Monthly Archives: March 2013

Chapter 62, “Numbers”

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I’m a math guy.  Not that I’m into numerology, but I find it interesting that certain numbers stick in our brains.  Numbers like 9/11, or 12/7/1941, or 411, or 8675309.  Like smells and songs they evoke vivid memories and remind us of things we don’t want to forget.  My mom can still rattle off my dad’s military service number (and it’s not his SSAN) even though it hasn’t had any useful purpose for nearly 60 years!  There’s a new number I’ve burned into my psyche and it’s 405.

405 is the number of days from the original FSA (Force Structure Announcement) last year to the announcement that the 911th Airlift Wing was not closing.  I know it doesn’t mean much to a lot of you, but to those who suffered through 405 days of uncertainty and stress it seemed like a lifetime.  Especially since it was generated by lies and incompetence.  There’s an old saying which I know you all have heard; “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”.  Well, there’s a much more dangerous version; “Hell hath no fury like a bureaucrat denied”.

What makes bureaucracies so dangerous, and the larger the more dangerous they are, is the inherent lack of accountability they offer to those imbedded in them.  You know what I mean.  Those of you in the military have seen it time after time.  Someone screws up in a way that, in the private sector, would get them escorted out the door but instead there’s, magically, a new “special assistant” at headquarters or they’re simply moved to another division.  Bureaucrats, like liberals, never think they’re wrong, they just think they’re smarter than the rest of us and we just haven’t embraced their brilliance and tried hard enough.  Sadly the power they yield, or they think they yield, can destroy lives and organizations and can waste millions of taxpayers dollars with no negative consequences to them.  Here’s an example.

Some years ago my church received a property tax bill in the mail from the City of Pittsburgh for $500.  I’ve been attending the same church since I was born and, since non-profits are tax exempt, we had never paid property taxes.  So I called the city and after an hour of the standard run around, I was finally transferred to someone who could answer my question.  I was told that the tax was being assessed on the value of every square foot of land around the building, including the parking lot, since only the building itself was being used for “religious purposes”.  I argued the point that we had outdoor events for kids and regularly used the parking lot for community outreach but, in the end, I was told, “Don’t bother fighting this, we have lots of lawyers and money and you can’t afford to fight this even though you’d probably win in the end” and then the line went dead.  We’ve been writing a check ever since.  Nameless and faceless, bureaucracies never shrink and have very little motivation to become more efficient.

The difference between the private sector and the government is that, in the government, there are no consequences for failure and failure often gets you a bigger budget.  A friend of mine ran an organization that did summer tutoring for thousands of inner city kids on a shoestring budget using college kids who stayed, for free, with local families.  When the City of Pittsburgh schools saw the enormous impact the program was having they tried to shut it down by denying access to city facilities. They then rented office space, bought  furniture and hired staff to duplicate the program.  After 2 years and millions of dollars spent they gave up.  They never tutored a single child.

And that brings us back to 405.  The Air Force was willing to throw away the 10s of millions of dollars the 911th saves the budget over other bases  because there are still bureaucrats in the system who, like petulant children,  are enraged that they can’t have their way.  Even in the face of the facts and the law they continue to waste time and resources on a failed, inaccurate paradigm.  Sadly, even with the announcement several weeks ago, they won’t let go.  A friend, whose name I won’t mention, was talking to a counterpart at HHQ after the announcement last week and was told, “Just because you escaped again doesn’t mean the crosshairs aren’t still on the 911th.  It just means we haven’t hit the target yet”.

“Hell hath no fury like a bureaucrat denied”  Deep pockets, no accountability and a long memory.  Just wait until they control your healthcare.

Chapter 61, Pro-Choice

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A little late this week but St Patty’s Day, especially when it falls on a weekend, can be exhausting.  Thanks to the folks in Foxburg for the sellout crowd and the over-the-top response.  I think it was the best gig in the, almost, 20 years I’ve been doing this!

I am a “baby person”.  I’m not quite sure why, and I’ve put some thought into it, but for some reason I can’t resist the smile of a tiny human.  Maybe it’s because, with babies, there are no pretenses.  They don’t hide their emotions.  Whether it’s pure joy or pure misery, and the two can be only seconds apart, they let it all out.  Or maybe it’s just how warm and peaceful they are sleeping in your arms.  Or maybe it’s the fun of watching their personalities develop.  Regardless of the frustration of not being able to figure out why they’re crying, 5 minutes of cooing and smiling after 2 hours of screaming makes it all worthwhile.  The most likely reason is that I am inspired by the endless possibilities of a new life.

I’ve always looked at life as a series of choices which eventually lead you to the path you’re on.  I always hope that those choices are made consciously since every one, no matter how seemingly insignificant, alters where we end up.  In the beginning the road is wide and open and the world lies before us offering nearly endless choices.  But as we start making decisions , or decisions are made for us, the road narrows and there are fewer off ramps and intersections.

When I get the chance to talk to kids I always emphasize that they need to make decisions that will keep as many life options available to them as possible.  Blowing off school and getting bad grades reduces opportunities.  Dropping out of school has severe future economic consequences.  Getting  pregnant in high school makes life exponentially more difficult.  I guess what I’m saying is that I’m pro-choice, or more precisely, pre-choice.  It’s not really a hard concept to grasp.  We all make choices and we all live with the consequences of those choices.  There’s no blaming anyone else for what happens after the choice is made, it was your choice.  For example, every time you have sex there is a measurable chance that pregnancy will be the result.  Therefore, by having sex you have made the choice to have a child.  You’ve done the risk analysis, you know what could happen, and you’ve made your choice to be a father or a mother.  You can’t take it back.  There’s no “do over” because now there’s a third person involved.  And that decision tree can be applied to any decision in life.  If you never smoke a joint or snort coke you’ll never become addicted (although prescription painkillers could be the exception).  There is the possibility that anyone who drinks can become an alcoholic so if you do drink, I have to assume you’ve done the risk analysis to ensure the benefits outweigh the risk.

I know that riding a scooter is a high risk activity and I bought my Vespa after I retired because I knew Peg would be all right without me if I got flattened by a Semi.  I would have never ridden one while I was still raising kids.  Every day, whether we realize it or not, we are, or should be, making decisions based on whether the benefit is worth the risk or how might this decision affect the future.  The problem is too many people have never been taught how to make sound life decisions.  To set aside their narcissistic tendencies and make informed, moral choices.  Here’s where we come back to babies.  As parents and grandparents and uncles and aunts we need to encourage and educate and mentor our kids on how to choose paths that, aren’t necessarily easy but, will lead to joyful, fulfilling lives.

There is one off ramp that is always available and will always lead to a better road and I think ya’ll know me well enough to know what that ramp is.

Chapter 60, The Wedge

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Time for some more shameless self promotion.  We’re less than a week away from St Patty’s day so if you’re in the Pittsburgh or Youngstown area you have two chances to celebrate with Carnival of Souls.  We’ll be performing at Lincoln Hall in Foxburg, PA this Saturday night, the 16th, from 7-9 PM.  Just take I-80 east to exit 45, turn right on to Rt 478, drive 1.9 miles, turn right on to Rt 58 and drive 1.9 miles to Foxburg.  It sits right on the Allegheny river, you can’t miss it!  Then, on the 17th, we’ll be at Mogies in Lower Burrell from 7-10 PM.  You’ll need reservations. http://www.mogiesirishpub.com.  See you there!

 

What I miss most about retiring isn’t the flying or, certainly not, the endless meetings, but the daily talks with people I truly love and respect.  You take those conversations, even if they’re just a passing few words, for granted and when you’re not there every day you realize how much those relationships really mean.  I’ve worked with a lot of folks over the years and some are, shall we say, quirky.  Now when I use the word quirky, I don’t think of it in a bad way.  I would describe those kinds of people as “odd”.  Quirky is endearing and funny, odd is; hide the sharp objects, duck into your office, turn the lights off and be very, very quiet.  I think ya’ll know what I mean.  I’ll tell stories about the quirky but not about the odd.  They might know where I live.

So, for anonymity’s sake, let’s call him Fred.  Fred is my favorite anonymous name since I’ve known very few Freds over the years and, for some reason, it makes me laugh.  Fred is a flight engineer who is very passionate about his job.  He has very high expectations for his own performance and expects nothing less of everyone else and, as a result, is a great instructor and friend.  He’s the kind of person I can always count on to give honest feedback and not be shy about giving his opinion.  Some people don’t like honesty, I’m not one of them.  It’s a rare commodity in a world of political correctness and caring more for feelings than doing the right thing and potentially saving an airplane and crew.  Fred is also a very tiny man.  I’m not just talking about height, I’m talking width and breadth as well.  he can’t weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet.  I’m surprised they make flight suits that small and I’ve accused him of wearing a new size which I call 32T (toddler).  His size is what makes this story funny.

Years ago we deployed to, I think, Volk Field for an ORI (Operational Readiness Inspection).  I’ve been on so many ORIs the locations all seem to run together and my brain tries to purge the bad memories, so I think it was Volk but it doesn’t really matter.  Anyway, when we arrive, the first thing we always do is stand in line. We stand in line for mobility processing.  We stand in line to be assigned quarters.  We stand in line to get issued linens.  We stand in line to get issued MREs for the week.  The first day of any deployment is pretty much standing and waiting.  So after a day of standing in line, Fred found himself in the last line of the day, the chow hall or, the politically correct name, DFAC (Dining Facility).

Now, to those of us who are a little taller, people look a little different than the way Fred sees them.  It’s something you don’t really think about.  When I’m in line I can see what’s going on ahead.  How long the line is.  How much longer it’s going to be.  Who’s up there ahead of me that I can talk to once we get through the line.  But to Fred, everyone over about 5’10”, just looks like the back of a green flight suit and if you’re over 6’4″ it’s even a lower view of a green flight suit.  So Fred found himself in a very long line, after a very long day, looking at the back of a very large flight suit.  And it occurred to Fred that the very long flight suit in front of him must the his very tall friend Daryl.  So in a moment of, shall we say, whimsy Fred decided that it would be funny to give ole Daryl a wedgie.  To this day he hasn’t been able to explain why he thought wedgies were still funny past about the 5th grade but he thought it would add some levity to a long hard day.  So he reached up,  grabbed the waistband, heaved it high, and let out a Luilliputian laugh.  The line turned to see what the commotion was all about and what they saw was  a very tall African-American,  Higher Headquarters Inspector Colonel with an odd look on his face and his waistband in the hands of a tiny man with an even odder look.  Fred released his grip and, not quite knowing what to say to each other, the odd couple continued to wait in line without a word being spoken.

That night, at the daily inspector outbrief, the team chief made a remark about “the incident” but, at that point, we had no idea what he was talking about but, whatever it was, he thought it was pretty funny.  We passed the ORI in spite of the massive wedgie and, since then, I’ve never turned my back of Fred.

We often assume that everyone’s perspective is the same as ours but our place in an organization can give us a completely different few of the future and the past than those at higher or lower level.  The challenge is to be willing to either modify your opinions by taking into account others perspective or do a better job of communicating yours to get everyone moving in the same direction.

Chapter 59, “Redheadedness”

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First, some administrative stuff:  It looks like I lost count last week.  I named it Chapter 59 when it should have been Chapter 58, Oops!  Also, I’d like to thank ya’ll for prayers over my surgery yesterday.  Everything went fine other than having to drive to the hospital at 4:15 AM in a blizzard!  I am now, happily, gallbladderless and looking forward to eating something other than salmon, rice and beets.  It’s a great weight loss program but it makes it hard to eat out with friends, and the beets make your poo disturbingly red and pee oddly pink!

As most of you know, my wife Peg is a redhead.  There are a variety of shades of redhead and I think Peg falls into the almost strawberry blonde category.  There’s one surefire way of making her mad and that’s when I tell her that her hair color is actually orange.  I know I’ll here about that last sentence as soon as she reads it!  It’s really no big deal what a person’s hair color is, but I’ve learned over the years that there can be some odd idiosyncrasies with redheads.  You try not to stereotype but after 40 years of experience you can’t help but notice.

As everyone knows, because I can’t stop beaming about it, I’m a new grandfather.  Early on in my daughters pregnancy she was in the doctor’s office going over all of the standard medical history stuff.  In preparation for standard testing they ran down the list of questions about medical conditions of parents, grandparents, and great grandparents on both sides of the families.  What sort of diseases did people die from or are currently dealing with, the normal things they want to know.  All predictable questions until they asked, “Are there any redheads in your family?”  That, of course, got Erin’s attention and, when she answered in the affirmative, she got a raised eyebrow from the nurse and the comment “That’s another blood test”.  As it turns out, the redheaded gene carries with it some interesting characteristics.  Low pain threshold, lower blood clotting ability, and odd reactions to some medications.  Apparently some redheads need higher doses of medications for the desired effect but when the effect kicks in it lasts much longer than other, less red, people.  All of these things can obviously cause problems during childbirth if either the mother or the child is a redhead.

I wasn’t crazy!  My observations of 40 years were accurate.  I was vindicated.  After years of thinking she was just a wimp when it came to pain, I now realize that she is just a victim of her hair.  Here’s my favorite example.

Several years ago, after putting it off for too long, I scheduled my first “screening colonoscopy”.  I wasn’t thrilled about having a camera snaked up my butt, but it’s one of those increasingly dignifying destroying things we have to go through as we get older.  So I made the appointment knowing that they would knock me out for the procedure and I really wouldn’t feel a thing.  I tried to get Peg to write “Exit only” on my butt cheeks but she refused and I couldn’t quite figure out how to do it with mirrors by myself.  I’ll have to practice that for the next time.  But I digress.  Other than having to drink the pooing juice the night before it was a simple procedure and not a big deal at all. (That’s my plug for everyone not to put it off!!)  After the anesthesia wore off, and I stopped being even goofier than I normally am, I was back to work in an hour.  I then nagged Peg into scheduling hers and here’s where the redheadedness comes in.

Everything went fine.  They gave her the happy juice injection and off she went to LaLa land.  They wheeled her into the exam room and started the procedure but halfway through she woke up.  She didn’t  bolt upright on the table, she didn’t make a sound,  she just remembers opening her eyes, seeing a video screen in front of her and, in her semi-conscious state, wondering what TV show she was watching.  Was it “Journey to the Center of the Earth”?  Was it a documentary about tunnel building?  But why was the tunnel pink?  After  a few minutes, and no commercials, she finally asked “Am I supposed to be awake?”  A question that caused a doctor and two technicians to just about jump out of their skins.  They frantically pumped another dose into her and finished the examination.  It took a much bigger dose but once she was out, it took the whole rest of the day and that night for the effects to wear off.  I think she slept for 14 hours straight after I managed to get her home.

I know she won’t be happy I told this story so I think we’ll be going out to dinner tonight.  I’m looking forward to a little red meat for the first time in a month!