Tag: #memories

Changing Underwear

Changing Underwear

A while back, a friend talked about her son, who was either prepubescent or a new teen. In the screed, she spoke about “stinky boy stuff” or something similar. It reminded me of a lecture I received from my mom upon returning home from a week at Boy Scout camp in the summer of ‘66.

I was all of 11 years old. I’d joined Boy Scout Troop 45 that spring and was going to my first ever summer camp at Camp Kishauwau. To say I was excited was a huge understatement – a week away from home, sleeping in tents, having fun with your buddies – what could possibly be better?!

Mom of course helped me pack. In addition to scout uniforms, a swimsuit, a windbreaker, jeans and shorts, she dutifully packed six pairs of underwear, six white T-shirts and six pairs of sox. Of course, also a towel, wash cloth, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, bandaids, mosquito repellent, and who knows what else.  

Mom and Dad dropped me off at Kishauwau on Sunday morning and I had a great week. We went swimming everyday, took canoes out on the Vermillion River, ate great meals at the mess hall, cooked our own food a couple of times, and learned all kinds of new skills. The week passed by in a flash. 

I Attended Camp Kishauwau from ‘66 to ‘70

Mom and dad picked me up on Saturday and we returned home. That day or the next, mom was doing my laundry from camp and I heard my name called/yelled. I dutifully came to the washing machine. 

Mom: “What is this!?” Pointing at my underwear.  “What is what?” I answered.  “This!” and held up my underwear. My six pairs of clean underwear. My six pairs of clean underwear I hadn’t touched or changed all week long.  I proceeded to receive a lecture from mom about cleanliness, hygiene, what the hell did I think I was doing, how could I go a whole week without changing my underwear and on and on and on… I had no defense and took it as best I could. I probably looked like a young puppy just caught peeing on the floor.  Finally, she wound down and let me go.  – whew! –

Fast forward a year. It’s time for summer camp again and I’m looking forward to going just as much as the previous year. Mom helps pack again and in go the six pairs of underwear, the six white T-shirts and the six pairs of sox. Of course along with the packing, I also receive another lecture about health and good hygiene.  “Yes mom! I get it!”

Camp was a great time once again – water sports, learning how to track animals, bonfires, learning knots and lashings, building a bridge. It was awesome. 

Random Bad Photos (With my Then New Camera) From Kishauwau in ‘67.

Friday night came and I was getting my stuff ready to go back home the next day. To my horror, I came across my six pairs of underwear, again unused. OH NO!  What to do?!  I was sure to be in real trouble this year. I thought about it and then had an idea. I would make the underwear look dirty!  I quickly threw them on the ground and then proceeded to move them around in the dirt and walk on them in my hiking boots. They looked dirty for sure and I slept peacefully that night. 

The next day Mom and Dad brought me home.  I went out to play and then heard my name called loudly by Mom. Uh-Oh. 

Mom: “What is this!?” Pointing at my underwear.  “What is what?” I answered.  “This!” And proceeded to hold up my underwear. My six pairs of underwear with boot prints on them.  “Ummm, my dirty underwear.”  “WITH BOOTPRINTS?! WHAT IS GOING ON??”

As I looked at her, my brain feverishly worked, trying to find an answer. What could I say!? What possible excuse could I give!?  I had nothing.

“Ummm, I forgot to change my underwear again and thought I could make them look dirty.”

Mom stared at me. Finally with a look only a mom could give, she said “Go to your room.”

Now I’d done it. I sat in the bedroom thinking. She was sure to tell Dad, and then what? How much trouble was I actually in? Why the heck hadn’t I remembered to change my underwear? Why hadn’t I been smarter about how to make them dirty?

Time passed. Finally, I was called to dinner. Evidently it was going to be a public execution.

Except it wasn’t. Mom didn’t say anything. Dad didn’t say anything. In my memory, I seem to remember a small smile from him, but that may just be a trick of my mind 57 years later. And that was it. I didn’t hear anything more about it. By the next year, I actually did remember to change my underwear, although probably not as often as mom would have wished. 

I’ve thought about the conversation I’m guessing took place between Mom and Dad. Mom laying out the case. Dad maybe hesitating a bit – remembering his own childhood during the depression. Or maybe thinking about being in North Africa during WWII, when he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to change his clothes for several weeks. And who knows, maybe Mom never said anything to Dad – maybe she had her own chuckle over the whole thing after sending me to my room.

Addendum:

– Fun Camp Kishauwau Fact: Ryan Gosling wore a Camp Kishauwau T-Shirt in the 2007 movie, Fracture, which also starred Anthony Hopkins.

Fun Camp Kishauwau Fact: Ryan Gosling Wore a Kishauwau T-Shirt in the 2007 Movie “Fracture”.

– Here are two previous blogs about my time in the Boy Scouts:

  • 50 years ago in June of 1969, I was awarded the Boy Scout’s highest rank, Eagle Scout. I was thinking about this recently when Cath and I were attending the Eagle Court of Honor for Mark, the son of good friends of ours. I also thought about Farrell and Don, who were great Scoutmasters and mentors: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2019/07/11/farrell-and-don/
  • On Mother’s Day, May 12th, 1968, Howard and Tim, my two best friends, and I were awarded the Boy Scout God and Country award. I recently came across a photo and newspaper article about the award. That minor event took place during one of the most tumultuous years in United States history: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2018/09/12/god-and-country

July 4th – A Fairy Tale?

July 4th – A Fairy Tale?

Is July 4th, our Independence Day, a holiday we all still celebrate together as Americans? Or is it now just a fairy tale with fireworks as entertainment for the young, and no longer any unifying meaning?  Some days, I’m not sure I want to know the answer. 

I remember the celebrations of my youth in Ottawa, Illinois. On the evening of the 4th, Mom and dad loaded my sisters and me into the car and drove us to the high school parking lot.  We kids ran around looking for friends until it grew dark and we rejoined Mom and Dad for the fireworks. They would launch out over the river and put on quite a show. Ottawa, Illinois had only 18,000 people then, but the show was always first class. We’d “Oooohhh!” And “Ahhhh!” with each launch. The grand finale was always amazing, at least to us little kids.

Ottawa Still has Great Fireworks, as Seen in These Photos from 2023.

Overseas in the Army in the ‘80s, there was usually a cookout at someone’s house. A bit of America in Germany – no fireworks, but a gathering of fellowship and celebration. We shared the common cause of defending America and that seemed enough. 

In the ensuing decades, Cathy and I celebrated the 4th with cookouts, visits with friends, and the occasional firework display. It was always a good time. 

Over the past decade, things have devolved. 

Six years ago, in 2018 I published a blog about celebrating the 4th of July in 1976, our country’s 200th anniversary (you can find a link to the blog in the Addendum). Here’s a partial extraction from the end of the blog:

“I’ve been thinking about that evening in 1976 as our Independence Day celebration approaches this year (2018). The country went through a rough patch in the early 1970s leading up to our 200th birthday. Vietnam, anti war protests, Kent State, Nixon and Watergate, race issues, the assassination attempts on Ford, and multiple drug overdoses, to name just a few of the issues of the day. And yet, to me on that Fourth of July, it felt like we were all in one boat pulling together. We weren’t Republicans or Democrats, liberals or conservatives, young or old, black or white. We were just Americans, and it seemed our differences were set aside, at least for that night.

Which brings me back to this year’s Fourth of July. It appears we are less united now and I sometimes wonder if we can bridge our differences any more. We have a seventeen-year war, a drug crisis, race issues, and politicians, some more than others, who divide us. Hatred grows. I know we have gone through similar periods in our nation’s history, but online media accelerates and exasperates the situation. I try and think what the future might hold for this great country of ours, and the answer isn’t always clear.”

If anything, our divisions are worse now than they were only six years ago. 1976 itself seems positively quaint.  We have divided into our camps with the extremists pulling us further apart. Democrats are evidently communists, while Republicans are fascists. It appears we have little or no room for compromise. 

I texted back and forth with my old friends Howard and Mark about this. We are all at various places on the political spectrum and often argue/discuss politics. The conversation was wide-ranging and we talked about many things, including our imperfect union:  

  • The fact that if you were a black slave at the founding of the country you were worth only 3/5 of a person with no rights at all. Given that, why wouldn’t Juneteenth be an important holiday?  
  • Our Constitution doesn’t mention God at all and yet many Christian Nationalists are trying to make this country a “Christian Nation”.
  • Is there any holiday this diverse country can universally celebrate? More than a small number of citizens have adopted a mindset of victimhood and embrace presentism. 

We came to no conclusions. Howard made the comment “I think July 4th is, on the surface, a very uncontroversial holiday, because everyone looks at it through the filter of their own politics.  If you want to barbecue, it’s a great holiday. If you want to look at the deeper meaning of the day, I think we have a lot of work ahead of us.”  Mark had a great suggestion – “I think we should adopt an entirely new holiday on a specific date not associated with anything, where we gather with people of opposite political persuasions to discuss potential areas of compromise and agreement.”  A brilliant idea, but of course it will never happen. 

At times, I do see small signs of hope. My buddy Dave has a condo just above the Iwo Jima memorial. Every year he hosts a 4th of July party.  The view from his balcony is one of the very best in the entire Metro DC area to watch the fireworks. At the party are Republicans and Democrats, political true-believers and agnostics. It’s a great party and a helluva view of the fireworks. People have a good time, enjoy the food, libation and of course the fireworks. Politics aren’t discussed. The view of the fireworks over the monuments is so beautiful, it could almost convince you by itself that all is well with America.

4th of July View From Dave’s.

I think both Republicans and Democrats love America, or think they do. They also often believe the other side must hate America, otherwise, why would they adopt the positions they have?

I have no answers for these questions. 

I was originally going to end the blog with the following paragraph:

If we can’t figure it out, I believe we will soon see the Grand Finale of America. Like the end of our fireworks display on the 4th, there will be a brilliant final scene, followed by darkness. Only in our case, the darkness won’t lift with the coming of dawn.

But, it felt too dark to me and I sat on it for a couple of days. I also talked with other friends.

We’ve had other tumultuous times in our history – the Civil War, the depression, McCarthyism, the 60s with Vietnam and racial strife to name a few. America has always managed to make it through. There have also been great moments of unity – World War II after Pearl Harbor, landing on the moon, our 200th birthday as a country, and the immediate aftermath of the 9-11 attack are a few examples in the last 100 years.

Those of you who know me, know I’m an optimist. I tend to see the good in situations and in people. In my heart, I think that optimism is also true for my view of our country. Whether Kennedy’s “City on a Hill”*, or George Bush’s “1,000 points of light”, America has largely been a beacon of hope for the world. Even today, with all of our issues people want to come to America, the land of opportunity.

Will we get through our current struggles? I hope and pray so. Maybe my “Grand Finale” mentioned previously is just one of a multitude of paths this country could take, and a low probability one at that. Still, I think it behooves all of us to do our part to ensure a better America, now and in the future.

I hope you enjoy your hotdogs and hamburgers this year, or whatever you are having to eat. If you can, take in the fireworks. Spend a few minutes thinking of our history and how we came to where we are as a country.  Maybe also spend a few minutes thinking what you could do to elevate America for all of us. As Woodie Guthrie so aptly sang, “This land was made for you and me.”

Addendum: 

  • Here’s the blog from six years ago: Good Morning America, How Are You? It was dusk turning to dark on July 4th, 1976 and Washington DC’s Bicentennial fireworks would start at any moment. Cathy and I were stuck in traffic on the 14th Street Bridge over the Potomac. It looked like we weren’t going […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2018/06/30/good-morning-america-how-are-you/
  • Thanks as always to my old friends Mark and Howard for their friendship and thoughts. Maybe because we are all thinking people and have been friends since grade school, we can have more free-wheeling political conversations.
  • Thanks to our niece, Ann McCambridge for supplying the photos of the 4th of July celebration in Ottawa from 2023.
  • Thanks to my friends Janis Johnson and Jim Overdahl for the photos from Dave’s balcony at a previous 4th of July. Thanks also to Jim for his thoughts and input to this blog.
  • * In JFK’s use of a shining city on a hill, he was talking about the new government he was forming in 1961 and said, “We must always consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill – the eyes of all people are upon us.” He reworked the phrase from John Winthrop, who In a famous 1630 sermon, used “shining city on a hill” in a reference to Boston

Uncle Noble

Uncle Noble

80 years ago this week, my “Uncle” Noble and the 9th Infantry Division sealed off the Cherbourg Peninsula eleven days after D-Day during WWII. I was thinking about him while watching the Band of Brothers on TV. When Easy Company jumped into Normandy for their first wartime engagement, Noble and the 9th had already been in combat for over 1 1/2 years.

 Noble was Dad’s best friend, after his brothers, Mick and George. Both he and Dad joined the Army when underage in 1940, over a year before WWII started. They were in B Company, 60th Regimental Combat Team (RCT), of the storied 9th Infantry Division. 

Dad and Noble in ‘41 or early ‘42.

Mom, Dad, “Uncle” Noble and “Aunt” Myra were great friends through the years and got together several times a year.  The four of them had a close friendship that lasted a lifetime.  I learned a lot about life, and about enjoying life from all of them, but particularly Dad and Noble. They told stories from their time in the Army – almost always funny stories of things that happened. The serious stuff?  The stories of death and destruction? Those didn’t make it to the kitchen table where folks gathered, drinking coffee and listening, as these two combat veterans told their tales. 

Noble’s actual WWII story is interesting.  It’s one you can’t really tell without also telling the story of the 9th. 

Dad and Noble’s wartime experience started on November 8th, 1942, when the 9th took part in the Invasion of North Africa. Until D-Day happened, it was the largest wartime amphibious assault ever. After three days of battle, they took Port Lyautey, Morocco and the Vichy French surrendered.  After some downtime, in January of ‘43, the 60th RCT was the only unit selected to take part in a review for President Roosevelt who was at the Casablanca Conference. Dad and Noble were both there and told us funny stories of the comments in the ranks as Roosevelt passed their unit in a jeep for the review. “Hey Rosie – who’s leading the country while you’re over here?” “Hey Rosie – Who’s keeping Mamie warm while you’re over here?”

Roosevelt Reviewing the 60th RCT During the Casablanca Conference

Things got tough again after that. Starting in February, they fought their way across Algeria and then Tunisia. Station de Sened, Maknassy, Bizerte – forgotten names now, but deadly locations in the spring of ‘43. The Germans eventually surrendered at Bizerte, on May 9th, 1943, just over a year before D-Day. 

The 9th wasn’t finished though. A little over two months later, in July of ‘43 they took part in the invasion of Sicily.  The 60th conducted the famous “Ghost March” through the mountains of Sicily, which the Germans originally thought were impenetrable. Dad was shot three times there, and almost died. It took them a few days to evacuate Dad to an aid station, and then a hospital. The war was over for him and they eventually sent him back to the States. 

Chicago Tribune Asking for a Picture After Dad was Wounded.

In fact Dad’s wounds were so severe, Noble thought he had died, or would die shortly. As they evacuated him, Noble and the 60th continued the fight. 38 days after the invasion began, Sicily fell on August 20th. Noble was there when Patton addressed the Division on August 26th, congratulating them for their efforts.  

In September of ‘43, the 9th deployed to England for rest and refitting. With just over nine months until D-Day, the 60th had already fought in four countries on two continents.

On June 10th, D-Day plus 4, Noble and the 9th landed on Utah Beach. Their mission? Attack towards Cherbourg and cut off the peninsula. This they did and on the 17th of June, reached the ocean on the other side of the peninsula, and eventually, captured the port of Cherbourg itself. If you’ve forgotten your history, Cherbourg was critical for the allies to establish a port on the Atlantic Seaboard. Back home, the news singled out the 9th for their efforts. 

Ernie Pyle and Time Magazine Talking About the 9th on the Peninsula

From there, they started on the great chase across France. The 9th advanced over 600 miles by the end of September thru France and into Belgium. In 3 1/2 months they were engaged in three major campaigns and were only out of action for a total of five days. 

The 9th was among the first units entering Germany itself. For actions on December 12th in the Hurtgen Forest area of Germany, Noble’s unit, B company 60th RCT, received a Distinguished Unit Citation for combat actions in Germany. At the time, the company probably had around 80 or so men.

Noble and B Company, in Action Just Before the Bulge

Just after the 12th, The 9th was pulled out of the line due to the heavy casualties they had sustained. It was “resting” in the Monschau Forest area of Belgium, when on December 16th, 1944, the German winter offensive, the “Battle of the Bulge” started. Thrown back into combat, the Division beat back the enemy at the northern edge of “The Bulge”. 

The Battle of the Bulge, The Ardennes, the fight across Germany to the Rhine River – Noble saw all of that. On 7 March, when the American 9th Armored Division captured the bridge across the Rhine River at Remagen, Noble and the 60th RCT were among the first Infantry units to cross under heavy fire and defend the bridgehead from the East side of the Rhine. 

The 9th at Remagen

On across Germany – The Ruhr, The Hartz Mountains… On April 26th, 1945, a patrol from the 60th RCT linked up with the Russians at the Elbe River. The war in Europe officially ended on May 7th. 

Noble spent 2 1/2 years in combat, fought in seven countries and survived without a scratch. Miracles do happen. 

In 1950, a minor miracle also happened. 

In July of that year, a knock came at my parent’s door and Mom answered. A young couple was standing there and wanted to know if William Hall lived there.  Mom said yes and called Dad.  All of a sudden there was yelling, and exclamations, and hugging, and dancing and back pounding – it was Noble, and his new wife Myra.  

It turned out Noble and Myra were traveling from a vacation in Wisconsin back to Southern Illinois where they lived, when they passed our hometown – Ottawa. Noble thought Dad had died in Sicily, and then remembering he was from Ottawa, decided to stop in and see if he could find Dad’s parents and offer his condolences. He looked the name William Hall up in the phone book, and stopped off at the local VFW to see if anyone knew of Dad or his relations. They then drove to the address from the phone book, assuming it was my grandfather’s home. Instead, he and Dad saw each other for the first time since August of 1943 in Sicily. 

I was born in ’55 and named Max Noble Hall in honor of Noble.  I always enjoyed seeing him and Myra over the years during their visits.  Later, at West Point, and then while spending my own time in the Army, I often asked myself if I was measuring up to these men from B Company of the 60th RCT.  

Noble and Dad in the Mid-‘70s in Ottawa. Still Ready to Kick Ass.

I feel so lucky having known them and having heard the stories Noble and Dad told. It’s only in the last decade I’ve matched those stories up to the details in history books. I can tell you they greatly underplayed what they did for America and the free world. What I wouldn’t give for another day with Noble and Dad – listening to the stories, and this time, asking more questions. 

The “Greatest Generation” is mostly gone now. I think it’s important we not let them, or their stories be forgotten. 

Here’s to you Uncle Noble. Thanks for everything you did for this country and being an influence in my life. It’s a debt I can never repay. 

Addendum:

  • Some of this blog was extracted from a blog I did a few years ago about Dad and three of his buddies from the 9th. You can read it here if you want: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2016/06/17/dad-deason-boggs-and-noble/
  • I relied on the book, “Eight Stars to Victory, A History of the Veteran Ninth U.S. Infantry Division”, published in 1948, as background for much of the factual information in this blog. 

Tyranny at the Townhouse

Tyranny at the Townhouse

Cath and I bought our first home 35 years ago in June of 1989. It was a townhouse in Fairfax, VA and we were excited. It turned out our townhouse was in a Homeowner Association (HOA), a term I’d never heard before, but grew to hate. Our skirmishes with them lasted a decade.

After living in Germany for most of the ‘80s, we returned to the DC area for our next assignment with the Army. We also decided it was time to take the plunge and buy a home. 

After looking at numerous townhouses (we couldn’t afford a house at that point), we finally found one we liked in Fairfax – four years old, with only one previous owner. Going through the paperwork, we learned our townhouse was in an HOA, a term we’d never heard. Our agent explained we would pay dues to the HOA and they did things like maintaining common grounds, pay for children’s playgrounds, and “help maintain the standards of the community.”  

Now I’m not saying our agent acted dishonestly, but she didn’t quite go into the details of what “maintain the standards of the community” meant. She more or less explained it as making sure people kept their houses painted and looking nice, as how the neighborhood looked affected our property values. I suppose we should have/could have done our own research, but we were eager to buy, and that made sense.  We didn’t think anything more about it, signed away our lives and bought the home. 

We moved in and all was going well. As we’d done since we owned our first horse in 1983, we hung a horseshoe over the door for good luck. We’d done so at our apartment in Augusta, Georgia, our rented townhome in Dayton, Ohio and both houses we rented in Rheindurkheim, Germany.  Couldn’t we all use a little extra luck?

About a month after we moved in, the HOA sent out a notice. They were having elections for all positions and we were encouraged to attend. The night of the election, we showed up, and I was impressed. There were a couple of speeches, printed ballots and then the actual elections themselves.  Wow!  We were watching democracy in action!  This was amazingly cool. Little did I know, or really understand.

Another month passed and Cath and I received a notice in the mail. We were in violation of HOA rules. What!?  The letter informed us that in accordance with section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), nothing was allowed on the door or over the door. Our horseshoe was in violation.

This couldn’t be! I called the number in the letter and the person picked up. I said I didn’t understand. What rules?  How could a good luck horseshoe hanging over the door violate anything?  The gentlemen referred to the HOA code. I said, “What code?  We just moved in and never received any code.”  He answered, “Yes you did.  Check your closing documents when you bought the house. You’ll find a copy there.”

I pulled out our folder from closing, and sure enough, found the HOA document.   I turned to section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), and he was right – nothing was allowed on or above the door, except during the Christmas holidays when a suitable wreath or garland could be hung. 

D@mn. 

With a great deal of complaining, I took down the horseshoe. I think that’s when my unofficial war with the HOA began. 

I went back to the rule book and read through it in its entirety. There were, to put it mildly, a lot of rules and regulations. More than you would think possible. 

I spent a fair amount of time over the next several weeks reading those rules, when all of a sudden, I noticed something. While they said nothing could hang on or over the door, it didn’t say anything about the window frame, three feet left of the door. I read and reread the rules and could find nothing prohibiting hanging something on the window frame. I immediately hung our horseshoe by the window. 

About a month later we received another notice saying we were in violation of section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), just like before. I called the number again, spoke with the same gentleman and asked what the problem was. He said, “One of our inspectors told us you’ve put the horseshoe back up.”  I answered, “Not above the door.”  He answered, “nothing is allowed on the front of the house.”  I paused slightly and said “That’s not what section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3) says. It only talks about the door.”  He answered, “It means the front of the house.”  I answered, “That’s not what it says.”

—Silence—

Then, from his end “I am referring this to the board.  I’d advise you to take the horseshoe down.”

I left the horseshoe up. Surprisingly, I never heard back from the HOA or received another letter about it. Score a small victory for the Halls, along with justice and the American Way.

On Our Front Porch With Some Neighbors. Note the Horseshoe on the Window Framing. 😉

Other letters arrived over the years. I won a couple and lost a couple. My trim paint was off a shade in color one year and I lost that one. A year later, I found out the fence around our back yard was actually inset 3 feet from the community property line and decided to move the fence back to the line itself. If you live in a townhouse, three feet is a big deal. 

The HOA dutifully sent us another letter saying we had illegally moved our fence and needed to restore it to its original location. I asked where it said in the HOA rules that a setback was required. I already knew the answer, but waited for them to find it as well – it didn’t say anything about a setback anywhere. Score another one for the Halls. Two of my neighbors subsequently moved their fences back in the coming months. 

Our last victory, though probably illegal, provided great joy. It was in ‘97 or ‘98.

Parking is usually tight in townhouse communities and regularly managed. In our community, people were parking, usually temporarily, in places where they shouldn’t, including at the end of the pipe-stem we lived on. The HOA dutifully painted the curb in front our house yellow and wrote “NO PARKING” in black letters on the curb. This was fine. As I said, no one really parked there anyway, unless they were packing up or unloading a car. 

Of course, the HOA couldn’t let it end with the painting. They also put up two “NO PARKING” signs at either end of the yellow paint.  One of the signs was literally right in front of our door. I was, needless to say, pissed. It looked ugly setting right in front of our front door, and if approaching our home from the street, you needed to walk around the sign to reach our house. Note, the HOA put the signs up, not the town or county. As a result, they didn’t use any concrete, they just put the sign in the ground, something that turned out to be important. 

Each day when I came home from work, I rocked the sign back and forth just a little bit. And then a little bit more. And then a little bit more. It became looser in the ground. 

A couple months later, we were having a small party. Our neighbors, Laura and Jason, were moving to Texas and we were saying goodbye. A U-Haul truck was parked in front of their house and they were loading it, with some of our help. Suddenly, a genius idea came to me. 

“Hey Jason.  Just curious, will you have any spare room in the back of the truck?  I may have something I’d like to ship to Texas.”  He answered, “I think a little bit.  How much do you need?” 

I said, “ENOUGH FOR A NO PARKING SIGN!.” and smiled. He smiled back and replied, “I think we could fit in one of those.”

And so, over the next hour or so, we worked on the sign. Cathy had the honor of pulling it out of the ground. ;-).  Jason and I loaded it into his truck sometime after dark.

Cathy Triumphantly Holding up the “No Parking Sign”!

We never did hear anything from the HOA about the incident, which seemed a bit strange given the number of people at the party. Maybe everyone else was fed up as well.

I do understand the need at one level for HOAs, particularly in something like a townhouse community, or with a Condo Association. There are some central costs, and you do want your neighborhood looking good. Still, I’ve always wondered what kind of junior fascist signs up as an inspector for their neighborhood. Do they think they are doing good, or are they just addicted to control?

In ’99, we left Fairfax and moved to our present home in the country. One of the requirements for the new property?  It couldn’t be in an HOA. ;-).

At Rohan farm, our horseshoe proudly hangs over the garage door.

The Horseshoe’s Still Hanging, Even After All These Years.

Addendum:

  • I don’t really remember that it was section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), but it was referenced similarly.

Eric

Eric

On a beautiful sunny day, sixteen of us attended the funeral of our brother, Eric Franks. The service was perhaps, more poignant, as it was the Friday before Memorial Day. It’s always bittersweet when members of the West Point Proud and Great class of ‘78 gather and say goodbye to a classmate. 

At our 45th class reunion last fall, we held a memorial service for the 82 classmates who have passed away. This year, since January, at least ten additional classmates have died. The rate of our passing seems to have increased, but I suppose we are at that age. The youngest of us is 67.  The oldest, maybe 71. 

For those who pass away, a contingent of classmates typically attends the funeral services. Depending on when and where it is, there might be only one or two of us able to make it, or as at Eric’s, as many as 16 or more. It’s not only a last chance to honor a brother, but also an opportunity to spend time with each other and catch up in person. The sands drop through the hourglass more quickly these days and I think we all know it. Bittersweet indeed.

And so it was with Eric. Over the years, Cath and I saw Eric and his wife Robin at various reunions, or mini-reunions. The past few years, we also met them, along with our classmate Gus Hellzen and his wife Janice for an occasional beer or lunch on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. All three couples were married over 45 years ago in the weeks after our June, 1978 graduation. Our wives also made the journey through West Point and the Army.

B-3 Company-Mates and Wives at a Class Mini Reunion in 2022: Hellzens, Wells, Franks, Halls and Powells.

At the service, most classmates in attendance were from the MidAtlantic region, but some flew in from Alabama and Florida among other places. Classmate Brad Andrews, a close friend of Eric’s was one of two speakers giving a eulogy. He told stories of Eric from our cadet days and his time in the Army, including Panama. He talked about Eric becoming a renowned and pioneering Orthopedic Surgeon and the impact he had both on his patients and on other doctors. He also spoke of Eric having cancer and how it didn’t slow him down, even at the end of his life. At the end of his talk, he called the attending West Point graduates to attention and we rendered a final hand salute to Eric. 

After the service, we gathered outside the church and a group photo was taken, something that has become a tradition at funerals, but also other times when some of us gather together to celebrate life and each other. The photos are usually posted to our class Facebook Page, or our email server. “Yes,” we seem to say, “we are still alive, celebrating our brother, each other and The Long Grey Line. Grip Hands.” At funerals in particular, the phrase “Grip Hands”, from the song The Corps* is more real and more important. 

Class of 1978 at Dr. Eric Franks funeral in Salisbury, MD. L-R: Charlie Bartolotta, Max Hall, Bond Wells, Bob Rush, Craig College, Kevin MacCaffery, Kevin Beam, Bob Maszarose, Charlie Dixon, Adolf Ernst, Brad Andrews, Jack Paul, Hank Gillen, Chris Maxfield, Gus Hellzen & Jim Galloway.

Most of us eventually made our way to Robin and Eric’s home for lunch and libation. It was a lively time, with more laughter than tears as far as I could tell. We met with family and friends of Eric from throughout his life. At one point, Gus poured small glasses of WhistlePig** for all who wished to join us in a toast – “To Eric – Grip hands and be thou at peace. Proud & Great ‘78! Here’s to Eric.”   And then, echoing from our formal events in the military (in an Army that was still mostly male in our early days), his second toast, “To the ladies!”

Eventually Cath and I said our goodbyes and left for the drive home. Along the way, we talked of the day and what a fine tribute to Eric it was.

During the drive, I also thought of some of the words Brad used in his eulogy for Eric. He quoted Samual Johnson, saying “To my question, as to whether we might fortify our minds for the approach of death, he answered in a passion, ‘No, Sir, let it alone. It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time.’ “

Our hearts are with Robin, their children Erica and Ricky, and with their families. Here’s to you Eric – You led a life worth living. Be Thou at Peace.

Eric and Robin

Addendum:

  • Here are the words to “The Corps”:

  • WhistlePig Rye Whiskey holds a special place with our class. If you want to learn why, you can read more here – We were on a mission to the WhistlePig Distillery in Vermont. Twelve classmates gathered to taste whiskey from five barrels. We would select two for the West Point Proud and Great, Class of ‘78 45th reunion this coming fall. We didn’t want to let our classmates down […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/05/09/__trashed-2/
  • Thanks to Gus Hellzen for the photo of Eric and Robin at the start of this blog. Thanks to Cathy for the photo of classmates at Eric’s service.

Goodbye Mama Cat

Goodbye Mama Cat

It was a May morning when Mama Cat said her goodbyes. It was sunny, but I strongly felt the physical presence of death. I couldn’t see him, but he was there with us, waiting. Mama Cat, Carmen and Ollie knew it as well. I felt a shiver, in spite of the sun. 

Our dog Carmen and I had walked to the barn to put the horses out. Mama laid in the sun in the driveway near the barn entrance. Ollie, our other barn cat was nosing up to her and he and Mama were nuzzling each other, something I’d never seen them do. Carmen didn’t chase her like he usually did. Although we walked up within three or four feet, Mama didn’t run and Carmen didn’t chase. They just sat there looking at each other, something I’d also never seen before. That’s when I knew.

Actually, I believe Mama, Ollie and Carmen knew the score before I did.  That’s why they were all acting so strange, which is what made me pick up on death’s presence.

I sat in the driveway by Mama and petted her. Carmen and Ollie just stood there looking at us. I picked her up, put her in my lap and felt her body for any injuries or wounds. I couldn’t find any. I rolled Mama on her back and rubbed her belly. She purred a bit.  I turned her back over and rubbed her back. After a couple of minutes, she climbed out of my lap and lay back on the driveway looking at me. 

Maybe something was wrong with her, or maybe it was just her time. I thought she’d gradually gone downhill in the last couple of weeks. And then one day she just looked “old”. Not bad, but old. She’d lost a bit of weight and moved slower. She wasn’t as interested in her breakfast, whereas before, she always ate as if starving. Old age creeps up on all of us I guess. 

That morning, I decided we needed to take her to the vet and see if something was wrong with her, or if it was time to put her down. I decided I would put the cat food out in the barn, take the horses out and then come back and get Mama while she was eating breakfast. 

As Carmen and I led the second horse out, I saw Ollie-Cat walk slowly by on the other side of the fence and I thought to myself, “OK, time to get Mama.”  I went back through the barn and … she was gone. Not in the driveway basking in the sun, not by her food, not anywhere in the barn. I looked across our yard and our neighbor’s field and she was nowhere in sight.  I called, but there was no answering meow.  

I shivered again and felt a tear fall from one of my eyes.  I didn’t know for sure, but felt I would never see her again. 

She didn’t come for dinner that night and neither Cath or I saw her after that. Not the next day, or the day after, or over a week later. 

I suppose a wild animal could have killed her, but I don’t think that’s what happened. I think she knew it was her time. I’d like to think she found a favorite spot in the woods, or fields, or by the pond and was lying there peacefully when death came to her and whispered softly, “It’s time old girl. It’s time to cross the bridge Mama Cat.” 

Mama Cat, a Little Over a Year Ago.

Goodbye Mama Cat. We were lucky to have you in our life.

Addendum:

⁃ I wrote one previous blog about Mama Cat. You can read it here – We inherited Mama Cat about four years ago. Our neighbor had to move to a small apartment and had two other cats she was taking with her, but couldn’t take three. Mama roamed the neighborhood at will and was a frequent overnight guest at our barn, so Cathy said we’d look out for her […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/10/03/mama-cat/

Spreadsheets and Stories

Spreadsheets and Stories

Mom and Dad’s wedding anniversary was last week. They were married 73 years ago on May 14th, 1951.  I was thinking about them and how both influenced my life and the lives of others. Many people say I remind them of dad, but Cathy, my wife, says mom shines through me. 

In my view, both views are right and I’m a product of the two of them. Upbringing and genetics combined, making me who I am, although not always in ways people think. 

Our environment at home was a good one. They had a unified front in how to raise the three of us kids and supported and reinforced each other at home. I’m hard pressed to remember a single time with any separation between them in their views about how to raise us. Home was a good environment, but they were also strict about what we could and couldn’t do as kids. They certainly encouraged us, and gave us carrots/rewards, but they also weren’t opposed to spankings and we all received our fair share. We learned about honesty, work, fairness, friendship and love in our home on Cherokee Lane. I think that environment and those ideals prepared me for life.  

Our Family in the 60s.

There were differences in their individual personalities and how they approached life for themselves. Like many good marriages, their ways were complementary to each other and for them, it was a classic case of 1 + 1 = 3.    I’ll talk about a couple of examples here and how they rubbed off on me. 

Most who know me would say I’m pretty organized – some might even say anally so. I’ve been that way for much of my life. I use to-do lists, spreadsheets, outlines, plans … probably more than most. While some think I inherited that from dad, it’s actually pure mom. That’s how she attacked life, and her work. She was the secretary in the main office at our local high school. If you needed to find out something, the standard answer was “go ask Gen”.  When I applied to West Point, it was mom who organized everything, making sure my packet was complete and reflected well on me. 

Mom and I on Graduation Day at West Point.

I’ve thought about how much of my “orderliness” was a product of her, or of my time at West Point and in the Army. Maybe over the years, they became mutually reinforcing. 

Dad on the other hand, was a bit looser in his approach to life.  I’m not sure how much the war influenced him, but I think quite a bit. I’m betting getting wounded and almost dying makes you approach a lot of things differently, and so it was with dad. He was a hard worker, but when work was done, he enjoyed life. Dinners out, dancing, having a few drinks. When the weekend came, he was ready to enjoy it and life. I think he approached life in general that way, and tried not to let things burden or worry him, even when there were challenges. 

He was also a gifted storyteller. Telling tales about his childhood, or the war, or one of the railroads he worked for – he could tell his story and make you feel you were right there. You were living it with him while he talked. It was a special gift and over the years if you were ever with dad at our home, or somewhere else, you probably heard more than a few of his stories.  Even when he repeated them, he could still make you laugh.  

One other thing about Dad. He never made all that much money, but money never had a hold on him. He was always generous, with family, friends and strangers.

I certainly inherited his lust for life and try to enjoy every day. As for story telling, well, I think I have some of his ability to tell a tale, however if I’m honest with myself, I’m only a pale imitation in that department.  It’s perhaps what I miss about him the most. 

Dad and I Swapping Stories, While Drinking Some Wine in the Alps

They both were friends with people of all ages and had the ability to put people at ease. When traveling, they would inevitably make new friends.  

My cousin Dawn may have given the best description of mom and dad I’ve ever heard. “Your mom was like home.  Comfortable and warm.  Your dad was like a spark that gets a flame going then keeps the fire dancing. They were special people.  I’m smiling now thinking about it.”

Although both mom and dad have passed on, I’m wishing them a happy belated anniversary. I’m thankful for the gifts they’ve given me, and for the enrichment they brought so many others. 

Happy Anniversary and Thank You for Everything.

Addendum:

  • Thanks to my cousin, Dawn Tedrick, for her wonderful description of my folks!

Top and Cathy

Top and Cathy

With no kids to talk about, Cath and I have a million stories about our dogs, particularly our first dog, Top. Don’t parents always have the most pictures and stories about their first born?! A German friend called Top “Einmalig”, which translates to “one of a kind”. This story, from 1981, involved Top, Cathy hitting a tree with our car, the MPs, the German Polizei and a little old lady. We were stationed in Würzburg, Germany at the time.

Cathy and Top, Around the Time of the Story.

Cathy had been shopping at the commissary and was returning home with both Top and our groceries in the back seat. Here is her version of what happened.

#—#

Top and I were on our way home from shopping at the commissary at Leighton Barracks in Würzburg one afternoon. As we entered a traffic circle, I must have been going a little too fast, as the groceries fell over onto Top and scared him. Out of my peripheral vision I saw him try and jump out my car window. I caught him by the collar and pulled him back into the car, but of course I didn’t pay attention to where I was driving. When I looked back at the road I was heading straight for a tree, which I hit. I must have only glanced off of it because the car was fine, or so I thought at the time.

I kept driving and stopped at a red light, where reaction to the accident set in. I said to Top in the back seat, “Well at least we are still together and OK!” I looked in the back and Top wasn’t there – he jumped out of the window after all. I pulled over and imagining the worst, got out of the car and looked under it, making sure I hadn’t dragged him by his leash. No Top there, so that was a small bit of grace, but where was he, and what to do?

I was near the American MP station, so I drove there.  I repeated the story of what happened, and they decided it would be prudent to call the Polizei.  

In Germany, they treat their animals and trees well. Really well. If you illegally kill an animal or damage or fell a tree, there are hefty fines. Hearing we were involving the PoIizei, I naturally became concerned and worried about both them and a potential fine. My only real interaction with the Polizei up to this time was at the German airports where they guarded against terrorists, were always in riot gear and carrying automatic weapons.  You didn’t mess around with them.

The Polizei arrived and looked a bit stern at first.  I explained everything again, this time in German, and at one point I think I saw one of the Polizei hiding a laugh or a small smirk.  I should point out you generally didn’t see the Polizei laughing.   In this instance they were quite nice and helpful.  We determined the tree wasn’t really damaged and they let me go with a warning to drive more carefully.  

As I was getting ready to leave, it turned out something was wrong with the car, as it was making a funny noise. The MPs and I decided to leave the car at the MP station and have someone pick me up. We called Hindenburg Kaserne where Max was stationed, but he had deployed to an undisclosed location in the field and was unreachable. His company said they would send Lieutenant Smrt (yes, that really was his last name – it had no vowels) from his Company to pick me up.

I was waiting on a corner for LT Smrt’s arrival when all of a sudden Top, seemingly without a care, trotted down the sidewalk towards me, trailing his leash. I grabbed him and sat on the corner hugging and holding him, crying tears of joy and relief. A little old lady who was walking by, stopped and asked me what was wrong and “Ist dein Hund krank?” (Is your dog sick?) I looked at her and just couldn’t go through the story a third time, and for a second time in German. I said the easiest thing that came to mind. “Ja. Er hat Krebs.” (Yes, he has cancer.) She petted Top, wished us good luck and looking sad, walked away.

We’ve told this story over the years and it always gets a chuckle. I laugh at myself a bit in the telling. We spoke fluent, or near fluent German at the time, but I was so overwhelmed with emotions, the “Krebs” story was the best I could do. 

#—#

Top was with us for 16 years, dying, not of cancer, but old age in 1997. By then he was a world traveler, having crossed the Atlantic three times, visited numerous European countries and several States back home. He truly was Einmalig and we still miss him and his antics.

Top – With and Without a Haircut.

Addendum:

Here are three previous blogs about Top.

  • I don’t know if our dog,Top, could bark in both German and English, but he had a fluent understanding of the two languages … We discovered this outside our local Bäckerei (Bakery), when an old German lady bent down, looked at Top and said “Gib mir deine Pfote”. As she extended her hand, Top […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/07/15/our-bilingual-dog-top/
  • Next month, it will be 25 years since our first dog, Top, passed away. He was 17 at the time. I was recently thinking about him, as we placed baskets on couches and chairs, so our current dog, Carmen, couldn’t hop up for a quick snooze while we were out. We weren’t that smart with Top. He was a covert couch sleeper the entire […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/12/01/let-sleeping-dogs-lie/
  • Top was our first dog, but not our last. When he died in 1997 at seventeen years of age, I think we cried for three days. We still have a book with all of the sympathy cards our friends sent us. If you want to know a bit more about Top, here’s the eulogy we read when we spread his ashes at Tibbet Knob, on the border between Virginia and West Virginia […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/top/

Dear God,

Dear God,

Dear God, I ask that you guide me, so I do not become a bitter old man. There are so many of them these days. Angry at women, angry at youth, angry at our country, angry at you. Their’s is a seemingly endless list. Often, they appear angry at everything except themselves. Do not let me become that person.

God, I know in our youth, we laughed at angry old men. We didn’t see us becoming them, and yet so many have. They look back with fondness to the “good old days”. I look back, and I’m not sure I see the good times they long for. Which years are they talking about? The depression in the ‘30s? The 400,000 American Soldiers or 75 million who died during WWII? The Korean War, threat of nuclear escalation and racial segregation of the ‘50s? Vietnam along with the racial and civil strife during the ‘60s and ‘70s? The market crashes in ‘87, 2000, ‘07 and 2020? September 11th, 2001? Our recent decades of war in Iraq and Afghanistan?

Lord, I know the world isn’t perfect. We all have problems in our lives. I have problems in my life. Still, I try to see the passing beauty and goodness of each and every day. Why do others choose not to see this? A sunrise or sunset … Flowers … A flock of birds passing overhead … A playful pet … The sounds of nature … The crack of a bat at a baseball game …. There are so many things to be thankful for.

Instead, their hatred, frustration and self-censorship consume their minds, allowing no other sights or sounds to enter. Indeed, my own voice must sound like a clanging bell or siren to them, not penetrating their consciousness, only infuriating them all the more.

God, why do we now have a nation of Howard Beales*, old men who are mad as hell, and aren’t going to take it anymore? Are they not aware Howard was not only “mad as hell”, but also just plain mad? It was network TV for Howard. For the madmen of today, we see it not only on TV, but in their Facebook posts, tweets, messages and email exchanges with those of us who were their friends.

Thank you for listening Lord. I know you are busy. Please help and guide me. Allow me to keep balance in my life. Maybe you could also shine a little light for others as well. Help them also regain some balance. As I learned from the Cadet Prayer years ago, “Kindle our hearts in fellowship with those of a cheerful countenance, and soften our hearts with sympathy for those who sorrow and suffer.”

I ask this in your name,

Amen.

Addendum:

  • * For those of you who don’t recall Howard Beale, here’ a link to the key scene in the movie, “Network”, which was released in 1976 (according to at least some people, part of the good old days). Mad Mr Beale takes to the air waves and, well you can see for yourself here if you’ve forgotten the scene https://youtu.be/GFzlm9wQ4MI
  • The photo at the top of the blog is from “Praying Hands”, a pen-and-ink drawing by the German painter and theorist Albrecht Dürer. Completed in 1508, Wikipedia says it is “the most widely reproduced depiction of prayer in the Western World”.

A Road not Taken

A Road not Taken

When I left the Army 32 years ago in 1992, I had several good job opportunities. One of those was with a new company called Cisco Systems, where my buddy Dave tried to recruit me. He started there in ‘91 and retired a multimillionaire in ‘99. Looking back, it’s a classic “What if…”

After graduating from West Point, my first two tours were in the “muddy boots” Army with 3ID and then VII Corps in Germany. Returning to the States, the Army, in its infinite wisdom, sent me to grad school and I earned a master’s in electrical engineering. Deploying back to Europe in ‘85, the engineering group I was with started designing and implementing something new both for the Army and the world – Computer Local Area Networks (LANs) and Community Area Networks (CANs), eventually connecting them to DoD’s worldwide network. Remember this was all before the World Wide Web started in 1991 and was revolutionary. Hardly anyone even had email at the time. (My first email account was in ‘88 and was actually one account for seven of us in our office).

In our implementations, Dave and I started working with Cisco Systems, which developed the first commercial “router”. Without getting technical, routers enable different computer networks to talk with each other and were one of the necessary physical building blocks for what became the Web. The work we were doing was new enough that we were selected to make a presentation at a NATO Technical Conference in 1989 in Brussels, Belgium.

In ‘89, I returned to the States. Meanwhile, in ‘90 or ‘91 Dave left the Army and was hired by Cisco. Living in London, he became their sales engineer for Eastern Europe and Northern Africa.

Fast forward a couple more years to ‘92. The first Gulf War had ended in victory. The Berlin Wall fell a couple years before, and the USSR was falling apart. The Army decided it would downsize and started offering early-out packages.

I had been promoted to Major in the summer of ‘91 and was in a classified engineering job in the DC area at the time. I wanted to get back to the “muddy boots Army”, but the Army had decided to track me as an engineer and that wasn’t going to happen. After considering all options, in early March of ‘92 I decided it was time to leave the Army and started looking for a job in the civilian world.*

Major Hall Near Retirement Time

Pre-Internet, there were really only two ways to apply for a job – getting referrals from people you knew (always the best) or scanning the ads in newspapers. I was diligent with both and was soon interviewing for several opportunities. In the middle of all of this, Dave returned from London for a short trip and we got together for dinner.

As we talked, Dave grew animated — “I have a great job for you, and you are perfect for it. Cisco is expanding in Europe and we need engineers who understand the technology. It would be an easy transition, although you’d need to move back to Europe.”

I asked Dave to tell me more about what he was doing for Cisco.

“Well, as you know, I live in London – absolutely great city. On Monday morning I head to Heathrow and fly with a sales guy to somewhere in Eastern Europe or Northern Africa. We spend the week there working through sales opportunities. He handles the corporate part, and I work the technical. We also do follow up with locations where we’ve already sold systems. Of course, there are plenty of opportunities for fun while in those countries as well. On Friday, I fly back to London, party in the city and do laundry. On Monday I wake up and repeat the cycle.”

I should mention Dave was single at the time.

I looked at him and he looked back at me. “If you want the job, it’s yours. I can make it happen. It would be a combination of salary, stock and stock options”.** I asked how long he was in town for and said I’d get back to him in a couple of days.

I thought about the opportunity and Cath and I talked about it. While it had great potential, there were also several items in the “no” column. Cath and I spent almost the entire decade of the 80s in Europe, and although we loved it, we missed a decade’s worth of time with family and friends back home, including watching our nieces and nephews grow up. Cath’s career was taking off here in the States – after following me around in the army for over 13 years, was it fair to uproot her again? She also had a new horse and we would need to sell it. At the time, it was also a problem bringing a dog into England and would require months of quarantine there – did we want to subject our dog, Top, to that? And, ultimately, did we want to return to Europe for the kind of life it would be – me on the road five days a week? I’d travelled extensively during my time in the Army, but typically for a week or ten days at a time every month or two. This was a completely different beast.

Of course, Cisco wasn’t yet what it would later become. At the time, it was a small company making a box that would become (but we didn’t know it yet) instrumental in the Internet and a new-fangled idea called the “World Wide Web” – who knew what kind of future they would actually have?

In the end, it was an easy decision to make. I let Dave know I was appreciative of the offer, but had to say no.

Farewell Luncheon from the Army

Cath and I ended up staying in the DC area where I had a dozen interviews and half-a-dozen offers. I joined a company called SRA and enjoyed a wonderful career. Later I was COO at a smaller company called Pragmatics. Both companies were good to me and I retired in 2013 at the age of 58.

And Dave? Dave rode the fast train at Cisco. Cisco went public in 1990, about a decade before the dot-com bubble. According to Forbes, the company was the top-performing Initial Public Offering (IPO) of the 1990s. It reached a peak market capitalization of $555 billion during the height of the dot-com craze, briefly making it the most valuable company in the world. Dave returned to the States in the mid 90s and continued working for Cisco at their headquarters in California. He retired in 1999, cashed in his options and bought a house in Los Gatos, CA and a Porsche. We remained friends and attended his wedding a few years later. One of the smartest guys I know, he went on to work with at least two more startups.

As for Cisco, well, other things happened. The dot-com bubble peaked on Friday, March 10, 2000. Over the next two years Cisco lost 80% of its stock value, but was one of the lucky ones. It rode out the storm and is still around today, still a cornerstone in the Information Technology industry. Many companies went bankrupt or just disappeared during that period of time. I knew several friends who were paper millionaires in the late ‘90s. Almost all of them were looking for new jobs in the early 2000s.

Cisco Systems – The Rise. And the Fall.

Over the years I’ve told the story more than a few times at my own expense. The questions I usually get are “Do you regret it? Do you think about being so close to the opportunity of a lifetime and missing it?”

The truth is, I have occasionally thought about it off and on. I mean, who wouldn’t? It makes a great story. I also often think to myself, yea, I might have become rich as hell by ‘99, but I also might have been divorced. Not that Cathy and I were having any problems at the time, we weren’t. But returning to Europe? On the road that much? Putting our lives back home on hold again for the foreseeable future?

We all have paths and choices in our lives. We never really know how things might have worked out on the other road, do we? Better? Worse? Who knows? I (we) have been pretty happy on the path chosen back in the spring of ‘92. I have no regrets.

Occasionally, in my mind’s eye, through the haze of an alternate future I see myself in a Porsche driving along Highway 1 in California, the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean. About half the time, I seem to be alone in the car.

Addendum:

  • * When I was considering leaving the Army in ‘92, my thought process was only about whether to stay in the Army or not. On purpose, I didn’t cloud the decision with thoughts of a particular job, or salary. It sounds a bit crazy perhaps, but the choice, in my mind, was about Army, or no Army for me. After I decided to leave the Army is when I started looking for a job.
  • ** To put the chance to work for Cisco in perspective, An investment of $10,000 at Cisco’s IPO in 1990 would now amount to around $6.6 million, and that excludes the dividends they started paying in 2011. Of course, an offer with stock and options would have pushed those numbers significantly higher.
  • I did work extensively with Cisco Systems in the late ‘90s when I was a lead engineer for the Pentagon Renovation Program. As the building was gutted one wedge at a time, we were replacing and updating the computer networks then in use. Cisco’s switches and routers were deployed across parts of the Pentagon. At some point I was given this coffee mug, which somehow ended up at my sister Roberta’s home in Illinois. When visiting her, I often use the mug and smile, thinking about alternate lives.