Ride This Train

If I was going to compare life to anything, it’d be like riding a train on a long trip. You get born onboard and you don’t exactly know when you’ll get off. A train pulls a lot of cars and as you roll through the countryside of your existence, you change cars a lot. Every day you make switches. Maybe you start out in the domestic car, waking with your spouse, having breakfast together in the family dining car, but then you leap across the connector to the business world compartment where everyone is dressed for success and busy as can be trying to please the boss. It’s a constant game of train hopping, of wearing your different hats and fulfilling your varied rolls in life.

There are special days on the timetable of your calendar, anniversaries, birthdays and holidays. These are as important in your life as your job or anything else. You build traditions around these dates and as your family grows, so do these happy obilgations. Birthdays punctuated the year and in those years of childhood this meant some type of home party or outing for each child. Laurel’s was in March, which meant it was between the coming or going of Easter and another big dinner and get together at my parents, both for her birthday and for the holiday.

Noelle’s birthday was near the other great Christian holiday, Christmas. When someone is born that close to December 25 you must make certain you do not blend the two events. Each child deserves the distinct focus of her own birthday. 

My father and my wife both celebrated another year in October.
June was the big month, though. My Grandmother’s birthday was on the eleventh and then came my mother’s birthday on the 21^st. The 21^st was also my parents wedding anniversary and generally Father’s Day fell on or near this date as well. A week later my birthday came. Just to complicate things, my wife’s best friend’s birthday was on the 24^th and my longtime friend from childhood, Stuart’s fell on the 30^th. As far as all the family dates we always went out to some restaurant to celebrate, such as The Peddler’s Inn or The Black Angus. It was an extra special celebration for my Grandmother for she turned 85 that June.

Even Darryl’s birthday could add to the business of things. It fell on the 24^th of August, which put it on or near the Wilson Family Reunion we all attended every year on the last Sunday of August. Of course in 1984 Darryl was still a bit too young to grasp what was going on.
Unfortunately, Lois didn’t attend the reunion with us that summer as she was sick.  No, she wasn’t pregnant again, but she was getting sick a lot, especially when she was supposed to go to gatherings of people. She always came down with something that kept her away from other people. We didn’t take too much note of this at the time.

 We had big dinners each year on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Since the children had arrived we had Thanksgiving at my parents, where my Grandmother did most of the cooking, and we had Christmas at our place, where Lois did the meal. We went to this arrangement feeling it wasn’t right to drag the kids away from all the toys they received to rush up to grandma and grandpa’s. There was always a big feast at my parents on Easter Sunday as well.

Then you had the lesser holidays to content with, New Year’s, Memorial Day, Independence Day and Labor day, plus Halloween and day trips to the beach or Dutch Country or where all. Every week was church. Every day was busy. Family life is a full time job of its own and except for Laurel, our kids weren’t even in school yet, let alone a lot of extra activities. Those things were yet to come.

What did come was my 25^th High School Class Reunion on the tenth of November. Twenty-five years, really? I don’t think we went to Lois’ class reunion that year, even though it was the 25-year milestone too.

Lois and I managed to get time off alone by dropping our brood off at my parents several times over the year. We weren’t getting any of those long vacation trips we used to take, though.  The longest we could squeeze in was a two-day church retreat to a camp in Maryland.

We also got another weekend together in New York beginning on December 15 as I attended another American Management Association seminar that coming week. The usual thing, we went up on Saturday morning and Lois stayed over until Monday before taking the train home. I remained the rest of the week to take classes in “Quality Control in the Service Industries”.

Riding the business compartment there was another big deal of a project I was heading up that summer. It was bigger than most of my past projects, at least in the sense it involved far more divisions throughout the bank making it more complicated. All projects generally require a team of players. This one was notable by the number of high level members. Here is a picture of the Team:

Projects of any magnitude required a sponsor at vice-president level or higher .Walt Whittaker sits at the head of the table. He was the vice-president over one of the largest divisions of the bank, Deposit Services and Data Preparation, and had been picked by Barney Taylor, then Chairman and President of Wilmington Trust as this project's sponsor. I was named as the Project Manager and that is me seated to Walt’s right. Seated from my right are Dale Haring, an intern at the time (more about the interns later), and Etta Harper, who was an Assistant Vice-President and Head of Data Preparation. Behind Walt, standing to his far right is John Behringer, Assistant Vice-President and Head of the Savings and Operation Section of Deposit Services. John was also the man everyone assumed would eventually more up into Walt’s position when Walt retired. Most of the others were from Information Technology (known in those days as just Operations). These included Chris Honorowski, a brilliant programmer who I worked on several projects with; France Shelton, who will talk about in a later chapter; Jean Byassee, at that time Chris Honorowski's boss; and Ed Newman, almost the stereotype of a computer nerd. Charles Stone was from Marketing and Tod Hughes, I believe was from Finance. I am not sure anymore what areas Thom Holden and Rick Tindall represented. The three absentees were Anne Freebery, Assistant Vice-president over the Deposit Operations Section; John Kipp, Vice-president in the Information Technology Division; and Rick Wilhide a vice-president in Retail.  A lot of bucks were represented here.

    What made this project so important to everyone was not just its uniqueness; it was the opportunity to show up all the other big banks and put them in their place, even thoughthis was another one of those “new-fangled” ideas that most were saying couldn’t be done, including some of those pictured as on the team. Wilmington Trust was going to introduce something called “Self-Service Banking” with totally free checking accounts. And, of course, despite the sceptics, we did it. We were not only the first bank to offer this service in Wilmington and Delaware, and the whole Philadelphia Region, we were the first in the good ol' USA to do it, perhaps the world.

There had been a couple of banks that tried offering free checking previously, but all these attempts had failed. The industry was convinced the whole idea was a big money loser. Now we thought we had the technology to make it work, even though a number of those inside The Bank were fighting it. However, at the same time, Congress was getting on the Banking Industries for not providing cheap services to those in the low income brackets. This helped our cause. This project would not only bring us the important youth market we believed it would, but would answer any criticism from Washington.

It was exactly what we claimed. There was no service charge, no minimum balance and no per check charges. The only actual restriction was you could not go to a live teller for any transaction an ATM could handle, which were the majority of transactions people used banks for anyway. You could do a deposit or a withdrawal of funds at an ATM. You could get your balance from the machine. These ATM would also print out a short bank statement if you requested one. Therefore, if a Self-Service Customer choose to go to a teller for any of these items they would be changed $2.50 per transaction. If a customer went to a live teller for a transaction the ATM could not provide, there would be no charge. This also applied if the ATM was out of service. Each new Self-Service Customer was issued a Bank Card to use in ATMs and a packet of checks. Checks were free as long as the customer ordered generic ones. If they wished a picture or fancy design on the checks they had to pay extra.

We promoted this new product heavily at the University of Delaware and other local colleges as the perfect account for a student. The theory was that as students graduated and became successful in life they would stay loyal customers of Wilmington Trust.
Checks once cleared were not returned to the customer with monthly statements. The cancelled checks were stored at the bank for 30 days (although in reality we kept them for at least 90), then were put on microfiche. If a customer needed a copy of a cancelled check, the bank would provide one at no charge. This storage of Self-Service items had implications for another product idea down the line, Check Safekeeping.

Also in 1984 Wilmington Trust’s CEO incorporated an Intern Program. Each year, going forward a

group of students would be picked from the Local colleges as interns. They would serve in this position for one year, during which they would be shifted throughout the bank departments, divisions and sections to learn everything in the operations. They received no pay for this and only the possibility that a job might be offered at the end of their one-year tour.
I was named to develop and conduct the training within our Divisions. One of the first things I did was write a booklet called A Guide to the Deposit Services Division. This contained a brief explanation of each unit by section. We would use the booklet as a handout to new employees and during some presentations the Bank did in the coming year.
My program was a combination of on-hands experience and lectures from several managers and myself about what we did and how we did it. The course was several weeks long. During the last days I gave a final exam. The program was designed to assure that no one would fail, not because it was easy, but because we attempted through clear language and repetition that everyone would get it.
There were 12 Interns in the initial group (and it pretty much stayed around a dozen each year thereafter). Most were from the University of Delaware and the vast majority were men. I can't even remember if we had any women in that first group.  There were only three who were hired at year end, and one of these left after only a few months. The two who stayed were Dale Haring and Fil Sherry.

This was interesting to me. Fil Sherry (pictured left) had scored the lowest on my final exam and he had been something of an annoying presents. He was always showing up late for training sessions and invariably got up to take phone calls, disrupting everyone else. He was lackadaisical and disinterested. If it had been in my power, I would have kicked him out of the program.
Remember this because Oil Sherry will play a major roll in my own career.

The train ride through 1984 ran pretty smoothly. We looked with great anticipation to the stations ahead. But when you ride this train of life you can't always be sure what is around the next bend.

In the Danger Zone

I woke up this morning in the danger zone. I feel better.

I feel a little better, that is.

You know that time when ill that you know the fever broke, the hills crested and wellness is just around the corner.

In other words, the Danger Zone.

I'm still blowing my nose and hacking now and again. My legs are merely trembly rather than wobbly when I stand. I feel much better in comparison to yesterday, which means I am on the cusp of deceiving myself leading to disasters results such as a resurrection of my symptoms.


I felt the forward scouts of this germ invasion last Friday evening. My wife was suffering for what seems most of the month with her own battleground of coughs and sneezes. I arrogantly believed I would escape notice by the enemy, foolish man that I am. But her throes of agony awoke me late Friday evening and I left the bedroom to her, both of us hoping the NiteQuil would soon dope her to snooze land. I retreat to the computer across the hall.

Immediately I detected this slight roughness in my throat. It wasn't sore, just as they say, scratchy. Was something up? Oh, I hoped not. I did not want to be sick. That is a silly statement, I supposed. Who wants to be sick?

Besides it was inconvenient. I had commitments, I had responsibilities and I had expectations. It was only a few days until Christmas. I wanted to enjoy Christmas. I looked forward to the first Christmas Eve Service at my new church (literally new, new to me and new to itself having only begun last August).

When my eyes popped open at 4:00 AM Saturday morning I could feel that threat in my throat, a bit more insistent I thought, but perhaps once up it would fade away. Sometimes it does. I didn't have time to worry or fret about it. My daughter and I were heading out the door at 5 AM to head north to Toms River, New Jersey to aid in hurricane relief. It was to be only a half day this week.

It was cold and windy. We worked until just after 1:00. I forgot about my throat, but I did run out of steam quicker that day. I couldn't sustain much push as I tried to loose stubborn floor tiles that had to come up and off a floor. I kept wanting to stop, to gulp some water, anything but push that scraper bar into those stubborn, resistant squares beneath my feet.

My wife and I went out to dinner Saturday evening. It was a very chill evening, but I wore a light jacket, figuring I would only be running between the car and the restaurant with minimal exposure to the elements. Unfortunately, on the way home my wife asked to stop at a supermarket because she needed some additional ingredients for Christmas dinner. She had originally planned to go on Sunday, but decided as long as we were out...well you know. It was only a few things, she said, she would hurry.

My wife and I live in some kind of parallel universe of time. If I go to the supermarket for a few things in my particular universe it means ten-fifteen minutes in and out. If my wife says she just wants to get one thing, let's say some ice cream, then time becomes a 78 rpm record played on a 331/3 turntable. If it is a half-hour its fast, but count on at least 45 minutes. She says a few things, then watch an hour pass. And so I waited in the car, huddled in the car, for nearly an hour in my too light jacket.

Surprisingly, Sunday morning I didn't feel so bad. I did sleep much longer than usual. I chalked that up to the work up in Seaside Heights.  My throat still had that scratch, but it seemed no worse. I was confident I was going to escape the war - until about noon.

I had agreed to video the sermon and I guess I was so focused on keeping my camera on the pastor's face and not his feet, that I took no notice of my deteriorating body. But after I came home I sure took note. By Sunday night I was miserable.

It did not improve overnight. I was a mess on Monday. I did not feel like moving. I was coughing until my lungs felt more outside my chest than inside. I couldn't swallow, I couldn't breathe.

My wife, meanwhile, was not really over her own bout, but she was busy preparing her dishes for Christmas. By afternoon she was tired and stressed. She certainly didn't want to make dinner. She didn't  even want to pick up something. She wanted to get out of the house and be waited on and relax. So we went out to dinner and not to the Christmas Eve Service.

It snowed fiercely as we drove to our favorite restaurant just over the Pennsylvania border a few miles. Surprise, surprise, when we arrived we discovered they were closing at 6:00 that night, Christmas Eve you know. They gave us menus, but we declined because I didn't want them held up because of us when they were ready to go home for the Holiday. We left and found a Lone Star that was open. But I was on the verge of collapse by the time we ate. I went home, chugged a NiteQuil and went to bed. I would not have been fit company at our Christmas Eve Service.

Thus I was ill over Christmas. I got no succor that day either. I got up and cleaned the whole house top to bottom to spare my wife any additional stress or bother. And now today, Thursday I do believe, two days past, I feel better. It puts me in the danger zone. As stated, I feel better; I don't feel great. But I have to fight my tendency not to wait the disease out. I am always too quick to try and take back my normalcy, to rush into the morning cleaning and scrubbing of the kitchen as is my daily habit, a chore followed by a four or five mile walk in the park.

No, I am forcing myself to do as little physical activity as possible today and let the cure take place. The enemy is on the run, I know. Give it a day or two of retreat and I will once again be fit and firm, that is if I keep my head, and body, down in the danger zone.

I'm NOT Loving It

I'm of two minds about this, which I will explain later.

Don't you just admire the razor sharp minds of the rich businessman, always looking for ways to do good. I mean what could do more good than jack up your profit by taking Thanksgiving and Christmas away from your minimum wage employees. Why should people be giving thanks to God and enjoying the company of their families when they could be out flipping hamburgers and contributing to the coffers of a big business? Why should they waste time watching the wide-eyed small fries opening their gifts from Santa when their are French Fries to fry?

It is my hope that Mr. Corporate Head slipped on a apron today and went down to the local Scottsdale restaurant to lend a hand. Surely when he calls for 18,000 to give up their Christmas we wouldn't find him sitting sipping a nice Bordeaux from his private wine cellar in front of one of his three fireplaces or perhaps watching Dicken's Christmas Carol being screened on his home theater.  Gee, I wonder how long it'd take the cashier at to save enough to buy a $2,175,000 home on a golf course. Maybe if she or he put away the overtime for working the holidays...of wait, a lot are being asked to work without any bonus pay for a holiday.

Now I said I had two minds about these food joints opening on Christmas. Some things are necessary to open all the time. My daughters worked today, Christmas, at an animal shelter because animals need to be cared for everyday. My friend worked at the hotel where he is employed today as well. Of course, in their cases, they volunteered for the duty and they also get paid a bonus for it.

People have to work in hospitals and nursing homes and police stations and other such places. They is no good reason on earth why a Target or a Walmart should be open on days such as this though. People don't die because they can't shop for one day.

Restaurants are a bit more tricky. I remember thinking about this when I was very poor many years ago. Those were the days I use to wander from trolley stop to trolley stop in Philadelphia looking for dropped change so I could buy lunch. I remember walking the deserted city streets on Christmas Day and seeing the restaurants and grocery stores and delis all dark and closed. I wondered where some of the lonely people went to eat on the holiday.

You have a family or friends and a home to go to Christmas is a cozy and bright day. If you are old and alone or down on your luck they may be no such place. It would at least be nice to find a cheap place to get a meal.

But the workers working such places should be volunteering for the duty and getting paid a bonus rate. So my suggestion here, as long as Mr. Corporate Head has assumed the role of Ebenezer Scrooge, is he play it out to the end, when Scrooge saw the light and sent the goose to poor Bob Cratchit. If you open on Christmas, then take the excess profit over a normal day and donate that to some local shelter. And even more, during the day bag up some of those burgers and fries and fish fillets and take them out to the homeless and the joyless and the old couple who can't get out of their apartment anymore.

But that will be difficult to achieve when you keep your heart in your pocketbook.

Parsley, Sage, Larry and Time at the Arden Fair

It must be the end of summer, at least the traditional end, for here we are at the Arden Fair. It comes but once a year, on Labor Day Weekend.

This is my neighboring community and an interesting one. It is perhaps the only community on the National Historical List. It goes back to the early earliest 20th Century and was part of a utopia movement of created towns. It had unique ownership rules, tax structure and has long been the home to artists, sculptors, writers and other creative people. There have been some famous people who lived or visits the village in the past.

There are theaters there, Shakespeare plays, music concerts, poetry readings, and the Fair. It draws a crowd, an eclectic mix from all over the area, including yours truly.

It takes over the center of the village, with lanes of booths selling all sorts of crafts and wares from Gild Hall to the outer limits of Arden proper. The place is made of three named areas,Village of Arden, Ardencroft and Ardentown.



Here is how Wikipedia describe it:

"Arden is a village and art colony in New Castle County, Delaware, in the United States, founded in 1900 as a radical Georgist single-tax community by sculptor Frank Stephens and architect Will Price. The village occupies about 160 acres, with half kept as open land. According to the 2010 Census, the population of the village is 439.^[1] In 1973, the entire village was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Two neighboring villages of similar size were founded on Georgist principles, Ardentown, in 1922, and Ardencroft, in 1950. In 2003 they were also listed on the NRHP. Many Ardenites, as the villagers of Arden are called, consider themselves to be "close-knit, nature-loving, liberal, tolerant, free-spirited, artistic, intellectual, even ex-hippie."


My wife and I have often kiddingly called it a place where Trolls live under the bridges, but in all honestly it is my kind of place and I am not sure there are even any bridges in it.

I decided to make a visit too the fair my morning walk yesterday. It is perhaps a mile and half to chug out of my place, up the road and into the Villages. The road is narrow with not much of a shoulder that runs through the place, and is heavily traveled. I have walked along the road through Arden, but with fear for my life. Since I always here into the interior on the right, amble up its curious streets past the Candlelight Dinner Theater and Eden Rock Home, until a cross street where I can then cross to the fair at a traffic lighted cross street doubly made safe by a State Policeman on Fair day.


There is no cost for shuffling hear and about the fairgrounds and take in the sights. One can stay quite a time and not spend a dime.

One could, in turn, stay a brief time and spend a fortune. If you begin to peruse the wonderfully varied vendors selling very imaginative wares at not what I would call Hippie prices. Of course it does say, ex-Hippie, doesn't it. 


I am not tempted by these trinkets and treasures. Two years ago I did by a T-shirt memorializing the 100 anniversary of the fair. 


However, do not think I am not lured by temptation. I spend a total of $5.50 on what I always graviate to at the fair. Food.

Oh, nothing exotic. I hat a hot dog and French Fries. The fries were terrific, hot, crispy outside, soft inside, tasty. I am a long time fan of carnival type fare, things you can wander about chomping upon.

There were other things to do. For the children there was a complex of rides, some sort of bungee cord thing, slides, pony rides. There are potions and cures. There are games of skill, a flea market and down in Shady Grove music of different styles all day long.

I walked down to the crowded grove and caught the end of a Sousa March.

The Fair began at 10:00 AM and I arrived about twenty after. As I was walking in, a lady was walking out. "Leaving already," I laughing asked.

"Taking a break," she replied. "I've been here since seven. When you work the Fair, you need a break."

I bet you do. This thing is all volunteer and it must take a lot of hard effort to pull off.

When I had reached the light at the cross over, I was behind a young lady on a bike with two miniature collies cheeringly dropping along with tails away. The back of her tee shirt read, "Old men Rule!"

"I'll go along with that," I told her.

"Absolutely!" she replied with a smile.

As you can guess, dogs are welcome visitors at this event. Everywhere you go you see canines of every shape and size. There are special watering stations for "your thirst dog" here and there. I don't know if there is a dog porte-potty.


At any rate, it was a beautiful day for the fair and a wonderful day for walking, so I had a charming, delightful venture.  Here are some faces of the fair.

THE END