cybersamizdat

2012-01-22T20:28:00.001-08:00

"Entrepreneurship is the pursuit of opportunity without regard to resources currently controlled."

Howard Stevenson

2010-01-29T11:15:00.001-08:00

"...being good in business is the most fascinating kind of art..."

Andy Warhol

2009-03-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

The Unforgiving Minute

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

2008-01-23T16:03:00.000-08:00

VISTA Health Advocates

During the winter of 1968 I was involved in a special project at the headquarters of VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America) a division of the Office of Economic Opportunity (OEO), the agency formed to lead the Johnson administration’s efforts in the so-called War on Poverty.

We wanted to see what impact we could have if we created a special program which selected the very best of the best and brightest who applied for the VISTA program; gave them special training and put them into a small group of counties in the rural south. We called it the VISTA Health Advocates program.

It was a project which would have approximately 20 VISTA volunteers. They would be placed in six rural and very economically depressed counties in Eastern Arkansas.

I was tasked, with among other things, as a young Management Intern at OEO, the job of selecting the participants in the Health Advocates program. I personally went through the thousands of application folders for the VISTA volunteer program and selected applicants who had been campus leaders and who, in their applications, exhibited some special talents that caused them to stand out from the rest. I was 25 years old, so I was passing judgment on people who were essentially my peers.

Once selected, the Health Advocates attended a special training program in Austin, Texas, and were then placed into the field in Eastern Arkansas.

Among the volunteers were the only VISTA medical doctor (Dr. Blumenthal) and nurse (Corinne Cass). We put them in Marianna, Arkansas, the county seat of Lee County. At the time it was the fourth poorest county in America with an average annual income of just over $1200.

There was no health care for poor whites or poor blacks in Marianna. If you were ill you had to make a three hour drive to Little Rock or Memphis. We decided to put together a rudimentary health clinic. There was no space and we couldn’t rent space from white merchants so we started the health clinic in the back room of the black owned funeral home. In many small towns in the south, the most prominent and wealthiest black man was the owner of the funeral home. That was the case in Marianna. He owned a Cadillac and was very refined and worldly.

We needed an executive director for the clinic which we called the Lee County Cooperative. Somehow we found Olly Neal. He had grown up in Marianna and then moved to Chicago. He had returned to Memphis and we hired him to run the clinic. He was an extraordinary charismatic man.

Once established, the Cooperative became a vehicle for all manner of community activity, not just health and nutrition. When we first began work in Mariana we discovered that only 18 to 20% of the registered voters were black, while more than half of the population was black. Clearly, a voter registration campaign made a lot of sense.

Over time, enough black voters registered to provide a black majority in the electorate.
The logical next step was to run a slate of black candidates for each office on the upcoming election.

Election night, as ballots were being counted from the precincts around the county, it was looking very likely that the black candidates would win. With only a handful of “mixed” race precincts left to count, the black candidates were ahead. At that moment, the County Sheriff and his deputies arrived and confiscated the ballot boxes. The next day it was announced that the white candidates had won.

It was a classic example of racist Southern United States election politics. I was outraged and wanted to immediately contact the U. S. Attorney with a claim of election fraud. Olly Neal restrained me and said, “You don’t live here. I live here. We know what to do next time and we will win.”

And, Olly and the people of Lee County, Arkansas did win. Olly continued to successfully manage the Coop, then returned to school where he ultimately obtained a law degree. He later became a judge on the Arkansas Court of Appeals, retiring in late 2006.
In 1996 I attended a dinner for Hilary Clinton and had the opportunity to speak with her briefly about my time in Arkansas. I mentioned the name, Olly Neal. Hilary said, “I know Olly Neal. He is wonderful. He is a judge on the Arkansas Court of Appeals.”

A couple of years ago Olly and I traded phone calls but didn’t connect. I just did a search and found that among other things, he just contributed $1000 to Hilary’s Presidential Campaign.

2008-01-23T15:59:00.000-08:00

Breakfast with the County Judge

I had been traveling in and out of Eastern Arkansas with regularity in my role as liaison between headquarters in Washington, DC and the field operations of the VISTA Health Advocates program located in six rural counties along the delta of the Mississippi.

On one trip I stayed overnight at the Holiday Inn at the interchange at the freeway exit for Forest City , Arkansas. The freeway was new as was the Holiday Inn. Arkansas had boomed under the tutelage of the Governor Winthrop Rockefeller, but that boom had missed, as booms do, the lower socio-economic rungs of the ladder.

In the morning I came down for breakfast and walked into the restaurant. The hostess said, as came in with an associate, “The County Judge is here and would like to have breakfast with you boys.” Well, the County Judge in the rural south was typically the most powerful elected official in the county and presided not only over the court, but over the county itself. Often, the county judge lacked any legal education, and in fact, may not have had any education beyond the 8^th grade. No matter! Even handed justice in the rural south didn’t require education; it just required good common sense.

We sat down across from the Judge, whose name I don’t recall. He was silver haired and lean. I asked him why he wanted to see us. He said that he wanted to talk with us; that he didn’t like us, “….enticing the Nigras to demonstrate.” I told him we were working with VISTA and working with volunteers in his county. Recently two volunteers had moved into a small town on the east side of his county. Within days of their arrival they had both been severely beaten by some local thugs. I asked him how that could happen in his county. Clearly, he knew about the beatings. He said they had been beaten because, “….when they came into town they just failed to properly identify themselves.”

That day I drove around his county in my rental car checking on various volunteers and projects. I was followed all day at an uncomfortable distance by one the Sheriff’s deputies. I have a strong recollection to this day, of the hair standing on the back of my neck.

2008-01-07T12:59:00.001-08:00

"Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their
common sense."

Gertrude Stein

2007-12-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

Letter Writing

My mother just celebrated her 90^th birthday. 120 of her friends attended the reception for her at the First Methodist Church. It was a wonderful event, largely a testament to the fact that she has kept in close touch with family and friends.

My mom is a great letter writer. Letter writing is fast becoming a lost art. I read with great interest in the Times yesterday that the personal papers of Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. had been obtained by the New York Public Library. Among the trove was the correspondence between Schlesinger and many of the notables of the last half of 20^th century in America. As the piece reported, “About one-third of the 400 boxes of material consist of Mr. Schlesinger’s voluminous correspondence, which in many cases includes both sides of the exchange. Mr. Schlesinger routinely stapled copies of his responses to letters that he had received. “It’s not just who he corresponded with,” a librarian said. “It’s that these were two- or three-page letters exchanged — often about the most pressing topics of the day.””

What will become of the history of this new computer age? Will the New York Public Library receive some computer disks from the estate of the next generation’s premier historian? Will they have archived and kept their correspondence through transitions from 5 and ½ to 3 and ¼ to CD to DVD and on to the next medium?

Mom’s correspondence has all been handwritten. She learned Palmer Method cursive at the Cove School, a small country school outside of Ellensburg, Washington where her family homesteaded in 1876. She practiced at the chalk board and wrote hundreds of sentences as a child. Today, her cursive is every bit as perfect and legible as when she graduated from the 8^th grade.

I grew up writing cursive as well. We practiced with our pencils on lined paper beginning in the third grade at a point when our brains and our manual dexterity coalesced to allow the formation of those carefully crafted letters. Practice made perfect. Of course, my practice was aided by the occasional need to write 500 sentences that proclaimed that I would no longer pull the hair of the girl who sat in front of me, or some other indiscretion.

There was something more to the learning of cursive than the simple ability to communicate thoughts in written form. Cursive had a certain flair and elegance and was, when well executed, an art form that communicated not only ideas but something of the personality of the writer as well.

Today, my children don’t learn cursive in school. It has been dropped from the curriculum. I think the loss is a significant one. Not only are children now deprived of an opportunity for tedious, disciplined learning but the fine art of letter writing is undermined as well. Rigor, as an element of the educational process, has been replaced with every increasing opportunity for expression. But, it seems to me, expression finds its fullest form when it springs from a solid base of disciplined learning.

In addition to the loss of cursive, and the death of the fine art of letter writing, the future will miss the opportunity to receive into its archives the reportorial work of the custodians of its history.

2007-11-12T13:39:00.000-08:00

Casserole

The word spread
rapidly through
the small rural
community

She was not
doing well

After years
of failing health
she was now passing

It was a blessing
but nonetheless
it was difficult
and a time for
family and friends
to gather around

They sat silently
in the front room
and puttered in
the kitchen
waiting for the
inevitable

There were three
casseroles

2007-10-09T08:57:00.000-07:00

Really!

“We found a body but
we caught the most amazing
fish though.”[1]

Yeah, we were walking through
The woods to get to this really
Cool fishing hole. It is really deep and
Has the eddies that move back against the
Cliff on the far side.

I had my old bamboo rod and that spinning reel
That my Grandpa gave me

There was this leg sticking out of the leaves
On the trail.

I caught a bunch of grasshoppers yesterday
Evening and dug up some nightcrawlers from
The worm farm by the back door.

It looked really gnarly like it had been there a
Long time

I had a fresh set of Eagleclaw No.10 hooks
And some new leader and I rigged up a bobber
So I could drift in with about eight feet of line
And let the bait move back into the eddy with
Three small lead BB weights on the line

Gawd it was amazing. When it hit it was like
A freight train.

Billy ran back to call the cops.

It grabbed that bait and took the hook and almost
Jerked the pole right out of my hand. Jesus did it
Pull that line.

But I kept working it and working it and just kept
Breathing like my Grandpa said until my arms were
Aching.

It was unbelievable. It was 18 inches long. A big
Fat rainbow. I think I hooked it last summer and lost it.
I’m gonna take it home and bread it and fry it.
It was so amazing.

Yeah, really!

[1] From the movie, Jindabyne, a loose adaptation of Raymond Carver’s short story “So Much Water So Close to Home.”

2007-08-03T17:58:00.000-07:00

P. O. V.

It hurt my
Head to think
About the universe
Expanding out
Forever without end

I was six years
Old and struggled
With that
Perplexing notion

Until, one day walking
In my backyard
To climb my
Favorite apple tree

It occurred to me
That if I were
Small boy
On Mars
It might hurt my
Head to think
Of a universe that
Had an end

And it might
Seem normal for
The universe to
Go on forever

Nearly sixty years
Have passed since
That day and I
Still find comfort
In the idea

That you can
Imagine a different
Point of view
And it will stop
The hurt in
Your head.

2007-05-20T16:44:00.000-07:00

“Missouri on a Leaf”

It was a metaphor
That could grace
His tombstone

An epitaph stood
For what had been

He had in mind
More a sense
Of becoming

He read it years ago
In a“Beat” tract and
It immediately embodied
For him that sense
Of freedom and wonder
That he wanted for
The core of his life

It meant nothing at
All but yet it held for him
Wonderful possibility

Where are you going?

“I’m going to
Missouri on a leaf”

2007-03-24T15:09:00.000-07:00

The Edge

You stand on the edge
Thinking for a moment
Do I go forward?

Knowing in some way
That your life will change
Inalterably if you
Take that step

Knowing that
Whether you move
Or not your life
Will change

Knowing that the
Edge is not a cliff
But a knife
That slices your life
Into before and after

2007-01-01T18:30:00.000-08:00

You need only claim the events
of your life to make yourself yours.
When you truly possess all you
have been and done, which may
take some time, you are fierce
with reality.

Florida Scott Maxwell

2007-01-01T14:02:00.001-08:00

Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.

Scottish mountain climber
W.H. Murray

2006-12-25T13:27:00.000-08:00

Tears of Joy

I entered
Her dressing room,
Hugged her
And burst into
Tears
Don’t be sad
She said

I’m not
Sad, I mumbled
Through
My sobs

They are
Rare, these
Tears of joy

Those few
Times in a
Life when
The magic
Combination
Of love and wonder
Bring a flood
Of emotion

I had surprised
Her back stage
After a cross
Country trip

To watch
Her perform
The lead in
Swan Lake

She was the
Swan
Transfixing and
Elegant

And she was
My little girl
Now grown up and
A star

2006-12-25T13:23:00.000-08:00

Holding My Hand

Hold my hand
When we cross
The street

We do it
For safety
And security

And we do
It for comfort
And affection

As children grow
Hands begin
To stay busy
Or in pockets

“I’m big now”
No need to hold
Hands to cross
The street

But old habits
Are slow to die

I remember still
That time and place
When my daughter
Elizabeth last reached
Spontaneously for
My hand

It is a moment
I treasure

The last time
She held my hand

2006-12-09T18:19:00.000-08:00

Headstone

It was beautiful
Dark brown
And rose
With a high polish

The name across
The granite jumped out

There is a moment
Of shock when
You see your name

It was Memorial Day
And Dad’s headstone
Had just been installed

“I like the font,”
My daughter said.

2006-06-27T09:28:00.000-07:00

Skunk Cabbage

I was five or six
The small creek
Behind the school
Held a patch of
Skunk cabbage.

I would pick some
And chase the girls
Especially the girl
I liked best that day.

The girls squealed
And ran away.

Somehow I knew
They secretly liked
The attention.

Although many years
Have passed and
I haven’t seen or held
Any since my youth
I still chase girls with
Skunk cabbage.

September 2005

2006-04-01T20:08:00.000-08:00

Snow Angel

One of my early
Memories of snow
Is making snow angels
And playing fox and hen
In the snow with my Dad
Along side the highway on the
Way to Snoqualmie Pass

Yesterday I visited his
Grave and uncovered the
Snow from the wreath my
Mom had my brother lay
At the place of the headstone

I laid the wreath against
The plastic yellow sunflowers
I purchased at Albertson’s
Grocery store

And then, I lay on the
Ground above his grave
And made a snow angel

2006-03-26T07:44:00.000-08:00

Ida and Wes

I am Ron Erickson. Ida and Wes were my Aunt and Uncle. I am honored to stand before you today and give tribute to Ida and Wes. Ida was my Dad, Ed Erickson’s, sister. Many of you in this room know the Erickson story. Homestead in Minnesota. Peter and Julia Erickson had five children. Four girls and a boy. They were homestead stock, Scandinavian immigrant stock, hardy stock. They were forever resourceful.

Ida was born with a club foot. With no doctors and no money, her father, Peter, fashioned an iron brace which he adjusted over time until her foot was straight. When they moved in 1922 to a small place just down the road, and visited a Doctor at Children’s Hospital, he said, “I couldn’t have done any better myself.” The foot brace resides in Ida’s family’s archives.

Early, Wes June intersected with the Ericksons. Wes knew the family. He told me that when he got the news that Peter Erickson was killed in a logging accident right up there on the ridge above High Point he couldn’t believe it, because Pete had a reputation for being safe and smart in the woods.

As chance would have it, the intersection occurred again in the mid 60’s. Ida was widowed and Wes divorced and then began a wonderful love affair.

Many of us share wonderful memories of Rainier Avenue. Great parties, lots of laughter, and easy-going ribbing. And…then picnics on the bare lot at Beaver Lake…and the home there with its always open door.

Today though I want to share stories of love. Wes was devoted to Ida and cared for her with love and compassion. And Ida was full of love and a relentless spirit.

Just weeks before she died, in May of last year, I visited Ida and Wes at the nursing home on Mercer Island gaining strength to go home. My Dad was in an assisted living facility dealing with dementia. In her bed, with Wes at her side she said, “Ed needs to get home. Wes and I will come help take care of him.” Full of love and compassion.

As it turned out Ida was not to see her brother again. Shortly thereafter she passed away.

On Memorial Day we picked up my Dad from the assisted living facility and drove down to Greenwood Cemetery in Renton where a large portion of the extended family resides.

Dad stood by the graves of his parents and sisters and said, “I didn’t get to say goodbye to Ida. I know she would have asked for me.”

A month later, Dad fell, had a cerebral hemorrhage and lapsed into a coma. Ultimately life support was removed. Wes was in the room with Dad when the decision was made. He said, “I want the right decision for Ed. I know what he would want.”

A week in hospice followed before Dad passed away. Wes sat with Mom and the family throughout that week. He was a steady comforting presence. He was full of love.

Wes’ work was complete. A full life. He once said that he wanted to live one day more than Ida. He lived 257 days.

Mom said to him, “Wes, so many people love you and want you to live.” “Oh,” he said, “They will get along okay without me.” He’s right. We will.

But we miss you Wes. And we miss Ida.

We miss the smiles, the laughter. We miss the offer of a game of crib.

And we miss the offer of a toddie.

And we love you.

2006-02-03T14:00:00.000-08:00

"You're Only As Young As The Last Time You Changed Your Mind"

Timothy Leary

2005-12-23T13:50:00.000-08:00

"Remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment." -- Benjamin Franklin

2005-12-20T16:37:00.000-08:00

Risk is the price you pay for opportunity

Charles Abrams
(a great friend, may he rest in peace)

2005-11-05T10:33:00.000-08:00

Mud Puddle

What took you
Long, she asked,
To come home
From school

It was the
Mud puddle
My brother said
He had to walk
Around a
Mud puddle

He got in trouble
Because he forgot
To say the mud puddle
Was large and fascinating

He forgot to say
He stopped to throw rocks
In it, steer small
Wooden ships across it
And wage imaginary wars

The mud puddle was
Intriguing and complex
And time ran away
From him

He got in trouble
Because he didn’t
Explain the nuance.

Life is a lot
Like a mud puddle.

2005-10-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

Waves

Time passes
After the death
Numbness abates

Exhaustion is replaced with
A bounce in your step

Life, for a moment,
As exquisite
And vivid and rich
As life can be

Drifts once again
Toward the banal

Then a wave hits
An emotional tsunami

Out of nowhere
A wave

A wave of recollection
And grief and pain and loss
Powerful for just a moment
Then passing away

I miss you Dad.

2005-07-26T08:57:00.000-07:00

Eulogy for my Dad, Ed Erickson

On behalf of my mother, Ayleen Erickson, and my brothers, Wayne and Dale, and our children and extended family I want to thank all of you for being here today to help us celebrate the life of my Dad, Ed Erickson.

My Dad lived a large, full and abundant life. Central to his life was his love for our Mom, Ayleen. On August 14 of this year, they would have celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary. They created an environment together where we learned to soar, limited only by the scope of our imagination. Dad set no limits for us. He encouraged us, as his own father had encouraged him. He was proud of his three boys and his seven grandchildren.

Dad knew adversity as a child and his belief in the value of hard work was a core element of his character. We all learned to work hard at an early age.

In the book he wrote about his family, “From Homesteading to Stump Ranching,” he wrote about work. He said,

“A five year old soon learned that work was as much a part of his life as play. At the age of seven you were assigned two cows to milk and I can also recall I was tied to a horse-drawn mover so as to keep from falling off the seat. Horses would walk the uncut hay and when they got to the corner, they would step around the corner and then continue. It was my duty to not touch the reins but just to raise the cutter or sickle bar when the horses made the turn. This I did by pulling back on a tall bar. I was proud and pleased to be able to help. Dad was in the next field and I’m sure keeping close watch on my progress.”

His father, Peter Erickson, was a powerful force in my Dad’s life. He and Dad’s Mom, Julia, carved a life for their family out of the scrub land of Northern Minnesota and what Dad called a “Stump Ranch” just east of Issaquah, by Preston. Peter could do or make most anything. That was a trait my Dad embraced. His father died an untimely death in a logging accident in 1942. Many times I heard my Dad say that he wished his own father could have met his boys and watch them grow up. He would say, “If only Dad could see you boys now.” It was his greatest regret.

Yesterday, when we laid my Dad to rest, we included with him the pocket watch his Dad was carrying the day he died. My Dad always kept it in the bedside table next to him.

Dad so strongly conveyed to us that sense of family and history and value. He also was full of style.

Yesterday Dad wore a beautiful custom made pinstripe suit and monogrammed shirt from Beck’s of Bellevue. He was always well dressed.

When I was young he quoted to me from Hamlet:

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy
But not expressed in fancy, rich, not gaudy.
For apparel oft proclaims the man.

He learned that from a high school teacher in Issaquah. Dad said, if you don’t have much money buy at least one quality garment. It will look good and you will feel great wearing it. I thank Dad for that.

Dad was a master with wood. Many of you have seen the product of his talents. The 42 foot cruiser Kullan was a marvel. He built it in 14 months in the back yard of the Yarrow Point house while also building the three campuses of Seattle Community College. He was up at 4am working until 7am and then would put in a long day at the office only to work on the boat again at night. He did the same thing in Ellensburg, building a new 3500 square foot house while working as Superintendent of Schools and building a new High School. We were in awe of his energy and wondered how he did it all in what seemed to us as young boys, such an effortless manner. He knew how to do most everything.

He built amazing fine furniture. We were all surprised at Christmas to receive identical tool chests, with felt lined drawers for fine tools. Another year we all received slightly different beautiful oak coffee tables. Every granddaughter received exquisite doll houses. Grandpa spared no love or care on the smallest detail.

Mom and Dad spent many a wonderful summer for almost 30 years cruising the San Juan Islands on the Kullan. We remember dropping anchor in small coves. Catching dinner (halibut, shellfish,) and picking berries from the shore so Mom could bake a berry pie. By the way, Dad could pick wild blackberries faster than anyone else. It was never one for the pail; one for me. His bucket filled quicker than anyone else’s.

That wasn’t the only bucket he knew how to fill. One time in Ellensburg there was a cow milking contest pitting two teams against one another. Both teams were made up of “college” and “city” people. Dad was on the college team and the other team had no knowledge of Dad’s background. When the contest started Dad was quickly getting milk from his team’s cow while the other team was getting nowhere. The other team said it was not fair to keep Dad’s hidden talent a secret.

He taught us to hunt and fish. He loved hunting and trained our Brittany Spaniels, Rex and Brit to point with perfection. As young adults we were invited to join Dad and his pals on the Clockum Ridge outside Ellensburg at Elk camp. Elk camp was fabled, and somewhere during the tall tails, hearty food and cutting firewood we learned the true meaning of life.

His Scandinavian roots (which he shared in part with Mom) were important to him. When he started school in Minnesota he couldn’t speak English as only Swedish and Norwegian were spoken at home and with neighbors. Consequently he got a slow start in the educational system. He quickly adapted and became fluent in the American Dream. Dad finished with a bang however, being the last living graduate with four degrees from Washington State University. We have his cap and gown here, but Dad was equally at home in his bib overalls. And, he related with equal ease to people from every walk of life. He made friends easily and they became life long. Some of you are here today.

Dad had a great sense of humor and was a wonderful practical joker. You could always count on Dad for a Scandinavian joke. One we heard once a year or so involved Ole and Helga (they always had classic Scandinavian names). Ole and Helga were married in Northern Minnesota. After the ceremony, they got in Ole’s car and headed out for their honeymoon. As they drove down the road, Ole laid his hand on Helga’s knee. Helga said, “Ole, you can go further.” At which point Ole drove all the way to Minneapolis.

As kids we learned a few idiomatic Swedish and Norwegian phrases. We could say “How are you?” Name our fingers in Swedish and most important, we learned to say I love you. Jag Elskar Deeg.

So Dad, Thank you for being a wonderful father, our role model, our hero and for being a great husband for Mom.

Jag Elskar Deeg.

2005-07-26T08:56:00.000-07:00

Ed K. Erickson

Ed K. Erickson, 89, of Yarrow Point, WA passed away on July 15, 2005.
Eddie Kenneth (“Ed”) Erickson was born on August 22, 1915, in Trail, Minnesota to Peter and Julia Bjerklie Erickson. In 1924, Ed moved with his parents and four sisters from their northern Minnesota homestead to Preston, Washington, where they managed a small farm and Peter worked as a logger. Early Ed learned the value of hard work, a trait he exemplified throughout his life and conveyed to his family. He chronicled the compelling story of his family’s history in “From Homesteading to Stump Ranching,” which can be found at http://www.seanet.com/~erickson/history/ In 1935, he graduated from Issaquah High School. He attended Washington State College (later University) and in 1939 received the first of his four degrees (BA, B Ed, M Ed, and Ed D) from that institution. He was active in student affairs including Phi Delta Kappa (education honorary), Phi Delta Phi (scholastic honorary) and Intercollegiate Knights, and in 1939 served as national president of that organization. Always handsome and impeccably dressed, in those early WSU days he was referred to as “the blond bomber,” according to his wife Ayleen Frederick, whom he met while both were undergraduates. They were married in 1940 in Ellensburg on the Frederick family homestead and had three sons. In 1956 he served as president of the Washington State University Alumni Association and served on the board of the WSU Foundation for many years. In 1990 he received Washington State University’s Outstanding Service Award. He began his long career in education as an industrial arts teacher at Moscow High School in Idaho. He later taught at Bothell High School and Clover Park High School in Washington. During World War II he established the Clover Park Vocational Technical School to train men and women for the war effort. In 1948 he was hired as Superintendent of Schools in Issaquah, Washington. In 1952 he moved to Ellensburg, Washington, to become its Superintendent of Schools From the superintendency he moved to Central Washington State College (later University) working in campus planning and development and ultimately, teaching prospective teachers and becoming Professor and Chairman of the Department of Education. In 1966 he was appointed President of the newly created Seattle Community College system. There, he lead the construction of its three campuses and was named its first Chancellor. In 1995 he was named Chancellor Emeritus of Seattle Community Colleges. In early 2005 he was honored for his pioneering work when Seattle Central Community College named its newly reconstructed theater, The Erickson Theater Off Broadway. His professional work in education concluded in 1974 when he retired from the position of Assistant Superintendent for Vocational and Technical Education for the Seattle Public Schools. He mentored scores of students, teachers and administrators during his career. Upon retirement Ed was able to spend more time with his beloved Ayleen on their boat, Kullan. Ed built the 42 foot Kullan, a work of art with its fine teak interior and rails while President of Seattle Community College. It was one of many examples of Ed’s extraordinary talent. From the family home he built in Ellensburg, to beautiful hand turned bowls and gavels, to fine furniture, he loved to create beauty from wood. His small retirement business was called, “The End Grain.” In addition to travel, boating, gardening and woodworking, Ed enjoyed his long term association with PEMCO, on whose board he served for nearly 37 years. He also served on the board of the Washington School Employees Credit Union and was a founder and board member of Evergreen Bank. He was active in the United Methodist Church in Bellevue and their group of Wednesday Wonder Workers who helped keep the church shipshape. His many other community activities and associations over the years included Queen City Yacht Club, the Masonic Lodge (Fairweather 82 where he was a member for 61 years), Lakewood Kiwanis Club, Ellensburg Rotary Club, Circumnavigators, several vocal quartets where his melodious harmonies stood out and a stint on the Kittitas County Hospital Board.
Ed is sorely missed and fondly remembered by his family and his many friends and colleagues as their role model and hero and for his wonderful sense of humor, common sense and unwavering strength of character.
Ed is survived by his wife, Ayleen, his three sons, Ron (Dia Armenta), Wayne (Patricia) and Dale (Deborah), and seven grandchildren, Matthew, Anna (David) Seidzik, Julia, Jessica, Elizabeth, Ben, and Jake. He is also survived by seven nephews and his brother in law, Wes June. He was preceded in death by his four sisters, Magda Brundage, Stella Moodie, Ellen DeLauranti and Ida June. Graveside services will be held at 11am Tuesday, July 18, 2005 in Ellensburg, Washington at the IOOF Cemetery. A memorial service will be held at 2pm, Wednesday, July 20, 2005 at the Bellevue First United Methodist Church, 1934 108th Ave. NE, Bellevue, WA. Remembrances may be made in Ed’s name to the Seattle Community College, Office of Advancement, 1500 Harvard Avenue, Seattle, WA 98122 or the Washington State University Foundation, P.O. Box 641925, Pullman, WA, 99164.

2005-05-11T15:19:00.000-07:00

You Know His Name (4)

He was charming
He moved with an easy
grace and had
the most refined manners

He sounded so
intelligent

Once on the job
he made idiotic
mistake after mistake

His supposed
sophistication was
apparently little more
than a thin veneer

Composed primarily of
his British accent

2005-02-27T16:24:00.000-08:00

“Never doubt that a small group of committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.”

Margaret Mead

2005-02-13T11:34:00.000-08:00

"I am simply asking for a theatre in which an adult who wants to live can find plays that will heighten his awareness of what living in our time involves."

Arthur Miller

2005-01-20T10:11:00.000-08:00

You know his name (3)

It was the disease of
incrementalism

Twenty years ago
everything was okay

Then, little by little
there were small changes

Each change was imperceptible
But with the passage of time
the changes in the aggregate
became glaringly apparent

He had no idea he looked
so utterly ridiculous
But the entire world
knew he had a combover

2005-01-10T14:49:00.000-08:00

No hands

It was three miles
or more from Mike's
house all the way
into town.

Riding with arms
straight out for balance
and pedaling strong
and steady.

I was eleven and
never felt more free
and alive than that
particular day.

I remember it still
and sometimes talk about it;
about the time I rode
all the way from Mike's
house into town
with no hands.

2005-01-10T14:46:00.000-08:00

You know his name (2)

He was a compelling speaker
Connecting with his audience.

Empathetic, he looked you
in the eye and
felt your pain.

Then he continued
to talk, and talk and talk

Now your eyes
glazed over.

He "had you at hello"
but now it was
time to say goodbye.

2005-01-06T11:52:00.000-08:00

I recently had surgery on my right shoulder as a consequence of injury from both a bicycle accident and repetitive use including lots of swimming. The healing and rehabilitative process is going very well. So well, in fact, that I am giving serious thought to competing in an Half Ironman event in six months. In any event, I look forward to a great triathlon season this coming summer.

Last year was fantastic. I had a great experience at the Half Ironman in England with a fourth place finish in my age group and an overall time of 5:57. More about that in an earlier posting. I did five races in the Pacific Northwest. I placed well in all of those events and as a consequence was ranked number 1 in my age group for the 2004 season. That was exciting. I think the toughest race last year was the Whiskey Dick Triathlon in my hometown, Ellensburg. That race includes a one mile swim in the Columbia River, followed by a brutal 25 mile bike over Saddle Mountain which starts with a 12 mile climb into a strong headwind. There is a 9 mile run into the consistent Ellensburg wind off the bike. Then, to make matters move complex I was stung my a bee on my right thigh 3 miles into the run. I will do that event again.

2005-01-06T11:51:00.000-08:00

In art as in a boat, a bullet, or a coconut-cream pie, purpose determines form.
Edward Abbey

2004-12-06T13:51:00.000-08:00

You Know His Name

You could hear him
before you saw him.

He had a high pitched
voice that cut
the air as a knife.

Was he hard of hearing
or did he just want
to be heard.

It seems the volume
made up for an insecurity

He wanted the world
to know he was present

He did count for something
and his voice proved it so.

2004-10-27T11:09:00.000-07:00

Government Program Run by Idiots in the Pocket of Big Tobacco

The Transportation Security Administration (TSA), an arm of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, has issued guidelines listing prohibited and allowed items which can be placed in your carry-on and checked baggage during air travel. During the early days after the 9/11 terrorist attacks many of us experienced the confiscation of toenail clippers, eyebrow pencils and other dangerous implements. With the Government's steady hand, we now have some guidelines which we can all understand. And, we can travel reassured. Or, can we?

Preparatory to a recent trip to Europe I went on the website for the TSA to make certain I was not going to inadvertently include some prohibited items in my carry-0n or checked bags. That was an issue because I was taking my bicycle to Europe and including small compressed air cartridges to inflate my tires. The compressed air cartridges slipped through okay. What amazed me, however was to discover that the TSA allowed lighters and matches in carry-on baggage. Specifically, the TSA states:

"Up to 2 lighters or 4 books of safety matches are allowed in your carry-on baggage. Disposable lighters and absorbed liquid lighters are allowed in your carry-on baggage. Strike anywhere matches are NOT permitted. If you are uncertain as to whether your lighter is prohibited, please refrain from bringing it to the airport."

Thankfully, Richard Reid, the terrorist who unsuccessfully attempted to light his shoe bomb with matches on American Airlines flight 63 from Paris to Miami, has not read the TSA bulletin. With a couple of Bic lighters in his pocket he might have been successful.

What could conceiveably motivate the TSA to permit lighters and matches to be brought into the passenger compartments of airplanes? Could it be that people are compelled to light birthday candles as soon as they exit the airplanes. Maybe, passengers want to start a small campfire in the terminal. Perhaps they are lighting matches to sterilze needles to remove pesky slivers shortly after exiting their flights.

Nope. None of the above. Lighters and matches are necessary carry-on items for people addicted to cigarettes who have to rush to the exits to light up as soon as possible after leaving their aircraft. They couldn't wait for their checked bags before lighting up. No, that would cause too much stress. A prolonged nicotine fit would result.

What could have motivated the TSA? Could it have been pressure from the tobacco companies and their cohorts in the Bush Administration and on Capitol Hill? It was either that, or a malevolent TSA employee who hopes that the next Richard Reid is successful.

2004-10-27T11:01:00.000-07:00

Whatever you can do, or dream
you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and
magic in it.

Goethe

2004-08-30T17:37:00.000-07:00

I have just returned from England where I participated in the UK Half Ironman. For the uninitiated, a half Ironman event includes a 1.2 mile swim, a 56 mile bike and a 13.1 mile run. It was a fabulous event, held on and around the grounds of Sherbourne Castle adjacent to the village of Sherbourne in Dorset, southwest of London. Sir Walter Raleigh began construction of the castle in 1594. Upon his demise it was acquired by the Digby family who have owned the property since 1615.

Training for a half Ironman is less than half as difficult as training for a full Ironman. (See my post below for last year's full Ironman report.) The level of aerobic fitness necessary to compete effectively is much less than that necessary for a full Ironman. During the training process I seldom worked out more than 7 hours a week. That included a longer day on Saturday or Sunday. I think that once you have a solid aerobic base it does not take much additional effort to go further and faster. My longest run in preparation for the Half Ironman was 90 minutes and my longest bike ride was 2 hours. I did do some swims that were 1.2 miles. Those were mostly steady swims in the lake to just get the feel of swimming non-stop for 40 minutes or so.

In the race itself I was pleased to finish 4th in my age group. There were 13 individuals in my age group, which is less than typically shows up for one of these events. A recent event in Napa Valley had nearly 40 participants. My time was 5:57:04. I was particularly pleased with my 2:03 half marathon time, and my bike split of 2:57. My swim was slow due to a bad start and congestion at the start and along the course. The swim had two waves of 900 plus each and a real bottleneck at the start and at a couple of points along the course. I had swum the course in 33 minutes Wednesday before the Sunday race and was expecting a 36 to 40 minute swim in congestion. At it turned out, my swim split was 48. I was disappointed when I exited the water and headed for T1 (the vernacular for the first transition from the swim to the bike), because I knew that winning my age group was not in the cards with that swim time. Nevertheless, I beavered on and reset my goals to break 6 hours.

Initially on the bike it was very rough. The roads were generally rougher than anything I have experienced in a US race. Within the first mile I had lost my Hammer Gel bottle off my top bar and my electrolyte tabs from the baggie in my aero drink top. I was bouncing around. Things settled down and the pace was steady and strong. On the back side of the first loop there was a big downhill, which I love. In my aero bars I was flying, reaching 50.1 miles per hour, the fastest I have ridden a bicycle. At that moment, my bike started to cavitate. I have previously experience high speed vibration which is very intimidating on a finely tuned bike. This vibration was so severe that I was afraid I was going to lose all control of my bike and fly off the road. I was passing people and vibrating and it was very scary. My brakes wouldn't work. Finally I slowed and regained control. The balance of the race went fine. I did hold back on the second downhill, and didn't exceed 32 miles per hour. No vibration that time. After the race I discovered that I had broken a front spoke. I was very lucky. I think the fact that my wheels are deep dish carbon helped. If they had been aluminum they probably would have warped and lead to a serious accident. Regardless, I am having new spokes installed and thinking about new wheels for my bike.

The run was great. My legs were strong and my pace was steady. At a certain point I could see that I was going to come in under 6 hours so relaxed a bit. I felt great after the race and there was essentially no recovery time necessary. Now, I feel fit and ready for the next race. There are three before season end. I look forward to them.

It has been a great season so far. The UK Half Ironman was a joy to compete in. Next year I may consider the Half Ironman in South Africa or St. Croix. Maybe I will do England again.

2004-05-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

The entrepreneur is essentially
a visualizer and actualizer...
He can visualize something,
and when he visualizes it
he sees exactly how to make it happen.

- Robert L. Schwartz

2004-01-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

Running around the World

One of the side benefits of being involved in a global enterprise is the opportunity to experience so many of the world’s wonderful large cities. I have been fortunate these past several years to have a position which allows me to travel the globe for business. This business requirement fulfills a peripatetic urge and a yearning since childhood to learn about and experience the many and myriad parts of our world.

I have been a runner since high school. After a lackluster athletic career stalled by the pursuit of fun, girls and beer I was encouraged to turn out for track my senior year of high school by the coach, Archie Andreotti. I was 6’ 2” tall and weighed 185, and was fresh from years of farm labor and endless days “bucking bales.” The spring of 1962 Archie decided I had the size and build to run the 880. In those days everything was in yards and the half-mile was a middle distance race. In a few short years it became a sprint but it was a distance race at Ellensburg High School in central Washington State.

It was a very painful spring. I had my first shin splints. I hobbled with an ache and burn that was more intense than I had every experienced. I had a wonderful pair of blue Kangaroo spikes. They were light and with them on my feet I felt I ran like the wind. At a track meet in the neighboring town Archie told me just moments before the meet began that he was going to have me run the mile. I had no time for preparation. I went out like a shot and run my 880 race and then faded to finish 200 yards behind. Archie knew what he was doing. I realized that the 880 was a shorter race and my performance picked up. I was not competitively fast for my time, although I was proud to run a 2:03 in one race.

I left running for many years, diverted this time by the life of the mind, politics, girls and indolence. I picked it up again for a couple of years in the mid 70’s, running in Central Park in New York City with a pair of Adidas. In 1985 I started running regularly. I got into a steady groove of 25 to 30 miles per week. Several times a year I ran in 10K and 8K local races. I loved the energy and of being with all those runners. With a busy travel schedule, my training regime would sometimes suffer. But, by and large, running has been a prescription for health and well being that allowed me to experience the great cities of the world in new and interesting ways. After a long flight half way around the world a run the best antidote for jet lag. It wakes me up, resets my internal clock and helps me make it through the new business day.

Running through foreign territory is a great way to see the sights. You can cover a lot of territory in a short time and be a tourist in the midst of a hectic business schedule. You learn with time the best hotels to stay in. They have great work out facilities and are close to an interesting running course. Obviously, that is not always possible. Sometimes you just have to make do.

Running in London in Hyde Park is one of my favorites. There is a nice run along the Thames, but Hyde Park is the best, with its almost five mile circumference broad walkway. If you stay close to the park, and there are many wonderful hotels that afford you that opportunity, you can be in the park minutes from your room. I always do a double take as I start out the first time as I have a tendency to look the wrong way for on coming traffic as I dart toward the park. You have some wonderful options in Hyde Park with its crisscross of paths so you can vary your course. There is a lake in the middle of the park that you can run around. It reminds you a bit of the reservoir in Central Park, although I have never seen a dead body in the Hyde Park lake. That distinction is reserved for New York City. Swans are also a rare sight in the reservoir.

Paris has to be run early in the morning. The broad boulevards and rapid traffic flow make it difficult to navigate once the city is stirring. I have had liberating runs down those broad open streets at first light in the morning. You have a feeling that the city is at your fingertips. Up the Champs Ellysee and around the Arch de Triumph, across the front of the Loive and in front of the fancy shops on Rue Montaigne. If you stay in a central hotel on the Right or Left Banks, the best runs are along the Seine. You can run each bank of the river, past the Bateau Mouche, Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame.
The best long runs are in the Bois de Bologne. You can run through the forest and around the lake and easily get in a ten mile run. It is a bit removed from city center but a quick subway ride gets you there.

There is a wonderful mid city run in Rome. I like to stay at a hotel near the top of the Spanish steps so if I have a moment I can wander down the Via Condotti and window shop and people watch. Just up the road from the top of the Spanish steps is the beautiful Villa Borghese. You can circle through and around the Borghese and past swans in the ponds. From the edge of the Borghese you can look out over Rome and see St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican. It is rich with history and you return to your hotel not only invigorated, but with a sense of awe for the past.

I have run in many other European cities including Stockholm, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Moscow, Cannes and St. Tropez, and Vienna among others. Sometimes you are stuck in the middle of a city like Milan and are forced to run around the block with no time or hope for a scenic and uplifting run. You just dodge traffic and hope for an endorphin blast that carries you through the day. I love running along the river in Salzburg. It is one of the beautiful cities of the world and path along the river goes for miles. Another favorite course runs along the lake in Geneva. The backdrop provided by the city and the mountains makes it one of the serene runs in the world. That was especially the case one morning when a handful of people where performing Tai Chi Chuan on the water’s edge.

It is a great leap from Lake Geneva’s edge to the Forbidden City and Tianiamum Square. Invariably, you will see the morning Tai Chi ritual played out on your runs in Beijing. Here again, you must get out early to run the streets before the cacophony of motorbikes and fumes overtake you. You feel a bit like the odd duck in some foreign cities as you run through the streets. I certainly had that feeling early one morning in Hanoi as I ran past the bicycles piled high with chickens, pigs and all manner of commerce. There is a great run in Hanoi around the lake in the center of the city. You should stay in the Metropole Hotel. It is a short few blocks from the lake and the run takes you past remnants of the French colonial past. The broad boulevards and villas are perfectly French. Hanoi is filed with sidewalk restaurants. These are truly sidewalk restaurants. They amount to little more than a small grill on the edge of the sidewalk. Two or three customers perch on the edge of the sidewalk for lunch. A dozen barbers line another street. Each is equipped with a chair, and the necessary scissors and combs.

Early morning runs are the rule of the road in Southeast Asia. Traffic is too intense to do otherwise. Even at first light, it difficult to manage a decent run in many cities. Phnom Penh is fascinating. You run past Monks in saffron robes walking serenely down the streets. For good luck you can release a bird from its bamboo cage for a few coins.
Bangkok’s traffic is easily the worst in the world. In the middle of the city is a park that you can run through and around. That is the case in many cities. You can often find a small park that you can run around and around. Although boring, it beats leaping for your life in traffic, either vehicular or human.

I regularly run in Seattle. The climate is temperate year around. While we have a famous number of rainy days, we seldom experience any humidity. Only Washington, DC, rivals Southeast Asian humidity in August. In Singapore, almost exactly on the Equator, I run the moment the sun pops over the horizon. That allows for a six mile run before the heat and humidity becomes overpowering for those of us untrained for warm, humid climates. Singapore’s best run in through the Botanical Garden. It has looping paths and is a fun run. Periodically you will see a six-foot snake hanging from a tree. When I arrive back at my hotel I am drenched.

Sometimes, the best or only run is on the hotel treadmill. I met a New York investment banker, previously posted in Hong Kong who trained for the New York marathon on a treadmill in the Mandarin Hotel. They have four. I prefer them on the Hong Kong side. In Kowloon you can run along the water in front of the Regent Hotel. The view across the harbor is one of the most impressive in the world. I ran in zero degree weather in Stockholm one January. The hotel treadmill would have been a better bet.

In Shanghai there is a good course along the Bund, the river that separates the city. On one side is the beautiful old Shanghai with architecture from early 20th Century Europe. You can see the influence of the Germans, French and others that made Shanghai the preeminent trading city of Asia. With Hong Kong now part of China, Shanghai is once again in ascendance. You see that new vitality in the flashy high rise buildings across the river. Although many are nearly empty, you can stay in an eighty-eight story Hyatt.

One of my favorite runs in the world is in Tokyo. A short distance from most of the hotels is the Imperial Palace. It is in the middle of the city. You circle the Imperial Palace. It is about four miles. The run has some elevation. You see other runners and some mornings you may see Ambassador Foley out on his bicycle. You pass several entrances to the Palace. The run circles the moat. The sheer stone walls of the moat have an ancient look. There is a sense of antiquity in the middle of modern Tokyo. You feel that in some other places in the world. Rome, probably most of all.

Osaka has a small park close to central hotels that make for a safe morning run. Running in Kyoto is wonderful. You can circle through the old Palace grounds and then head for the river. There is a great pathway along the river that allows you to stretch your legs for a long run. Regardless of your purpose for being in Kyoto, you cannot miss seeing the several Zen temples. They are a mandatory detour from whatever business you are attending to.

The best running courses inspire your stride. The majesty of the scenery transports you so that you have an extra spring. It seems that the endorphins are elevated a bit with the grandeur of being in such a beautiful place. Running along Sydney Harbor, past the soaring Opera House, and into the Botanical Gardens is one of those runs. It is one of the special runs in the world. There some variations on how you wend your way through the Botanical Gardens. Regardless, you return to your hotel invigorated and full of energy. It is a long way to Australia. A Sydney harbor run does wonders for readjusting your internal clock and fighting those mid-afternoon flashes of jet lag fog.

In Melbourne there is a great run along the river. I feel that Melbourne is like San Francisco and Sydney more like Los Angeles. One is more sophisticated and refined. The other is more brash.

Many hotels have maps especially prepared for joggers. I have found that most of them are poorly done. In fact, some, I am convinced, are prepared by non-joggers. Distances are often incorrect. Street markers are difficult to discern. I just head out on my own and try to figure it out. I will admit to getting lost a few times. In some cities, particularly in Asia where there may be an absence of English language signage, the character-based language can look opaquely identical to my untrained eye. I have circled a few blocks and looked in vain for a familiar landmark. Usually, before some panic sets in I have picked up a geographic marker that gets me back on track. I have made a mistake or two. In Norway once, a planned for six mile run turned into twelve miles when I missed a turn and had to take the long way back, arriving just before the last light of their long summer day.

Back in the United States, I have had many wonderful runs. New York City, Boston, Washington, DC and Chicago are great runners cities. I like running on the beach in Santa Monica and along the Bay in San Francisco, but the East Coast runs are the best for my touring sensibilities. New York is the mother lode in a way. Even those Boston with is marathon has the history, New York has captured some extra magic with its marathon.
In New York City I always try to stay in a hotel close to Central Park. That is sometimes difficult. With last minute business travel a hotel room is New York can become almost non-existent. Once, we tried over 70 hotels before locating a room. Of course, that was the week after Thanksgiving and the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree was about to be lit. I usually just pop into the park and head up toward the reservoir. It is one of the most
majestic runs in the world, as you circle the north end of the reservoir run. The New York skyline frames Central Park. At all hours, the park is filled with runners. You can do runs of different distances by various courses. From the south end of the park to the reservoir and around is approximately 5 miles. Sometimes in New York City I will run along East River. That is a poor second choice given the fumes from the cars on the FDR Drive.

In Boston, I run along the Charles River. In Chicago, I run up Michigan Avenue and then along the Lake. In Philadelphia it is fun to run up the boulevard that leads to the Art Institute and then run up the steps and imagine for a moment that you are “Rocky.” Washington, DC has several runs that fill you with patriotic reflection. I like running through the Mall, along the reflecting pool, back toward the Washington Monument and around the White House. Running up Rock Creek Park is another good run as it extends from the path along the Potomac. Running up the C & O Canal allows you to feel you are out of the city and you can pick up the path in Georgetown and quickly be away from its ersatz hipness.

My favorites are in my hometown, Seattle. Of course, I love Seattle and its majestic scenery and over the last many years I have located all the running courses that a native discovers with time and experience. Running along the water’s edge is naturally, I think, both invigorating and peaceful. Seattle offers a lot of that. There is a great running path that circles Seward Park along Lake Washington. You run along Lake Washington from Seward Park to Madison Park on a pathway that parallels Lake Washington Boulevard. It is a beautiful run, with Mt. Rainier visible on a clear day. Each year in June the Shore Run follows that course for 6.7 miles. Green Lake is the joggers mecca in Seattle. It is our equivalent of the reservoir run in New York City. The Seattle runner’s shoe and equipment store is located across the street from Green Lake. There is an inner and outer course. The inner course is 2.8 miles. The outer course is 4.0 miles. There is a beautiful run on Elliott Bay, along Seattle’s waterfront Myrtle Edwards Park, with Puget Sound and Olympic Mountains in the background. The Burke Gilman trail in the northern part of the city follows Lake Washington as well. You never run out of good runs in Seattle.

I have covered lots of miles in cities round the world. I have seen some wonderful sights and seen things that you miss as a typical business visitor or even as a tourist. Fortunately, it doesn’t require a lot of space to take your running gear on the road. I usually just pack my shoes, a couple of pairs of socks, my shorts and a polypropolene shirt. The poly shirt dries fast. On a trip with multiple cities in hot and humid climates things get a bit ripe when you pack a wet t-shirt.

Make the time to go for a run on your next trip. It is the best natural antidote for jet lag and it opens wonderful new vistas outside your hotel room and business meetings. It allows you to really see the world. So, do it, and have fun.

2004-01-11T16:32:00.000-08:00

"I can't dance and I am too short to yo-yo"

Peter Allison
1992

2004-01-11T16:30:00.000-08:00

Completing the Ironman event in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, this last June 29, 2003, was an amazing and life-changing experience. My time was 14:17:18. I had hoped for a time approximately 2 hours less than that. Circumstances of the day derailed that plan. I exited the water in 1:25 which was my target time for the 2.4 mile swim. I had spent a lot of training time on my swimming, in large part because I wanted to feel very comfortable with that, the most daunting part of the Ironman. Something about a 2.4 mile open water swim that is intimidating. It is not like swimming in a 25 meter pool, with lane lines. You swim or you drown. And, it is important to exit the water very relaxed as there is a 112 mile bike ride and a 26.2 mile run yet to complete.

When I came out of the water I felt great. It had been a wonderful swim. My coach, Michael Ross, has encouraged me to stand on the shore and wait for the approximately 2000 competitors to take off with the gun. He said, "Wait 30 seconds after everyone is in the water and then go." As difficult as that was, that is exactly what I did. I waited and then entered the water. Consequently, I avoided the chaos off the start and was able to sight ahead and swim around people. I passed 700 people on the swim and was only kicked once, by a breast stroker who hammered me in the ribs.

The transition was smooth and quick. The wetsuit strippers are unique to Ironman events. At every other tri you have to remove and sometimes struggle to remove your wetsuit. I us lots of PAM, the non-stick frying pan spray and that really works to make your wetsuit slide right off. I had a tube of Chamois Butter (Butt Butter) in my transition bag but for some reason (speed perhaps) I didn't put any in my shorts. That was, in retrospect, a big mistake. Out of the transition zone on my bike I was cheered on by my friend John Bockmeyer who yelled, "Looking great....the bike is your strong suit....go for it." It was a great send off out of the shoot. Just around the corner and up the road I saw Dia, the love of my life, who yelled, "Yeah Ron, you're doing great. Your swim was awesome!"

And I was off and up the road with 112 miles to go.

I love my bike. I have been a titanium bike guy for five years...since I bought my first Litespeed road bike. I like the feel. My triathlon bike is a Litespeed Sabre that I found on eBay. It was a great buy with only 1000 miles on the frame and one season of triathlon use. It was complete but for wheels. I added Spinergy Carbon SS's, with Continental Force tires (the front is slightly smaller at 22mm than the rear at 23mm). The bike is a thrill to ride, although not as comfortable as my road bike on a long ride. I am fast and strong on my bike, so I expected to have a good bike split. My aim was to do the bike easily at 6 hours. With a marathon at 4.5 hours I would have a 12 hour time which is very respectable. Well, such was not to be the case.

In an Ironman, once you have built your aerobic base, it becomes clear that the race itself is all about pacing, nutrition and hydration. During training I did a number of five hour bricks. A brick is a bike ride followed immediately by a run. I would do three hours on the bike and follow that with a two hour run. It is quite a work out. And, it is good practice for the actual event as you must learn about pacing, nutrition and hydration.

I had a very strict plan for hydration and nutrition. I set my watch to beep every 12 minutes and I drank on cue and ate my bars and hammer gel (my preferred brand). Unfortuntely, the weather did not cooperate. It had been averaging in the 78 to 82 range in the days leading up to the race. Race day, the temperature in the shade on the bike course was as high as 104. On the blacktop it had to be as high as 120. It was unbelieveable. It became impossible for me to hydrate. Many people dropped out of the race. In fact, the DNF rate for Coeur d'Alene was the highest in Ironman history. It is amazing how your strength drops with dehydration. My training buddy, Kevin Conroy, caught up with me on the bike at about mile 100 and said he was spinning at 65 rpm. I said I was doing the same and happy to be doing that. Typically we spin at 90 plus.

I had a bike split of 7:14. It was tough. I had gastrointestinal problems beginning at mile 80 on the bike, and they lasted through most of the run. But, on the run, I was able to bring my temperature down. I put ice under my cap and drank water every mile and rehydrated as the temperature dropped. My legs were strong and my endurance intact.

During training I had spent a lot of time on core strength and endurance muscle work. My base was very secure. I had never trained in the heat. I ran the entire marathon, walking through the aid stations every mile. In many ways, in an Ironman, you think of the run as 26 one mile runs. That makes it easier. Those aid stations come pretty frequently at that rate. I finished with a very strong kick. My run split was 5:22. It was my first marathon ever. I expected to be much faster, but was just happy to finish. Recently I did a 1/2 marathon in 2:02 with ease. I have run a 1/2 in 1:48 and feel that I can run one faster than that. Running a marathon in faster time after biking 112 miles and swimming 2.4 miles is another matter.

As I ran the marathon, on four occasions I passed my family who was positioned on the course to spray me with water and yell encouragement. They were fantastic. It really does add spring to your step. That spring was, however, gone just moments after the finish. After going to the medical tent for some chicken soup I had to be helped into our SUV. My legs were no help. Climbing the stairs to our rented house was an ordeal.

Would I do it again? Now, with some time passed, absolutely. The training and the conditioning that comes with it is incredible. I would love to qualify for the world championship in Kona. That takes some luck and effort. This year I plan on doing a half Ironman. Maybe I will qualify. I will do several smaller events as well. I look forward to competing in these events for years to come. The comeraderie is wonderful. The feeling of accomplishment is great. It feels so good to do it. In fact, it is a bit addictive.

I just got home from doing some laps at the pool. It was good.

2003-02-17T07:53:00.000-08:00

"The man with the clear head...looks life in the face,
realizes everything is problematic and feels himself lost,
as this is the simple truth that to be alive is to feel oneself lost.
He who accepts it has already begun to find himself, to be on firm ground."

Ortega y Gasset

2003-02-17T07:43:00.000-08:00

Every Tuesday and Thursday I swim in the morning with a master's swim group. We have been doing between 2800 and 3400 yards in the pool. That is comprised of a warm-up with is usually a variation of 200 freestyle, 200 kickboard, 200 pullbuoy, 200 freestyle. That is followed by drills that would be 10 times 50 yards, each under 1 minute with a 20 second rest, followed by a breathing pyramid, followed by 8 x 100 alternating backstroke and breast stroke, followed by a 200 warm down. The workouts are extremely demanding and satisfying. Over the course of four months I have dropped by time at various distances by a significant amount. I am by no means a competitive swimmer. My goal has been to make the swim portion of my triathlons stronger and a more comfortable part of the three events. I have accomplished that at the very least. I feel that I can comfortably exit the water at near the top of my age group now.

2003-02-03T22:16:00.000-08:00

I have been training the past several months in preparation for an Ironman triathlon to be held on June 29, 2003, in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. It is a qualifying event for the championships in Kona. It will be my first Ironman length event. Although I have participated in several shorter triathlons over the past six years and am comfortable doing those, this event is, by its nature intimidating. During the course of my training I have become much stronger. I am now beginning to increase the intensity of the training. I have to be careful not to overtrain as well. This is an exciting process and one that I am enjoying very much. I will begin posting my thought on my training and preparation for the event. Periodically, when the mood strikes, I will post on some current event as well.

Regarding the space shuttle Columbia....I don't think I would start out on a cross country trip today in a 20 year old car. This tragedy should be a catalyst for rethinking where our space exploration money should be spent.

2002-08-04T08:23:00.000-07:00

Those who give up essential liberty
to purchase a little temporary safety
deserve neither liberty nor safety

Ben Franklin

2002-07-10T11:46:00.000-07:00

Perilous Times for Entrepreneurs

The media, Congress and The White House are all lathered up about the corporate excesses in the news. Accounting scandals, egregious compensation and cooked books will most likely define this recent period. It will be the coda to the dot-com boom and bust. History will have a glossy sound byte for describing our gilded age.

This is unfortunate. The broad brush covers nuance and the other side of the coin. Not only is history the loser, but so are contemporary policy makers and their constituents who may make decisions which negatively impact the entrepreneurial tug and pull that is our nation's engine for greatness. Today, that engine is running on near empty.

The economic travails and market shenanigans of the past two years have created a lack of capital for entrepreneurs. Angel investors have had their wings clipped as their last round of bets failed. They have to wait for a rebound and pray. Professional venture investors are venturesome in name only. They are struggling to maintain a happy face and collect their management fees. The public markets are moribund with exceptions that are akin to hen's teeth. Overlaying this are anxieties that naturally flow from the reported excesses of big brand name companies (who will be next?) and post September 11 (what will be next?).

Meanwhile, lost in shuffle and probably lost to history are thousands of small enterprises struggling to stay alive. For them the capital markets have all but dried up. They have great ideas. They are driven by committed, ethical men and women who believe in their companies and their products and want to make a difference in the world. They embody the spirit and solid values that have made America great.

They include the vaccine company in Montana with technology to cure life-threatening disease, the database company in Florida that analyzes all publicly traded stocks in the world, and the firewall company in Seattle the blocks hackers from your home PC. In each of these and thousands of other companies people have gone months without pay or pay so modest as to qualify for food stamps. They have been forced to live with relatives, have lost marriages and been evicted from offices and apartments. They are struggling to survive in an environment that includes the most difficult capital market any of us can remember. Unfortunately, some have had to give up, for the sake of their health, their sanity and the well being of their families. Our nation and our world are less well off as a result. When our entrepreneurial engine runs out of gas our global leadership position is impaired.

My plea to the media, the moneychangers and the policy makers is to pay attention to the entrepreneurs. The important role they play should not be ignored in the face of momentary distress. Hopefully, they will continue to scrap and struggle and the best will prevail and realize the fruits of their labor.

2002-05-29T21:01:00.000-07:00

A boring relationship robs you of solitude and doesn't provide companionship.

Oscar Wilde

2002-05-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

My 201 (k)

Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan, President Bush and other spinmeisters for the economy have yet to address the severity of the current downturn. The media doesn't paint an accurate picture either, for fear of further negatively impacting already diminishing advertising revenues. Among my peer group of aging baby boomers the slowing economy and the severe Wall Street correction is having a dramatic impact. While the severity of the downturn is glossed over by the media and government leaders it is given full voice in conversations with my aging boomer friends and associates.

I open the subject jokingly saying, "I used to have a 401(k) plan. Now I have a 201(k) plan." That immediately elicits a hearty laugh and the knowing reply, "Me too!" What does this mean for the boomer who cannot look forward to the sinecure of government, military, corporate or other assured pension programs? A common theme I hear from friends, against a backdrop of fear, is a grudging acknowledgement that they will need to work for three to five more years. Others are recalibrating retirement plans.

Social Security, typically denigrated by upwardly mobile, successful boomers, is now viewed with newly discovered comfort. I've heard friends say, "I just received a print-out of my benefits from Social Security and its going to make a difference when I retire." Those same people were dismissive of Social Security in the past. It was a government program for the other guy. Increasingly, there is new respect for this New Deal program.

Boomers have had a relatively easy life. They enjoyed the most prolonged adolescence in human history and in their self-absorbed fashion felt that they endured great pain with Vietnam. They believed they invented experimentation in music, art and lifestyles. Living in the present, many didn't plan well for the future. Many thought they were planning excellently with a 401(k) laden with tech stocks. Now, with those 401(k)'s looking like 201(k)'s aging boomers are having to make adjustments. Some aging boomers were "short-timers" looking forward to retirement within the next couple of years. They were planning to retire "earlier than the old man." They are now realizing that they have to "suck it up" and "grind it out" for a few more years. Many of them are tired of their work, not just tired of working. Cost consciousness is now on their minds. Lifestyle adjustments are being made and long nourished dreams are being modified or have been shattered completely.

This tough dose of hard reality has implications for the job market and for social policy. We should expect more people working longer because they must. We should expect new respect for Social Security in its traditional mode. It is not just something for our parents. There is also resentment that after nearly a full career of hard work the retirement on the horizon looks so insecure. There is bitterness that what looked like wise investment now looks too much like a lottery or a long lost weekend in Las Vegas.

So, be warned. Aging boomers are losing some of their bonhomie. Expect to hear some whining. And, they're gong to hanging around the office for a few more years.

2002-05-21T23:57:00.000-07:00

Something we were withholding
Made us weak
Until we learned it was ourselves
We were withholding
From this land of living
And thence found salvation
In surrender.

Robert Frost

2002-05-20T08:48:00.000-07:00

Justice Department Indicts Catholic Church

In Washington, DC today, the Justice Department announced the indictment of the Catholic Church as a result of the alleged pedophilia of a priest in Boston. Attorney General Ashcroft, in announcing the indictment stated, “We brought the indictment as a result of the recent events in Boston as well as the historic pattern of behavior we have observed.” Asked by the press if the recent indictment of Arthur Anderson had played a role in his decision, Ashcroft answered, “There is no connection between the two indictments. The only similarty comes from the fact that in each case we have tarred everyone in the entire organization with the same brush.” “It is necessary, “Ashcroft continued, “ to make every priest in America and all 28,000 Arthur Anderson employees accountable for the activities within their organization.”

Asked if the indictments didn’t evoke the mass hysteria which surrounded the Salem witch trials, Ashcroft stated, “Hysteria in pursuit of moral rectitude is no sin.”

The Catholic Church, responding to the indictment through a spokesman, said, “ We intend to vigorously defend the charges brought against us. We are asking for a speedy trial and a prompt resolution of the case. We have retained attorney Roy Cohn to defend us in this matter. His record of homophobia and close relationships within the Justice Department are a sure ticket to an acquittal on all charges.”

Commentators were mixed in their response to the indictment. An unnamed spokesman for Opus Dei claimed the indictment was driven by a “born again” Protestant cabal whose motive is to buy properties at a discount if the Church is forced into bankruptcy. In an anonymous email Opus Dei said, “This is clearly the work of Falwell, Robertson, Graham and Jerry Springer.” A spokesman for the Reverend Billie Graham said that a shaken Dr. Graham believed the entire matter was the work of Jews, adding, however, that he would welcome any parishioners into his flock. A mummified William F. Buckley could not be reached for comment.

Fearing reprisals, as soon as the indictment was announced, Attorney General Ashcroft joined Vice President Cheney at a secret location.

2002-05-19T21:17:00.000-07:00

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
He who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternities sunrise.

William Blake

2002-05-18T13:27:00.000-07:00

samizdat 1. a clandestine publishing system in the former Soviet Union by which forbidden or unpublishable literature is reproduced and circulated privately. 2. a work or periodical circulated by this system. (1965-70; from Russ samizdat = sam(o) - self + izdat (elstvo) - publishing agency; coined as a jocular allusion to the compound names of official Soviet publishing organs)

While not clandestine, but rather its opposite, this site will post the largely unpublishable. It will attempt, in turn, to be introspective, thoughtful, confused, funny, sad, full of hope and struggling with pessimism.

The thought for today is, "Stay high, keep moving and give all of yourself away."