I recently wrote about Heather and Mark’s Excellent Adventure. Daughter Courtney also faces a big change in her life, one I – and her husband, Dave – can relate to; a combat assignment. Here’s a little about a hero of mine, Major Courtney Short.
Courtney was born in a little town on the prairie. the model for Carol Bly’s Rachel River, a place our story will wind its way through later. She was in the stroller at her sister’s public dance debut. (See Daughter, Actor, Scholar, Advocate)
She followed her sister to All State Choir, and onto Twin City professional stages, including Children’s Theater, the Guthrie, and Actor’s Theater. At nine, she played Annie Graving (with Craig T. Nelson and Pamela Reed) in Rachel River, a film based on the Carol Bly short stories inspired by the small town of Courtney’s birth. That’s two daughters in the Screen Actor’s Guild. Courtney played volleyball, but injury cut short that endeavor. There was student body office, music, drama, and swing dancing, that last not a school activity.
Courtney developed a love of history and writing early, announcing that she planned to go to Columbia University to pursue journalism. Doing exactly that, she enrolled in Columbia’s Barnard College, pledged Delta Gamma, played intercollegiate rugby, and earned a Bachelor in history from Columbia University, while also earning a commission in the United States Army through Reserve Officer Training Corp across town at Fordham University.
After graduation it was Ft. Bliss for training in Patriot missiles, and on to Korea to run a Patriot platoon and battery fire control. Korea was where her future appeared not to be Army at all, but rather that of an Air Force wife of a fighter pilot, before the tragic death of Lieutenant Randy Murff, whose story was told by Courtney in Determined Dreamer, Passionate Flyer.
Upon returning to the United States, Courtney commanded a Patriot battery, served on battalion staff, earned a Master’s in Management, taught at the Air Defense School at Ft. Bliss, Texas and married fellow Captain (now Major) David Short. Soon after, she accepted an appointment to the faculty at West Point contingent on completing her Master’s in history, which she did at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, completing her PhD., ABD.
She began her West Point assignment in 2008 as an instructor, and later as Assistant Professor (not everyone makes that step), in the Department of History. Promoted to Major in January 2009, her assignment to the United States Military Academy ended this past May.
In August 2009, she became a mother (and I a grandfather) to Olivia. This summer, she’s been preparing to deploy at the end of this month to Afghanistan as a staff officer of the 3rd Brigade of the 1st Armored Division. Meanwhile, husband Dave has charge of Olivia (or is it the other way ‘round?) at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas.
Courtney, you’ll be in our thoughts every day until you are safely home.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Daughter, Actor, Scholar, Advocate
Heather married Mark Fields on August 13. In introducing my toast I said we were “Celebrating a bon voyage to Heather and Mark’s Excellent Adventure.” This blog reprises my remarks.
The bride and groom have each lived their own adventures before today, but now, before they embark on their next – shared – adventure, I want to tell you about some of Heather’s.
From the youngest age she was a dancer, a singer, an actor…and a bookworm.
For me, her father, two images of this little girl are etched in my mind; dancing in the aisle of a department store at about 4 years old, a photo of which landed on the front page of a small-town Minnesota newspaper, an indelible image of her creative, performing side. Second, of a little girl with big round glasses, on a small chair in a corner, with a large book, reading, her intent, intelligent, learning side.
Through her early years she seemed mostly focused on her performing side…
She was selected twice to the Minnesota All-State Choir, trod the boards in musicals – South Pacific, Annie, and plays, including Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, a State Championship One-Act. Flutist, middle school cheerleader, and still a top academic performer. Friends remember she talked about law school as early as the 8th grade.
It was theater she pursued between Delta Gamma sorority parties at the University of Minnesota. I see those DG’s are here. Still friends, and that certainly means a lot.
Heather didn’t hesitate, Gopher theater – and history – degree in hand, to head for Hollywood…Malibu, and The OC, to film, stage, child care, and waiting on tables.
There was some film including the lead in “The Layover,” (“A coming of middle-age film,” wrapped in 2001, unreleased) but it was on stage she left her mark, even in that entertainment megalopolis.
On stage she originated principal roles in three world premier plays, one the lead.
Of "A Summer with Hemingway’s Twin" (World Premier at Alternative Repertory Theater, Santa Ana) L.A. Times theater critic T.H. McCulloh wrote, Heather Kjos is marvelously restrained and real as Lila, the college student who spends her whole summer hoping to meet her literary idol. Kjos’ buoyant, wide-eyed wonder at being with the actual Hemingway family is refreshing and believable.
Of Heather’s role in "Six Random Women," Joel Beers wrote in the Orange County Weekly:
There's Miss District of Columbia (a perfectly cast, deer-in-the-headlights Heather Kjos), who sees in the Miss US of A pageant everything bright and shiny about the most wonderful, blessed-by-God nation on Earth.
That tug of the law was still there, and it finally pulled her back to Minnesota, where she took the LSAT and caught on with a Minneapolis law firm as a docketing clerk. She was good at that, good enough to garner a Chicago job for more money, then become a paralegal in intellectual property law, completing her coursework at Loyola University.
It all just whetted that appetite for law school, which sent her to St. Paul, to the William Mitchell College of Law. While there, she was runner-up in the Intellectual Property National Moot Court competition, on the IP Law Review, clerked for a professor, was published in journals, and has been listed in Westlaw. At that table are law school classmates.
She’s employed as an attorney, no small thing in this market.
Now with Mark the next, the start of many more adventures
The toast is coming in a moment, but first, this piece of doggerel:
To keep your marriage brimming,
With love in the loving cup
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
I propose a toast to Mark and Heather:
Here’s to the past, for all that you have learned
Here’s to the present, for all that you share
Here’s to the future, for all that you look forward to together.
The bride and groom have each lived their own adventures before today, but now, before they embark on their next – shared – adventure, I want to tell you about some of Heather’s.
From the youngest age she was a dancer, a singer, an actor…and a bookworm.
For me, her father, two images of this little girl are etched in my mind; dancing in the aisle of a department store at about 4 years old, a photo of which landed on the front page of a small-town Minnesota newspaper, an indelible image of her creative, performing side. Second, of a little girl with big round glasses, on a small chair in a corner, with a large book, reading, her intent, intelligent, learning side.
Through her early years she seemed mostly focused on her performing side…
She was selected twice to the Minnesota All-State Choir, trod the boards in musicals – South Pacific, Annie, and plays, including Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, a State Championship One-Act. Flutist, middle school cheerleader, and still a top academic performer. Friends remember she talked about law school as early as the 8th grade.
It was theater she pursued between Delta Gamma sorority parties at the University of Minnesota. I see those DG’s are here. Still friends, and that certainly means a lot.
Heather didn’t hesitate, Gopher theater – and history – degree in hand, to head for Hollywood…Malibu, and The OC, to film, stage, child care, and waiting on tables.
There was some film including the lead in “The Layover,” (“A coming of middle-age film,” wrapped in 2001, unreleased) but it was on stage she left her mark, even in that entertainment megalopolis.
On stage she originated principal roles in three world premier plays, one the lead.
Of "A Summer with Hemingway’s Twin" (World Premier at Alternative Repertory Theater, Santa Ana) L.A. Times theater critic T.H. McCulloh wrote, Heather Kjos is marvelously restrained and real as Lila, the college student who spends her whole summer hoping to meet her literary idol. Kjos’ buoyant, wide-eyed wonder at being with the actual Hemingway family is refreshing and believable.
Of Heather’s role in "Six Random Women," Joel Beers wrote in the Orange County Weekly:
There's Miss District of Columbia (a perfectly cast, deer-in-the-headlights Heather Kjos), who sees in the Miss US of A pageant everything bright and shiny about the most wonderful, blessed-by-God nation on Earth.
That tug of the law was still there, and it finally pulled her back to Minnesota, where she took the LSAT and caught on with a Minneapolis law firm as a docketing clerk. She was good at that, good enough to garner a Chicago job for more money, then become a paralegal in intellectual property law, completing her coursework at Loyola University.
It all just whetted that appetite for law school, which sent her to St. Paul, to the William Mitchell College of Law. While there, she was runner-up in the Intellectual Property National Moot Court competition, on the IP Law Review, clerked for a professor, was published in journals, and has been listed in Westlaw. At that table are law school classmates.
She’s employed as an attorney, no small thing in this market.
Now with Mark the next, the start of many more adventures
The toast is coming in a moment, but first, this piece of doggerel:
To keep your marriage brimming,
With love in the loving cup
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
I propose a toast to Mark and Heather:
Here’s to the past, for all that you have learned
Here’s to the present, for all that you share
Here’s to the future, for all that you look forward to together.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Pettifoggery, Demagoguery, Yachts and Jets
I don't often write political commentary; this, however, is exactly that.
The President launched an all-out war on “…tax loopholes for corporate jets…” yesterday.
In a speech disguised as a policy discussion of serious issues of deficits, debts, and taxes, Obama once again obfuscated the real problems of our economy by raising the imagined bogeymen of our terminally uneducated and willfully uninformed fellow citizens. He seems to think he can be reelected solely by the lowest common denominator amongst the electorate.
Loophole? That’s a disingenuous description of a part of the Federal tax depreciation table. (If you don’t know what depreciation is, you’re pretty much a lost cause – one of those uneducated and uninformed – you really should stop reading now. And please…don’t vote.)
Here’s the fact. The tax code says a business (not necessarily a corporation, but hey, “corporation” makes for a more frightening bogeyman, doesn’t it?) can write off a jet placed in service for the use of the business (original cost written off as a expense) over a term of five years – 20% per year. Jets purchased by commercial carriers for the purpose of carrying passengers for fares, on the other hand, must be written off over a seven year period – 14% per year. That has the effect of lowering the taxable income of the former as compared to the latter.
How much is that? Business jets produced by companies like Cessna and Piper – US manufacturers, by the way – cost from $5 million to about $20 million new, depending on capacity, range, and appointments. Under current law (Obama’s “loophole”) a typical purchase of $10 million would be shown as a deductable cost of doing business in the amount of $2 million in each of 5 years. The demagogue-in-chief demands – as a condition of agreeing to any cuts to Federal expenditures – that the seven-year rate of depreciation used for commercial aircraft be applied to the purchase of these small business aircraft. The result of that will be a deduction from taxable income of about $1.428 million in each of seven years.
In each of the first five years after the purchase, then, our company has to report (if it is that profitable) additional net income of $572,000. If half of that net is taken in taxes (the US corporate tax rate is as much as 35% of net income) the additional tax in each of those five years is $200,000, a total additional tax of $1 million. In years six and seven, our company gets to recoup some of that disadvantage, since it continues to have some write off – a total of $2.86 million – reducing its taxes in those years by $1 million. The advantage to the government? It collects the same amount of tax in five years that it would collect in seven under the current rule.
How does this make a difference? The amount of tax appears to be the same. There are, of course, business advantages to faster write-offs. Those beyond five years are often “over the horizon of planning,” meaning not considered in the purchase decision. Private jets are also more likely be “turned over,” (traded in) sooner than commercial jets, so a shorter depreciation period is a real financial advantage. Remember, too, that if that “trade-in” has value – and it always does – that amount is “recaptured” by the IRS as income.
The real cost of Obama’s demagoguery, however, is borne not by the rich (who will simply decide in some instances not replace that aging business aircraft) but by the poor saps who wire and rivet together those aircraft in Wichita, Kansas (Cessna), and Vero Beach, Florida (Piper).
If all this seems familiar, consider the real world experience of the “luxury taxes” slapped on yachts, and “expensive automobiles” (laughably, those over $30,000) in 1991. After it’s repeal in 1993, here from the Washington Times is the description of that experiment in “fairness.”
"Starting in 1991, Washington levied a 10 percent tax on cars valued above $30,000, boats above $100,000, jewelry and furs above $10,000, and private planes above $250,000. Democrats crowed publicly about how the rich would finally be paying their fair share and privately about convincing President George H.W. Bush to renounce his 'no new taxes' pledge.
"But it wasn't long before even those die-hard "class warriors" noticed they'd badly missed their mark. The taxes took in $97 million less in their first year than had been projected — for the simple reason that people were buying a lot fewer of these goods. Boat building, a key industry in Maine and Massachusetts, (home of some of the more prominent "class warriors") was particularly hard hit. Yacht retailers reported a 77 percent drop in sales that year, while boat builders estimated layoffs at 25,000. With bipartisan support, all but the car tax was repealed in 1993, and in 1996 Congress voted to phase that out too."
There’s your “loophole,” and there is your result. Hope and change.
The President launched an all-out war on “…tax loopholes for corporate jets…” yesterday.
In a speech disguised as a policy discussion of serious issues of deficits, debts, and taxes, Obama once again obfuscated the real problems of our economy by raising the imagined bogeymen of our terminally uneducated and willfully uninformed fellow citizens. He seems to think he can be reelected solely by the lowest common denominator amongst the electorate.
Loophole? That’s a disingenuous description of a part of the Federal tax depreciation table. (If you don’t know what depreciation is, you’re pretty much a lost cause – one of those uneducated and uninformed – you really should stop reading now. And please…don’t vote.)
Here’s the fact. The tax code says a business (not necessarily a corporation, but hey, “corporation” makes for a more frightening bogeyman, doesn’t it?) can write off a jet placed in service for the use of the business (original cost written off as a expense) over a term of five years – 20% per year. Jets purchased by commercial carriers for the purpose of carrying passengers for fares, on the other hand, must be written off over a seven year period – 14% per year. That has the effect of lowering the taxable income of the former as compared to the latter.
How much is that? Business jets produced by companies like Cessna and Piper – US manufacturers, by the way – cost from $5 million to about $20 million new, depending on capacity, range, and appointments. Under current law (Obama’s “loophole”) a typical purchase of $10 million would be shown as a deductable cost of doing business in the amount of $2 million in each of 5 years. The demagogue-in-chief demands – as a condition of agreeing to any cuts to Federal expenditures – that the seven-year rate of depreciation used for commercial aircraft be applied to the purchase of these small business aircraft. The result of that will be a deduction from taxable income of about $1.428 million in each of seven years.
In each of the first five years after the purchase, then, our company has to report (if it is that profitable) additional net income of $572,000. If half of that net is taken in taxes (the US corporate tax rate is as much as 35% of net income) the additional tax in each of those five years is $200,000, a total additional tax of $1 million. In years six and seven, our company gets to recoup some of that disadvantage, since it continues to have some write off – a total of $2.86 million – reducing its taxes in those years by $1 million. The advantage to the government? It collects the same amount of tax in five years that it would collect in seven under the current rule.
How does this make a difference? The amount of tax appears to be the same. There are, of course, business advantages to faster write-offs. Those beyond five years are often “over the horizon of planning,” meaning not considered in the purchase decision. Private jets are also more likely be “turned over,” (traded in) sooner than commercial jets, so a shorter depreciation period is a real financial advantage. Remember, too, that if that “trade-in” has value – and it always does – that amount is “recaptured” by the IRS as income.
The real cost of Obama’s demagoguery, however, is borne not by the rich (who will simply decide in some instances not replace that aging business aircraft) but by the poor saps who wire and rivet together those aircraft in Wichita, Kansas (Cessna), and Vero Beach, Florida (Piper).
If all this seems familiar, consider the real world experience of the “luxury taxes” slapped on yachts, and “expensive automobiles” (laughably, those over $30,000) in 1991. After it’s repeal in 1993, here from the Washington Times is the description of that experiment in “fairness.”
"Starting in 1991, Washington levied a 10 percent tax on cars valued above $30,000, boats above $100,000, jewelry and furs above $10,000, and private planes above $250,000. Democrats crowed publicly about how the rich would finally be paying their fair share and privately about convincing President George H.W. Bush to renounce his 'no new taxes' pledge.
"But it wasn't long before even those die-hard "class warriors" noticed they'd badly missed their mark. The taxes took in $97 million less in their first year than had been projected — for the simple reason that people were buying a lot fewer of these goods. Boat building, a key industry in Maine and Massachusetts, (home of some of the more prominent "class warriors") was particularly hard hit. Yacht retailers reported a 77 percent drop in sales that year, while boat builders estimated layoffs at 25,000. With bipartisan support, all but the car tax was repealed in 1993, and in 1996 Congress voted to phase that out too."
There’s your “loophole,” and there is your result. Hope and change.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Determined Dreamer, Passionate Flyer
The second of two articles for Memorial Day, 2011. The first, "Appreciation of Gentle Heroes we Left Behind," is here.
By Courtney A. Kjos (Major Courtney A. Short)
When I first met Randy Murff, it was in a bar in Seoul, South Korea. He was sitting in a high-backed chair at a low table and I noticed immediately how broad and muscular his shoulders were. I thought that they would be so nice to curl up in. I was so right.
Randy was stationed at Kunsan Air Base, on the west side of the South Korean peninsula. He was an F-16 fighter pilot with the 35th Fighter Squadron — impressive, but he didn't try to charm me with Top Gun stories. Instead, he let me know where he went to college: Columbia. I was amazed. A First Lieutenant in the United States Army myself, I realized that I had found possibly the only other young military officer in Korea who had gone to school on Morningside Heights. We spent the rest of the evening comparing stories about our college years. We laughed because almost all of our friends were doctors, lawyers, bankers and consultants from Long Island. We mourned the loss of Ferris Booth and wondered about the never-explored Lerner Hall. As the night closed, I took another long stare into his large, round, star-studded blue eyes and fell in love with him. Right there.
On the evening of June 12, at 9:35 p.m., Randy Murff's F-16 crashed into a rice paddy during a routine night training mission, and he was killed instantly. He was 26 years old. Yet in that short time, he accomplished more, dreamed more, and lived more than many people do their entire lives. He followed a simple principle that is oft forgotten in a world that places high value on money and prestige; he simply did what he truly wanted to do.
In his 26 years, Randy Murff had achieved success in almost everything he tried. He was an outstanding student, athlete and pilot.
Randy is still remembered on the fields of Bellaire (Texas) High School. His decision to play football was made his freshman year, a late start for the average American player, who normally begins in elementary school, especially in a football-crazy state like Texas. However, when Randy, weighing over 200 pounds, approached the coach to express his interest in taking up the sport, he was not met with resistance. You can never have too many big linemen, the coach probably thought to himself.
Yet Randy had more than size on his side. He also had athletic talent that quickly became apparent. He was voted first team All-District, and to the Houston Independent School District All-Academic Team as well. By his senior year, he was co-captain of the football team, offensive MVP and Male Athlete of the Year. He also lettered in baseball and track, all while posting grades that earned him a place on the school's honor roll.
Numerous prestigious universities recruited Randy, and he chose Columbia over Princeton and Cornell, among others. At Columbia, he achieved the same success he had enjoyed in high school. Gracing program covers with gritted teeth and menacing, outstretched arms, No. 68 was a huge offensive lineman — literally. He grew to 6-2, 315 pounds, but despite the robust belly, Randy was a strong, fit powerhouse on the field. "Big Randy," as he would later call his football self, lettered all four years at Columbia, twice made the All-Ivy Second Team and was named to Columbia's "Team of the '90s." As co-captain his senior year, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with such as Marcellus Wiley '97, who now stars for the NFL's San Diego Chargers, and helped the Lions to an 8-2 record, their best mark since 1945.
Randy loved football; he felt a strong loyalty to the team. Yet if he had been offered an NFL contract, he would have turned it down because he wanted to fly. Every night he would force his roommate to watch Wings on the Discovery channel. Although a Dean's List student, he studied flying far more than he read history. He followed his ambition right to the Air Force recruiter's office, where he was shown a fighter plane. But the recruiter was brutally honest with the would-be pilot; he told "Big Randy" that he simply wouldn't fit in the cockpit.
Most people would give up, go home, reopen those history books and change plans. Not Randy. He embarked on a weight-loss program that consisted of running and eating one Mama Joy's deli sandwich a day. He felt so drained from the toll on his body that he slept away every afternoon. But it produced results — in nine months he dropped 100 pounds.
He weighed 210 when he graduated from Officer Training School in June 1998, a year after his college graduation, still in pursuit of his dream. Randy had a true, heartfelt passion for flying F-16 fighter jets, and he was not about to be denied. He displayed the kind of ambition and drive that made even hard-working fellow Columbians take notice. "He loved flying and he went after it hard," said Gary Kahn '97, his roommate and teammate. "I have never seen that type of determination from anyone in my life. He was the 5-year-old who wanted to be an astronaut or a fighter pilot and refused to let his childhood dream die. How many of us get herded into the jobs that we figured we were supposed to take and didn't follow our dreams?"
Not Randy. He was awarded his wings in July 1999 after graduating from Undergraduate Pilots Training at Laughlin Air Force Base in Texas. One year later, in July 2000, Lieutenant Murff graduated as a mission-capable fighter pilot from follow-on fighter training at Luke AFB in Arizona. He was then assigned to the 35th Fighter Squadron at Kunsan AB, Republic of Korea.
Randy was an exceptional fighter pilot with a particular skill for air-to-air missions. He was one of his squadron's best, logging over 250 flying hours and being chosen for special schools and missions. He transported jets from Korea to Moody AFB in Georgia. He conducted over 10 sorties within certain strategic areas that resulted in him being awarded the Aerial Achievement Award. He was chosen to attend Fighter Electronic Combat Officer Course (FECOC) at Nellis AFB, Nevada, and was chosen as Electronic Combat Pilot for the 8th Fighter Wing, a position that normally is given to a major. As Wing ECP, he would have been the Wing expert and trainer on radar and radar warning gear.
He loved going to work every day. He would call me every evening between 9:30 and 10:30 p.m., and the wonder and excitement on the other end of the phone was like a child's. "I flew today," he would say. "I felt just like I was in Star Wars!"
No words can recreate Randy Murff. He lived every moment of his life exactly as he wanted. He flew with desire, energy and sheer excitement; he loved with abandon, devotion and pure adoration. He valued his friends and celebrated his friendships with bravado and a wild spirit. He never missed a moment to tell someone close to him what he or she meant to him. It didn't take me long to realize that I hadn't been alone when I fell in love that night in Seoul. He had fallen in love with me as well. Right there. And he never let a breath slip through his lips without telling me.
Randy Murff, Columbia College, Columbia University '97 met and fell in love with Courtney A. Kjos, Barnard College, Columbia University '99, while both were serving in the military in South Korea — halfway around the world from Morningside Heights.
Although Murff never formally proposed to Kjos, an engagement ring was presented to her by one of his closest friends shortly after Murff was killed in a flying accident on June 12, 2001. Murff had purchased the ring three weeks earlier in the United States (on a mission in which he and another pilot transported F16s to Korea from Luke AFB by flying them across the Pacific) and was going to propose to Kjos in Hawaii during a trip the couple had planned to take in October.
1st Lieutenant Courtney A. Kjos, now Major Courtney A. Short, US Army, wrote this memorial of Randy Murff for Columbia College Today in July, 2001.
By Courtney A. Kjos (Major Courtney A. Short)
When I first met Randy Murff, it was in a bar in Seoul, South Korea. He was sitting in a high-backed chair at a low table and I noticed immediately how broad and muscular his shoulders were. I thought that they would be so nice to curl up in. I was so right.
Randy was stationed at Kunsan Air Base, on the west side of the South Korean peninsula. He was an F-16 fighter pilot with the 35th Fighter Squadron — impressive, but he didn't try to charm me with Top Gun stories. Instead, he let me know where he went to college: Columbia. I was amazed. A First Lieutenant in the United States Army myself, I realized that I had found possibly the only other young military officer in Korea who had gone to school on Morningside Heights. We spent the rest of the evening comparing stories about our college years. We laughed because almost all of our friends were doctors, lawyers, bankers and consultants from Long Island. We mourned the loss of Ferris Booth and wondered about the never-explored Lerner Hall. As the night closed, I took another long stare into his large, round, star-studded blue eyes and fell in love with him. Right there.
On the evening of June 12, at 9:35 p.m., Randy Murff's F-16 crashed into a rice paddy during a routine night training mission, and he was killed instantly. He was 26 years old. Yet in that short time, he accomplished more, dreamed more, and lived more than many people do their entire lives. He followed a simple principle that is oft forgotten in a world that places high value on money and prestige; he simply did what he truly wanted to do.
In his 26 years, Randy Murff had achieved success in almost everything he tried. He was an outstanding student, athlete and pilot.
Randy is still remembered on the fields of Bellaire (Texas) High School. His decision to play football was made his freshman year, a late start for the average American player, who normally begins in elementary school, especially in a football-crazy state like Texas. However, when Randy, weighing over 200 pounds, approached the coach to express his interest in taking up the sport, he was not met with resistance. You can never have too many big linemen, the coach probably thought to himself.
Yet Randy had more than size on his side. He also had athletic talent that quickly became apparent. He was voted first team All-District, and to the Houston Independent School District All-Academic Team as well. By his senior year, he was co-captain of the football team, offensive MVP and Male Athlete of the Year. He also lettered in baseball and track, all while posting grades that earned him a place on the school's honor roll.
Numerous prestigious universities recruited Randy, and he chose Columbia over Princeton and Cornell, among others. At Columbia, he achieved the same success he had enjoyed in high school. Gracing program covers with gritted teeth and menacing, outstretched arms, No. 68 was a huge offensive lineman — literally. He grew to 6-2, 315 pounds, but despite the robust belly, Randy was a strong, fit powerhouse on the field. "Big Randy," as he would later call his football self, lettered all four years at Columbia, twice made the All-Ivy Second Team and was named to Columbia's "Team of the '90s." As co-captain his senior year, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with such as Marcellus Wiley '97, who now stars for the NFL's San Diego Chargers, and helped the Lions to an 8-2 record, their best mark since 1945.
Randy loved football; he felt a strong loyalty to the team. Yet if he had been offered an NFL contract, he would have turned it down because he wanted to fly. Every night he would force his roommate to watch Wings on the Discovery channel. Although a Dean's List student, he studied flying far more than he read history. He followed his ambition right to the Air Force recruiter's office, where he was shown a fighter plane. But the recruiter was brutally honest with the would-be pilot; he told "Big Randy" that he simply wouldn't fit in the cockpit.
Most people would give up, go home, reopen those history books and change plans. Not Randy. He embarked on a weight-loss program that consisted of running and eating one Mama Joy's deli sandwich a day. He felt so drained from the toll on his body that he slept away every afternoon. But it produced results — in nine months he dropped 100 pounds.
He weighed 210 when he graduated from Officer Training School in June 1998, a year after his college graduation, still in pursuit of his dream. Randy had a true, heartfelt passion for flying F-16 fighter jets, and he was not about to be denied. He displayed the kind of ambition and drive that made even hard-working fellow Columbians take notice. "He loved flying and he went after it hard," said Gary Kahn '97, his roommate and teammate. "I have never seen that type of determination from anyone in my life. He was the 5-year-old who wanted to be an astronaut or a fighter pilot and refused to let his childhood dream die. How many of us get herded into the jobs that we figured we were supposed to take and didn't follow our dreams?"
Not Randy. He was awarded his wings in July 1999 after graduating from Undergraduate Pilots Training at Laughlin Air Force Base in Texas. One year later, in July 2000, Lieutenant Murff graduated as a mission-capable fighter pilot from follow-on fighter training at Luke AFB in Arizona. He was then assigned to the 35th Fighter Squadron at Kunsan AB, Republic of Korea.
Randy was an exceptional fighter pilot with a particular skill for air-to-air missions. He was one of his squadron's best, logging over 250 flying hours and being chosen for special schools and missions. He transported jets from Korea to Moody AFB in Georgia. He conducted over 10 sorties within certain strategic areas that resulted in him being awarded the Aerial Achievement Award. He was chosen to attend Fighter Electronic Combat Officer Course (FECOC) at Nellis AFB, Nevada, and was chosen as Electronic Combat Pilot for the 8th Fighter Wing, a position that normally is given to a major. As Wing ECP, he would have been the Wing expert and trainer on radar and radar warning gear.
He loved going to work every day. He would call me every evening between 9:30 and 10:30 p.m., and the wonder and excitement on the other end of the phone was like a child's. "I flew today," he would say. "I felt just like I was in Star Wars!"
No words can recreate Randy Murff. He lived every moment of his life exactly as he wanted. He flew with desire, energy and sheer excitement; he loved with abandon, devotion and pure adoration. He valued his friends and celebrated his friendships with bravado and a wild spirit. He never missed a moment to tell someone close to him what he or she meant to him. It didn't take me long to realize that I hadn't been alone when I fell in love that night in Seoul. He had fallen in love with me as well. Right there. And he never let a breath slip through his lips without telling me.
Randy Murff, Columbia College, Columbia University '97 met and fell in love with Courtney A. Kjos, Barnard College, Columbia University '99, while both were serving in the military in South Korea — halfway around the world from Morningside Heights.
Although Murff never formally proposed to Kjos, an engagement ring was presented to her by one of his closest friends shortly after Murff was killed in a flying accident on June 12, 2001. Murff had purchased the ring three weeks earlier in the United States (on a mission in which he and another pilot transported F16s to Korea from Luke AFB by flying them across the Pacific) and was going to propose to Kjos in Hawaii during a trip the couple had planned to take in October.
1st Lieutenant Courtney A. Kjos, now Major Courtney A. Short, US Army, wrote this memorial of Randy Murff for Columbia College Today in July, 2001.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Reprise: Appreciation of Gentle Heroes We Left Behind
Jeannie and I covered American automobile racing from 2000 until she passed away in 2007, traveling from race to race, writing previews, race reports, and commentary. Automobile
racing, thanks to the iconic Indianapolis 500, has long been associated in a peripheral way with Memorial Day. The sport provided the impetus to write a 2007 Memorial Day article dealing with a bigger question, "How big, really, are the trials of our everyday endeavors, whatever they may be - even if they're ostensibly dangerous and difficult, like driving a race car?" Here is that 2007 Last Turn Clubhouse article:
Appreciation of Gentle Heroes we Left Behind
Some time ago, I wrote something mildly critical of a young driver. “He thinks you don’t appreciate how hard it is to be a sports car driver,” I was told. I assume what was meant was “race car driver.” An old Porsche in the garage makes one a sports car driver.
Mostly, I like race car drivers and appreciate their skills. There are those who have earned that as drivers, and more importantly, as people. Like other athletes, some are very good. Some are not. Sometimes they do badly. Sometimes they rise to excellence. They are not beyond commentary on their worst – or best – days.
I was bothered by that response, though. It seemed somehow…wrong. It became a question: What is hard? What is to be appreciated?
I’ve stood on hallowed ground, at Gettysburg, Shiloh, Chickamauga, Antietam. At the Bloody Lane, on Little Round Top, in the Hornet’s Nest. What boys and young men did there is beyond words. In three days at Gettysburg, the two armies suffered nearly 8,000 killed and over 27,000 wounded. Shiloh, where 3,500 died over two days, was by the end of the war only the ninth most bloody battle. The night of the first day at Shiloh, "You could hear the screams of the injured. They screamed for water, God heard them, for the heavens opened and the rain fell."
From those places and others an unbroken road of gallantry and of tears has run through France (twice), the Pacific and Asia, to Korea (still), Vietnam, Iraq. My time on that road was nearly forty years ago. Some memories are – always will be – vivid.
Brian joined the platoon in December, and later he carried our radio. We shared a hooch of two ponchos, and wrapped up against the chill of the Southeast Asian nights in damp poncho li
ners. We waded through paddies and hacked through jungle. We were in Quang Tri for Tet, then the relief of Khe Sanh and into the A Shau Valley. Brian died in Quang Tri Province in May, thirty-nine years ago (2). He is memorialized on Panel 65E, Line 2, one of 58,256. He never saw his twentieth birthday.
Brian’s mother wrote, “Brian has been buried on a small hill top overlooking a peaceful valley. It is a secluded and restful place, and we are able to go up each evening and pray for his eternal rest.” (1)
Men and women, including some dear to me, continue along that unbroken road, in Korea, in Afghanistan, in Iraq and elsewhere on land, sea, and in the air around the globe. (3) Unfortunately, gallantry and tears never leave us.
It was right – that thing I was told. I don’t much appreciate how hard it is to be a sports car – race car – driver. Nor any other athelete, football player or snowboarder. Especially on this Memorial Day 2007. Today, I’ll take to heart, for my lost friend Brian and for others, these words penned at Dak To, Republic of Vietnam, January 1, 1970, by a young man soon to become one of “those gentle heroes.”
If you are able, save for them a place inside of you
and save one backward glance when you are leaving
for the places they can no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say you loved them,
though you may or may not have always.
Take what they have taught you with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane, take one moment
to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind.
Michael Davis O'Donnell
Panel 12W Line 40
KIA March 24, 1970
Notes: Memorial Day 2011
(1) I've since visited that "restful place."
(2) Now forty-three years.
(3) "some dear to me," will apply to Afghanistan later this year when Major Courtney Short begins a tour with the 1st Armored Division.
racing, thanks to the iconic Indianapolis 500, has long been associated in a peripheral way with Memorial Day. The sport provided the impetus to write a 2007 Memorial Day article dealing with a bigger question, "How big, really, are the trials of our everyday endeavors, whatever they may be - even if they're ostensibly dangerous and difficult, like driving a race car?" Here is that 2007 Last Turn Clubhouse article:
Appreciation of Gentle Heroes we Left Behind
Some time ago, I wrote something mildly critical of a young driver. “He thinks you don’t appreciate how hard it is to be a sports car driver,” I was told. I assume what was meant was “race car driver.” An old Porsche in the garage makes one a sports car driver.
Mostly, I like race car drivers and appreciate their skills. There are those who have earned that as drivers, and more importantly, as people. Like other athletes, some are very good. Some are not. Sometimes they do badly. Sometimes they rise to excellence. They are not beyond commentary on their worst – or best – days.
I was bothered by that response, though. It seemed somehow…wrong. It became a question: What is hard? What is to be appreciated?
I’ve stood on hallowed ground, at Gettysburg, Shiloh, Chickamauga, Antietam. At the Bloody Lane, on Little Round Top, in the Hornet’s Nest. What boys and young men did there is beyond words. In three days at Gettysburg, the two armies suffered nearly 8,000 killed and over 27,000 wounded. Shiloh, where 3,500 died over two days, was by the end of the war only the ninth most bloody battle. The night of the first day at Shiloh, "You could hear the screams of the injured. They screamed for water, God heard them, for the heavens opened and the rain fell."
From those places and others an unbroken road of gallantry and of tears has run through France (twice), the Pacific and Asia, to Korea (still), Vietnam, Iraq. My time on that road was nearly forty years ago. Some memories are – always will be – vivid.
Brian joined the platoon in December, and later he carried our radio. We shared a hooch of two ponchos, and wrapped up against the chill of the Southeast Asian nights in damp poncho li
ners. We waded through paddies and hacked through jungle. We were in Quang Tri for Tet, then the relief of Khe Sanh and into the A Shau Valley. Brian died in Quang Tri Province in May, thirty-nine years ago (2). He is memorialized on Panel 65E, Line 2, one of 58,256. He never saw his twentieth birthday.Brian’s mother wrote, “Brian has been buried on a small hill top overlooking a peaceful valley. It is a secluded and restful place, and we are able to go up each evening and pray for his eternal rest.” (1)
Men and women, including some dear to me, continue along that unbroken road, in Korea, in Afghanistan, in Iraq and elsewhere on land, sea, and in the air around the globe. (3) Unfortunately, gallantry and tears never leave us.
It was right – that thing I was told. I don’t much appreciate how hard it is to be a sports car – race car – driver. Nor any other athelete, football player or snowboarder. Especially on this Memorial Day 2007. Today, I’ll take to heart, for my lost friend Brian and for others, these words penned at Dak To, Republic of Vietnam, January 1, 1970, by a young man soon to become one of “those gentle heroes.”
If you are able, save for them a place inside of you
and save one backward glance when you are leaving
for the places they can no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say you loved them,
though you may or may not have always.
Take what they have taught you with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane, take one moment
to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind.
Michael Davis O'Donnell
Panel 12W Line 40
KIA March 24, 1970
Notes: Memorial Day 2011
(1) I've since visited that "restful place."
(2) Now forty-three years.
(3) "some dear to me," will apply to Afghanistan later this year when Major Courtney Short begins a tour with the 1st Armored Division.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
This is what Democracy Looks Like?
So reads a sign in the rotunda of the Wisconsin state capital building in Madison. It describes the demonstration by thousands of union members against the attempt of the electorate’s representatives to pass legislation that would strip public employee unions of some of the collective bargaining tools first granted by state law in 1959.
Yes. 1959. Before that, unions of public employees union were generally prohibited from collective bargaining and striking, the widely held belief described by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, certainly a great friend of the union movement,
But it’s not whether you or I are yea or nay on the proposed change, it’s rather whether there are votes cast at all. A teacher at the capital was asked, “shouldn’t you be teaching your students?” She answered, “I’m teaching them about democracy (here).”
According to the Merriam Webster dictionary,
FDR recognized the absurdity of the people’s employees striking against the public, and of unions able to elect those with whom they would then bargain. It should be easier for us to recognize the same now that collectively bargained contracts have brought cities and states to the brink of insolvency.
One might well sympathize with those protesting in Wisconsin, but is that the way we should henceforth contest political decisions – on the street and in hiding rather than on the floor of a legislature?
Whatever it is that's going on in Wisconsin, it’s certainly not democracy.
Yes. 1959. Before that, unions of public employees union were generally prohibited from collective bargaining and striking, the widely held belief described by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, certainly a great friend of the union movement,
All Government employees should realize that the process of collective bargaining, as usually understood, cannot be transplanted into the public service. It has its distinct and insurmountable limitations when applied to public personnel management. The very nature and purposes of Government make it impossible for administrative officials to represent fully or to bind the employer in mutual discussions with Government employee organizations. The employer is the whole people, who speak by means of laws enacted by their representatives in Congress. Accordingly, administrative officials and employees alike are governed and guided, and in many instances restricted, by laws which establish policies, procedures, or rules in personnel matters.The legislation proposed in Wisconsin is a partial roll-back of that 1959 law and a 1967 extension of collective bargaining to state employees (the 1959 law applied to teachers and municipal employees). It’s partial because it preserves collective bargaining for wages. Why is it necessary? According to who supporters, without it, the very budget roll-backs that the unions say they are willing to accept can be blocked across the state town-by-town, school district-by-school district, and contract-by-contract.
But it’s not whether you or I are yea or nay on the proposed change, it’s rather whether there are votes cast at all. A teacher at the capital was asked, “shouldn’t you be teaching your students?” She answered, “I’m teaching them about democracy (here).”
According to the Merriam Webster dictionary,
democracy is a: government by the people; especially the rule of the majority, b: a government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised by them directly or indirectly through a system of representation usually involving periodically held free elections.So, how is democracy defined by a mob intent on blocking a vote of the people’s freely elected representatives? Where is democracy implemented by fleeing across a border to thwart the will of a freely elected majority of the state’s citizens? Should the Republicans in the United States Senate have fled to Canada to block the vote on the president’s health system overhaul? Would that have been defined as democracy? Should our armed forces now be allowed collected bargaining over wages, benefits, and working conditions?
FDR recognized the absurdity of the people’s employees striking against the public, and of unions able to elect those with whom they would then bargain. It should be easier for us to recognize the same now that collectively bargained contracts have brought cities and states to the brink of insolvency.
One might well sympathize with those protesting in Wisconsin, but is that the way we should henceforth contest political decisions – on the street and in hiding rather than on the floor of a legislature?
Whatever it is that's going on in Wisconsin, it’s certainly not democracy.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine's Day 2011
A card for those I love
And have loved.
Some are with us still;
A few are gone.
Some are near
And many are far away.
All are in my heart,
All are in my thoughts
Every day.
For your cards,
For your thoughts,
For being you,
Thank you.
Be successful
By your own measure.
Be good at what is important:
Mother, father, son, daughter, wife, lover, brother, sister, friend.
Be happy
And create happiness around you.
To be loved –
love.
And have loved.
Some are with us still;
A few are gone.
Some are near
And many are far away.
All are in my heart,
All are in my thoughts
Every day.
For your cards,
For your thoughts,
For being you,
Thank you.
Be successful
By your own measure.
Be good at what is important:
Mother, father, son, daughter, wife, lover, brother, sister, friend.
Be happy
And create happiness around you.
To be loved –
love.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Urban (and rural, and suburban) Myths
Here are a few things nearly always stated to be factual - things that "everyone knows." Unfortunately for those who so smugly say them, they are also completely wrong.
In Vietnam, a disproportionate number of those who served in country – and thus of those Killed in Action – were black.
A smaller percentage of those who served in Vietnam were black – 10.6 percent – than the percent of black Americans of military age in the general population – 13.5%. Of those killed by hostile action, 12.1% were black. That reflects the fact that blacks were slightly more likely to be in combat military occupational specialties like infantry and artillery, but is still less than their representation in the American population.
Most of the combat troops in Vietnam were drawn from the poor and poorly educated in American society.
Half of those who served in Vietnam were from middle class, 75% from lower middle/working class or higher backgrounds. About one fourth had a parent who was in a professional, managerial, or technical occupation. Nearly 80% of those who served in Vietnam had a high school diploma, compared to only 63% who served in Korea and 45% in WWII.
Vietnam veterans are broadly afflicted by post-traumatic stress disorder, and as a result are less successful in life than their non-veteran peers.
Vietnam veterans have a lower unemployment rate than their age group in the rest of the population. Their personal income is 18% higher than that of their non-veteran peers. There is no difference in the rate of drug use by veterans and non-veterans. Vietnam veterans are less likely to be in prison – only one half of one percent have been incarcerated for crimes.
You met a guy at the club or bar yesterday who was a Vietnam vet – who served “in country.” Naturally, you bought him a drink. Was he for real?
The chances are four in five that your new-found friend was lying. According to the Department of Defense, about 2.7 million soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen served in Vietnam. Many have been lost to us in the years since. However, according to answers given on the 2000 census, 13.9 million claim to have served in-country in Vietnam.
In Vietnam, a disproportionate number of those who served in country – and thus of those Killed in Action – were black.
A smaller percentage of those who served in Vietnam were black – 10.6 percent – than the percent of black Americans of military age in the general population – 13.5%. Of those killed by hostile action, 12.1% were black. That reflects the fact that blacks were slightly more likely to be in combat military occupational specialties like infantry and artillery, but is still less than their representation in the American population.
Most of the combat troops in Vietnam were drawn from the poor and poorly educated in American society.
Half of those who served in Vietnam were from middle class, 75% from lower middle/working class or higher backgrounds. About one fourth had a parent who was in a professional, managerial, or technical occupation. Nearly 80% of those who served in Vietnam had a high school diploma, compared to only 63% who served in Korea and 45% in WWII.
Vietnam veterans are broadly afflicted by post-traumatic stress disorder, and as a result are less successful in life than their non-veteran peers.
Vietnam veterans have a lower unemployment rate than their age group in the rest of the population. Their personal income is 18% higher than that of their non-veteran peers. There is no difference in the rate of drug use by veterans and non-veterans. Vietnam veterans are less likely to be in prison – only one half of one percent have been incarcerated for crimes.
You met a guy at the club or bar yesterday who was a Vietnam vet – who served “in country.” Naturally, you bought him a drink. Was he for real?
The chances are four in five that your new-found friend was lying. According to the Department of Defense, about 2.7 million soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen served in Vietnam. Many have been lost to us in the years since. However, according to answers given on the 2000 census, 13.9 million claim to have served in-country in Vietnam.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A Personal History of Computing - Part 6
By January 1985, I was up to my eyeballs in the commercialization of a maintenance management-inventory control-purchasing software product at EMA, Inc., in St, Paul. – Part 5, June 28, 2008.
When I was hired in January 1985, EMA, with corporate offices in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota, had two divisions – EMA Technologies, and EMA Services. Most of the company worked for the second of these, an engineering unit that designed control systems for water and waste water facilities. Of course, I worked for the other one.
EMA Technologies grew out of a contract with WLSSD – Western Lake Superior Sanitary District, in Duluth, Minnesota – to design and develop a computer-based equipment and facilities maintenance and inventory management system. This had been completed successfully enough – at least in the view of EMA executives – that it was decided to purchase the rights to the system and market it as a software product. Soon after, the sale of a corporate license to 3M convinced the company that it was on the right track. It wasn’t.
I was hired to be Technologies’ Product Manager for its key – only, actually - product. A multi-user, mini-computer-based, maintenance planning, scheduling, work order, and inventory control system written in COBOL (COmmon Business-Oriented Language) and running on Hewlett-Packard’s HP3000 line of mini computers. It seemed a natural fit. My resume included oversight of the development of just such a system at Chevron, and my education was in marketing.
Short of writing a business case study, I’ll just enumerate the problems with EMA Technologies. Most of the company, the engineers who worked for EMA Services, hated the product (actually hated the idea it was a product at all), and hated the computer it ran on (if it wasn’t a DEC VAX, it wasn’t worth spit). They wanted nothing to do with it and prevailed on the company’s CEO to bar any realistic attempt to sell it to the municipal and regional utilities with which the company routinely did business and with whom the company had a positive image. So the only market in which EMA had any contacts or credibility was off limits. The accidental sale to 3M – a scandalously cheap corporate license, little more than a give-away – convinced the geniuses running the company they could succeed in a competitive market after giving away their only substantial competitive advantage. It didn’t take long to figure out this might be pretty difficult, but heck, there were three small children at home in Apple Valley, and I was at the age at which I could do almost anything – or so I thought.
Technologies was headed by a 3M refugee named Doyle – his last name escapes me – and had a salesman named John Stack. Techies included two project managers and three programmers. And me. The Product Manager.
It had been some time since the 3M sale – since any sale – so Doyle was on the hot seat. That summer Stack, an officer in the Naval Reserve, went on temporary active duty in Hawaii (a better deal than mine in the Minnesota National Guard, a couple of weeks at mosquito-infested Camp Ripley). Anyway, Doyle fired John when he returned. I wasn’t there long enough to know whether John was a good salesman or not. Not long after, Doyle called – or was asked to call – a meeting, a strategy session at which a new direction could be found for Maintenance Manager (that was the product name) sales.
That meeting was a disaster – even before it started. Doyle had invited the CEO, Exec. VP., and other senior employees. Doyle was running around the conference room, hanging paper on the walls, paper that represented the discussion of the group. It wasn’t going anywhere, aimless chatter, when what was expected was leadership, from Doyle, who was supposed to know where we should be going. Alan – he was the CEO – finally got tired of it all, ended the meeting and left. Doyle was gone the next day. Randy, the Exec VP and CFO – the guy who had overseen the development of Maintenance Manager and created Technologies – took over. He was a pretty good manager, but this was a product not going anywhere, anyone could see that. Well, not anyone. I couldn’t. Not then, anyway.
You’ll find out why when I get around to Part 7.
When I was hired in January 1985, EMA, with corporate offices in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota, had two divisions – EMA Technologies, and EMA Services. Most of the company worked for the second of these, an engineering unit that designed control systems for water and waste water facilities. Of course, I worked for the other one.
EMA Technologies grew out of a contract with WLSSD – Western Lake Superior Sanitary District, in Duluth, Minnesota – to design and develop a computer-based equipment and facilities maintenance and inventory management system. This had been completed successfully enough – at least in the view of EMA executives – that it was decided to purchase the rights to the system and market it as a software product. Soon after, the sale of a corporate license to 3M convinced the company that it was on the right track. It wasn’t.
I was hired to be Technologies’ Product Manager for its key – only, actually - product. A multi-user, mini-computer-based, maintenance planning, scheduling, work order, and inventory control system written in COBOL (COmmon Business-Oriented Language) and running on Hewlett-Packard’s HP3000 line of mini computers. It seemed a natural fit. My resume included oversight of the development of just such a system at Chevron, and my education was in marketing.
Short of writing a business case study, I’ll just enumerate the problems with EMA Technologies. Most of the company, the engineers who worked for EMA Services, hated the product (actually hated the idea it was a product at all), and hated the computer it ran on (if it wasn’t a DEC VAX, it wasn’t worth spit). They wanted nothing to do with it and prevailed on the company’s CEO to bar any realistic attempt to sell it to the municipal and regional utilities with which the company routinely did business and with whom the company had a positive image. So the only market in which EMA had any contacts or credibility was off limits. The accidental sale to 3M – a scandalously cheap corporate license, little more than a give-away – convinced the geniuses running the company they could succeed in a competitive market after giving away their only substantial competitive advantage. It didn’t take long to figure out this might be pretty difficult, but heck, there were three small children at home in Apple Valley, and I was at the age at which I could do almost anything – or so I thought.
Technologies was headed by a 3M refugee named Doyle – his last name escapes me – and had a salesman named John Stack. Techies included two project managers and three programmers. And me. The Product Manager.
It had been some time since the 3M sale – since any sale – so Doyle was on the hot seat. That summer Stack, an officer in the Naval Reserve, went on temporary active duty in Hawaii (a better deal than mine in the Minnesota National Guard, a couple of weeks at mosquito-infested Camp Ripley). Anyway, Doyle fired John when he returned. I wasn’t there long enough to know whether John was a good salesman or not. Not long after, Doyle called – or was asked to call – a meeting, a strategy session at which a new direction could be found for Maintenance Manager (that was the product name) sales.
That meeting was a disaster – even before it started. Doyle had invited the CEO, Exec. VP., and other senior employees. Doyle was running around the conference room, hanging paper on the walls, paper that represented the discussion of the group. It wasn’t going anywhere, aimless chatter, when what was expected was leadership, from Doyle, who was supposed to know where we should be going. Alan – he was the CEO – finally got tired of it all, ended the meeting and left. Doyle was gone the next day. Randy, the Exec VP and CFO – the guy who had overseen the development of Maintenance Manager and created Technologies – took over. He was a pretty good manager, but this was a product not going anywhere, anyone could see that. Well, not anyone. I couldn’t. Not then, anyway.
You’ll find out why when I get around to Part 7.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
A Late Holiday Greeting
Thanks to those from whom I got cards. Once again, it’s well past the holiday, and here I am – finally – with a little Christmas missive; even now I’ve not gotten around to mailing it. Still, I hope it finds every one of you in good health and in the successful pursuit of happiness the founders intended.
Christmas Greetings,
It’s been a year of consolidation and completion. I’ve traveled less while continuing to cover North American sports car racing; for the first time since 1997, I wasn’t at Sebring for the 12 Hours. I was in Monterey in May; that race will return to the fall schedule next season. In August I again visited Kelly and Phyllis Wechsler the weekend of a race at Road America; this year we were joined by some of the guys – including son Ashley – who a few times made the annual winter trek to Daytona for the Sunbank – since renamed Rolex - 24.
In June - for the first time - I attended the annual reunion of the 1st Cavalry Division in Bloomington, Minnesota. Nearly forty-two years later I again saw a few I knew then, and many more with shared experiences. It was a treat to have daughter Heather attend the banquet with me. I'll try to get to the 2011 event at Killeen, Texas (Fort Hood).
Instead of the summer race at Lime Rock Park in Connecticut, I spent time with Courtney, Dave and Olivia in New York, where Courtney is Assistant Professor of History at West Point, and Dave recently moved from the Center for Enhanced Performance to the Academy’s Dean’s Office. Both Majors, this the third of a three year assignment. In the new year, Courtney will be deployed – not certain where – while for Dave a military education assignment to the Command and General Staff College at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas is likely. Olivia – she was one year old in August – will be with her Dad, who will be keeping a student’s schedule.
Ashley, lately managing a downtown Chicago book store, just recently took a new job as a research editor for a magazine publishing company in Chicago. Along with his sisters, he and GF Lindsey spent Thanksgiving with Nancy in Proctor.
Heather completed her coursework at William Mitchell College of Law this December; during her matriculation, she was on Law Review, National Moot Court competition, was research assistant for a Wm. Mitchell professor, worked for a housing advocacy legal organization, and for a federal judge in an “externship.”
Heather receives here Juris Doctor cum laude in January. Then it’s the bar exam, and in April she begins work for law firm Hanft Fride in Duluth, for whom she interned this past summer.
I’ve been kept busy with writing, including two on-going projects that I’m not ready to talk about. Mom is 96; all-in-all doing well.
Christmas Greetings,
It’s been a year of consolidation and completion. I’ve traveled less while continuing to cover North American sports car racing; for the first time since 1997, I wasn’t at Sebring for the 12 Hours. I was in Monterey in May; that race will return to the fall schedule next season. In August I again visited Kelly and Phyllis Wechsler the weekend of a race at Road America; this year we were joined by some of the guys – including son Ashley – who a few times made the annual winter trek to Daytona for the Sunbank – since renamed Rolex - 24.
In June - for the first time - I attended the annual reunion of the 1st Cavalry Division in Bloomington, Minnesota. Nearly forty-two years later I again saw a few I knew then, and many more with shared experiences. It was a treat to have daughter Heather attend the banquet with me. I'll try to get to the 2011 event at Killeen, Texas (Fort Hood).
Instead of the summer race at Lime Rock Park in Connecticut, I spent time with Courtney, Dave and Olivia in New York, where Courtney is Assistant Professor of History at West Point, and Dave recently moved from the Center for Enhanced Performance to the Academy’s Dean’s Office. Both Majors, this the third of a three year assignment. In the new year, Courtney will be deployed – not certain where – while for Dave a military education assignment to the Command and General Staff College at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas is likely. Olivia – she was one year old in August – will be with her Dad, who will be keeping a student’s schedule.
Ashley, lately managing a downtown Chicago book store, just recently took a new job as a research editor for a magazine publishing company in Chicago. Along with his sisters, he and GF Lindsey spent Thanksgiving with Nancy in Proctor.
Heather completed her coursework at William Mitchell College of Law this December; during her matriculation, she was on Law Review, National Moot Court competition, was research assistant for a Wm. Mitchell professor, worked for a housing advocacy legal organization, and for a federal judge in an “externship.”
Heather receives here Juris Doctor cum laude in January. Then it’s the bar exam, and in April she begins work for law firm Hanft Fride in Duluth, for whom she interned this past summer.
I’ve been kept busy with writing, including two on-going projects that I’m not ready to talk about. Mom is 96; all-in-all doing well.
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