Leave Them Hangin'

My parents had a lot of weird friends while we were growing up and back then, their odd friends and representatives from various organizations they belonged to, would show up at our doorstep unannounced. My two brothers and I, one older, one younger, developed a complete introverted approach to all these visitors and avoided interacting with them at all costs. If the doorbell rang, we ran and hid. It didn't help that our house was usually in a shambles and that my older brother's wardrobe usually consisted of tattered pajamas which were unfortunately ripped in a very delicate region. If the phone rang, we didn't pick it up. Someone who only knew how to speak Ukrainian might be on the line!

One day the three of us were home alone as my parents were out somewhere. This was usually a recipe for something bad to happen and this day would prove to be no exception. The doorbell rang and I made a crucial error at this point. I answered it. There stood, on on our front stairs and sidewalk a contingent of young people from the Ukrainian Boy Scouts, known as Plast.
They were decked out in full uniform and were there to ask for their annual donation for their troop.

I told them to hold on, as I did not know what to do next. I left them outside on our stoop in the chilly air.

I sought out the advice of my older and wiser brother, who was of no help at all. After all, I was the one that had foolishly answered the door and I would have to figure out how to deal with the situation. I pleaded with my brother to go to the front door and let these young men know that our parents weren't home and that they would have to come back. But, my brother refused. I had created this problem and he wasn't going to anything to help solve it. I can't remember if I asked my younger brother to do the same or not. If I did, there was no way he was going to talk to them.

I peeked through  our front window to look at our visitors as several minutes had passed by at this point. They were still there, eagerly awaiting my return. They didn't know it, but I had already made up my mind that I was not going back to talk to them. Call it fear, rudeness, or just plain childish behavior, but I had decided that I would let them stay out there until their patience was exhausted and they would simply leave.

I continued to peek through the front windows and observed them, hoping they would leave quickly. After what seemed an eternity, they just turned away, got in their car and drove off.

My parents eventually came back home and being the generally honest kid I was, I told them what had happened earlier that afternoon. They were appalled at our behavior and ashamed that we had been so rude to our visitors. What would Plast think of our family now?

Well, we never found out. Plast never came to our door again.

Best Christmas Tree Ever

The Best Christmas Tree ?

I'll never forget the year that my Dad got our best Christmas tree ever!

It was Christmas Eve and  we had not gotten a tree that year. I think it was mostly because none of us cared that much and with only one car in the family and one driver at this point, it wasn't the easiest thing to do.
My Dad came home from work after supper time which was unusual as he always worked the night shift and usually came home well after midnight. I guess he got off early because it was Christmas Eve.  He was usually in a good mood and this night was no exception.
My dad did have a twisted sense of humor. When asked one day if got a promotion from his normal janitorial duties, he replied yes, as that day he was asked to clean 8 toilets instead of the usual 4!
I think my brothers and I complained about the lack of a tree to the point where he finally caved in and said okay, let's take a ride to Two Guys, the discount department store, who had a tree lot in their parking area.
Back then, Christmas tree lots were not as numerous as they seem to be today, as we drove about 25 minutes to get to the Two Guys store.

It was late by this time, and although my memory is foggy on the exact time, it had to be like 8:30 or so. We were the only buyers in the lot.There were still a lot of trees left and we started to look around for what would be our tree that year. The most expensive tree back then went for about $12.
Shockingly, my very frugal dad picked out a 10 foot tree marked at $12.00. How frugal was he? Well not to gross you out, but he made soap from partially used bars of soap from the boys locker room at our high school, where he worked for a time.

So my dad brings the tree to the  guy who was running the lot and says basically that we expect a deal on the tree as it's late on Christmas Eve and your prospects of selling even one more tree are bleak. The guy's first offer, whatever it was, was unrealistically high given the circumstances. My father, in  textbook negotiation fashion, offered the guy his first and final offer...one dollar!
The lot owner made the "fritz" face, and said how that was not a bona fide offer and said he would not part with the magnificent tree for such a paltry sum.
Then my Dad uttered the words which I can still recall as plainly today as when they were first spoken over forty plus  years ago:
"Look, it's late..you are closing in 15 minutes or so, so you can go home and be with your family. My sons and I will come back in half an hour and take the tree then, for free."

Faced with my Dad's most logical argument, the lot owner took the dollar
from my Dad's hand and gave us the tree. I cannot recall any bitterness from the lot owner.
But, I can recall the look on my Mom's face when we walked in with the best and biggest tree we ever had!

(Reposted from 12-18-11)

The Toy Train Affair

In second grade, I packed up my newly acquired windup toy train set, put it in one of those shopping bags with handles on it, and trudged thru the snow to proudly demonstrate it to my fellow classmates. My most admired show and tell item of that era was a fishing tackle box, that I packed with neat lures and stuff my dad had. But for this week's show and tell, the train set was the featured attraction.

I'm pretty sure it met it's demise when I over wound it one too many times. I cannot recall how I came to obtain said train set, as gifts of any kind were quite infrequent in my young life, as my parents were pretty poor at this point.
But, I digress. When school was over, I packed up the train set and started to walk home with Bobby, my best friend. That was my first mistake of the afternoon.  Let's just say that he got into trouble a lot and I was there to participate in a lot of it. This was one of those times.
We were no more than a couple of houses away from the school, when for whatever reason, Bobby started making snowballs and began to throw them at a house along our route home. I don't mean just one or two, but a lot of snowballs. I'm sure I joined in, hurling snowballs at this guy's house, including his picture window. 
Our usual snowball targets, especially in later years were the trucks and buses that passed by at a busy intersection near our houses. While we had a few close calls being chased by our victims there, today would be a different story.

All of a sudden this guy comes tearing out of the house, screaming and yelling at me and Bobby! We both took off, but I had the shopping bag full of  my train set to carry with me as we fled, terrified. Weighted down, I was not as fleet  as Bobby was that day and the guy caught me and brought me into his house.
Looking back, I realize that in today's world, no one would ever bring a 7 or 8 year old kid into their house, but these were different times. He harshly sat me down in a chair right next to the front door and he walked away for purposes I was unsure of at that point. I sat in that chair, and with the homeowner not watching me, contemplated bursting out of the door to freedom.  I considered my chances of being recaptured and before I could muster up the courage to flee, the homeowner returned to the front door area as simultaneously, a police officer pulled up to the house.

The guy had called the cops on me! I don't remember any of the two minute ride to my house. The officer rang our doorbell and my mom came out and I guess the officer gave my mom the details of what happened.

I'm sure I was sobbing by this point. The officer left and I told my mom the details of what had happened that winter afternoon, just down the street. Once she heard Bobby was involved, I think I was off the hook for the most part as like I said, he was in trouble constantly. She called Bobby's mom and told her what happened.I'm pretty sure I didn't get punished for my actions that day.
Unless, you take into consideration that I had to walk past that guy's house countless more times over the years, always a little fearful that he might come out once again, yelling and screaming at me.

My dad- the assassin?

As regular readers of this blog are aware, my dad spent his formative years living in Ukraine after emigrating from the United States when he was a small boy, due to his mother's health condition.
My dad was what you would either call a real Ukrainian patriot, or a terrorist, depending upon your viewpoint.

When he lived in Ukraine, it was ruled by Poland as it had been by then, for centuries. A Polish "overseer" was assigned to his small village. My dad rebelled against all things Polish, mostly in ways that were symbolic or relatively safe. He was unafraid to assert his patriotic fervor for Ukraine and everyone in the village new that this young man was a zealot. When something happened in the village that was a slight against the Polish authorities, everyone assumed my dad was behind it. Usually, he was.

My dad unfortunately decided to take things to a whole new level when he was about 17. He hated the Polish overseer assigned to his village and my dad and a friend of his hatched an assassination plot! Their target routinely walked down the same path every evening, by himself. The plan was simple. My dad and his friend would lie in ambush , hiding along the path, with a handgun. When their target passed by, they would jump out and shoot him dead.

I can only imagine the adrenaline pumping through my dad's body as he and his co-conspirator laid in wait for their target to approach. They waited patiently until darkness fell and they realized that on this night, their intended target was not going to follow his usual routine.

By the next morning, my dad explained to me that his "fever" to commit this terrible act had somehow dissipated, never to return again. He must have realized that he would be the number one suspect if he had been successful and that he would certainly would have paid for this act with his life.

If he had been successful that fateful day, you would not be reading this story.

What Is Wrong With People?

The other day I was backing out my car in the parking lot of my favorite bagel joint.

I must say that I backed out rather fast and obviously without looking too carefully, as I heard the sickening thud of hitting another car that was parked in the lot. Totally my fault.

I put the car in park and jumped out and a woman a little older than myself who owned the car, got out of her car. She was already in what I would call a "crazed state".

I inspected both cars for damage and found a paint scratch on the bumper on her car and no damage to mine. But if you would have heard this lady rant and rave, you would have thought I just killed her whole family! Here's a partial list of her one liners...the first one was repeated several times.

"What were you thinking? "

"I said, this guy's gonna hit my car! "

"This is our retirement car! "

"Why did you do it? "
"If you think I'm mad, wait till I call my husband and tell him" (a line that made me shudder)
"What are we gonna do?"
I told her that I was a moron (seriously)and made a mistake by misjudging the distance between our cars. Nothing I said could calm her down. At about this point a passerby said to us: "Is everything okay? Should I call the police?'  No, I thought, you should call a doctor and get her a Valium.

I told her we could exchange insurance info if she wanted, but I said there's almost no damage to your car. She then just asked me for my phone number and commented on how I could just give her a phony name and number. To that rant, I showed her my license and said if I'm lying to you, call then police on me and have me arrested.

She made me feel like a low life criminal who had just stolen money from a blind person.

After what seemed like an hour, but was probably 15 minutes, we both drove off. Her husband did call me and said he had tried to buff out the scratch but to no avail. He said he would get it repaired and send me the bill. I then said let's just report this to our insurance companies and we exchanged information. I told him I was sorry his wife had gotten so upset over the accident. He had no comment. Imagine what his days are like.

No Fool Like An Old Fool

I recently was able to visit a place that I have read and studied about extensively for the last almost 40 years....Dealey Plaza, Dallas, Texas. For those reading this who are saying what is Dealey Plaza, it's where President Kennedy was assassinated n 1963. I have been fascinated with the whole assassination  thing ever since the day it happened. Like so many other big events in my life it's a day that is etched in my memory.
So I can't tell you how excited I was when I heard we were having a work meeting in Dallas and that 2 of my co-workers were interested in taking a tour of the Dealey Plaza area, perhaps even going into the Texas School Book Depository building, from where JFK was shot.

The excitement was really building as my coworkers and  I parked the car in a lot adjacent to the area and began walking towards The Texas School Book Depository and Dealey Plaza. As we were crossing the street against the red light, a pedestrian who was walking in our direction said we better be careful against walking against red lights in Dallas, as the police were known to issue tickets against lawbreakers like ourselves. We thanked him and he continued the conversation asking us if we were from out of town and if we were here to see the assassination site. We enthusiastically said yes.
He said his name was Sherman and he was on his lunch break from his job as a repairman for The Texas School Book Depository! He said he would be hapy to give us a quick tour ...on his lunch break. He had previously given official tours for the museum, but was let go, as the museum did not appreciate him giving the unofficial version of events to the tourists.
Let me tell you, Sherman knew his stuff...in more ways than one. He knew about every conspiracy theory there was and he kept us spellbound with his vast knowledge and obvious obsession with the JFK assassination, taking us to the book depository building, showing us the motorcade route and all the other fascinating sights we all knew so well.

Before you knew it, THE  grassy knoll was upon us...I mean the one and only grassy knoll that has become a word in and of itself. Although  world changing history happened here, the actual grassy knoll is a small little area.
It had almost been an hour since Sherman started his unofficial tour with us and he asked if we wanted a picture taken of us with the assassination scene as a backdrop.
It all then suddenly  hit me...what did I know about this guy Sherman? I just met him less than an hour ago . What if he ran off with my Blackberry? And come to think of it, wasn't all of what happened in the last hour just a tad bit convenient?  He really worked in the book depository building? He really was on his lunch break and just kindly warned us about going against the red light? Did I just fall off the turnip truck?
I still gave him my Blackberry as I knew my 2  co-workers were a lot younger then Sherman and could catch him easily if he decided to run away with it.He snapped our picture and handed me back my Blackberry.
Right after Sherman snapped the pictures, his  real motivation for just running into us became apparent.
"Well guys", he said," it's been about an hour and the official tour you would have taken would have cost you $15- $20 each. A donation in that amount would be most appreciated"  One of my co-workers handed him a twenty and with that our friendly tour guide abruptly turned around and walked off in a huff. Within 5 minutes, he spotted another bunch of rubes like ourselves and latched onto them.
The three of us felt dumb for being so easily taken in by Sherman who misrepresented himself and his real motivation. He was an excellent confidence man and we fell for his story hook, line and sinker. Here were three city boys who should have been more suspicious and a lot less gullible. But the more we thought of it, we realized he had given us a great tour and that actually,it was well worth the  $20 we gave him!

Guess What's For Dinner?

My Mom was one of the best cooks of all time. She could do it all...different cuisines, breads, sweets..everything from A-Z. On one particular evening, the family was sitting down to dinner and my Mom had prepared a great meal, as she always did. When I asked what we were having that night, she was somewhat evasive, using a line I hadn't heard up until then: "it's like chicken".
Indeed, whatever we were having did indeed taste like chicken. But for some reason, my older brother was snickering and smiling strangely throughout the meal. "yeah, it's like chicken". I didn't put much more thought into his behavior as acting odd was not unusual for him.
When the meal was over, my Dad announced somewhat unceremoniously, that what we had eaten, was in fact not chicken, but in fact rabbit. Not any old rabbit, but what I considered to be my pet rabbit.

I did not believe him and raced out of the kitchen to the backyard,  to look at the rabbit's cage to prove to myself that my Dad was lying.
He wasn't. The cage was empty. I had just had my pet rabbit for dinner. He did taste like chicken.

The Pee Jar

Growing up, I had 2 brothers and a sister at home. Add my parents in, and we are talking a total of 6 people sharing one bathroom for a long time, until eventually we finally put a toilet in the basement.
To top that off, I'm speaking for myself, but I have a very weak bladder. To this day, the first thing I do when I'm in any new environment is to check  where the bathroom is.
So when we had 1 bathroom, what did we do as a work around? Well of course all the men used the bushes outside, especially when we had just come home, and before we went in the house. Some would "call firsts" on the bathroom when we came back home from a trip. This had limited success. You could also beg others to hurry up in there, before you busted a kidney.

But when none of those options were available, and nature was calling, we had a special jar under the sink in the kitchen. It was actually a metallic drinking glass.

I'm pretty sure it was purple in color. Everyone in our family knew where it was and what it was for. Suffice to say, it got a lot of use.

One summer day, my parents had one of their weird friends over, and as soon as Mrs. P came into the house, which from the back door, led you straight to the kitchen, she said she was very thirsty. Without warning, she opened the cabinet doors under the sink

and grabbed the pee jar! She filled it up with water from the sink and guzzled the contents down. It all happened so fast, that none of us reacted or said a word. We just watched as she quenched her thirst from the pee jar. While the next part is legend, after she was finished, she supposedly remarked that it was an especially great glass of water!
In some ways, it was.

Sweat!

Today's heat reminded me of how hot it was in our house when I was growing up.

Air conditioning? Ha! How about we had one fan.....one! It was set up at the top of the stairs where the window was. Theoretically...heavy on the theory part, because it faced towards the three bedrooms my family slept in, we all got some of it's intended effect. Barely.
But when the humidity and temperature were both at 100, all it did was blow the hot humid air around and around.
.

My 2 brothers and I were all sharing one bedroom for a while and on the most horrific nights, we would sleep in our underwear and bring glass jars filled with ice water in the room to try to stay cool. Sometimes it was impossible to fall asleep, as the sweat dripped off onto the sheets. I can remember waking up literally drenched from sweat. In Jersey, we would have heat waves that could last like two weeks, so the unholy pattern stretched on for days. My father's advice..said seriously during these heat waves was always the same: "take your shirt off". Followed by the admonition to go outside, where the sun just made it feel hotter.

The years passed and my parents actually bought 3 new fans, so every bedroom had it's own fan. It was like how winning the lottery must feel, because we couldn't believe how lucky we were! But it still wasn't as good as an air conditioner would be.

When I was about 16 or 17 and earning money at the local hamburger joint, I conspired with my younger brother to elevate our cooling experience to a new level. We went out and bought our own window air conditioner . By this point, we each had our own bedrooms. but we slept in the one bedroom on hot summer nights. We were in the bedroom 24/7 during heatwaves, putting some beach chairs in the bedroom, and listening to our own tv set which we had by this point. We felt like we were staying at The Ritz.

My dad always pooh poohed the benefits of an air conditioner..."a fan is just as good". Yeah, right. I remember him coming in our bedroom and ever so reluctantly admitting that it sure felt nice in that room.

Next summer my mom and dad bought one for their room! I can still remember how vindicated I felt.

Stories my Dad told me- "My Little Pony"

My dad grew up in Ukraine and had some interesting stories to tell...here's my favorite one. If it proves popular, I might re-tell some others in the future.

My father grew up on a small farm in and although probably just 10 or 11 years old, was entrusted to take care of the farm animals and protect them like the valuable assets they were. In the course of doing this, he also developed personal attachments as well. I remember him telling me how when his mother told him to "get" a chicken for dinner, that she called the chicken by it's given name. There was no going to Whole Foods to buy an organic chicken. You went into the backyard and grabbed the unlucky chicken whose time had come.


On this fateful day, my dad was driving a pony led wagon

somewhere on the farm, back to the barn area. The pony was one of my dad's favorite animals on the farm. They were driving in a sort of sunken roadway , perhaps a dry culvert, with rather steep sides. As they progressed, my dad noticed that very dark storm clouds were quickly gathering. With no place to turn around, or seek shelter, he pressed onward. A severe thunderstorm struck minutes later and it started to rain with an incredible intensity. The rain did not let up  and within a short time, the previously dry culvert began to fill up with water from the flash flood. The pony was frightened and my dad struggled to keep it from panicking.

The water level continued to rise and it soon became apparent that the water was going to be over the head of the drowning pony in a few minutes unless my father acted quickly. He unhitched the terrified pony and struggled to try to lift up his beloved companion over the culvert's steep embankment.. He could not get a proper hold on the now freaked out pony. My dad realized that he needed to get a firmer grip  so he bit through the pony's blanket, into the pony's flesh, to solidify his grasp. With almost super human strength, he then  managed to lift the terrified creature over the culvert's embankment and onto safe land.

He climbed up and over the embankment himself and fell down in an exhausted heap with his pony.
 

Wedding Day Shocker: We Almost Missed Our Own Reception!

I guess I have weddings on the brain, as my daughter is getting married next May, (hooray!), and just today, I had to drive back to the town I was married in, to get a copy of my marriage license

that was needed for dependent health insurance coverage purposes by my employer. It reminded me of my own wedding some thirty two year s ago and how my new bride and I almost missed our own wedding reception!
We were married in a church in one town, while the reception was a good 30-45 minutes away in another town.

A lot of pictures were taken by the photographer at the church, after the ceremony, so mostly everyone had left and started to drive over to the reception. Eventually, there were only three of us left at the church, me, my new wife, and one of her brothers.   My wonderful sister and her husband had let us borrow their beautiful, luxurious  Lincoln Continental for our special day, and my wife's brother was acting as our chauffeur.
So my wife and I lock up the church (I had a key, but that's another story), and go to the car where her brother has parked it, smack dab in the middle of the street, waiting our exit. Everyone else has left by this point and we are the only ones at the church. Her brother steps out of the car, and somehow, ends up power locking all the doors......with the only set of keys in the ignition!

In 1979, there were very few cars with power locks and being unfamiliar with the Lincoln, my wife's brother had just locked out the newly married couple. Let me remind you: .there are no cell phones at this point. Anyone I could call that might be able to help is on their way to my wedding reception, which is going to be lame if the situation can't be rectified.
I let myself back into the church and called the police. The phone call was right out of a stand-up comedian's routine: " Uh, police..yeah, I just got married and am on my way to my own reception, but we've locked the keys in the car, which is in the middle of the street......I wish I could have seen the  person's face at police headquarters that took my call. Anyway, they said they would get there when they could. The town I got married in was more of a city than a town, and I'll bet they had higher priorities.
So I ran back outside in my wedding tux and relayed the update to my wife and my new brother-in-law. In what seemed an instant, a passerby asked us what the problem was...let's face it, it had to be an odd scene for him to stumble on:  a very worried bride and groom, all dressed up, standing in front of a church, with a big car in the middle of the street.
We told him of our dilemma and he said he might be able to help us. With that, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small piece of hanger wire. Within seconds, he had opened the car.
.

We thanked him profusely! I ran back into the church, called the police and told them our issue had resolved itself. I ran back outside and into the Lincoln Town Car. We then proceeded hastily to our reception. No one was the wiser.


P.S. Yes, that's the actual piece of wire in the picture to the left. Maybe I'll bring it to my daughter's wedding....just in case......

Bullies!

There have been a lot of stories about bullies the past several months and new anti-bullying legislation has been passed in several states. Has anyone of us not been bullied at some point in our lives? Let me recall one of the best bullies I ever had the misfortune to be a repeated victim of.
 Let's call him for blog purposes , Mike. Yes, even though it's almost 50 years ago that Mike bullied me, I am not ashamed to admit that I am afraid that if I use his real name, he may somehow find out, and seek revenge. I'm serious. Let me give you a few details about Mike. He had  shocking red hair which was long for it's day and was always uncombed. He moved around in a very fluid, lanky  fashion and had the most "I don't care about anything at all" attitude that I ever saw. He seemed to always wear low cut sneakers with floppy laces. I remember him burning his awful eighth grade report card in the back of our school, something akin to draft card or  flag burning back then. Kids who were 13 or 14 simply did not display such anti social behavior during that era..but Mike did.

He also could sing many very obscene verses of Barnacle Bill, The Sailor, which I had only heard previously  in a Popeye cartoon. Sheepishly, I must admit that I can still remember some of them. They were incredibly funny at the time.

You might be asking, how, if he was a bully I was terrified of, would I find myself to be in his presence to see him burn his report card and display his obscene vocal skills ? I think it's akin to putting your hand in a fire...you want to see how close you can get, without being burned. It was also the fact that his behaviors were so contrary to mine, that one could not help oneself to watch in a vicarious way. 
But, I digress. So how did Mike bully me? Well. it was pretty straightforward bullying 101. I'd be riding my bike down his street which I had to, as it was on the way to my grammar school, where I'd hang out occasionally. Of course, I rode my bike as fast as I could, on the opposite side of the street where he lived, praying that Mike was not hanging out on his porch stoop, where unfortunately, he did a lot of the time. His friends that were with him on the stoop were of similar disreputable character.  Mike had the instincts of a cheetah on an open plain in Africa, and I of course, was the gazelle.
He would run across the street, stop you on your bike, and then threaten to bust up your face and/or your bike, in no particular order. I  must emphasize that I did nothing to provoke him, other than have the audacity to ride my bike down his street, or worse yet, walk down his street.

Usually, he would take out whatever anger he had on your bike, throwing it down, riding it with threats that you would never see it again, etc. I can't recall him ever striking me, but just the thought that he might, was sufficient enough for it to be a horrific experience. It was usually over in a few minutes, although it felt like hours. And then, he would let you go, after he had satisfied whatever twisted needs that had led him to act the way he did.
I was one of his victims on many occasions, but never really told anyone about it, other than my friends, who if they were with me, would get the same treatment. My parents would have shrugged it off, telling me to avoid him and the street he lived on. I didn't even consider telling school authorities or the police, as it seemed petty to do so. Forget knocking on his door by the way as well, to tell his parents, who I had seen only occasional glimpses of.  They did not appear to have a sympathetic nature.. No ,being bullied my Mike was just part of the the neighborhood experience, no different than the other pleasant parts of my childhood.
In a short few years, I was in high school, and never saw Mike again.  I can't help but wonder how he ended up.

I Was A Child Garbageman!

Around the age of nine or so, I ramped up my love of construction trucks, road department vehicles, and garbage trucks, by not just following them around on my trusty Columbia bicycle, but by becoming one of the crew.

Garbage was picked up twice a week in my hometown, by a contracted service whose name was Fereday and Meyer. So, early Monday and Thursday mornings, I would get up, get dressed quickly, and run to where I knew one particular crew started their route. By this point, I had followed around all of the five or so crews that worked my town, and had developed a special bond with Phil and George. Phil was the driver and George was his partner. When you wanted the truck to pull up to the next house, you would signal to the driver by two short whistles, but George apparently couldn't whistle and would instead yell out "Ha!"

When I met up with my garbage men pals, I just didn't watch them load the trash into the truck, I helped. And by helped, I mean I was like the third man of the crew! I dragged the cans, boxes and assorted trash to the vehicle, threw it in and dragged back the empty cans back to the curb. I eventually learned how to operate the controls, so I knew had to "zip it up", garbageman slang for compressing the load into the truck. When the next stop ahead was too far to walk, I jumped on the little running board on either side of the truck, and hung on for dear life as we raced to the next stop. I loved every minute of it and literally spent the whole day with these guys on their route. D45 and then F21 were the numbers that designated Phil and George's trucks, and my summer was spent with them.
When all the routes for that day were finished, all the trucks converged on one street, helping each other finish the days work. Before heading back to their garage, which was in the next town over, they would all get out of their trucks , eat, drink soda, and discuss the days events. I felt privileged to be part of the inner circle and hang out with the boys. I was as tired and sweaty as they were, as I had put in a hard day as well.
I remember asking one day, how they got the garbage out of the truck at the dump. Al, from another crew, laughed and was surprised that I didn't know that all garbage trucks were like dump trucks, and that once they were full, all they had to do was open up the back part of the truck and then just engage the hydraulic dump mechanism. My co-worker Phil looked at it as an opportunity to learn, and asked me if I wanted to go with them to the dump one day to see how it was done! I was giddy, to say the least.
I secured my parent's approval like Phil had asked and the glorious day arrived. It was like Christmas in July, seeing all the trucks lining up and dumping their loads at the landfill. It was the pinnacle of my garbageman days.
Speaking of my parents, some time later, as I was once again working the route,one of my friends told me my parents were looking for me and I needed to go home right away, which I did. My parents solemnly sat me down in the living room and told me the bad news. Someone had seen me helping out the garbage men and were concerned enough about my safety, that they had contacted the Board of Health, who then notified my parents that I had to cease my activities immediately, or the consequences would be severe for me, my parents, and my garbageman buddies.
I was devastated! I liked working with these guys more than anything else in the world! I sobbed uncontrollably.  But, I knew I couldn't work with them ever again. I'm pretty sure I explained things to Phil and George who I could only watch from afar from then on.
A few years later, my parents confessed that they made up the whole Board of Health story, which I had believed wholeheartedly. They were very concerned that I would get hurt or injured one day, and knew that they had to come up with something compelling to break me from my addiction. I wasn't really mad at them, as I knew they were right. Nothing short of the Board of Health story would have worked.
I'm sure of it, as to this day, I can't resist watching my garbage men do their thing!

A Letter To Myself

I had to do this as a work requirement and thought that others might find it helpful!

Dear Daniel,

I’m writing this note to you to share with you a little of the insight I’ve gained after spending almost a quarter of a century managing sales teams of one type or another. I hope you will find some of these observations and suggestions helpful.

• Make sure that any comments you make at meetings with your peers and superiors are not negative in tone. I know you are not a negative person, but sometimes your passionate views on things might lead others to think you are being negative.

• Pick your business friends carefully…top performers tend to gravitate towards each other, but so do complainers and naysayers. Make sure you are aligned with the former and not the latter.

• Don’t be afraid to share your successful methods with others…it’s not only the right thing to do, but you will learn from them too!

• Be considerate and nice to everyone along the way. Peers of yours may become the senior vice presidents of tomorrow and if you had their trust and friendship as peers, you’ll have it forever.

• Embrace the changes that will surely come along the way. Be supportive of the company’s initiatives even if you can’t fully understand the reasons behind them.

• Make sure you maintain a life and work balance as you’ll turn around one day and find your children are all grown up and the nest empty. It happens fast, and you can’t make up for lost time.

• Even if you work for a difficult boss (and you will), look at it as an opportunity to grow. Trust me; you will learn something from them, even if it’s to avoid treating others like they treated you!

• Share the glory of any successes you will have with as many co-workers as you can. They probably deserve it  AND, it will keep you humble.

• Don’t get discouraged if you don’t get the promotions you think you deserve. It will just lead to negativity, resentment, and a poor attitude. Do your very best with the position you have.

• Don’t worry if your subordinates don’t all like you. Do worry if they don’t respect you.

• When you ask other areas of the company for help, do it with a smile, thanking them in advance for their assistance. Bullying them to help you might gain short term results, but will get you a well-deserved bad reputation.

• Worrying about stuff will never ever make it go away, but it will lead to sleepless nights and a lot of stress. You can only control your reaction to events, not the events themselves.

• Last, but not least, maintain the sense of humor you have. It will help you get thru the stressful times and reduce the tension and stress of everyone around you. Laughter is the best medicine.

Good luck Daniel! I look forward to watching you grow as a person and as a  valued member of our team.