 1930s and 40s were in black and white.
- Their only child died of Down’s Syndrome before the age of two.
- When Trigger died, the butcher that took the hide, John Jones, gound up the meat and sold it to a number of greasy spoon restaurants. He was sentenced to five years in prison for selling adulterated food… yuck!
- Roy and Dale were well known philanthropists advocating for adoption and many children’s charities.
- The Roy Rogers radio show ran eight years. The Roy Rogers Dale Evans TV show ran from 1951 to 1957.
- The both starred in over 30 movies.
Happy Trails to you,
Until we meet again…
August 2005: The Atom Bombing of Hiroshima & Nagasaki
I ended up doing something a little different this month. This topic crystallized very early in the month. I though I would get the letter out sooner than my usual last day of the month. As I began to review my daily writing on the subject, I thought I would present my thoughts as I wrote them each day. The August 8th entry is missing. I wrote on a different topic that day.
August 4, 2005: As soon as I realized that August 6th was the 60th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and August 9th the same for Nagasaki, I knew what my August letter would be about. Growing up in the heyday of the Cold War, the Cuban Missile crisis, I became fascinated with what this threat was and how it worked. I began reading books about “the atom” with enticing grade school titles like “All about the Atom,” “Understanding the Atom” and such. I wrote the Nuclear Regulatory Agency expressing interest and they sent me a dozen pamphlets aimed at interesting and informing youngsters in the field of nuclear energy.
I think for three or four years in a row, I did term papers on the Atom Bomb. One year it might have been for science and the next year for history. My Mother joked that I was pretty one dimensional and perhaps a tad lazy in that I was updating the same report. I was definitely one dimensional, nothing seemed as important as our recently acquired ability to blow up the world. That kind of thing can make quite an impression on a nine year old watching the Cuban Missile Crisis unfold on the television.
Beyond that, the science was pretty interesting and no one I knew could explain it. So, I became interested in finding out or, rather, finding out as much as one could reading the aforementioned books and pamphlets.
Regarding laziness, well if it were today where I access last years paper on my laptop and just edit and update it, Mom would have been absolutely correct. Back in the mid 1960’s, I re-wrote each paper from scratch by hand and then either my Mom or I typed them, mostly Mom as she was a much better typist. I don’t even think I saved the previous year’s paper to work from. Back then, I was pretty sure I wanted to be a physicist.
In doing my papers, I remember writing a little bit about the decision to drop the bombs. Well, as a school kid, it was easy to see both sides but to agree with what the school books concluded. Truman agonized over the decision but decided to proceed with the bombings in order to end the war more quickly and avoid a great loss of American lives that would have resulted in an invasion of the Japanese mainland.
August 5, 2005: Was it necessary to drop these bombs?
I would have thought the Japanese would have surrendered after that first bomb on Hiroshima. They did not. Maybe they didn't think we had any other bombs. Maybe, unthinkably, the military extremists might have prevailed with some kind of "we can tough this out" mentality. So, three days later we dropped the second and only other bomb we had on another city: Nagasaki. This got the Japanese government to take our demands seriously. They surrendered and the war came to an end.
In the past sixty years, the specter of "the bomb" has weighed on us. At first, the Soviets moved from war time quasi-ally to enemy with their annexation of Central Europe. They became a deadly serious enemy with their development of their own nuclear bombs. We began something called the Cold War.
The Cold War was a war of ideologies between the Soviets striving to make the world communist with planned economies while we were working to make the world free for democracy and commerce. Planned economies with a ruling elite proved not to work very well. On the other hand, third world economies open to global commerce didn't always deliver the best results to the working stiffs of these countries. I never understood the difference between a left wing or right wing dictator. To me they were just dictators abusing power. Arresting, torturing, and killing the opposition whether you are Castro or Pinochet is not something to be admired. But, I digress.
August 6, 2005: Today is the 60th anniversary of the atom bombing of Hiroshima. In honor of the day, I observed a moment of silent prayer. I had a modest breakfast and then rode a metric century, 100 kilometers or 62.5 miles, I rode the first 25 miles with my friend Jim Davis, then finished the ride solo. I thought a lot about the bomb until I hit the 50 mile mark. After that, I only thought about finishing the ride in the 98 degree heat and keeping myself hydrated.
I have yet to read the New York Times or watch any TV regarding this anniversary. I wanted to reflect my own thoughts first. I did read about the bombings in a Wikipedia.com article to get some facts straight such as the numbers killed instantly, the numbers that died by the end of 1945, and the numbers that have died since from radiation related inflictions. In Hiroshima, 80,000 people were killed in the blast, 60,000 more died in the remainder of 1945, thus bringing the 1945 total Hiroshima deaths to140,000. The total Hiroshima bomb related death toll as of August 6, 2004 was 237,062. This is a staggering number of people to die from one bomb.
Three days later we did it again. In Nagasaki, 40,000 people died instantly. The number that died over time was 100,000: bringing the total Nagasaki dead to 140,000. Combined with the death toll in Hiroshima almost 360,000 people were killed by just two bombs. Thank God, these kinds of weapons have not been used since.
During the Cold War, it was believed that if either the US or the USSR were to begin a nuclear war, the other side would retaliate quickly and with equal or greater force. Things would escalate quickly resulting in the destruction of both countries and their allies. Thus, it was argued that neither side would dare to use nuclear weapons. This principle was called Mutually Assured Destruction and referred to by its acronym, MAD. I loved this acronym; it was like grim satire on an international scale. I wonder who came up with it. It was definitely a bit of comic genius. Mutually Assured Destruction sounded so intellectual, conceptual, and erudite. MAD is simply what it was.
Actually, there was nothing in the Times regarding Hiroshima. Maybe tomorrow…
August 8, 2005: In the Sunday New York Times, there were two op-ed pieces on the bomb. The first by Joichi Ito, from Chiba, Japan, wrote that "the bombings don't really matter to me, or for that matter, to most Japanese of my generation." Ito is thirty-nine years old. I found the message here, while probably accurate, a bit sad and numbing.
The second piece was by Lydia Millet who has penned a book on the Manhattan Project. The gist of her piece was two fold. First, she highlighted the still living survivors of the blasts. Most were children in 1945. Many of them are fixtures in the museums and peace centers of the two cities. They are there as witnesses and to answer questions which "seem grimly repetitive: 'Where were you at the time of the bombing? What did you see, feel, do?'" Her second point was how the survivors begged forgiveness and remorse for surviving while others died or were horribly injured.
History is fascinating. Perspective changes with time. There are obvious truths, at the time of the event. Over time, perspective changes and morphs. What may have been obvious fades and other truths surface. Important events with lessons mankind should learn become irrelevant to most and obsessive to a few. With the passage of years, the mood and feel of the times is lost and colored or filtered by those of today.
What does Hiroshima and Nagasaki mean in today's world? I, reluctantly, must agree with Ito that many don't care and, even worse, many do not know much about it. The Cold War is over, so there is not much angst about a global thermo-nuclear war a la Dr. Strangelove. There is, however, a real or very well marketed threat of nuclear terrorism from either rogue states or Al Qaeda: suicide bombing taken to the nth power.
August 9, 2005: It is the 60th anniversary of Nagasaki bombing. Many know the name of the plane that dropped the Atom Bomb dubbed "Little Boy" on Hiroshima. The plane was the Enola Gay, a B-29 piloted by Colonel Paul Tibbets. Far fewer, including me, know the name of the plane and pilot that dropped the "Fat Man" bomb on Nagasaki. The plane was a B-29 Super Fortress named Bock's Car. It was piloted by Major Charles Sweeney. This is the problem with being #2.
Nagasaki was not even the primary target that day. Kokura was the target but it was clouded over. Nagasaki was also under clouds but opened just enough to allow the bombardier to drop the bomb midway between the Mitsubishi Steel and Arms Works and the Mitsubishi Urakama Ordinance Works. Nagasaki was the second choice for the second city.
In a speech this morning, at the Nagasaki commemoration, Fumie Sakamoto speaking on behalf of the survivors said, " Together with 260,000 A-Bomb survivors, I swear in the presence of the souls of the victims of the atomic bombings to continue to tirelessly demand that Nagasaki be the last A-Bomb site." In this regard, being the "last" A-Bomb is much more compelling and significant then being the second site.
Can Nagasaki be the last A-Bomb site? During the Cold War with the US and USSR building more and more sophisticated bombs and delivery systems, the threat of more Atomic Bombing seemed quite real. With the collapse of the Soviet Union here was a sort period in which the threat seemed to have subsided. The US and Russian governments negotiated and agreed to and implemented a plan to disarm and dismantle many of these deadly weapons. That sense of being free from the bomb only lasted, sadly, until September 11th.
August 4, 2005: As soon as I realized that August 6th was the 60th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and August 9th the same for Nagasaki, I knew what my August letter would be about. Growing up in the heyday of the Cold War, the Cuban Missile crisis, I became fascinated with what this threat was and how it worked. I began reading books about “the atom” with enticing grade school titles like “All about the Atom,” “Understanding the Atom” and such. I wrote the Nuclear Regulatory Agency expressing interest and they sent me a dozen pamphlets aimed at interesting and informing youngsters in the field of nuclear energy.
I think for three or four years in a row, I did term papers on the Atom Bomb. One year it might have been for science and the next year for history. My Mother joked that I was pretty one dimensional and perhaps a tad lazy in that I was updating the same report. I was definitely one dimensional, nothing seemed as important as our recently acquired ability to blow up the world. That kind of thing can make quite an impression on a nine year old watching the Cuban Missile Crisis unfold on the television.
Beyond that, the science was pretty interesting and no one I knew could explain it. So, I became interested in finding out or, rather, finding out as much as one could reading the aforementioned books and pamphlets.
Regarding laziness, well if it were today where I access last years paper on my laptop and just edit and update it, Mom would have been absolutely correct. Back in the mid 1960’s, I re-wrote each paper from scratch by hand and then either my Mom or I typed them, mostly Mom as she was a much better typist. I don’t even think I saved the previous year’s paper to work from. Back then, I was pretty sure I wanted to be a physicist.
In doing my papers, I remember writing a little bit about the decision to drop the bombs. Well, as a school kid, it was easy to see both sides but to agree with what the school books concluded. Truman agonized over the decision but decided to proceed with the bombings in order to end the war more quickly and avoid a great loss of American lives that would have resulted in an invasion of the Japanese mainland.
August 5, 2005: Was it necessary to drop these bombs?
I would have thought the Japanese would have surrendered after that first bomb on Hiroshima. They did not. Maybe they didn't think we had any other bombs. Maybe, unthinkably, the military extremists might have prevailed with some kind of "we can tough this out" mentality. So, three days later we dropped the second and only other bomb we had on another city: Nagasaki. This got the Japanese government to take our demands seriously. They surrendered and the war came to an end.
In the past sixty years, the specter of "the bomb" has weighed on us. At first, the Soviets moved from war time quasi-ally to enemy with their annexation of Central Europe. They became a deadly serious enemy with their development of their own nuclear bombs. We began something called the Cold War.
The Cold War was a war of ideologies between the Soviets striving to make the world communist with planned economies while we were working to make the world free for democracy and commerce. Planned economies with a ruling elite proved not to work very well. On the other hand, third world economies open to global commerce didn't always deliver the best results to the working stiffs of these countries. I never understood the difference between a left wing or right wing dictator. To me they were just dictators abusing power. Arresting, torturing, and killing the opposition whether you are Castro or Pinochet is not something to be admired. But, I digress.
August 6, 2005: Today is the 60th anniversary of the atom bombing of Hiroshima. In honor of the day, I observed a moment of silent prayer. I had a modest breakfast and then rode a metric century, 100 kilometers or 62.5 miles, I rode the first 25 miles with my friend Jim Davis, then finished the ride solo. I thought a lot about the bomb until I hit the 50 mile mark. After that, I only thought about finishing the ride in the 98 degree heat and keeping myself hydrated.
I have yet to read the New York Times or watch any TV regarding this anniversary. I wanted to reflect my own thoughts first. I did read about the bombings in a Wikipedia.com article to get some facts straight such as the numbers killed instantly, the numbers that died by the end of 1945, and the numbers that have died since from radiation related inflictions. In Hiroshima, 80,000 people were killed in the blast, 60,000 more died in the remainder of 1945, thus bringing the 1945 total Hiroshima deaths to140,000. The total Hiroshima bomb related death toll as of August 6, 2004 was 237,062. This is a staggering number of people to die from one bomb.
Three days later we did it again. In Nagasaki, 40,000 people died instantly. The number that died over time was 100,000: bringing the total Nagasaki dead to 140,000. Combined with the death toll in Hiroshima almost 360,000 people were killed by just two bombs. Thank God, these kinds of weapons have not been used since.
During the Cold War, it was believed that if either the US or the USSR were to begin a nuclear war, the other side would retaliate quickly and with equal or greater force. Things would escalate quickly resulting in the destruction of both countries and their allies. Thus, it was argued that neither side would dare to use nuclear weapons. This principle was called Mutually Assured Destruction and referred to by its acronym, MAD. I loved this acronym; it was like grim satire on an international scale. I wonder who came up with it. It was definitely a bit of comic genius. Mutually Assured Destruction sounded so intellectual, conceptual, and erudite. MAD is simply what it was.
Actually, there was nothing in the Times regarding Hiroshima. Maybe tomorrow…
August 8, 2005: In the Sunday New York Times, there were two op-ed pieces on the bomb. The first by Joichi Ito, from Chiba, Japan, wrote that "the bombings don't really matter to me, or for that matter, to most Japanese of my generation." Ito is thirty-nine years old. I found the message here, while probably accurate, a bit sad and numbing.
The second piece was by Lydia Millet who has penned a book on the Manhattan Project. The gist of her piece was two fold. First, she highlighted the still living survivors of the blasts. Most were children in 1945. Many of them are fixtures in the museums and peace centers of the two cities. They are there as witnesses and to answer questions which "seem grimly repetitive: 'Where were you at the time of the bombing? What did you see, feel, do?'" Her second point was how the survivors begged forgiveness and remorse for surviving while others died or were horribly injured.
History is fascinating. Perspective changes with time. There are obvious truths, at the time of the event. Over time, perspective changes and morphs. What may have been obvious fades and other truths surface. Important events with lessons mankind should learn become irrelevant to most and obsessive to a few. With the passage of years, the mood and feel of the times is lost and colored or filtered by those of today.
What does Hiroshima and Nagasaki mean in today's world? I, reluctantly, must agree with Ito that many don't care and, even worse, many do not know much about it. The Cold War is over, so there is not much angst about a global thermo-nuclear war a la Dr. Strangelove. There is, however, a real or very well marketed threat of nuclear terrorism from either rogue states or Al Qaeda: suicide bombing taken to the nth power.
August 9, 2005: It is the 60th anniversary of Nagasaki bombing. Many know the name of the plane that dropped the Atom Bomb dubbed "Little Boy" on Hiroshima. The plane was the Enola Gay, a B-29 piloted by Colonel Paul Tibbets. Far fewer, including me, know the name of the plane and pilot that dropped the "Fat Man" bomb on Nagasaki. The plane was a B-29 Super Fortress named Bock's Car. It was piloted by Major Charles Sweeney. This is the problem with being #2.
Nagasaki was not even the primary target that day. Kokura was the target but it was clouded over. Nagasaki was also under clouds but opened just enough to allow the bombardier to drop the bomb midway between the Mitsubishi Steel and Arms Works and the Mitsubishi Urakama Ordinance Works. Nagasaki was the second choice for the second city.
In a speech this morning, at the Nagasaki commemoration, Fumie Sakamoto speaking on behalf of the survivors said, " Together with 260,000 A-Bomb survivors, I swear in the presence of the souls of the victims of the atomic bombings to continue to tirelessly demand that Nagasaki be the last A-Bomb site." In this regard, being the "last" A-Bomb is much more compelling and significant then being the second site.
Can Nagasaki be the last A-Bomb site? During the Cold War with the US and USSR building more and more sophisticated bombs and delivery systems, the threat of more Atomic Bombing seemed quite real. With the collapse of the Soviet Union here was a sort period in which the threat seemed to have subsided. The US and Russian governments negotiated and agreed to and implemented a plan to disarm and dismantle many of these deadly weapons. That sense of being free from the bomb only lasted, sadly, until September 11th.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
July 2005: 2nd Annual Health & Fitness Letter - Cycling
Biking Phase I: William Saroyan once wrote that “the bicycle was the noblest invention of mankind.” I am inclined to agree with him as I am kind of addicted to cycling.
I remember the Christmas when I got my first adult bike. Funny, I do not remember the exact year, but only the event. It was a black English racer. It had a steel frame, 26 inch wheels, hand brakes and three whole speeds. In retrospect, it was not really a racer but a light touring bike. It had front and rear fenders along with a chain guard adding weight that no real racing cyclist would want. I loved that bike.
With that bike I took the next big step. When I was eleven or twelve, the age when, with my parent’s permission I could legally ride in the streets. If learning to ride was freedom, this was freedom cubed. There were no limits. I could ride… anywhere. Well anywhere in the square mile that was my universe at the time. I could ride to Brad’s house. I could ride to Cooley High School where we could meet to play baseball. We would ride to explore. We would just ride to ride and talk. It was very cool. There really wasn’t much traffic and we avoided the “busy” streets like Hubbell and Lyndon. On those streets, I still rode on the sidewalks.
I ride more now than ever, but truly the love affair is rooted in my youngest years. Learning to ride a bike was a big thing, no a huge thing. It began with a tricycle at the age of three or four. I graduated to a bike with training wheels, culminating with the first ride on just two wheels. There is a sense of freedom when one realizes they are riding on their own and their Mom or Dad is no longer holding on.
I learned to ride in the city of Detroit. We had sidewalks, which is exactly the thing a new bike rider needs. As my skills improved, I would venture further from home: one, two, three houses. Freedom! I graduated from that first bike sans training wheels and solid rubber tires. My parents got me a new bike. It was bigger, cooler, and had pneumatic tires. It was plush and fast.
With that bike, I was ready to circle the block. More freedom! What a trip that was, what an adventure. At first, it was a monumental, momentous trek into unknown territories. Within a few days, it became routine and I was counting the number of laps.
I remember the Christmas when I got my first adult bike. Funny, I do not remember the exact year, but only the event. It was a black English racer. It had a steel frame, 26 inch wheels, hand brakes and three whole speeds. In retrospect, it was not really a racer but a light touring bike. It had front and rear fenders along with a chain guard adding weight that no real racing cyclist would want. I loved that bike.
With that bike I took the next big step. When I was eleven or twelve, the age when, with my parent’s permission I could legally ride in the streets. If learning to ride was freedom, this was freedom cubed. There were no limits. I could ride… anywhere. Well anywhere in the square mile that was my universe at the time. I could ride to Brad’s house. I could ride to Cooley High School where we could meet to play baseball. We would ride to explore. We would just ride to ride and talk. It was very cool. There really wasn’t much traffic and we avoided the “busy” streets like Hubbell and Lyndon. On those streets, I still rode on the sidewalks.
In ninth grade, I was riding on Hubbell. This allowed me to take my first long rides. I would ride south on Hubbell until it became Chase Rd. in Dearborn. I would go to my grandmother’s house. The ride, one way, was about six miles. I am guessing in took me 30-45 minutes. It seemed like forever and, the next day, I felt sore in the thighs and butt. I made that ride four or five times.
Biking Phase II: After that, I took a long hiatus from biking. Through high school and college, I rarely rode. Upon getting married and having kids, I never rode. Somewhere, in that time frame, my English “racer” was given away or sold in a garage sale and I was without a bike for many years.
In 1997, I got serious about trying to get fit. I was given an indoor stationary bike as a Christmas gift, a most thoughtful gift and no doubt a subtle hint to lose some weight and get into shape. It was a most modest, department store, bike. I set it up in the basement and started riding it. Riding a stationary bike can be as exciting as watching paint dry. Luckily, I had a TV in the basement, in front of the bike and that kept boredom from setting in. But it was not real sturdy, and when I put the seat at the right height for me… well, let’s just say my substantial girth at the time stressed the seat post beyond its design specifications. In physics, F=ma. Force equals mass times acceleration. In this case, I believe we were operating under F = ma, where Force equals the Mass of my Ass.
I was in a health equipment store buying some dumbbells and inquiring about the kinds of stationary bikes I have seen in hotel gyms and health clubs, the kind laden with computers and lights. These LifeFitness bikes were like $2,000. Yikes! I asked the owner of the shop if he had anything cheaper, much cheaper. He told me they just supplied a health club with new LifeFitness bikes. He offered me one of the club’s old bikes that he had refurbished for $150. Yes, now we were talking. I went home with a scuffed up Tunturi Fly Wheel bike that could easily handle my avoirdupois and more.
That summer, I decided I was ready for an outdoor bike. I went to Smart Cycles in Norwalk, CT intent on getting a Mountain Bike. Alex Stanek, the owner, showed me a few and we settled on a Schwinn Sidewinder, black, thick knobby tires, and a steel frame for $220. I left went home and jumped on the bike. I was going to die on the first few hills, huffing, puffing, grunting, sweating profusely but not giving up. On the third hill, about two and half miles from home, the front tire started rubbing. It was out of line. I figured and dreaded that I had bent the poor fork just as I had bent the seat post on my first stationary bike. I was deflated.
I took the bike back to Smart Cycles. Alex said there was no way I could ever bend the frame or fork of this bike short of colliding with a car and apologized for not tightening the retaining bolt enough. What a relief!
I began to ride that bike, at first 2-3 miles huffing and puffing, working my way up to a 6.5 mile circuit from home around the Weston Schools and back. At Christmas, I got a computer that measured speed, average speed, maximum speed, elapsed time and also had an odometer. I began to keep track of my miles. The next summer I did 500 miles. I averaged about 11-12 miles per hour. Yeah baby, I was a cycling maniac.
In 2000, I complained to Alex that people would pass me, though I was pedaling at higher rpm’s than they were. He told me that the wide tires, knobby treads and 26 inch wheels where a distinct disadvantage to thinner slick tires on 700cc (27.56 inch) wheels. So, after a week or two of deliberation and research, I bought a new bike, a Giant Ferrago. It was a Hybrid bike: mountain bike comfort and geometry with road bike sized wheels. It was a silver aluminum framed beauty with a suspension seat post and front fork to smooth the bumps in the road. I rode faster and longer than ever. I did my first fifty mile ride and broke the 1,000 mile per year barrier on that bike. I equipped the bike with clipless pedals that required special shoes that click into the pedals. I started wearing spandex (don’t spend too much time imagining what this must look like) padded bike shorts and got my first colorful biking jerseys.
I replaced that bike in 2003 when I turned 50. I should have gotten a road bike but was still afraid of the really skinny tires and drop handle bars on those bikes under my very un-cycling body type. So, I got a really nice Hybrid, a Rocky Mountain Whistler. It was bronze metallic aluminum framed gem with Shimano Deore gears. I have done several 50 mile rides on this bike and my only Metric Century: 100km or 61.2 miles. It also has a suspension seat post and front fork. I did 1,800 miles mostly on that bike last year. It is a pleasure to ride. I average about 13.5 mph on this bike.
But, it was not enough. Too many people were still passing me. I knew I needed a road bike, F=ma be damned. So, I began scouring the local tag (garage) sales to find something inexpensive to try and see if indeed I was ready to invest in a road bike. But, I could find nothing suitable. I discussed this desire to find a good, cheap, road bike to try with my friend, road biker, and reader of this e-letter Gaby Chirinian. Gaby is a seasoned tag sale shopper. He told me he would keep his eyes open and let me know.
A few weeks later, Gaby called and asked me to stop by. When I did he presented my with a vintage Peugeot steel framed 10 speed. It was in great shape and I rode that bike last summer. It was clear to me that I was road bike ready.
About the same time, a great bargain came up. Columbus Tubing, the company that supplies the steel tubing to bike companies and frame builders, was worried. They were worried about the custom frame builders in Italy and elsewhere making it through the winter. Alternative materials, such as aluminum, titanium and, especially, carbon fiber were dominating the high end bike market. The custom frame builders specializing in classic steel frames were in for a long sparse winter. So, the Columbus tubing folks offered a free upgrade, basically making their Nivachrome frame half price. Antonio Mondanico, a renowned frame builder from Milan agreed to participate in this program. As Smart Cycles is a Mondonico dealer, Alex Stanek was thrilled to offer this deal of the century to his customers: a custom sized, steel, lugged frame from Italy at half price. It didn’t take much selling for yours truly and twenty others to take advantage of this deal. We designed the frame for my size and included my particular F=ma characteristics into the design. Being steel, the finished bike would have a natural flex and be more comfortable than aluminum or carbon fiber bikes in traversing the bumps and holes of our local roads. We ordered Campagnolo Veloce gears, hubs, shifters, brakes and an Italian saddle to make the bike as Italian as possible. We decided on a classic maroon color.
I took delivery of my Italian dream machine on May 24th. Wow! It is really light and incredibly responsive. It flies. It seems to fly up hills. I average 15.5 mph. I will try to do a century (100 mile ride) on this bike. It is the bike in the above photo.
As I have a stationary bike at home and almost every hotel I stay in has some kind of exercise room that includes some kind of bike. It is possible to ride almost everyday if want.
I keep a log of minutes spent on indoor bikes and miles and miles per hour for outside rides. I set a goal of 2,000 miles this year. At this point, I am at 920 miles. I will have trouble making my goal because of “lost riding weekends” due to out of town weddings, graduations and non-biking vacation trip to Greece.
I keep a log of minutes spent on indoor bikes and miles and miles per hour for outside rides. I set a goal of 2,000 miles this year. At this point, I am at 920 miles. I will have trouble making my goal because of “lost riding weekends” due to out of town weddings, graduations and non-biking vacation trip to Greece.
Lance: It is impossible to write about cycling without writing about Lance Armstrong. He just won his seventh consecutive Tour de France, an astonishing record that will not easily be matched or broken. The entire tour was 2,333 miles, Lance won coming in 4 minutes and 40 seconds ahead of Ivan Basso in second place. Over this arduous course, Armstrong averaged 26.8 mph. On my best day, June 6 of this year, I averaged 16.2 miles per hour over a whopping 13.4 mile course.
We both ride bikes, the comparisons basically stop there. But, I will continue with the comparisons anyway. The only time when Lance and the other pros pedal at my lowly velocity is when they are climbing a substantial Alp or Pyrenee. In training, Lance Armstong is on his bike for 30 hours per week, like a full time job. He logs 700 miles per week averaging 20-25 miles per hour. 700 miles in one week! I cycled 735 miles for the first six months of this year. Lance Armstong can ride 32 miles per hour for an hour. I could do that on a down hill, a very steep down hill. A University of Texas exercise physiologist, Ed Coyle, was quoted in Sports Illustrated saying that a fit college male riding at 32 mph wouldn’t last a minute. “For the first 10 seconds, they’re great. After about 20 seconds, they think they are going to die. After 40 seconds, they throw up.”
New York Ranger hockey defensemen Dale Purinton heard that Lance could pedal a Cybex stationary bike at 270 rpm for an hour. “So, I tried it. I kept it up for two minutes then I had to quit. I was totally exhausted. My whole body was aching. The man is not human.”
Human or inhuman, Lance Armstrong’s abilities are off the scale. The fact that he almost died of testicular cancer, recovered and went on the win seven Tours makes his story even more spectacular, special and amazing.
Human or inhuman, Lance Armstrong’s abilities are off the scale. The fact that he almost died of testicular cancer, recovered and went on the win seven Tours makes his story even more spectacular, special and amazing.
OK, I will admit it. There are definitely times, when I am out riding and feeling pretty good about myself, I imagine I am part of the pelaton, keeping up with Lance and the boys, just awaiting my chance for a world class breakaway that drop them all. Sometimes, in the midst of such reverie or delusion, I smile to myself and quote James Thurber’s Walter Mitty, “tapocketa – pocketa - pocketa,” and ride on.
"Nothing compares with the simple pleasure of a bike ride." —John F. Kennedy
"The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets." —Christoper Morley
"Cycle tracks will abound in Utopia." —H. G. Wells
"Get a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live." —Mark Twain
"It is easy to be a holy man on a mountain bike." —Mark W. Matson
"If you brake, you don't win." —Mario Cipollini
"There is no room in the Tour for the sick or the weak." —Laurent Jalabert
"Melancholy is incompatible with bicycling." —James E. Starrs
"As long as I breathe, I attack." —Bernard Hinault
"Ride like water." —Paul Adkins
"Cyclists worship legs." —Nelson Pena
"Why should anyone steal a watch when he could steal a bicycle?" —Flann O'Brien
"The bicycle is a curious vehicle. Its passenger is its engine." —John Howard
"Bicycles have no walls." —Paul Cornish
"The very existence of the bicycle is an offense to reason and wisdom." —P. J. O'Rourke
http://www.breakawaybooks.com/Quotable_Cyclist.htm
"Nothing compares with the simple pleasure of a bike ride." —John F. Kennedy
"The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets." —Christoper Morley
"Cycle tracks will abound in Utopia." —H. G. Wells
"Get a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live." —Mark Twain
"It is easy to be a holy man on a mountain bike." —Mark W. Matson
"If you brake, you don't win." —Mario Cipollini
"There is no room in the Tour for the sick or the weak." —Laurent Jalabert
"Melancholy is incompatible with bicycling." —James E. Starrs
"As long as I breathe, I attack." —Bernard Hinault
"Ride like water." —Paul Adkins
"Cyclists worship legs." —Nelson Pena
"Why should anyone steal a watch when he could steal a bicycle?" —Flann O'Brien
"The bicycle is a curious vehicle. Its passenger is its engine." —John Howard
"Bicycles have no walls." —Paul Cornish
"The very existence of the bicycle is an offense to reason and wisdom." —P. J. O'Rourke
http://www.breakawaybooks.com/Quotable_Cyclist.htm
June 2005: Karma Koncerns
God teaches me lessons. Sometimes, the lessons are quite subtle and I miss them. At other times, I am sorry to admit, I ignore them. On Father’s Day, June 19th, a lesson was delivered that was quite clear, immediate, and impossible to ignore.
I was in a great mood. I was calm, serene, and really quite content. The weather was beautiful. I was up early, had breakfast, and wrote my daily page while watching the Stooges. I read part of the Sunday Times and then decided, as a Father’s Day prerogative, to make breakfast for Judy and Armené. I copied Denny’s Grand Slam Breakfast and prepared blueberry pancakes, fried eggs and sausage.
After breakfast, I left to go get the propane tank on the barbecue filled. I decided to go to Stew Leonard’s, the Norwalk based Grocery/Dairy store featured in Tom Peter’s book In Search of Excellence. Stew Leonard’s had the best price on propane refills plus I thought I would get a few other things. I was in a great mood. May I re-emphasize that I was quite calm, serene, and content. Everything was right with the world. I drove with the windows, sunroof and back window of my 4Runner all open with my favorite music on.
As I was shopping, I was marveling and amazed at just how awfully polite I was. Going into the store, I was whistling what was just playing in the car. I would wave cars, with clearly stressed and edgy drivers, to pass in front of me. I allowed my clearly more nervous brethren, to take a cart first, go first if it were congested in the aisles, and other little random acts of kindness that come so naturally when one is calm, serene and content.
I bought some fruit, soda, and cheese. I then decided to buy some barbecue chicken wings thinking they would be a great addition to whatever it was we were going to have for dinner. Stew Leonard’s has a great ready to eat salad and hot food bar for which you pay by the pound. Next to the food bar, there is a place where you can buy shrimp and chicken, baked, fried or barbecued.
At the chicken and shrimp counter, there was a lady being waited on. I maneuvered my cart right behind her. While waiting, another lady and her daughter approached. The other lady told her daughter that she wanted to get some chicken. The daughter said “OK” and proceeded to the check out. This lady, who seemed to be in her sixties, then edged between my cart and the lady being waited on to look at the various chicken and shrimp selections.
I placed a bet with myself that this lady would be served next, taking my place. Sure enough, she did. I did not say anything. Why should I? I was still seated Buddha-like on this wonderful mountain of calmness, serenity, and contentment. I barely noticed that first pebble dislodge and roll down this mountain.
She was interested in herb baked chicken wings. Apparently, they were a favorite of her and her family. If the order had been filled quickly, it might have been the end of it. But, she started asking questions about how long the chicken had been sitting there, if there was enough in the tray to fill her request, and when possibly, the next fresher and hotter batch might be coming. I still did not say anything, though I was fully aware now that more pebbles and larger rocks were beginning to roll down my mountain of calmness, serenity, and contentment.
The Stew Leonard’s employee went to check on the next batch. He returned and said it would be a few minutes. The lady scrunched her face in deep thought and then stated, “Oh, I’ll just take what is here.” Did she want a half-pound or a pound? I was surprised that she did not hear that boulder break loose and rumble down my mountain. She decided on a pound of herb baked chicken wings which the Stew Leonard’s man packaged and marked with the weight and price.
Do I say something as she was departing or let it go? It was too late, the avalanche alarm was blaring and a full landslide was imminent. I had enough calmness, serenity, and contentment remaining to simply and evenly tell her, “I admire you slick move.” She responded, “I beg your pardon.” I retorted still in a most even tone, “I like the way you weaved between my cart and the lady being waited, looked at the display, and then placed your order even though I was next.” “Oh, I didn’t see you, I am so sorry,” she said.
I loved this response, I have heard it before, and am amazed when someone does not notice me. I am not a small presence by any means. I actually am amused to hear this kind of response. I was just about to say, “It’s quite alright,” and end it there. But right at that very instant, as soon as I noticed that she was visibly and physically upset and even trembling a bit. She dropped her order of herb baked chicken wings. Splat! Herb baked chicken wings everywhere!
My mountain of calmness, serenity, and contentment was gone. I was now perched on a much larger mountain of shame and humiliation.
I immediately, bent down picked up all the herb baked chicken wings putting them back into the container and placing it on the counter. I asked for a towel from the Stew Leonard’s man and cleaned the floor. I told the lady, “Please go ahead and get some more chicken, no problem, I’ll wait, I am so sorry.” She was shaking and obviously more distraught than I was either shamed or humiliated. She said, “Never mind, I am having a bad day,” and left.
No sooner had she left, the fresh batch of herb baked chicken wings arrived. I ordered exactly what she had and the barbecue wings I had wanted. I went to the checkout where she and her daughter were and handed her the wings. I told her, “God teaches me obvious lessons I need to learn. I am sorry to have upset you and make you drop your order. Here is a fresh batch.” She mumbled a thanks of sorts. Her daughter said nothing. I proceeded to another checkout as far away as possible knowing my karmic loss was lessened but still a net loss.
Karma. I am not sure exactly what it is but partially, it must be self-defined. Karma is the internal emotional bank account of how we treat others and how others treat us. Life would be better if all our accounts had positive balances.
I could have looked up Karma on the internet and find a lot of mystical psycho-babble, what a previous generation might have called “mumbo jumbo.” It is not really. The basic principle of Karma is in line with the two basic Christian principles: the Golden Rule, “do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and, as ye sow, so shall ye reap.” The principle is basic. If you act well and do good deeds, you tend to reap goodness and kindness from others. If you treat people rudely and consider others as nasty and evil, you can expect the same in return.
Beyond this there is another adage that is intertwined in this Karmic, reap-sow, and Golden Rule principle. This one is from Shakespeare, as Polonius wrote to his son Laertes in Hamlet. “This above all: to thine own self be true.” This must be kept in mind and acted in tandem with the Karmic principle. I know this. I learned it, sensed it, felt it early on and most recently had it confirmed in Stew Leonard’s. I tried to be something I am not, snide and crass. Immediately, instantaneously, there was Karmic equilibrium. As President Bush is so fond of saying, I was humbled.
Let us leave the notable saints and sinners out of this discussion, e.g. the likes of Gandhi and Hitler and consider the vast majority of humans living between these extremes. I have known both nasty ornery SOBs and veritable saints in my life. People in these classifications are always true to their own selves. Nothing ruffles, flusters, bothers, or depresses the saints I know. I am equally amazed at the constancy and consistency of the SOBs.
The rest of us in the middle are simply trying to make sense and do our best oscillating between the nasty and the saintly, dare I say yin and yang, each to our own bio-rhythms (here is concept we do not hear too much about any more). The vast majority of us are simply trying our best to behave in society juggling whatever it is life throws our way with our own moods, bio-rhythms, astrological influences, and whatever else is in this crazy mix. We know that keeping our Karm-a-Meter on the positive is what we should do, but knowing never equals doing. For those of us not born an SOB or a saint, mastery in good Karmic behavior takes lots of practice and an occasional divine lesson.
I was in a great mood. I was calm, serene, and really quite content. The weather was beautiful. I was up early, had breakfast, and wrote my daily page while watching the Stooges. I read part of the Sunday Times and then decided, as a Father’s Day prerogative, to make breakfast for Judy and Armené. I copied Denny’s Grand Slam Breakfast and prepared blueberry pancakes, fried eggs and sausage.
After breakfast, I left to go get the propane tank on the barbecue filled. I decided to go to Stew Leonard’s, the Norwalk based Grocery/Dairy store featured in Tom Peter’s book In Search of Excellence. Stew Leonard’s had the best price on propane refills plus I thought I would get a few other things. I was in a great mood. May I re-emphasize that I was quite calm, serene, and content. Everything was right with the world. I drove with the windows, sunroof and back window of my 4Runner all open with my favorite music on.
As I was shopping, I was marveling and amazed at just how awfully polite I was. Going into the store, I was whistling what was just playing in the car. I would wave cars, with clearly stressed and edgy drivers, to pass in front of me. I allowed my clearly more nervous brethren, to take a cart first, go first if it were congested in the aisles, and other little random acts of kindness that come so naturally when one is calm, serene and content.
I bought some fruit, soda, and cheese. I then decided to buy some barbecue chicken wings thinking they would be a great addition to whatever it was we were going to have for dinner. Stew Leonard’s has a great ready to eat salad and hot food bar for which you pay by the pound. Next to the food bar, there is a place where you can buy shrimp and chicken, baked, fried or barbecued.
At the chicken and shrimp counter, there was a lady being waited on. I maneuvered my cart right behind her. While waiting, another lady and her daughter approached. The other lady told her daughter that she wanted to get some chicken. The daughter said “OK” and proceeded to the check out. This lady, who seemed to be in her sixties, then edged between my cart and the lady being waited on to look at the various chicken and shrimp selections.
I placed a bet with myself that this lady would be served next, taking my place. Sure enough, she did. I did not say anything. Why should I? I was still seated Buddha-like on this wonderful mountain of calmness, serenity, and contentment. I barely noticed that first pebble dislodge and roll down this mountain.
She was interested in herb baked chicken wings. Apparently, they were a favorite of her and her family. If the order had been filled quickly, it might have been the end of it. But, she started asking questions about how long the chicken had been sitting there, if there was enough in the tray to fill her request, and when possibly, the next fresher and hotter batch might be coming. I still did not say anything, though I was fully aware now that more pebbles and larger rocks were beginning to roll down my mountain of calmness, serenity, and contentment.
The Stew Leonard’s employee went to check on the next batch. He returned and said it would be a few minutes. The lady scrunched her face in deep thought and then stated, “Oh, I’ll just take what is here.” Did she want a half-pound or a pound? I was surprised that she did not hear that boulder break loose and rumble down my mountain. She decided on a pound of herb baked chicken wings which the Stew Leonard’s man packaged and marked with the weight and price.
Do I say something as she was departing or let it go? It was too late, the avalanche alarm was blaring and a full landslide was imminent. I had enough calmness, serenity, and contentment remaining to simply and evenly tell her, “I admire you slick move.” She responded, “I beg your pardon.” I retorted still in a most even tone, “I like the way you weaved between my cart and the lady being waited, looked at the display, and then placed your order even though I was next.” “Oh, I didn’t see you, I am so sorry,” she said.
I loved this response, I have heard it before, and am amazed when someone does not notice me. I am not a small presence by any means. I actually am amused to hear this kind of response. I was just about to say, “It’s quite alright,” and end it there. But right at that very instant, as soon as I noticed that she was visibly and physically upset and even trembling a bit. She dropped her order of herb baked chicken wings. Splat! Herb baked chicken wings everywhere!
My mountain of calmness, serenity, and contentment was gone. I was now perched on a much larger mountain of shame and humiliation.
I immediately, bent down picked up all the herb baked chicken wings putting them back into the container and placing it on the counter. I asked for a towel from the Stew Leonard’s man and cleaned the floor. I told the lady, “Please go ahead and get some more chicken, no problem, I’ll wait, I am so sorry.” She was shaking and obviously more distraught than I was either shamed or humiliated. She said, “Never mind, I am having a bad day,” and left.
No sooner had she left, the fresh batch of herb baked chicken wings arrived. I ordered exactly what she had and the barbecue wings I had wanted. I went to the checkout where she and her daughter were and handed her the wings. I told her, “God teaches me obvious lessons I need to learn. I am sorry to have upset you and make you drop your order. Here is a fresh batch.” She mumbled a thanks of sorts. Her daughter said nothing. I proceeded to another checkout as far away as possible knowing my karmic loss was lessened but still a net loss.
Karma. I am not sure exactly what it is but partially, it must be self-defined. Karma is the internal emotional bank account of how we treat others and how others treat us. Life would be better if all our accounts had positive balances.
I could have looked up Karma on the internet and find a lot of mystical psycho-babble, what a previous generation might have called “mumbo jumbo.” It is not really. The basic principle of Karma is in line with the two basic Christian principles: the Golden Rule, “do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and, as ye sow, so shall ye reap.” The principle is basic. If you act well and do good deeds, you tend to reap goodness and kindness from others. If you treat people rudely and consider others as nasty and evil, you can expect the same in return.
Beyond this there is another adage that is intertwined in this Karmic, reap-sow, and Golden Rule principle. This one is from Shakespeare, as Polonius wrote to his son Laertes in Hamlet. “This above all: to thine own self be true.” This must be kept in mind and acted in tandem with the Karmic principle. I know this. I learned it, sensed it, felt it early on and most recently had it confirmed in Stew Leonard’s. I tried to be something I am not, snide and crass. Immediately, instantaneously, there was Karmic equilibrium. As President Bush is so fond of saying, I was humbled.
Let us leave the notable saints and sinners out of this discussion, e.g. the likes of Gandhi and Hitler and consider the vast majority of humans living between these extremes. I have known both nasty ornery SOBs and veritable saints in my life. People in these classifications are always true to their own selves. Nothing ruffles, flusters, bothers, or depresses the saints I know. I am equally amazed at the constancy and consistency of the SOBs.
The rest of us in the middle are simply trying to make sense and do our best oscillating between the nasty and the saintly, dare I say yin and yang, each to our own bio-rhythms (here is concept we do not hear too much about any more). The vast majority of us are simply trying our best to behave in society juggling whatever it is life throws our way with our own moods, bio-rhythms, astrological influences, and whatever else is in this crazy mix. We know that keeping our Karm-a-Meter on the positive is what we should do, but knowing never equals doing. For those of us not born an SOB or a saint, mastery in good Karmic behavior takes lots of practice and an occasional divine lesson.
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