And I Opened My Eyes

"To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward."
Margaret Fairless Barber

I have added a link to view images of my travels for thoses who wish to see.

Moments of Grace

The summer sun is high in the sky as heat bakes the earth. I run to match his stride pushing a small toy lawn mower. He is everything I wish to be. He is the center of my world. He is the only hero I have ever known. Heavy summer air suffocates every breath as I try to keep up. We stand alone in a large field of mown grass on a sweltering July day. A white handkerchief is tied around his head to capture the sweat as it rolls down his forehead while he pushes a lawn mower down a long slope. He stops and turns to watch me running behind him. Slowly he removes a second handkerchief from the pocket of his Bermuda shorts and with a loving smile ties the white cloth around my head in a symbol of manhood. It was the smallest of gestures but it remains one of the earliest of my memories of my father.

My father was a strict disciplinarian where his law was absolute and unyielding. His rules were clear and the line between right and wrong never varied in all the years I lived under his roof. I was taught to respect authority in every person I encountered. Although my father was an easy man to respect, he was a difficult man for a young child to understand. A simple stare from his penetrating blue eyes could send ice water coursing through your veins. His emotions were controlled when mad, as the fires of fury burned below the surface. Known by all the cousins as Mean Ole Uncle Joe, dad’s sister would bring the cousins by to be disciplined by dad when they misbehaved. It was always clear that I was the next in a long line of proud people and I needed to act in a manner which would respect family tradition.

When my real mother died during my early teen age years, I pulled away from my father into a protective cocoon. I decided to become a man in the only way I knew how, which was to challenge my father’s authority in every way. I delved into the dark side of existence getting involved with drugs as a way to prove my independence and stubbornness. Only now can I come to appreciate how difficult these years must have been to my father, who demanded only that you do the right thing.

I recall many a night sneaking out of the house during the week to hook up with my friends to do drugs and sleep with the neighborhood girls. My primary defense was staying out as late as possible knowing my father would arise at 5:00 am to go to work in New York City. Arriving home I would turn off the engine of grandmother’s 1964 Valiant convertible a full block before the house so that I could coast into the driveway without a sound. Blasted I would sneak into the house in absolute silence at 3:30 am taking my shoes off in the process. I knew where every squeaky floorboard in the house was located carefully missing each one as I crept toward my room. As I slowly worked my way past the living room the most horrifying moment of life was seeing the bright red glow of my father’s Pall Mall cigarette in total darkness as he inhaled deeply waiting for me to return. It’s a wonder that I never died from shear fright knowing that the wrath of righteousness and respect was about to exact a fearful price from my soul. As the great Chinese general Sun Tzu said in the Art of War “On desperate ground, I would proclaim to my soldiers the hopelessness of saving their lives”.

All my sisters lived through the same experience of trying to out last dad. In later years we would all laugh at my sister’s boyfriend that got caught by the red glow hiding in the bush next to the driveway. Dad emerged from the bush with his cigarette and a cocktail, ran up to the car and pulled the door open. “Did my daughter tell you when she was supposed to be home?” In paralyzed fear he murmured “Yes sir.” Dad went on “And what time did she tell you she was supposed to be home”. In barely a whisper he said “It was 11:00 o’clock sir.” In a voice that would stop a charging rhino dad would continue “You must certainly realize that it is 12:30 and it was your responsibility to get her home on time, regardless of what she may have told you.” Both my sisters lost many boyfriends as dad’s reputation grew around town. Boyfriends learned to drop my sisters off two blocks from the house and make them walk home fearful of a run in with dad.

During the rebellious years in high school dad got me a summer job with his office, hoping to provide me some direction and self esteem. He was an accountant with LaBranche Company a stock brokerage firm located on Wall Street in New York City. He had talked the partners into giving me a summer job as a runner. A runner would spend most of the day on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange next to the traders. Before the advent of computers and electronic trading, the traders would complete a series of trades and the ticket orders would be given to a runner to carry them up to the main office so they could be registered with the company. At the time I was so opposed to wearing a suit and spending every summer day traveling with dad to New York that I turned the job down and decide to dig ditches for a construction company that summer. What a move in retrospect. Little did I know that runners rose to become traders on the floor of the stock exchange and traders could make millions if they were exceptional. How different might my life have been if I had chosen to become a runner in mid-1970? In all probability I would have promoted to trader by the start of the 1980’s, an era of junk bonds and Ivan Boesky. Considered the wild west traders made multi-millions of dollars and retired by the age of thirty. My ignorance of youth was blind to opportunity.

Continuing to distance myself from my father through college, our relationship grew more adversarial. He never really changed his expectation or opinion, it was me attempting to demonstrate my manhood by ignoring every value I was taught. His letters chastised me for living in sin with my girlfriend. I was indignant that he would challenge how I lived under my own roof. As an act of defiance I decided to marry my girlfriend in a simple civil ceremony without giving my family sufficient time to travel to the Midwest to attend the wedding. It was a childish ploy designed to show who was in control of my life. To my great surprise my new wife was accepted by the family with open arms and was granted all the respect in her new position as daughter-in-law. At the time I never understood that my father’s values were so blind to emotion, what was right would always be right.

Living in the Midwest after college I was returning home on a frequency of about once every two years. As my father turned 50 I began to contemplate the mortality of both of us. Assuming he would live to the age of 70 at the current frequency of returning home I might only see my father another ten times. This realization gripped me like an icy hand and I decided that I needed to change. I had established a perplexing rule that I would only call my father after he had called me. My stupidity and immaturity was revealed. If I wanted to communicate with my father, I should call no matter who’s turn it was. This moment of clarify lifted a great burden from my shoulders changing the course of my life.

Business travel allowed me to visit home as frequently as four to six times a year. This constant contact was the foundation of a deep and meaningful relationship, not only with my father, but with my entire family. We became extremely bonded as a family, enjoying each others company so much that we would all vacation together. Dad bought a vacation home in Hilton Head, then sold it after ten years and bought another place in West Palm Beach just so we all had a place to gather besides the home in New Jersey. Rich full memories fill my heart reflecting on both places.

The family also began a yearly tradition of renting a large home on a different island in the Caribbean or somewhere on the shore just so that we could explore life together. These remain my most treasured memories of life, exploring new cultures and lands, watching my brother and sister’s children grow up. The shorts we wore for dinner in Bermuda, the mountain hike that almost killed my stepmother in Puerto Rico, the blazing heat of the Grand Caymans, the surf that beat us senseless in Barbados, the group cooking at the shore in Avalon, the amusement park rides in Wildwood, the golf course at Sea Isle, all are special places for me now.

Dad had one of the most incredible work ethics of anyone I ever knew. Returning home from the war in Korea as a young man, he worked full time during the day and put himself through college in the evening while raising a family. He would additionally take on tax return filings for all the neighbors and local small businesses for a few extra dollars to made ends meet. Between March and April 15th Dad would disappear behind a mountain of paper on the dining room table. All the kids knew to walk by the table with great care since he was worn and irritable during those long six weeks. Too much noise or commotion would bring a serious reprimand. Even as a small child I recall Dad huddled over a pile of tax forms cursing Uncle Sam with a glass of Dewars White Label on the rocks in one hand, a Pall Mall cigarette in the other and a big chief number two pencil being gnawed away between his teeth. I can still vividly see the large bulging callous on the inside joint of his middle finger of his right hand where that number two big chief pencil would rest.

Obtaining his certification as an accountant he began working on Wall Street in New York City. For thirty five years he arose at 5:00 am to travel to the city and would finally return to the house after 6:30 pm. During tax season he would not be expected home until after 10:30 pm and would work Saturdays in the city. I don’t ever recall seeing Dad home sick from work in 35 years, although it must have happened. The only break from the office was saved for his vacations with the family, which was the center of his life.

As my professional life began to grow I was compelled to prove myself to my father in the currency I thought he understood the most, hard work. It was my way of restoring all the years of pain and disappointment I delivered to his doorstep. Bound and determined I would invest as much if not more into my career, proving to my father that was worthy of being his son, that all his wisdom had found a place to grow and prosper, that I was in fact next in that long line of proud people. He delighted in my growing business acumen and authority. During my frequent trips home we would sit up until the early morning hours as I shared stories about my challenges and successes. His face would glow with pride at my increasing ability to master my professional domain. Most of the time I would do all of the bragging while he would listen and smile overflowing with contentment. It became a special private place for the two of us where time would stop. We would look at the clock and realize it was past 2:00 am knowing that he would be rising for work in a couple of hours and I would be catching a plane to another location.

Struggling for so many years, dad proved that the American dream did exist in work ethic of Horatio Alger. He illustrated how the down-and-out might be able to achieve the American dream of wealth and success through hard work, courage, determination, and concern for others. At the time of his retirement at the age of 65, my father had earned more than enough money to spend the rest of his life without a concern achieving his dream of financial independence for his entire family.

During his first year of retirement mom slipped and fell of an icy sidewalk, shattering her knee cap. A surgery and year long physical therapy postponed any thoughts of retirement travel for the two of them. Dad waited on mom providing him a challenging unfamiliar role as caregiver. Slowly she recovered as they resumed their active retirement plans. The first real trip the family planned after dad’s retirement was to Colonial Williamsburg in November 1995. We spent a glorious long weekend playing golf in the brisk fall air, touring the historical restoration and huddled together around a roaring fire sipping port. The highlight was a formal dinner at the renowned Inn at Williamsburg. It was a spectacular evening in the ceiling to floor glass loggia overlooking the golf course. The colonial furniture decorated with pewter mugs, white linen and candles only enhanced the favor of a truly exceptional meal. We all marveled that for each of us seated at the table there were three persons waiting on us. I could only imagine that it was like dining in the White House at a state dinner. Dad appeared thinner during that trip and when asked he joked than he was losing weight from waiting on mom so much.

Six weeks later I had an evening flight Charlotte for a huge business meeting the following day, getting ready to leave the hotel room to have dinner with the client, my cell phone ran. It was dad calling to tell me that the doctor had discovered a spot on his lung and it was cancer. He said not to worry the doctor will get a better look at it next week. In a situation where I was unable to change my schedule I had to keep up appearances and finish the business meeting. The next 24 hours was the most trying times of my life as I acted congenial and entertaining through dinner that evening and then for a full eight hours of meetings the next day while a raging ocean of pain tried to escape by ripping my flesh. I will never forget how credibly difficult those few hours were, never having a private moment to grieve. On the plane ride home I could no longer contain my emotions. Silently I acted as if I was asleep so the flight attendant wouldn’t bother me and with my hand firmly clapped on my jaw the tears flowed down my cheeks for the two hour flight home.

On November 22, 1996, less than nine months later, my father pasted away. I think I made four or five trips to visit him during those nine painful months to say goodbye. It is only by the grace of god that I decided to renew my relationship with my father and in doing so was rewarded with sixteen cherished wonderful years. I believe that people enter your life for a purpose and when that purpose is fulfilled they leave your life. It is your responsibility to understand what that purpose was and to carry the message forward. I will always be angry at the world, that after working so hard his entire life my father was never able to enjoy the fruits of his labor. How unfair and cruel it seems, so beyond the specter of reason that a person so filled with compassion and love after a lifetime of providing for his family, he is taken from us so abruptly. If I ever needed a reason to fill my soul with darkness and bitterness, to despise and hate life this would be the reason.

My last visit with my father he shared with me his only failure in life and pleaded for me not to follow his footsteps. He said you must not spend your life saving for the perfect time to live your life, that day may never come. You must take the time to experience life each and every moment. I see the same determination and driven in you as I had, please take the time to travel, to be with family, to enjoy the quiet moments, to find those moments of grace. Having said what needed to be said; he removed the ring from his finger and gave it to me. All my life I have admired that golden ring which contained his initials. My father and I have the same initials and he always said I would wear the ring when he was gone. The ring was given to my father by my grandmother when he was a teenager. The ring always represented for me, being the head of the clan in Scottish highland tradition. As a child, I always dreamed about the day when I would wear the ring of authority. It seems ironic now that when I glance at the ring which I now wear, I can wish of nothing other than being able to see him again wear his ring.

There was single promise I made to myself after my real mother’s death decades earlier, which was not to suppress my emotions, that pain and grieving was the path to healing. I vowed to relinquish all defensive mechanisms I had developed over a lifetime and allow myself to feel the depth of my emotions. Dad’s funeral was difficult for me. The realization that you are the eldest member of the clan can be debilitating. Why didn’t I listen to all the family stories better? Why didn’t I pay attention? Why didn’t I care more? The burden falls on me to carry the oral history and we are never prepared. I am saddened by how much history disappears never to be known again.

The most difficult time of the funeral was carrying the weight his casket as a pallbearer for the first time in my life while a lone bagpiper played Amazing Grace on a distance hill. The weight of grief for every moment lost, for every moment forgotten, for every moment stolen from me sat on my shoulders. From that day forward Amazing Grace has always brought tears to my eyes. I know with certainly that I will be laid to rest by the pipes playing Amazing Grace completing another circle in that long line of proud people. Like my father, on that day I will take with me all the stories, memories and dreams of my existence from the world.

There are moments of grace in everyone’s life where the inner workings of the heavens are revealed. It happens in silence when all becomes clear, where the future is explained, where death is only an extension of life. After dad’s funeral family and friends gathered at the house to comfort each other, to celebrate life of a great man. The house was filled with faces I had not seen in years, faces that were touched deeply by this single man. Discreetly I slid out the backdoor to stand on the deck by myself for a moment of reflection. Staring at the sky, it was covered with thin layer of clouds that obscured the stars and moon. The moon was apparent where silver light filtered through the soft white curtains draped over the heavens. As I watched, the clouds parted revealing the most perfect radiant silver full moon twice the size as I can ever remember seeing. The moonlight filtered through the trees and bathed me in a warm glow. It was so powerfully spiritual because the clouds parted in a circle only large enough to reveal the moon, while the rest of the sky remained shrouded in grief and sorrow. As I gazed at the moon a calmness and peacefulness embraced me, washing any fear of the future from my soul.

Immediately I went back into the house to get my mother. We walked together to the spot on the deck where the moonlight bathed both of us. As I pointed out what was so apparent I said “That’s dad telling us that everything will be fine, that he is watching over us.” It was mystical, standing alone in the chilled November air bathed in moonlight as we hugged, letting the tears of sorrow flow. Looking again to the sky to say goodbye the clouds closed over the window in the heavens and obscured the moon not to be seem again that evening. It was a moment of grace when it was clear that dad wanted me to take care of my mother. To her I represent the living spirit of my father. When I am near to her, she feels the presence of Joe and it makes both of us happy. There’s an old saying that the older you get the more you become your father. I can only wish that to be true. Over the subsequent years she has reminded me many times how much I remind her of dad, after which I smile and chuckle exactly as dad would, which makes us both laugh.

Each day as I move forward in the hectic world, I savior the moments of grace where ever they are hidden. Moments of grace can be found in the light touching the ground, the rain on a hot summer day, the smile of a stranger in a crowd, the soft fog at dawn, but most of all in the clouds in the sky. If you look at the sky carefully there is always one place where there is stunning beauty, where the light is soft, where the colors are vibrant, where the door to heaven is open. Whenever I want to see dad I look for this spot of exceptional beauty, he’s always there in every sky, comforting me. This is my personal ritual each day looking to sky, finding the solace in knowing that I am in fact the next in that long line of proud people.

Watching Dinosaurs Die

Each day I’m amazed at the airline industry’s failure to respect the basic foundation of their survival, the business passenger. Ingrained in the obsolete practice of price gouging the business traveler, airlines continue to believe this practice does not impact costumer loyalty. This practice is elevated to outright extortion when the airline has a dominate hub position in an airport; some of the best examples are United to Denver, Delta to Cincinnati, Continental to Newark. My last trip has proven the dinosaurs are so out of touch with the frequent business traveler that the species has no hope of survival.

After hours of scheduling I was able to get to a remote location (Pasco, Wa.) for just under one thousand dollars. While outrageously priced, it is a type of location you expect to pay a premium for on short notice, unlike the common fares of $1200 to $1500 for direct flights into the heart of the airline empires. The one thousand dollar fare got me the center seat in the last row of the plane, where you receive the honor of smelling the ass of every passenger who decides to use the restroom, most of which have such poor dietary habits they should seek medical attention immediately. Understand that this is not a low cost carrier and it should be good business policy to provide a person who is willing to submit to highway robbery the best seat possible.

Often while waiting for the first leg of the flight to load it is possible on occasion to obtain an exit row seat that affords some additional leg room. Approaching the gate agent I was informed that it is possible to acquire an exit row seat for an additional cost. Dumbfounded I couldn’t believe what I heard and asked him again. Speaking to me as if I was an idiot he repeated “We provide exit row seating for the upgrade cost of $67”. Indignant I replied “My thousand dollar ticket fare did not include the privilege of requesting an exit row?” Once provoked I couldn’t stop “I’m currently paying this airline a rate of $15.32 a minute to sit in this shit seat and you have the nerve to ask me if I’m willing to pay an additional $1.00 a minute to sit in a 3” wider shit seat? No sir I’ll think I’ll save my $67 and spend it on postage writing letters to Southwest Airlines asking them to move a flight to Denver to bust this little party you got going on here.” Needless to say this delayed my access to the plane and I was able to board the flight after the farm animals.

Strolling down the aisle I couldn’t help but notice than not one of the exit row seats was occupied. I guess United took the concept of keeping the exit row aisles free of debris to a new level, economic debris. When did safety of the passengers take second place to profit? Am I to believe that a flight attendant that is unwilling to help a 90 year old woman place her luggage in the over head, is going to leap over the passenger in an emergency to open the exit row door? I’m not sure I can hold my breath that long under water. It’s more likely I’m going to hear “I’m sorry you can’t exit the plane through that exit row door unless you pay an additional $10.50 and we can only accept exact change.”

It began me thinking about the future opportunities for the airline industry to rape me of another couple of dollars. What about putting a meter on the overhead bin? You may park your carry on luggage here for $0.50 per seven minutes. What about charging for toilet paper in the restroom? That two ounce bag of pretzels got to cost a fortune. Better yet they could charge you for the volume of air that comes out of the overhead nozzle. We all could take up a collection to pay for the tug driver to push us off the gate. I’m sorry this seat reclines only 2% for each dollar inserted. Maybe the pilot could take his hat off as we pass him exiting the plane and we could drop dollar tips in it. “Sorry sir that landing was a little rough. I’m only tipping 10% instead of my usual %15. Doctors get away with it, what if you got a bill in the mail for the X-ray of your luggage. Maybe they should add $25 bonus to the price of the ticket if they really got you there on schedule. When are they going to stop?

I finally arrive at my shit seat and settle in at 6:30 am for the 60 minute flight to Denver, when the flight attendant announces that the pilot has allowed passengers to listen to flight control tower on channel nine of the armrest. I assume that this should be interesting and pull the headset from the seat back pocket. The dialogue is very technical and professional as the plane is pushed from the gate into the alley. We hear the control tower authorize the push from the gate. There are a number of other flights in approach or requesting departures. Our flight is sitting in the alley without the engines running for ten minutes before the pilot turns on the PA system. “We are ready to go but we need some paperwork. As soon as we get the paperwork we’ll be on our way.”

The plane sits about 35 minutes before I hear on channel nine the control tower call our flight and ask “United did you get your problem fixed?” A female gate agent’s voice replies “No sir, the problem just got worst and we are pushing the aircraft back to the gate.” As the plane begins to roll back to the gate the pilot calls the ground crew. “Why didn’t maintenance check the oil?” Did I really hear that we have been sitting on the alley for the past 40 minutes because someone didn’t check the oil in the plane? I don’t run an airline but shouldn’t that be on the “A” list somewhere? Be sure to check the oil! Be sure the plane’s tires are not flat! Be sure the plane has a full tank of gas! Be sure the plane’s windshield is clean! In my mind it’s a pretty short list. Any hung-over teenage gas jockey working at Quick Trip knows to check the oil.

I starting thinking, “Oh great one of the flight attendants is going to march back here to my shit seat and demand that I pay for the oil.” Nervously I begin to wonder what a can of aircraft oil is going to cost these days. Ten dollars for a bag of pretzels, my god, oil is going to cost me at least $50-$60 per can. What if I don’t have enough money? Will they make me clean the restroom? It could really use a cleaning. In stunned disbelief I decide to check my ticket. Yes this is United Airlines not Laurel & Hardy Airlines. What has the world come to?

It’s hard to watch a great industry giant so out of touch with their customer. Like witnessing obsolete obese dinosaurs suffocate under weight of their own mass of flesh, you begin to realize that little can be done to help this species from becoming extinct. The best advice is to steer away from these teetering beasts out of fear that they crush you as they fall. And god knows someone from the front office is going to try to get you to pay for the clean up.

On The Silverado Trail

Huddled together we ascend a long stone path through a sheltered garden. The women are dressed in elegant black gowns as the filtered sunlight highlights wisps of their long hair. The fragrance of Jasmine blends with expensive perfume floating the still air as the sun hangs low in the sky. Passing exquisite roses, foxglove, hollyhocks the vibrant colors explode like fireworks as the dappled sun briefly caresses each petal. The warmth of the day is ebbing as the chill of the maritime breezes rolls down over the hills sweeping down along the valley floor. We pass under an arbor made of ancient weathered ebony timbers covered with the long purple plumes of wisteria as waiters dressed in black tuxedos pass out long fluted glasses of slightly chilled champagne. The mood is festive as our glorious weekend comes to an end in this closing event. In the distance the sounds of a solitary classical guitar marks the moment with a compliment of a songbirds singing in the tall oaks. As the sun sets behind the rolling hills the magic hour begins as the light softens revealing the deep green and blue hues in the shadows. The moment is so serene and beautiful that you begin to wonder what heaven might look like.

At the end of the stone path we wait in front of two huge oaken doors trimmed in hand hammered black iron hardware. The doors emerge from the steep hillside framed by a hand laid coffee hue native stone wall and covered in perfectly manicured rows of vines. Reflecting the fading light, the vines texture the hill like broad bold brushstrokes of a saw tooth trowel. Slowly the doors are opened revealing a tunnel filled as far as the eye can see with receding stacks of oak casks of aging wine each topped with a lit single candle providing as subtle flickering path of luminaries inviting us to enter. A sense of wonder emerges as we silently enter the tunnel in single file. Reminiscent of a medieval monastery the cool air makes you shutter briefly as dampness touches the skin. A slight musty scent invades your senses which remind me of a well aged camembert cheese. The odor is not offensive but comforting like digging your hands deeply into a rich hummus on the first day of spring. As we stroll down the long tunnel the delicate sounds of conversation echo and drift off the stone walls. The luminaries lead us down one tunnel to another, to another deeper into the hillside. A sound of a quartet is heard in the distance indicating we are approaching our final destination for the evening.


The crowd slows as the tunnel opens to expose a large cave filled with luminaries and glowing candelabras. Soft light warms the cave as shadows dance like giant marionettes across the ceiling. The room is filled with round tables covered in white linen and decorated with sparkling crystal stemware and bone china. In center of each table is flowing floral center piece of white and red roses woven into a wrought iron candelabra displaying six pale white candles. Casually the crowd coalesces into small groups of newly found friends as they gather at the tables. The walls of the cave is covered in neatly stacked French oak casks of Chardonnay. Each cask contains a time capsule of stored sunlight, rain and soil preserved to enjoy during life’s special occasions. A small quartet is quietly playing providing a subtle rhythm to the clinking of crystal glasses and echoes of laughter.

From behind the oaken casks emerge a flock of tuxedo attired waiters bring forth copiously amounts of fine wine to the grateful crowd. As the dinner begins the wine continues to flows as its color and favor changes with each return visit of the waiter. A brief explanation provides insight as to the fermentation method; the length of contact with French oak, how the grapes were harvested and what characteristic are to be experienced with each new glass. The gourmet cuisine is carefully crafted to showcase the regional cooking providing the perfect compliment to the tasting.

As the wine continues to flow the table conversation turns to the activities of the previous three days. The men tease each over the missed greens as the golfers weaved their way through the sunny hills and vineyards while smoking cigars. The women still basking in the glow of Swedish messages in the old world style European spa discuss discoveries of local lore. Images of the wineries visited flash in our mind as the newly acquired knowledge of the vine industry dominated the conversation. Smiles shine as brightly as the candles as intimacy resulted from our shared adventure. Promises to stay in touch were formalized with the exchange of business cards and kisses.

A semimetal note filled the air as our sponsor rises to speak. Everyone feels that the mystical moment in the sun was about to end and we would shortly resume our lives scattered to the four corners of the continent. The sponsor with a polished ease thanked all of the attendees for spending the weekend discussing matters of great importance to the nation. We shared insights and ideas which were recorded at various round tables discussions held during our time together. This collective wisdom enhanced each of our will and determination to move forward with an agenda for the future. The speaker indicated that the information gathered would begin to formulate a legislative policy and by speaking freely our contribution to a collective good was significant. One by one he thanked the contributing companies and institutions for providing the financial support to bring the group together at this summit.

His concluding comments focused on the endearing memories of our collective experience. The first round of golf by an Australian who by accident knocked out a goose on this first tee shot, which was noted by the speaker as “not exactly a birdie”. The corporate executive what was so disturbed that the group was leaving such fine wine on the table after dinner that she asked for it to be poured into three to-go soup containers for the journey back to the hotel. He made us laugh at the unfortunate executive that decided to wear a pink golf shirt to the wine tasting and was given the nickname “Pinky”. A nick name that will understandably stick to this poor fellow. The good natured teasing brought the group closer together. Finally a member of the crowd offered a toast to our sponsor who had the vision to plan the event, which was followed by a warm extended round of applause. Then as if waking from a dream the evening was over.

In is with an unshakeable confidence as I leave the Silverato Trail, I will return to this beautiful piece of serenity tucked against the hills in this long narrow valley. From this time forward each of us that were present holds a special bond of our time together, providing us the glimpse of hope that the world can change. What will endure most in my mind is the knowledge that until the end of my time on the earth, I will be able to savor this memory with every sip of a 2006 Silverato Trail wine. Each bottle will remain a small time capsule of the sun, rain, warm, earth, friendship, love and laughter of moment I stood in the valley.

The Triple Crown

The Triple Crown

On occasion celebrity status is achieved without one ever being aware of it. During a hectic last week of travel I was surprised three times to learn of my growing impact on the profession. I’m not one to read the critic’s reviews or to believe that I’m even on the radar. After this week, I may need to reconsider that I am not longer invisible and will need to monitor of my behavior at all times while in public.

The Kentucky Derby – Tuesday I drove to Lincoln, Nebraska to meet with a potential client on a renovation project they were considering. I presented to an assembled committee and then had lunch with the president of the organization. The day proceeded with nothing unordinary to grab my attention, until the president said “I took the liberty to contact the vice president of a national environmental organization which is headquartered in Lincoln and he asked if you could stop by to look at a similar project they were planning.” Having great familiarity with the organization I agreed to visit with them before leaving town.

The president escorted me to the office building and dropped me off in the lobby. Smiling, ee indicated he needed to get back to the office as we shook hands. I turned to the receptionist and asked to see the vice president. She immediately became flustered and left to announce my arrival. I heard a slight commotion as the door opened and a young executive in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and expensive tie walked out to greet me. “Thank you for taking the time to visit with us”, as his hand shot out with a firm handshake. “I wanted to congratulate you on your recent awards. I have been following your work in the trade publications. If fact I was just on your website yesterday.” Somewhat off balance I smiled and attempted to recover my senses. He continued “I don’t know how much you know about us, but our membership is about 1.5 million and I would like to get your opinion on the project we are doing because it is very important to our organization.”

We talked for about 90 minutes and at the end I volunteered my time to assist with presentations to potential underwriters and community leaders. The vice president thanked me as we exchanged business cards. Walking out the door I realized that it was probably the only time in my professional career where the individual I was meeting with knew more about me than I knew about him. I have always preceded an important meeting by doing background research on who I was meeting with, but not this time. Slightly guilty I left Lincoln wondering how an organization of 1.5 million members could be courting me and I was so unaware of it?

The Preakness – The following day I was in a seminar when I got a phone call from the CEO of a national architecture and engineering firm that employs over 2500 in 35 offices around the country. There was a touch of panic in her voice as she left a message on my cell phone. “We have a project for a major University and we have hit a problem. We were not able to resolve the site design and the University has demanded we get you involved earlier than we planned. This is the first time we have worked for this University and we really need your help.”

As soon as I got the message I returned the call and asked how we can help? “Could you meet with the University late this afternoon, discuss their concerns and walk the site?” Without hesitation I said “I’m done with this seminar in two hours and it’s an hour drive. I’ll meet you on site at 4:30. Call me back and let me know if that works for everyone.”

The schedule was so tight that I was unable to stop for gas and arrived on site with 4 miles left on my digital gas gauge. Driving through the parking lot I noticed the crowd consisting of the lead architect, campus architect, director of planning, campus landscape architect, department representative and chief engineer. Approaching the campus architect jokingly quipped “It’s going to be fine now, the experts have arrived.” I turned around and looked behind me searching the parking lot for someone else and replied “If that’s the case then you won’t need me to help.”

For the next hour they peppered me with questions and ideas. I picked an option that made the most sense and said “I think we can make this approach work, just let me study it on paper in the office and we’ll get back with you in three days with details.” Everyone relaxed, relieved that the problem was to be in good hands. The lead architect pulled me aside and thanked me for responding so quickly. He indicated that my simple presence reassured everyone at the University that the project was back on track. I just smiled and said “It was my pleasure; we have always respected your work. Just call us any time we can help. This will be a fun project to be able to work with you again.”

The Belmont – The third day I flew to Boston to make a presentation on a secret project we were requested to attend. In the Triple Crown series the Belmont is a test of strength and endurance, my Boston trip was no less. The alarm awoke me at 5:00 am for the 7:00 am flight. I arrived at Logan Airport at 11:00 am and meet two other team members for this project. We grabbed a taxi and headed for the consultant’s office.

Arriving at noon, the first thing we did was sign confidentially non-disclosure statements. They briefed us on the rules for management of confidential information regarding the project. The project which is a series of 1.5 billion dollars projects was given a secret code name for us to use while discussing the project with staff.

Cautiously, they probed of knowledge of the subject with pens jotting down every word. Little by little their comfort level with us grew. As it turned out the majority of the technical issues focused on my area of expertise, so I ended up talking the most. After about two hours of non specific discussions, they then revealed the plans. Our team was stunned at the concept, our jaws dropped at the slight of the renderings.

In detail they explain each aspect of the project, schedule, responsibilities, technical issues, and constraints. Finally, they all raised their heads, looked at me and asked “We know it has never been attempted before, but is it feasible? Can you do it?” I looked at my team members seeing their information overload still being processed. I turned and without hesitation for a second time this week, said “Absolutely, we can do it. We have succeeded at projects that scared me a hell of a lot more than this one. However for this to happen, this is what is required.” I then outlined a detailed research project which would test the prototypes and define the operational parameters. We will need to identify a University in south Florida to conduct the research under our supervision. My team members jumped up and said they have worked with two senior professors in south Florida and they were sure either one would be interested in a project of this scope and reach. I then suggested than this level of investigation would cost about $150,000 without adding in our team’s fee. The consultants agreed with the approach and then asked “You’re the first one we have talked to that said it was possible. Can you do all the research in three months and have a prototype ready for testing in August.” I took a deep breath and shook my head “You guys are not going to make this easy. Completing the research in three months is going to be difficult. We would need to know by next week.”

They went on to explain that the design consortium and owners were both large multi-nationals located throughout Europe. Every two weeks executive council meetings were held to coordinate designs and schedules. Next Tuesday the consultant would present our concept to the executive committee and we should have an answer, at which time we would need to move at the speed of light. There would probably be some travel to Europe and many trips to Florida. Looking at the clock I realized it was past 5:00 pm and we needed to rush back to the airport to catch the plane home. We closed the meeting with a list of actions items and grabbed a taxi to Logan. Our team members were taking the same plane back so we had some time to talk.

Arriving at Logan the weather turned black and our flight was delayed. While waiting for the flight I realized that if this project indeed works, we were developing at least four possible patents which we would own the property rights. I made a mental note to contact a patent attorney next week and find out how to start the application process. The three hour weather delay on the runway at Logan ended when the pilot was granted a rerouting around the problematic weather. I finally arrived back at home at 1:30 am the next day, but still couldn’t sleep with excitement.

The past week will be one to remember. Like the Triple Crown it doesn’t happen to everyone or very often. I better start paying better attention to the betting line. I don’t think we’re the dark horse as often as in the past. It’s setting up to be an interesting and busy summer.

Big Shoes to Fill

Over the Memorial Day weekend while looking at family photos, I rediscovered the memoirs of my great aunt. She had taken the time before she pasted away and wrote an essay about her father Joseph McLean, who had a very distinguished career in the construction industry. He was considered by many to be a leading figure in the construction on many of America’s skyscrapers and treasured memorials. He knew many of the leading figures of the day. I have spent much time researching his work, since I am in the same industry. Here’s my great aunt’s essay which was written in the 1960’s.

John McLean (1867-1943)

Dad's dream and aspirations were to be a doctor and with determination to be the best. With his very skillful hands, I know he would have made a good one. But it wasn't to be. His father's untimely death changed all that. He was not the least bit interested in farming so at age 14 he was apprenticed to a cabinet maker for 5 years. During that time he became a very skilled mechanic. He loved wood and good workmanship. After his apprenticeship he got a job in civil service in Melbourne. While there he met mother and they were married. At that time dad was very thin with a heavy mustache and grandma asked mother why she would marry a man who was going into consumption. Over the years mother changed that. When she was young, mother's desire was to open a shop for baby’s clothes. She could sew and embroider beautifully and it gave her the greatest pleasure to smock and pretty up a little girl's dress. But that all changed when she started going with dad. He was determined to succeed so every evening he would bring home math and engineering books and she would help him study. Dad was very good at math and could solve almost any problem connected with the building industry. Give him a slide rule, and he could do wonders with it. His one regret - he never learned euclid. This he spoke of often.

I believe it was around 1901 that King George V and Queen Mary, then Duke and Duchess of York paid a State visit to Australia. Of course they visited Melbourne and dad was asked to make the gift the city would present to the royal couple. Dad was told to make a set of six pens. He was given a 10 foot log of Fiddlebark Mahogany, a very beautifully grained native tree to work with. Dad made the pens and then took them to a goldsmith where they were elaborately decorated with 24 carat Australian gold. Dad, of course, was not invited to the State Dinner but his uncle was. When the time came to toast the King and Queen, as was custom the champagne glasses were all thrown into the large fireplace and broken. But Dad's uncle instead put his glass in his pocket and brought it home to Dad. It was just a cheap glass but it held many memories for dad and was carefully preserved. Today Peggy has the glass. On Bob's report of his business career, he makes mention of a picture frame that dad also made. An international contest was being held among all British territories for someone to design and make a frame big enough to hold a life size painting of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandria. It seems dad's design won and the picture now hangs in the Big Hall at Buckingham Palace. Evidently dad never knew this for he never mentioned it at all - only the pens.

An opportunity opened up in dad's department for the job as head of the department. Dad took the test and came out tops above everyone else. However the man who came in third also wanted the job, so he went to his priest. The priest exerted his power and that man got the job. Dad was so angry he left the department and decided to go to South Africa Mother stayed behind with Bob, Rita and Henry. Dad soon found jobs in Pretoria and Durbin. It was in Durbin, I believe, that he fell in love with a diamond in a jeweler's window. It was a beautiful canary diamond displayed on blue velvet and dad just couldn't forget it. He was determined to buy it even though he didn't have the money - however that was no deterrent. He told the jeweler to hold the gem for him and he would be back for it. In those days dad was a very beautiful dancer (he still was in 1934) so after work he started teaching dancing to raise extra money. Bit by bit he saved the money and purchased the diamond. Then the problem was how to get it into Australia without paying duty. A friend of his was going back so he carefully wrapped the stone in old paper and stuffed it into the toe of a friend's working boots. Mother got the diamond without any problem.

By that time dad had made contact with Milligan Brothers, contractors from the U.S., who had a big job in Johannesburg. Dad went back to Australia, got mother and the children and returned to Johannesburg. The job was the construction of the office building for the DeBeers Diamond Co. It was the first steel construction building in South Africa and consisted of several floors with a huge safe in the basement to store the diamonds. As the building was constructed on solid rock dad was asked if he could handle dynamite to blast the rock necessary to make the safe. Dad, of course, said yes he could handle dynamite even though he had never even held a piece in his hands. That was Friday. Saturday he went to visit a friend, an old miner who could handle the stuff. Dad spent the weekend learning how to work with dynamite. Confident he could do the job; he went to work on Monday and started blasting. When the entire framework was up, by custom a tree was put on the roof. That night the natives on the job paid dad a great honor. They came out to the house and gave him a chivarie, at that time seldom performed for white people in South Africa. Dad really knew how to handle people.

When the building was finished the company asked dad to go to the United States as they had jobs there. He went home and told mother she had a week to pack. Dad had made some good solid trunks - one for his tools and two for whatever she could pack in them. Mother had just made a lot of jam and was determined to take it with her. When they reached customs dad was instructed to open all the trunks and bags. The agent started by examining one trunk. He put his hand down one corner and came up with a handful of broken glass and jam. Disgusted, Dad was told to shut all the trunks and bags and move on. As you might have guessed, they had had a very rough crossing. Rita clearly remembers when they went through a typhoon seeing every adult in the saloon on their knees praying for help and forgiveness as they never expected to survive.

At the dock they met Mr. Cunningham who had preceded them from Africa. Mr. Cunningham took them to look for temporary housing. So, Bob being the oldest was given the responsibility of taking care of Rita and Henry. They spent the day in Battery Park. Bob had been given some money and was carefully told which was a penny, a nickel, a dime, a quarter. He was instructed to buy lunch. The three spent the entire day exploring every part of Battery Park and the aquarium. Dad contacted Milligan Brothers and was told the job was in Staten Island so that was where they moved to. The first job was to build a plant, for Ivory I believe. By that time Milligan Brothers had no further work and a depression was on, but with only one short lay off dad always seemed to be busy.

It was around 1917 that he met Mr. Hegeman, Mr. Harris, and Mr. Baxendale. The four of them formed a company called Hegeman-Harris Co. While the others were inside men -running the office and working with prospective clients, dad was the building supervisor. At first they were non-union and did all their own work. They maintained their own supply yards and hired extremely talented people. Their reputation for quality work spread and they became acquainted with some very influential people while fixing up and redecorating beautiful homes and mansions. However as their business grew, it became necessary to enlarge and let work out to subcontractors. They hired superintendents for each job and dad became the general superintendent.

Before they enlarged however, I remember one job in particular that dad loved to tell about. In the very early 20's they were redoing the apartment of a very famous Broadway actress. She had gone to Europe and fallen in love with a 1000 year old fireplace in some palace. She bought it and had it shipped over. She sent dad very definite instructions on how to handle it. Dad went down to the ship to see that the crate was carefully unloaded and trucked to the apartment. When the crate was opened, it was found the elaborately decorated fireplace was made of wood and was so worm eaten and rotted that it couldn't be even touched with out crumbling apart. It definitely could not be installed. Without any qualms dad brought in his best carpenter, and painter. They built a new fireplace. His carpenters with shaping and engraving tools made an exact copy of the original design. Then Paul, a very talented artist, went to work. He used a beebee gun to shoot holes in the wood where the worms had eaten the original. Then he antiqued the worm holes and all of the filigree. When he was finished, it was impossible to tell the difference between the old and the new. When every one was fully satisfied with the copy, the original fireplace was burned and the new one installed. When the actress returned, she was simply thrilled and overjoyed that the fireplace had stood the journey so well. She was so pleased she gave a large reception to show off her purchase. It was a great success.

Dad's company during his active years never went for small houses; only in one instance did they do so. During World War I they practically built a whole city for the Navy in New Port News, Virginia. They were mainly interested in colleges, hospitals, and commercial buildings. I remember a few of them built when he was general superintendent and before 1932 but I have forgotten most. Those I do remember are: one hotel in Washington, D.C. , a small bank in Red Bank, N.J., a large church in West Palm Beach, Fla., a theater in Newark, N.J., where there was a long argument over the motto inscribed over the front door, Should it be "Whatever you do, do well" or " Whatever you do, do it well" , Elks Memorial in Chicago, the tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington Cemetery (just the tomb not the present buildings around it), Chicago Tribune Tower, American Radiator Building in New York City made of black marble, Hospital at Louisville in connection with the University, Libraries at Dartmouth, Yale, and Harvard, Einstein's Lab at Princeton, N.J., Additions to Brooklyn Memorial Hospital and Lenox Hill Hospital, a building on Wall Street, the Pennsylvania Tower for a Light company in Allentown, Pa., and the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church. The Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church was built for Rockefeller. The RCA Building in Radio City, NYC was dad': last big job. He did not put up the Trilon or Parisphere at the 1939 World's Fair but the contractor who did had to call dad in as a consultant when he had a problem he couldn't solve. In addition to the above he did restoration work on many magnificent homes and mansions in the New York area, many of them I got to see. On of those jobs he got a big chuckle out of was redoing the apartment of Mrs. Paley, wife of CBS president. Three times they did walls and put down inlaid floors and a furniture company furnished draperies and furniture and three times it was all ripped up and done over again. Dad never got over laughing about the two bathrooms. One was tiled in small pink glass mirrors and the other in blue. When you sat on the toilet, dad said you saw a thousand reflections of yourself.

One time he was asked by Mr. Rockefeller to go to Tuskegee Institute in Alabama. They had requested a donation and Mr. Rockefeller wanted to make sure they merited it. Dad had the privilege of meeting Dr. George Washington Carver who by that time was very old and feeble. To shake hands you held out your palm and he just laid his palm on it. Dad was most impressed with what they were teaching the boys. They made their own bricks and built the buildings. They even could do their own electrical work. Some with artistic talents were using potters wheels and turning out some beautiful vases, etc. At the threat of W.W.II in 1939 the New York Mirror asked him to examine the roof of their building and recommend what should be done to reinforce it in case of air attack. Dad was truly respected throughout the country as one of the leaders in the building industry. He was also on many occasions the go-between for the building contractors and the unions. He had a very good relationship with Mr. Samuel Gompers who he regarded as a very honorable man.

He was well liked by all the men who worked under him. If any one was having a problem, he never hesitated to stop and see if he could help. If the man was truly interested in what he was trying to do, Dad would work with him over and over until the man could handle it properly. He would never swear at any one and never reprimanded or criticized anyone in front of others, he would call them aside. But the one thing Dad never forgave was tardiness. He would fire a man for that quicker than for anything else. He, himself, when in charge of a job was always there first and had the work all laid out by the time the men arrived. In addition a man should never keep a lady waiting under any circumstances. The lady could be late but never the man. He always carried two pencils with him, a gold one on his watch chain and a silver one. When Dad had to sign a paper, the supers watched anxiously to see which pencil he used. The silver meant something was unsatisfactory and the gold always brought a smile.

In 1928 Dad took his first real vacation - seven months on a semi-retired basis. Mother, Dad, and I (Hannah McLean) went to Australia in October. The night before we left Mother had all the family to dinner, adults no children. After dinner she had a surprise. Dad loved auctions and at one bought a huge diamond pin. It wasn't really beautiful in design but it contained many diamonds and a few sapphires. The pin was taken to Hardigan Jewelers in Newark and broken down. The center stone about a 2 carat diamond was made into an engagement ring for Mother together with a solid diamond wedding band. A gold ring with 3 diamonds was given to Bob and a one stone ring to Dave. Rita and Bertha both got beautiful dinner rings. I got a bracelet with a diamond in each white gold square and enough loose stones were set aside for Roger, who was then in college, to be made into a wedding band for the girl he would marry. The remaining stones were put into a beautiful brooch for mother. At that time she also gave me the canary diamond which she had had placed in a beautiful platinum and diamond setting.

The next day we left on our trip. We took the train to Chicago and from there through the mountains to Vancouver. By the time we reached Vancouver Dad knew half the people on the train. He was very outgoing and just loved people. We sailed on the Aorangi- the star ship of the fleet and 13,000 tons. We had a good crossing and a wonderful time. We stopped at Honolulu and Suva, Fiji and took tours of both islands. Also stopped at Auckland, New Zealand. We landed in Sydney and took the train to Melbourne.

At Melbourne Uncle Tom met us and we stayed at his home. It was a big house with plenty of bedrooms but no one slept in a bedroom. All slept on the side porches around the house that is all but mother. She insisted on a bedroom. Uncle Tom had bought a small 2 seat car for Dad and Mother to use. So wherever they went I had to follow by train.

After touring Melbourne and spending several days with Aunt Lil in Foster where we all had a wonderful time and went swimming on Christmas, it was time to visit Dad's family. We stayed with Uncle Roger and Aunt Sara. They were a nice couple. I liked them both very much. We next went to visit Aunt Hannah, Aunt Bec and Uncle Willie. They had a large farm house with more conveniences than Uncle Roger or Aunt Sara but the same feeling of true friendliness was missing. We were invited on an endless round of teas. At that time there were seventeen Mrs. McKernans living in Euroa, so you had to be careful what you said to anyone. We had one very interesting side trip to Shepperton. A nice town with lots of greenery. But then it is it an area watered by irrigation from the Goulburn weir. Much like Imperial Valley in California. We visited some of the fruit farms and I saw the biggest bunches of grapes I had ever seen. We went through the Shepperton Fruit Processing plant where they can pears and peaches. The girls did the peeling, halving and stoning quicker than machines could. A piece of fruit goes in one door and half an hour later it comes out another door, canned, labeled and ready for shipment. They handled 105 tons of fruit a day. A very interesting visit -The only amusement at night was talking or playing cards. One evening Uncle Willie informed us that we did not belong to a church only a sect, a true church must have a bishop and celebrate the seven sacraments. So there are only 3 true churches - the Episcopalian, the Roman Catholic and the Greek Orthodox. Needless to say that didn't sit too well with either mother or dad. But he was just as opinionated about everything else so you didn't even let it go in one ear. On one of our last days there we had a picnic and over 50 McKernan relatives were on hand. I didn't even try to remember names or relationships. Just say "McKernan" and every one answered. It was a wonderful way to say good-bye.

After Euroa we went to Seymour to visit Aunt Eliza. Her husband had died earlier that year. Life at Seymour was very monotonous. There was absolutely nothing to do. No radio. Played cards a bit. We lived on Iamb. They raised sheep and prize bulls. If a lamb was prepared for dinner and it rained or thundered, it was immediately cooked to keep it from spoiling as they had no refrigeration at all. So you lived on cold lamb day after day. Dad made his excuses and left as soon as he could. He just had to see the end of the cricket match. Mother and I stuck it out a few more days. We returned to Melbourne for another round of good-byes for we truly had had a wonderful visit there. All mothers’ family gathered for the last farewell.

We had some interesting and beautiful side trips. Dad had gotten a bigger car so I could go with them. We visited Lakes Entrance but had to stay longer than expected because of bush fires. When we were allowed to leave we were lucky to be behind a native of the area. Trees were still burning on both sides of the road and one had fallen across the road. No problem. He just got his ax out and chopped the tree apart. We went up the Snowy River but was told not to stay as the fires were getting too closen. One interesting visit was to Yallourn. A beautiful little town - clean as a whistle. It was where they mined brown coal and turned it into electricity for all the countryside. The day we arrived they had just opened up their new hospital.

Naturally we went through it. Dad mentioned the fact to the hotel manager that he had built some hospitals. The manager told the Hospital Head who told the surgeons. So Dad was asked to go through the building with them and point out what he would have done differently. He made several good suggestions and as a result we got a personally escorted tour of the mine. I remember thinking how funny it was that so many men had to ask the super questions. It was just to get me to talk. They had never heard a Yankee speak before and were fascinated by my accent. I was sorry to learn a week later that the town had burned to the ground. It was such a pretty place.

One thing Dad accomplished during his visit was to teach all the girls of eligible age in all the families to drive and saw that they got their licenses. He was a good teacher. He even got mother to drive which was really a miracle. She had to take the test three times. She finally succeeded but hated driving. She was literally afraid of the car.

We returned home on the Tahiti, a 7000 ton ship, making stops at Wellington, Raratonga, and Tahiti. At Wellington we had arranged to meet Dad's uncle, Robert Hannah. It seems that Dad's Aunt Hannah Ferguson had married Robert so she became Hannah Hannah ! One Hannah is bad enough but two! Dad had written him of our visit to Wellington. When we landed the company car and chauffeur were there to meet us and drive us all around the area. We were to meet Uncle Robert at six for dinner. The car again picked us up, Uncle Robert did not live in the famous Hannah mansion but in a town house on a steep street. There we met Uncle Robert, his two daughters and either their husbands or fiancées I am not sure which. Uncle Robert arranged for us to visit the Hannah Shoe Manufacturing Co. the next day. After a delightful dinner, it was time to go back to the ship. The two men had cars and the company car were all parked in front of the house. But instead of driving us to the ship Uncle Robert told us to go to the top of the hill and get the bus which would take us directly to the pier. We walked up the street as instructed but then Dad called a cab. He was so angry he could hardly talk but he was determined never to see his Uncle again. So early the next morning we took an all day bus trip and got back to the ship just in time for sailing. Dad could never get over it - three cars in front of the house and we were told to walk. Today the Hannah Shoe Mfg. Co. is still in business.

In Tahiti Dad hired a car to drive us around the island, a distance of about 125 miles. Tahiti is cone shaped - very high in the center and sloping steeply down to the shore line. The one car wide road followed very closely to the water. Many little rivers flowed down the mountain. The bridges were simply cement slabs one car wide with no railings and road level. Half way around the island we had to stop for a very heavy rain storm. The water quickly rose in the streams ahead of us and was soon 2 feet deep over the bridge. We waited as long as we could for the rain to stop and the river to lower as we simply had to catch the ship and no place to turn around so we had to go ahead. The driver gathered some native boys and had them stand on either side of the bridge to show where the edges were. Other boys pushed and guided the wheels so we wouldn't get stuck in the water, and swept into the ocean, which was only 10 - 12 feet from us. It was truly scary. But Tahiti is beautiful and we did enjoy the ride once over the bridge. The rest of the trip was uneventful and we landed in San Francisco on April 12. We visited all of San Francisco and spent 3 days at the Ahwanee Hotel in Yosemite. Then we visited Los Angeles, San Diego and Tijuana before taking the train through the Carissa Gorge to Phoenix. From there we went to Grand Canyon and stopped at the El Toro Hotel. After a two day visit there, we returned to Phoenix and took the bus to Globe over the Apache Trail - a most thrilling ride. Our next stop was to New Orleans. We visited the old Farmers Market and had dinner at Antoine's. It was supposed to be world famous. I must admit I was disappointed with Antoine's. It was small not too clean, red checkered table cloths and Child's china but Waldorf prices. I will say, however, the dinner was excellent. We arrived home on May 3rd. My diary contains a complete description of our sightseeing tours.

Before we left on the trip Dad had sold the house in Glen Ridge and bought land in Short Hills. While waiting for the new house to be built we stayed with Rita and Dave and the children. At that time they had a nice home in Maplewood, not very big but comfortable. In 1932 we moved into our new home, a real dream house.

About that time Dad wanted to retire and asked to have his stock redeemed which was worth $250,000.00. Mr. Derricks, who was with the firm then persuaded Dad to stay in and hold onto his stock as they had plenty of work ahead. Dad reluctantly agreed and continued on semi-retired basis, working three days a week for $69.00 a week and doing no traveling. In 1934 one of the accountants visited Dad on a Sunday urging him to sell as the company was keeping two sets of books. But Dad couldn't believe it - Hegeman and Harris were his friends and they wouldn't mislead him. So he held on.

In 1935 Rita moved to Matawan, N.J. as she thought it would give her son Davie a better chance in life. While looking for her house, Dad also found a 100 year old house with only 10C feet separating two houses. He came from the land and I guess he felt an urge to return, so he bought the house with 10 acres of land. As he was only going into New York three days a week, he hired Holmes Emmons to work around the house and yard with him. A beautiful garden was put in for Mother. For himself Dad planted boysenberries, raspberries, currants (red, white and black) and specimens of every type of fruit and nut tree. But he and Emmons spent most of their time helping Rita fix up the old farm house she had.

In 1938-39 Dad spent a lot of time at the New York World's Fair. After the Fair opened, Rita hosted a dinner for him at her house. There he entertained Lord and Lady Beal of England, Dr. and Mrs. Pulivka of Czechoslovakia and the young architect of the Australian Pavilion as well as Bob and Bert. Bob had known the Beals and Pulivkas in Europe. It was a very pleasant day and Rita did herself proud. Lord Beal made himself at home in the kitchen and proudly announced he had made the gravy. Mrs. Pulivka, a countess in her own right, couldn't get over the size of Rita's house. She said back home it would accommodate four families. The young architect was fascinated by the Sears Roebuck catalog. He was simply amazed that any company could afford to issue a catalog in color for free. He took it home as his one souvenir.

In 1940 Dad just had to retire and give up driving. He turned his stock in and learned the sad truth. All they would give Dad was $39,000.00. So too late Dad found out the accountant was right and the "true friends" he trusted made deals to enrich themselves.

Dad had two real pleasures in life. One was Christmas and the other was Sunday breakfast. Starting in 1935 two weeks before Christmas he always took Davie, Joe and Peggy to Bamberger's in Newark. Mother, Rita and I could go along if we wanted to but after we reached the store, we had to disappear. Dad took the three children to the toy department and gave them free rein. They could try everything, ride everything and pick out what they liked. Then he took them to lunch. Again we were completely ignored. Each one could order anything they wanted and all thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Christmas Eve was his big day. He just couldn't wait until Christmas Day to give out the presents. He would sit in his chair any just beam! It's too bad he was in such poor health when his grandchildren were old enough for such trips. By that time he could never really enjoy the holidays anymore. But when working he always saved $2.00 a week from his lunch money and brought Mother a surprise gift. Unfortunately their tastes didn't agree but he never forgot her. His second pleasure -Sunday breakfast. After Bob was born Mother never got up for Sunday breakfast. She always saw that he had a good breakfast before leaving for work on weekdays, but never on Sundays. That was Dad's day. He would make the coffee, toast a piece of bread, butter it liberally, cut the crust all around so Mother could eat it easily and then with a big smile would bring it up to her. When Rita was at home and working he did the same for her and for me also when I was working. Mother appreciated his attention but both Rita and I could have blessed him for waking us up to get a cup of coffee after we had been out late the night before. But who could say anything when you saw his big grin and sparkling eyes. It was truly a service of love.

During his driving years Dad purchased many cars. His first in 1919 was a Cleveland Touring Car. It was really a wonderful car and everybody in the family learned to drive on it. After he could afford a newer car Dad bought a Nash but every time he went to start it, the car caught fire. It lasted two weeks. After that he bought a Stearns Knight and then a Handley Knight, al touring cars. His first closed car was a Buick Crown Victoria, two big seats in front and barely leg room for passengers in the back seat. The day after W.W.II broke out he bought a Buick sedan. In the meantime the Cleveland first went to Bob and when he could afford better to Rita who used it for many years and swore that it ran on the smell of gas as it was so economical to run. It's funny but while I cannot even remember my current license plate, I remember the first license plate number on the Cleveland. It was 144939.

After his retirement Dad spent his time puttering around the house and helping Rita and thoroughly enjoying it. On rainy days he would go to the cellar, open his tool trunk and sharpen all his saws and other tools. Then wrap them up, put them safely away and lock the trunk. You were never permitted to touch or use any of his tools. If you needed a hammer h€ would buy you one, but you could never use his.

In December 1942 Dad developed a very bad cough. He asked me to go to the doctors and get some medicine. I did but the doctor said it wasn't a cold but his heart and he had only a short time to live. I told the doctor I didn't care what he did but he had to keep him alive until January 3rd. Dad was so looking forward to his 50th Anniversary and we had planned a big celebration. But the sad news changed all that. We had dinner at home but only for the adults. It turned out to be his last good day. Mother was never told the doctor's report. However Dad's circulation had already started to act up. His legs were ice cold. He couldn't lie down at night and had to sit up in a comfortable chair. On January 4th we took him up to Dr. Kearns in Newark, our family doctor for many years, who immediately put him in the hospital. So six days a week I had to drive Mother up to Newark. Bertha visited him regularly every Tuesday. Dad's condition became worse and he suffered much pain. Each day doctors allowed he clots up the legs but could do nothing. Today modern science could have done wonders but not in 1943. On March 10th he had a heart attack but on March 11th he was allowed to come home. It was then that Mother realized how serious the situation was. We brought him home but within a week had to take him back. We just couldn't handle him. He never left the hospital again but got progressively worse. On Tuesday, June 15th Bertha visited Dad and phoned Mother to say she had never seen Dad looking better. She no sooner put the phone down than the nurse upstairs phoned to say Dad had passed away. He had had an arterial occlusion. He had been in the hospital a full six months. Mother insisted on a home funeral. Masonic and religious services were held. He was laid to rest in Evergreen Cemetery next to Henry on June 18th, 1943. He was truly a great man and set an example for all of us to be proud of and to follow.