Blog Posts

HONEST OFFICER

7/7/2014

     . . . . I just had two beers. This is the most common legal defense attempted in the court system of West Virginia. Every magistrate or judge does the Judge Judy eye roll on this. The most common testimony in my home court is: “Well, we stopped at the Git and Go and bought some beer, and then we . . . . . . [insert crime here]. One of my friends calls these “Stop and Rob” stores and he is largely right. The other common story line in these stores starts with, “Watch this” and then . . . . . . . A recent AP story reports a Tennessee man mistakenly took a swig of gasoline from a jar on a table inside a friend’s home. Thereafter, he stepped outside to light up a cig and then ——, you guessed it. Darwin proves his theory again.

     When an officer pulled us over in our much younger days, we were just cleaning out the carburetor on the family car because our parents drove so slow. It was sort of a public service defense we offered. Now, I do a hair flip and state boldly: “Officer, I am trying to get to a gas station before the prices go up.”

     As a frequent complainer about the poor quality of air service, I extended my driving range to deal with that poor quality. Now as I most literally watch the gasoline prices jump overnight, it is a problem. It was a little hard to drive to Phoenix from the home city, but in my mind it was a close call for a Board Meeting. The cattle freight airline had a wheels-up plan for 5:18 a.m., but that did not happen.   Five hours later we took off to Stop One and then after thirteen hours in transit, we made it to the Arizona desert. Good times.

     The moaning and groaning stopped however when we arrived in Phoenix at the Arizona Biltmore, now a Waldorf Astoria property but originally a Frank Lloyd Wright influenced design. It opened February 23, 1929, some seven months before the Great Depression. I note that many large scale properties opened during the 1920’s (the Broadmoor in Colorado; La Quinta in Palm Desert; The Cloisters at Sea Island; and the Biltmore). Described as “The Jewel of the Desert” when it opened, the Arizona Biltmore was owned by William Wrigley, Jr. and his family for 44 years. Every President except Herbert Hoover has stayed there and Hoover must have held some grudge against the gum people. Movie stars honeymooned here and Irving Berlin penned White Christmas while sitting under palm trees at the huge pool in the sun. Opposites seem to attract, so the desert heat at the pool must have inspired him to think of white snow on Christmas.

     Frank Lloyd Wright had a unique design style and you see that through the architect protégé who did the Biltmore design. Wright built Taliesin West near here in January 1940 and its weirdness overwhelms his Pennsylvania Falling Rock home. Nevertheless, his designs remain as iconic style items.

     The Arizona Biltmore remains a premiere location to announce political campaigns and host events. But what do NASCAR and a rodeo have in common at a March event — think beautiful young “nieces” with their older “uncles” — truly a family place. The big boys of stock car racing were in town, as is the 59th Scottsdale Parada Del Sol Rodeo. So, we go see the rodeo for an evening and have big fun. Our big touring bus goes up on two wheels in a very close car encounter on the way back, so maybe stock car racing and rodeo do have something in common. The rodeo clown asks if anyone is from Alabama. In response to positive claps, he says: “Call home immediately, the trailer park is on fire, and the Capital burned.” My friend from Mobile said he was going down to kick his ass, but he better call Montgomery, Alabama first to see if it was true.

     I left the desert Board Meeting with the understanding that my lawyer group is making progress and now has 25% female lawyers. I still say women just do not think the same as men — e.g., a man walks down the street with a bald head and a big beer belly, and still thinks he is sexy.

VISIT THE HOKEY POKEY CLINIC –WHERE WE TURN THINGS AROUND

6/2/2014

     Well, Elvis is dead, and I am not feeling so good myself. The big newspaper, the New York Times, reports that lawyers rank second on a list of most sleep-deprived occupations, just trailing home health aides and blowing way by doctors and paramedics. A legal blog called Above the Law commented on the average seven hours a night listed for lawyers by asking: “What the hell kind of lazy lawyer is getting seven entire hours of sleep every day?” Did you know that beds in Shakespeare’s time had ropes under them which could be tightened? Hence, “Goodnight, and sleep tight.” A friend’s daughter uses the modern shorthand and refers to the English Bard as “Billy Shakes.”

     Just as I realize my sleeplessness is occupation related, I learn depressing news about the home twenty. 24/7 Wall Street which has nothing else to do it seems, reports that Americans are not happier than they were last year. In fact, they were slightly more miserable. How do you count that? How does the U.N. report the number of chickens in each nation? I wonder about the use of such stats, most of which are made up – at least by me.

     Well, this pseudoscience source says Hawaii remains in first place (Mai Tai’s perhaps make all happy) and my home state of West Virginia is last. They claim we bottomed out in life expectancy, obesity, median household income, and low in well-being and diplomas. It is no comfort that the close to us misery states were in the South (5 of the 10) with Ohio and Delaware following closely in the bottom tier. Highest levels of well-being were either in the West or the Midwest.

     Whoever 24/7 is, they are entitled to their opinion and stats. Mark Twain, supposedly quoting, but never proven, English Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli, said: “There are three kinds of lies — lies, damned lies, and statistics.” We lawyers make our living by researching the law and finding our best version. So, with research by Psychology Professor Joe Forgas of the University of New South Wales, I can argue there are down sides to being really happy. The Washington Post reports that another psychologist, Edward Diener and others say happy people early in life earned less money than those less cheerful. Happiness may not benefit your career and happys are not likely to get a better job or get more education. Sad people it seems pay more attention to details and think in a more systematic manner, the story says. Happy people are easier to deceive, so read on you happys.

     Well, cheer up, Guinness used to advertise that “Guinness is good for you”, implying medicinal value. In Bill Shakes’ day, the ceramic cups had a whistle baked in so you could easily re-order in a loud bar and thus: “Wet your whistle.” Likewise, beer came in either pints or quarts and when the customers got rowdy, the innkeeper often yelled: “Mind your P’s and Q’s.” So, I may wet my whistle to get myself out of the misery I did not know I even had. I do not care what you say, I am not moving to Cedar Rapids where everybody is happy, so there.

      A writer who grew up in my home town, stringing for Gallup, reports that West Virginia has the nation’s worst statistics in 10 of 12 categories in the Gallup Healthways ranking. The local health director says: “I think someone is sending us a message that our approach to health care hasn’t worked.”

     I am still feeling low and looking to “blame storm” for the cause and thus systematically paying attention to details. I am thinking it was politics. You see, the farm lobby was large back in the day and represented votes. They got Congress to enact farm subsidies. The government then had large quantities of farm goods which they gave away to schools. The standard lunches used commodity butter, cheese, pinto beans, and peanut butter. School lunches rotated these food stuffs and made everything out of them, including hats. Kids got fat, farmers got paid, and Congress got votes. I notice that these commodities are not the top choices in my Weight Watchers’ Wednesday classes. Of course, I am just there to set an example for the others in the office.

WIRED: WE COMMUNICATE, BUT WE DON’T CONVERSE

5/5/2014

                   Whenever one of us Boomers talks of back in the day, the eyes of the youngers glaze over. I recall the same reaction when I was younger and thought those people ready for a pre-need burial plan. Now I be one of them and change seems huge. Growing up in a more rural area, old-time expressions were vague, but you got their gist. I decided to go to Law School based upon the compliment: “That boy could talk a dog off of a meat wagon.” I viewed it as praise and as a direction for employment.

                          Changes are all about and technology is behind many of them. Kodak goes out of the film business; Hostess files for bankruptcy as the Twinkie goes down; the red telephone pay phone boxes in England are sold for bar items since all there use a cell phone; gas drilling now goes deep and turns horizontally, opening huge new reserves; people communicate on “social networking” sites with names such as Twitter, Linkedin, Facebook, My Space, Bebo, Friendster, hi5, Orkut, PerfSpot, Zorphia, Netlog, and Habbo. Revolutions in foreign countries are run with such social media sites and the regimes try to close down the “net” to stay in power. Younger lawyers have only known computers and text to others next door and do not seem to be able to converse in public.

                  This leads to our legal marketing public relations types giving instructions to young lawyers on how to engage in small talk with potential clients. We old guys are amazed and have great fun at their expense.

                     Blogs, or computer columns, even write on “Smart Schmoozing: Big Tips for Small Talk.” These people never developed their “verbal fluency” it seems and need to be taught so they can “network”. You need to develop your “schmooze factor” it seems. Again, may I ask where your Momma was when this basic skill needed some development? “Steve, look him in the eye, and shake his hand firmly, and stand straight,” said Momma.

                     So, the computer age people have to be taught to build rapport, trust, and connections in the face-to-face world. Oh, for the love, these writers tell them to hang out near the food, pick out a conversation piece to discuss; wear an interesting accessory; approach people standing alone; “observe, ask, reveal”; TV shows and sports are great subjects but avoid religion and politics; watch the body language; and get out of the conversation when you can. Well, as the younger say in text talk — WTF? What happened to common sense and basic human relations?

                      Old guys translate what the marketing types are writing and sending as: Be a lion and go hunt the gazelles. Wear a silly hat; interrogate the hell out of the person you meet; and walk away from them as soon as you can, and then rinse and repeat. Great advice it seems for those who are already humanly challenged. To quote one unknown writer said:

          “In my mind, the best way to become a thought leader is through Legal Brand Journalism™. Legal Brand Journalism cuts out the reporter – the middle man – and allows any entity to produce its own news for its own audiences, becoming the mechanism by which thought leadership happens.”

What?

                         In the 1990’s business speak, known in the country as bovine fertilizer, was rolled into mission statements for groups. They were written like the above. My favorite short version came from some clever friends who did criminal defense work and said: “Reasonable doubt for a reasonable fee.” A bunch of word dogs appeared in this era of change and business development.

“Thinking outside of the box.”

“It is a home run deal and is win-win.”

“This is a paradigm shift.”

“Synergy”

“At the end of the day”

“Going forward”

“Seamless integration”

“24/7”

“Market-driven”

“Take-aways”

“Deeper dive”

“Drill down”

                 Only as one of my friends said just the other day: “Bob needs to drill down to focus on the low-hanging fruit. He then can be the best in breed and display his core competency. That kind of synergy will maximize leverage, manage expectations, improve ROI and get granular. This is mission critical and will lead to next steps transparent to all the stakeholders.” Yes, please watch where you step.

                Well, maybe we should just allow them to text and stay in their offices. The old guys will talk small talk with the clients who pay their salaries. These wired people in their dark rooms with computer screens can be totally alone — together.

OBITUARIES WOULD BE INTERESTING READING IF THEY TOLD YOU HOW THE PERSON DIED

4/9/2014

                       The three certainties we face in life: (1) taxes; (2) concrete will crack; and (3) death. I am sure that it was true for all of you that you never looked at an obituary ever as a young person. Someone like your mother told you if a friend of the family died. You probably made fun of older people talking about such things and reading the obits every day.

                        And then it happened. If you are still old school enough to read real ink, your eyes move to the obits. You do not want to, but like looking at a “People of Wal-Mart” photo display, you just cannot help yourself. It appears to be part of the cycle of life’s rich pageant. You read for the odd and weird obituary, or to see those who know. Come on, admit it that on some of them you want to know what really did them in — jealous wife, skydiving, what?

                        I do not want to get preoccupied with this dark subject, but some things about it are downright funny. I have written before about blasting your ashes into space, or compressing them into a new golf club, fly rod or such for the family to cherish. I saw a recently departed fully attired in leathers and helmet astride his beloved Harley in a large Plexiglas display case, ready to be lowered into the final internment. It was just a little bit weird.

                        A local shoe repair shop always had very new shoes of various types and sizes on a rack for sale as “used”. A late Federal Appellate Judge friend of mine always called them dead men shoes and was convinced the local directors repurposed them and sold them for the shoe shop. Just like the news anchors on TV, no one sees what the deceased is wearing below the waist anyway. Will they really need those new wing tips where they are going?

                        An Associated Press reporter in Los Angeles recently reported upon the latest in this morbid style of humor. Forest Lawn, the Dirt Purveyor to the Stars, has started opening sales kiosks in the local Los Angeles malls. “We try to reach our audience where they are at and the mall is a great way to do that”, said Ben Sussman, spokesman for Forest Lawn, whose cemeteries include customers such as Walt Disney, Elizabeth Taylor and Michael Jackson for examples.

                        Wait, let’s run down to the mall and pick up some socks and underwear. What the heck, let’s also get a burial plot. While they claim to be discreet, checking out an urn for grandma seems a bit odd when she is on her walker and with you at the mall. We’ll see how this works and let you know.

                        You may remember my friend who opened a casket store (he is also a part-time minister and a lawyer, so he can do the full package). His custom designs include stock cars and sports teams and one with a post office theme marked “Return to Sender”. You have to have a sense of humor.

BAD BUSINESS JARGON – PART DEUX

3/8/2014

     Last month I got hung up on business speak. After that article
I realized the Ridiculous Business Jargon Dictionary (see, theofficelife.com)
is way more fun than any regular dictionary.

      I could not resist some other business terms for your consideration such
as:

Management Porn:
The long number slides used and loved so much by managers.

Mouse Potato:
Spends hour after hour on the computer.

Mucus Trooper:
Always has a terrible cold, but manages to make it to work to spread the virus on a regular basis.

Open the Kimono:
Reveal inside company information.

O.T. Mail:
Sending a useless e-mail just to let boss know you were working late.

Pre-mumble:
Preliminary comments of a speaker, after with attempts of lame humor.

Queen of the Pigs:
The best of the bad bunch in an organization.

RDB:
The origin of ideas pulled out of one’s posterior: i.e., a rectal data base.

Rooster Call:
Early in the morning meeting.

Slave Trader:
Human resource people who hire and fire personnel.

Tap Dancer:
Worker who seems busy, but always is in the same place.

Time Pig:
Useless project taking lots of time.

Vubicle:
Cubicle with a window.

What the Musk?:
Reaction to co-worker with overbearing cologne.

Zerotasking:
Doing nothing at all, as in Fred is zerotasking again.

      I refer you to the Office Life site for more of the ridiculous, but regularly used, language and even signs. Now those folks have a sense of humor.

      Before I zerotask out, I pass on from the internet the Five Rules for Men to Follow to Have a Happy Life alleged to be from some guy’s tombstone:

1.        It’s important to have a woman who helps at home, cooks from time to time, cleans up, and has a job.

2.        It’s important to have a woman who can make you laugh.

3.        It’s important to have a woman who you can trust, and doesn’t lie to you.

4.        It’s important to have a woman who is good in bed, and likes to be with you.

5.        It’s very, very important that these four women do not know each other.

BUSINESS SPEAK

2/4/2014

      You are watching an old movie, even period pieces, and the characters break into lingo popular when the movie was made. Yes, that Robert E. Lee is “a swell guy”. The passage of time makes you look like an idiot when you revert to a phase from your earlier years like the 50ish lady who recently said “cool beans” to me in approval, or the city judge who called me “Cool Breeze”. Of course, words like “dude” can be used in so many ways it is almost like a universal phrase. I have often written of the corporate speak which is “way worser”, as they say where I am from. The 1990’s had the “home run deal”, “synergy” and the “mission driven” strategy with “deliverables”.

      Stupid business terms abound (excuse me, but I get weary when these are used all over the place and then repeated to prove your worldliness):

• Deep dive

• Drill down

• Helicopter view

• Couch an idea

• On the same page

• Pain points

• Outside the box

• Trajectory of the project

• Ducks in a row

* Let’s go off-line

• Band width

• Silos

• Lean in

• Value added

• Take away

• Perception is reality

• Return on investment (aka Bang for the Buck)

• Getting granular

      Now, who is to say that some of these business phrases cannot be more
fun*:

*Alpha Pup (lead new guy)

*Alpha Geek (head of IT)

*Nerd Rustling (stealing quality IT personnel)

*Al Desco (eating at your desk)

*Chairborne Infantry (company troops)

*Armchair General (lots of opinions, but no field experience)

*Assmosis (success from sucking up)

*Blamestorming (finding someone collectively to blame)

*Checked Eskimo (clearly so unqualified for job she must
have checked Eskimo on her job application)

*Deckfast (breakfast at the desk)

*Dope-ler Effect (stupid ideas sound better when they come
in waves at you)

*Flight Risk (employee likely to jump
ship)

*Her-assment (sexual harassment done by a female)

*Lombard (lots of money, but a real dumb ass)

*Lunch and Learn (way for management to get an extra hour out of you at lunch)

*Low Decision Latitude (inability to make any decisions because at the bottom of the corporate chain)

     Oh, it would be so fun to have a swell time and go on. I am only
halfway through the list, but “I’ll loop you in later” so “nothing gets lost in the sauce”, or would you rather just “marinate” on this article until next month's follow-up?

*See, Ridiculous Business Jargon Dictionary at the OfficeLife.com

A CLEAR CONSCIENCE IS THE SIGN OF A VERY FUZZY MEMORY

1/7/2014

     Conversely stated: “Behind every successful man is a woman. Behind the fall of a successful man is usually another woman.” People have short memories and you often see people doing things that they know better, as Momma used to say. The late Comedian Lewis Grizzard was married so many times he said there were bumper stickers saying, “Honk if you have been married to Lewis Grizzard.” Every time he divorced, someone backed up a truck and took half of his stuff, but he kept getting married, even just before his last heart issue.

     Past returns are no guarantee of future success, but investors always chase returns. Smokers ignore the Surgeon General’s warnings on cigarette packs. Neuro-scientist Paul Glimcher of New York University found that cells deep in the brain calculate a sort of moving average of past events, giving the greatest weight to the most recent outcomes. What have you done for me lately is really true.

     So, I am hoping you have forgotten some of my old tales and are living only in the moment. When I said I donated all proceeds of my prior book to a local scholarship fund, perhaps that made you forget the quality of the read.

     Likewise, I should live in the moment and not harken back to the Hard Road adventures of travels for lawyer meetings. I have always believed that travel of all types made you more savvy, if not just smarter. I grew up normal as the child of a modest post-WW II marriage with all the Baby Boomers attributes of hard work and education as the goals. I followed that and also had the benefit of being an only child whose parents believed in taking me along for travel as education. Mind you, it was in the back seat of the family Chevy driving all over the southeast, but stopping to visit all local attractions. While of modest means, these trips broadened the horizons and spiked interest in both travel and history. I feel lucky for the exposure.

     Headed to Chicago, one of the great American working cities, I am booked in at someone else’s expense at the near lakefront Trump International on Wabash for the second year in a row. The latest sky puncher is designed to be truly a bit more international than any of the local non-chain motels of my early travels.

     For reasons known only to them, in the past they upgraded me to a corner suite that is bigger than my first home on Minden Avenue. The swanky room is environmentally green with all types of lights that require an engineering background to turn on and off. The big HD screen has real-looking fish swimming when I open the door. Lordy, I find an I-Phone charger hooked into my personal music system, a metal machine to heat up my towels, an espresso machine in lieu of the usual coffee device, electronic shades and curtains, Bushnell binoculars to view the city, and a very useless exercise yoga mat and weights.

     A personal (well sort of) letter from The Donald, his wife’s jewelry catalog, and a book on Feng Shui (look that up) was on the table, along with Trump chocolate truffles. I had to get out my Geezer Glasses to operate the shower, but I felt all international. Breakfast at the Japanese-influenced “Sixteen” restaurant had fabulous views of the lake and city but the computer program told each and every person on the staff who I was and they all addressed me by my last name. I noted that their upcoming Brunch was going for $125.00 plus and knew I was living large again.

     I do a quick bite at the original Pizza Uno from 1943 for the famous Chicago-style deep dish pizza. Their earliest franchising started on the next block over with “Pizza Due”. Some marketing type stopped the numbering and they did the franchise thing all over America as Pizza Uno.

     My visits to this enjoyable and very ethnic city usually involve studies of extreme weather gear in the frozen canyons between buildings. Surprisingly my March trip last year brought record-breaking warmth and ladies in sun dresses and sandals downtown Chicago in March. What if Al Gore was right? Even worse, what if it turns out he did invent the internet? But wait, this year it was normal Chicago and the typical January (actually worst in twenty years), so all is well.

CAN THESE THINGS BE TRUE? WAS HUMPTY DUMPTY PUSHED?

12/5/2013

     An estimated 624 million cups of coffee a day are consumed by those in the U.S. (about 83% of the adults). Add in the energy drinks, tea, and caffeinated soft drinks and 90% of us consume caffeine in some form daily. Wait, my friends at the AARP say coffee, in particular, may help prevent diseases like stroke and certain cancers, lower the risk of Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s and dementia, and boost our concentration and memory. “Coffee is an amazingly potent collection of biologically active compounds” says Walter Willett, M.D., of the Harvard School of Public Health.

     Now that is what I am talking about. Never mind the too much of a good thing in the fine print, just add donuts to that list and I am on my way to the Good Living Olympics.

     Feeling good and looking good now, I turn the page and read articles by Carole Fleck about the growing trend of discussing serious family topics in informal settings known as “Death Dinners”. That will bring an end to the coffee-buzzed fun, but she reports the trend of baby boomers to schedule these to discuss end of life decisions with friends and family. They are even ruining the good coffee thing by scheduling them at coffee shops.

     She refers to sites such as Death Over Dinner (with directions how to start the conversation) and the Death Café. Boy if this is a trend, leave me out. I have told the Mrs. to at least get a second opinion before she and the Pool Boy pull out the plug on my machine, but to proceed. I am going out for coffee — and perhaps some Irish to go in it.

MEIN GOTT !

11/7/2013

     Having previously survived running a stock car at Rockingham, North Carolina, I accepted an Audi invite to drive their winter test track in the Alps near Innsbruck. Knowing how cold the Alps are in early January, the Mrs. wisely says no thanks to the offer to attend with me. So, I am “U.S. Erred” to Munich to join up with the other 29 Audi gearheads to transit to the Ingolstadt, Germany factory and then on to the Falkensteiner Hotel and Spa in Seefeld, Austria near where the test track is located.

     The family having exited Bavaria in a bit of a rush in 1765, they do not seem to recognize me in the Bavarian capital of Munich, the third largest city in Germany. Although it is the most expensive city in Germany, it is a great town to visit with lots of the classic charm of old Germany. Headed into the cold (so cold it is even off season for skiing), I grab my yellow Gore-Tex Ski Jacket and load my gear into it. Even though I know the European black/grey attire drill, I just forgot. In the masses of people on the Munich streets, I stand out like a moving lighthouse and get the stares. One older German lady even points to me explaining to a Spanish couple that the bus tour beside her is in English. At least she did not point and say I was from West Virginia.

     Big Yellow (hey, it was cold and snowy and I forgot) and I crossed town on foot to my favorite tourist spot, the Hofbrauhaus House. The very first food regulation law came about to make sure the beer was good in Bavaria, and it still is good and healthy some 420 years later. Drunks and lit pipes burned down early Hofbrauhaus versions and the current new building only dates to 1897. I do not have the reserved table or locked stein storage status, but I do sit at my regular table for dinner and a tall stein. It is 41 years after my first visit there and I note some big changes. The older women in dirndls carrying six steins are gone and there are very new Germans serving. As you see across Europe and the Caribbean, eastern block workers are now faux bar servers not looking at all German, but still dressed in old style German attire. Other changes jump out in the busiest room in the house when I observe that the unique porcelain troughs in the men’s room have been replaced by the Unimat 4000 individual pods with self-flushing photoelectric eyes. I went back two times just to operate them again.

     These visits inspired me to work on my next get rich plan. Yes, I admit my plan for duplicates of all Victoria Secret underdrawers, made exclusively in warm flannel, just did not catch on. But charging a Euro to use a clean bathroom is rampant in Munich. You must pay to sprinkle. Admittedly that is an issue if you must first put on your geezer glasses, make change, and then figure out how to use the fee required machinery when you take blood pressure diuretics. I’ll make a fortune in Morgantown, West Virginia on game day if I can overcome the clean bathroom for a dollar concept that the dollar is to buy. I am pricing the Unimat 4000’s in gold and blue. I am going to be rich.

     Speaking of tailgating in Morgantown, West Virginia and walking downtown Munich, I think of fashion. With a Mrs. and two daughters-in-law in the fashion consuming business, I am attuned to this area. For example, I recall the day mini-skirts came in vogue and the day the music stopped. Two seasons ago, the ugly Uggs boots were worn with any weather combination on game day. One year ago, it was rubber rain boots despite the lack of any rain. The past fall, I saw a definite leather boot trend. What a bell weather Morgantown is. Munich is awash with leather boots (4 out of 5 women were wearing) and most are riding style. I doubt most of these women had ever seen a horse. I saw only one lady in heels and I do believe she was headed to the local opera, or never got the memo.

     We left Munich by coach (a bus in West Virginia) for a tour of the Traditions car building where every Audi ever made is kept. We were treated to a visit by world famous Audi driver Walter Rohrl at the Audi plant. He politely posed for pictures with his winning cars. The biggest snowstorm to hit the Tyrol Region of Austria closes roads and trains, but we eventually get to Seefeld, Austria. The Audi instructors (Oliver Rudolph; Marco Werner; and Rolf Vollard) provide us classroom instruction first. I learn that horsepower is how fast you hit the tree and torque is how far you move the tree thereafter.

     We take to the ice on the track in 15 new S-5’s with studded tires and learn drills and procedures doing things to these new cars that our parents would have grounded us for. It is a wonderful adventure. Graduation night includes a sleigh ride to the garage. The instructors (one a 2-time, 24 hours of Le Mans winner and another a 7‑time Rally cross winner) put us in as passengers and scared the nightlights out of us on the ice. I changed underdrawers twice.

     I survived my training and spent a lovely twenty-six (26) hours in transit back to my home base of Charleston and arrived in the middle of the night in an ice storm. Being an ice graduate, I slowly drove home like the driver of a Jazzy in the mall.

DEJA AND A NEW OUTLOOK

10/7/2013

     Last year I went back onto the National Board of Directors of the Defense Research Institute (“DRI” or “The Voice of the Defense Bar” and not to be confused with “Dr. I”, or the “StayDRI” basement foundation water prevention company). My friends in the 23,000-member organization universally reacted with some version of “OMG, he is back.” Of course, many are now much more cautious in their behavior since I wrote about some of them in the earlier version of my book, “Down to the Hard Road”.

     I now have a different outlook on this second tour of duty, primarily due to my near death experiences running stock cars about a year ago at the famous old NASCAR track at Rockingham, North Carolina (a/k/a “The Rock”). The day of Racin’ and Rubbin’ was a gift from my family, all of whom went to different states that day to establish their legal alibis. Oddly enough, the family life insurance representative’s contact sheet was missing on this date from my files.

     After equipment training, a safety lecture, and a walk around the track to learn the apex points, throttle easing marks, and proper return to pit procedures, they suited us up in Nomax fire retardant suits. I had hoped for the “Nomax” effect where dorky professional race car drivers have beautiful wives and others on their arms, whenever they don the magic Nomax suits. That did not happen, but a tall attractive Charlotte news reporter did interview the students: (two lawyers, one Pharm.D., and a NASCAR announcer). As I went out to see the car, I thanked all the people who got my 2XXL stock car ready to race and plugged my favorite donut places.

     Now here is the life-threatening part. I was allowed to drive my own car 10 laps to get the feel for the marks; all big fun, even on the 25° banked big scary curves with the crash marks all over them. But next they pulled my stock car up and told me to get in. Think 16 pounds of marshmallows to go into a 5 pound sack. They had bragged that Shaq had driven their cars, but somehow neglected to tell us they cut the top off one and let him step in that way. Try being “big boned” and crawling into your car window and then down into a little butt racing seat. My personal pit crew of Mike and Chris pushed and bent me in and then handed me a steering wheel. After attaching that very necessary part, the 2XXL car took off with a scary roar and the driver screaming like a junior high girl at the county fair rides. Universally, I have been asked, “How fast did you go?” and I always say it was hard to tell with just a tachometer, a water gauge, the oil pressure gauge, and all that screaming. After two different runs in two different cars and a change of under drawers, I limped to my personal car and headed home. I drafted a Prius for 70 miles and got all up under his rear bumper. It was tough finding a good drafting partner on those North Carolina back roads. However, that stock car jaunt helped my outlook once the screaming stopped.

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