Hello? Are you listening?

Since we've moved back to the area of my youth I find myself recalling those days with more frequency than before. It's not unusual to visit a place, see an old friend, or come across a piece of trivia that jogs the memory, with one thought leading to another and another until I become lost in the past.

Last Friday night was Homecoming at my old high school. I wasn't even aware of it until my wife was scanning through the radio stations in the car and happened upon the broadcast of the football game. We grew up in a community that was large enough to have a radio station, but still small enough for the townfolk to get excited about Friday night football. For as long as I can remember the games have been broadcast, so if you couldn't attend in person you could at least listen in on the action.

I didn't listen to many broadcasts back then, I was too busy playing the games rather than following along on the radio. A few times there were delayed broadcasts, and we would all get a hoot out of listening to the play-by-play of a game we had just finished. The one thing I do remember, however, was the professional way in which the radio announcers called the games. They were prepared. They knew the players and the opposition's players, and during the halftime break the time was spent delivering the stats and commenting about the game and the players.

Friday night we listened for an entire quarter, and didn't learn of the score until the half. The play-by-play consisted of reporting the result of the play, no names of the opposing players, no set-up of the formations, and no reason for me to stay tuned except to get the score. Well, I thought, perhaps the half-time activities would be announced along with a recap of the game, wrong again. The station cut away to air some national sports updates and scores instead. I turned it off.

I still believe that there is an aura of "local radio" that needs to be preserved. Promote your local businesses, highlight the local events, and make Friday night football broadcasts special.

My grandmother lived 60 miles away, and could pick up the games on her radio. She didn't drive, and rarely left her house. The radio was her lifeline to the outside world, and to her grandson's football exploits. I know she never saw me play, but she listened to every game on her trusty radio. One week during the halftime break the announcers sent out a "big hello" to my grandmother, and let everyone know that she made a point to listen to every game. It made her day....not national news....but great local radio.

I have to believe that even in today's world there's a grandmother or grandfather out there listening to the radio in hopes of hearing more than just the score. But as always, what do I know.

Windows down and eighty miles an hour....

Periodically I feel the need to just get away from the hustle and bustle of the daily grind. Evidently there are many people who fall into the same category, thus the advent of the "annual vacation". My wife still laments the fact that when we were younger, and our two boys were home, that we were remiss in carving out those two weeks in the summer to "hit the road". But, I was busy trying to "make it", and the boys were both involved with summer baseball. Not very good excuses, I know. We just didn't get away as often as we should have.

It's not that we didn't take vacations occasionally, we did, but they were not regular events that the whole family planned and anticipated each year. Now, I too, regret that we didn't take the time to create some lasting family memories.

When I was growing up my family rarely took vacations, so I guess it never became entrenched in my DNA. My wife's family, on the other hand, took regular vacations including a six week trek to Alaska and back - In a truck - And a camper - With 16 year old Miss Elizabeth in tow. I've heard the stories of the trip many times, but somehow I think time has mellowed the memories of a six week trip to the wilderness with a teen-age daughter and her sister.

So, while Miss Elizabeth's trips were long, arduous journeys across the States, my vacation experiences were far different, and far less frequent.

My dad was a construction contractor, and summers were the busiest time of the year. No time to get away, especially for more than a few days at a time. Therefore, the few vacations we took, were whirlwind affairs....throw a few clothes in the car....lock the front door to the house (the only time the house was ever locked)....grab a road map, and hit the open road.

We drove big cars with big fins, but no air conditioning. So, we rolled down all four windows, opened the vents, and Dad would drive eighty miles an hour to Texas to see the newly constructed Astrodome. We all marveled at that "8th Wonder of the World", caught a ballgame, drove to Galveston to see the beach, then drove home. Short and sweet, that was my dad's idea of a family vacation....and I suppose that I am more like him than not.

I don't think our family has ever vacationed for more than a week at a time, and I'm not sure we ever will. I may be proven wrong though, since Miss Elizabeth has an itch to take the whole family to St. Thomas, and she usually gets what she wants. I'm just hoping she doesn't want to go in a truck....with a camper....surely not....but what do I know.

It's just business ma'am.....

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday".....Except that it's actually a Wednesday....so my best laid plans for using the Billy Joel title won't work. It is, however, nine o'clock and the usual crowd is here at the ranch, Miss Elizabeth, me, the new puppy, and fourteen wailing mama cows. And they ARE wailing mama cows tonight.

It started early this morning, and they suspected something was amiss when I gathered them all into the pens for inspection. I usually just head out to the pasture, throw out a few range cubes to entice them to gather up, and use that as my opportunity to look them over. Sometimes I'll mix up some fly spray and take care of that little task as well, and for the most part everyone cooperates. But, this day was going to be both different and traumatic....for them.

For the last six months or so, these cows have had constant companionship. Their calves started arriving in late February, and with the exception of one straggler who didn't show up until May, they were all on the ground by the end of March. I'm still not sure about that straggler...or her daddy who must have sneaked in and taken advantage of one of my cows when no one was looking. Note to self.....better fences needed along the East pasture.

Anyway, today was the day the calves were loaded up and hauled to a neighbor's facility a few miles away where we vaccinated, branded and tagged each and every one of them. From there they will matched with other calves, separating the steers and heifers, and getting all of them ready for either the sale barn, or retained as replacement heifers. I have a three that will be returned after weaning, for a life of raising babies here on the ranch.....but not tonight, and tonight I'm paying the price.

All afternoon, the cows have been walking the fences searching for the missing calves, and all the while bellowing like it's the end of the world. I guess for them, it might seem like that, but they don't talk much to me about those sensitive subjects. We'll have a few days of this until they finally settle down and get on with life....and I can get on with an uninterrupted night's sleep.

It's just the business cycle we go through each year. The cows have all been bred back and will, in all likelihood, have new calves in the spring when we will start the process all over again. I much prefer the calving season to the weaning season....seeing the new calves nursing for the first time, and taking those first few faltering steps is far more rewarding than separating the mamas and babies. I think the cows might agree....but what do I know.

Just keeping the conversation lively...

In 1983 my oldest son was four years old and wanted a dog in the worst way. Well maybe it wasn't so much him as it was his parents who decided that a dog was needed for the family to be complete. Of course every little boy wants a dog, and once the possibility was being discussed he was all for it.

It's a big decision, acquiring a pet of any kind, but especially a dog. They have a way of entwining themselves into your lives and truly do become a part of the family. And, so it was with Max. After a fair amount of research and perusing the classifieds, we piled into the car and went in search of puppies. All puppies are cute, so you might as well plan on bringing one home if you reach the "looking" stage, and these little Basset Hounds were irresistible. It didn't take long for boy and dog to find each other and the deal was done.

We had Max for 10 years before he succumbed to old age and disease. By then, we had two sons who had come to love that dog, and it was a tough decision as to whether we would try to replace him with another. We had recently moved and the boys were facing a new school, new friends, and all that goes with a relocation. But, soon it was evident something was missing, and we were on the hunt again.

This time, we went to look at a Labrador Retriever, and came home with two. The last two of the litter, and I'm not sure who was happier, the boys or the pups. We were living in the country, and there's nothing quite like seeing boys and dogs running across the pasture, exploring the woods, or just sitting on top of the hay bales in the sunshine. They were inseparable, and those were very good years.

Both of those dogs are gone now. Old age took its toll, and they died within a year of each other a few years ago. They were good dogs and we miss them. The boys are gone now as well, all grown up and with families of their own. Our home has become a quiet place.....a place of old folks, set in their ways, and without the hustle and bustle of a household filled with pets and boys. Too quiet......

Yesterday, I made an "executive decision", and came home with a new addition. Nothing like a new puppy to liven things up, right? I'm just hoping that my wife sees it that way when she returns from Kansas City......I'm sure she will......right??? Once again proving, what do I know?

He was a big, big man....

In the late 1980's this country was facing a financial crisis not unlike the one we're facing today. No, the job losses were not as severe across all industries, but if you were working in the energy or financial segments you were suffering. Layoffs were significant in both areas, and I had many friends who were affected. We were living in Oklahoma City at the time, and were not immune to the troubles either.

The problem was caused by free and easy credit offered by the Savings & Loans and Banks. Easy money was available to energy companies and commercial real estate developers, who then over-drilled and over developed, while borrowing more and more money on over-valued collateral. When the bubble burst, much like the current housing bubble, the house of cards collapsed. The similarities to today's problems are eerie.

Once again, the point of this story is not the state of our country's financial struggles, those details just set the stage for a story within a story.

I was afforded the opportunity to help open the Tulsa office for the Agency established to oversee the restoration of the nation's financial credibility. To accomplish the task at hand would require a staff of dedicated and capable professionals, and we began to interview and hire people at a furious pace.

Interviews are sometimes interesting, sometimes challenging, sometimes surprising, and sometimes all of the above. I was talking to a very qualified young man one day, trying my best to impress upon him the urgency and importance of the work we were doing. He continued to slouch in his chair, obviously disinterested in the whole process. But, when he looked at me and said "Let's face it, it's the government and if it doesn't get done today it'll still be there tomorrow." I was astounded.....astounded, but not impressed.

A couple of days later I was awaiting another applicant who had peaked my interest. Again, a well qualified person, CPA, MBA, and a great work history in the west Texas oil business. He arrived a few minutes early, and when my secretary showed him in, I was astounded....again.

A shadow darkened the room as he filled up the door to my office. He was a big, big man, and he was black. I don't know what I was expecting, but I can assure you the mental image I had conjured up was not that of a black man. As I got up to greet him he stepped forward to shake hands, offered up a big smile and in a deep bass voice said, "Good morning, I'm Jim." I immediately liked him, and the more we visited about the job, his qualifications, and my expectations, the more I knew he was the one for the job. I hired Jim on the spot and he proved to be a great asset to our organization. He was also one of the smartest people I've ever known, and we became great friends.

However, I learned something about myself that day. For as long as I can remember I've had many friends, Black, White and Hispanic. I've always taken pride in accepting people for who they are, and not how they look. Judging people by their actions. But, that day I had read the words on a resume, read of the many accomplishments, and made an assumption before ever meeting the person. An assumption that Jim would look like me.

It was my lesson learned, and something never to be repeated.....That's my pledge, and in this case I know it to be true.

Working hard to win the race....

It was the spring of 1967 and life was about as good as it could possibly be for a young lad of fifteen. I mean really, what's not to celebrate when your days are filled with friends, fun, and the anticipation of the lazy summer days lying ahead. After all, the summer before had been filled with days of baseball, fishing, swimming, and chasing girls....this summer was going to be a blast!

Of course there was another reason for my anticipation of the arrival of this summer, and in particular, that magical date in mid August when I would turn sixteen. Ah, sixteen, that rite of passage, that door to freedom, that open road lying ahead, and driving wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, legally. Yes, life was good at almost sixteen.

But, as always, reality has a way of sneaking in like a heavy fog to cast it's gloom on a young lad's dreams. You see, in my dreams I skipped over the parts that didn't fit. Like the part where we had two working adults in the family who both required transportation. Dad drove his old work truck filled with tools, ladders, and empty cigarette wrappers strewn throughout. Mom, on the other hand drove a big old Buick...truly an "old folks" car. Neither ride was suitable for a "player", not to mention the fact that neither was available to me anyway.

Oh man, what do I do now? A big dose of reality had just slapped me upside the head and I didn't much like it. I started pleading, in desperation I knew, because the dollars were few and far between. There was only one option that would get me behind the wheel this summer, and it meant sacrificing those glorious summer days and filling them with work. I didn't really mind getting a job, but I hated to miss all the fun with my friends.

I found a job with no problem, and as summer commenced I was selling shoes.......on commission. Actually, I was guaranteed $35 per week, OR the commission, whichever was greater. People who know me know two things, I'm very competitive and I'm somewhat stubborn. If you set the standard I'm going to do whatever it takes to exceed it. Did I say I was working on commission...oh yeah, I did. Commissions are great! I found I could really sell shoes.

In no time I had $350 in my pocket, and was on the prowl for a bargain. Unfortunately, so was my dad....looking for a bargain....for me! Dread set in, and so did my stubborn streak. It was a race, and I had to win 'cause I knew my dad's idea of a perfect car for me would be far different than mine. I was thinking '55-'57 Chevy, and let's just say, he was not! My only hope was that I find one first, and I lived in fear that he would win and I would be the proud owner of a '53 Rambler.

"Mom, can you take me to Independence today?" "Why?" "There's a car I want to see, and it might be sold if we don't go right now!" She relented, we headed north, and returned later that afternoon victorious....for me anyway. It was a beat up 1957 Chevy, "in need of a little TLC" the salesman had said. No problem, it had only cost me $95, and I had plenty of money left to pour into that labor of love. So I did. I spent it all to create the car of my dreams.

A lot of hard work and a few hundred dollars later, it had new paint, new interior, and chrome reverse wheels....life can be good indeed when you're sixteen, but what do I know.