Banner photo of Larry Eugene Meredith, Ronald Tipton and Patrick Flynn, 2017.

The good times are memories
In the drinking of elder men...

-- Larry E.
Time II

Thursday, January 6, 2011

How Did We Come to This? Chapter 1: Casting the Characters


Once upon a time I promised I would tell what happened to The Old Goat at We Are Independent Trust, so having read since of others’ travails it is time to tell this tale.  I have to go back to the beginning, because it has the making of a movie or soap opera in how the characters came together in that same place that last September.  I will write this in installments.  If that was good enough for Stephen King's "Green Mile", it's good enough for me.
Back yon, when The Kid was on the cusp of forty and his transformation into The Old Goat, there was a staid institution called We Are Independent Trust Company, which for brevity sake we will often refer to as WAIT. It had been founded in ye olden days to accommodate the exploding fortunes of the kerBoom Family so dominate in that region in that time.
By The Kid and The Old Goat’s era, three-quarters century later, WAIT had made the Top Twenty on the Cashbox Hot One Hundred List, which gave it some gravitas in certain circles, but as a commercial bank it was simply stuck on stodgy. WAIT was but a quiet country conservative clod plodding along. It was as steady and exciting as a rock stuck in mud and so was its stock, which neither went up or down. WAIT was about as dynamic as a frog crocking on a lily pad. Well, perhaps it wasn’t quite that energetic. Income was dependable, but modest, totally an automatic function of the spread between rates. The Fed said, “Listen up toadies, today’s prime rate is what we now say”. WAIT’s Loan Officers would nod their heads, add a few basis points to that and put their feet back up on the desk and wait. WAIT in those days was not just a name; it was a business stratagem.
Then a-sudden there was the need for a new Bank President, as the old chief lifted a putter with a firm grip, declared this was his future and retired. The Board blinded by the sunlight reflecting from the golf club and dazed by the whole idea of change hired a dynamic gentleman named Benny Terrific from a financial establishment in Philadelphia. Thus a new morning dawned and from its first rays on We Are Independent Trust became a player in the financial whirlwinds of the eighties and nineties.
Around that time there was a young, pretty and ambitious file clerk named Lydia Metermaid, who took a flyer when the job of Assistant to the President was openly posted. Despite the ho-ho-ho derision of those who considered themselves her betters, being more educated and more experienced, and her own low station as folder filer, she applied and found favor in the eyes of Benny Terrific and got the job. There has remained much jealous gossip and snide rumor about this amazing career leap ever since.
In that same pivotal year, WAIT hired an accountant by the name of Cuddy Bear to head the Financial Division. Cuddy Bear reorganized the Division and some Financial Analyst jobs were created and advertised in newspapers far and wide.
The Kid had recently suffered nunification (a term which you will not understand and it is too long to explain and will be a subject another time, so to keep things simple, The Kid was unemployed) and was searching these very same newspapers daily seeking a job. Seeing an ad for Financial Analyst, and thinking he knew enough to fake…I mean fill the bill, he sent off his resume and much to his surprised was called to interview.
 The Kid interviewed, but the interviewing manager said Financial Analyst did not seem the proper position given The Kid’s background. But all hope was not dashed upon these rocks of reality. There was another position, a brand new job that no one really quite knew what it was or how it worked, but whatever it was The Kid seemed perfectly suited. That interviewing manager took him to meet Ross Rollins, Vice-President of the All Things Deposited Division.
There was an immediate feeling of synergy between Ross and The Kid. As a result, The Kid was hired for this strange new job that no one understood called Project Manager.
Best job The Old Goat was ever to have in his life. As he morphed in the next two decades from The Kid to The Old Goat he was to understand how his love of that job contained the seeds to his own version of Greek Tragedy. Like a December-May marriage the ultimate end is clear at the start, but one’s commitment to the relationship closes one’s eyes to that and they sometimes cling to what is when it would be in their best interest to let go and move elsewhere. But The Kid liked the job and he liked Ross so much he turned down opportunities to go elsewhere within WAIT. He ignored lessons he had learned years ago. Most of all he ignored the age gap between himself and Ross.

Over the years as The Kid morphed into the Old Goat, his duties and responsibilities expanded and he had a great variety of interesting things to do beside oversee mere projects. He introduced new concepts in employee-employer relationships based on a management fad called Quality Circles. (This was the day of the great anything Japanese Management Style must be God inspired.) Oh, he altered some of these concept, did some things the masterminds of management said you could never do, but in the end the program worked. As a result The Kid was contacted by the American Institute of Banking (AIB) to design an educational program in employee involvement programs, which he did.
He created and edited the divisional newsletter, introduced a training program called "Lunchtime Videos", even coordinated the move of operations from the downtown headquarters to a brand spanking new Operations Center in a suburban corporate mall.
He initiated and created an innovative cost system in his division based not on units, but on activities. He had been annoyed WAIT had no real costing system, and was told costing systems weren’t suitable for banking functions, so he invented his own. He had never heard of what he was putting together, but in his mind he thought it would work, so he created it using Excel and then introduced it and it worked. (Several years later WAIT paid big bucks to an outside consulting firm to install what? Why this innovative new system called Activity-Based Costing of course.)
He introduced and promoted (actually fought tooth and nail for) PCs as a tool. The Titans of Technology laughed and told The Kid PCs might be fine for home use, but were impractical for business, that the mainframe would ever be king of banking information manipulation. Uh huh, and The Kid became one of the very first in WAIT to have a PC on his desk. He introduced and promoted image technology. And now years after The Kid became a project manager, a job no one knew how it should be done, The Old Goat was a recognized pioneer of project management in banking as the industry as a whole became interested in the concept; he was even asked to speak on Project Management at a BAI productivity conference in New Orleans.
The Kid/Old Goat’s efforts brought him grade level promotions and eventually he was made an Officer of the Bank.
There is another important character we need to introduce at this time.
WAIT began an Intern program. This was made up of fresh-faced college graduates looking for the fast track. The first such group contained ten such people, mostly white males.  They would go to each area of the bank for training over the course of one year. They were paid a low salary for their time with no guarantee of a job at the end.
The training of these Bigwigs-in-Waiting in his Division fell to The Kid. He designed the training and supervised it. He wrote a guidebook for their use and even developed a final exam that they had to take at the end. He and all the other divisional managers had to rate each Intern after the program (this was required by Human Resources).
Within that group was a brash young man named Flip Wineberry. The Kid found him aptly named, he was flip, disruptive and inattentive. He would come late to meetings and then have the gull to hold everyone up while he made phone calls. He received the worst rating of all from the divisional managers. He also scored the lowest on the final exam.
After the end of the training two Interns were hired, one of whom was Flip Wineberry.
About the same time that this initial group of Interns was winding down their training, changes were made to the Marketing Division. Benny Terrific never really liked Marketing as it was constituted when he arrived, so he reorganized it. At that time Marketing was part of the Administration Department. It had a division manager, named Jack Inboxx, who was forced to the outbox. Benny named a new Marketing Division Manager -- one Lydia Metermaid.  Soon most of the Marketing Staff packed up their poster paint and  story boards and left the bank in protest, for what could a former file clerk like Lydia possibly know about Marketing, and soon more speculative and snide rumors were circulating.
Since Benny, who was now not only President, but had also been crowned Chairman of tAll he Surveyed, needed a new Assistant to replace Lydia, he turned around three times, put a hand over his eyes and plunged the dart of fate into (you guessed it) Flip Wineberry.
At about this time a new committee was created sponsored by then Vice-President of All Branches and Vaults, Hobart Wazza Goodguy. This committee was necessitated by that fleeing mob of Marketing people who resigned when Lydia was named their manager.  It had the charter to oversee advertising, design new products and services and give guidance to Marketing during the chaos of change. The Kid/Old Goat was named Chairman of this New Product Committee, a seat he warmed for the next ten years.
And now our play is set with the necessary characters needed for its end some years yet down the road. 

Photo is still from the 1927 German film, Metropolis.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Now What? Looking Ahead.

Well, another year has come. What is ahead? Adding another digit on time will mean I'll be 70 this year. It is a nice round number, rolls off the tongue much easier than all those sixty-somethings, 67, 68, 69. 69 is one of those numbers that always brings a secret smirk. I'll be happy to reach 70. Wasn't that a lifetime limit once? (Some say even Biblical: Psalm 90:10a "The days of our years are threescore years and ten.") I know as a child somebody 70 was a real old person at the end of their alloted three score and ten.

I don't see that gray-beard on the bridge as my old man look, but as my rugged Ernest Hemingway look. Ernest never made it to 70. Didn't make 69 either. He pulled a trigger at 63 and messed up his walls something awful.

So what am I planning for the year ahead. It certainly isn't the Hemingway solution, I don't even own a shotgun.

We never quite know for sure the what and when of our final solution, do we?  Therefore, it isn't worth fretting; however, I thought mine was to be flocked to death by geese on the first day of this new year.

Off for my morning walk, January 1, just after dawn, I parked at Alapocas lot Number 2. As I got out of the car a small V of geese came over the adjoining golf course to my left. They corrected their coordinates as I exited my car to fly directly above. I don't like geese flying overhead, not with the reputation loosey-gooseys have.

Nothing happened, they soon disappeared, but then another little gaggle came across the fairways straight on my course, and then another and another. Little patrols of feathered formations each flying exactly overhead as I walked down the hill from the lot. It was as if I was ground control.

Then the clear blue sky cleared of all birds-on-the-wing for the short time it took me to almost reach the underpass on the street. Suddenly there was a commotion like you never heard. It shook the earth this grand honking cacophony. I turned in the direction of this sound of geese honking in full throat, many geese.

Over the hill they came, this tremendous swarm like some invading air force. I thought the birds had revolted, that Alfred Hitchcock's profile would appear on the wall of the underpass and I would disappear as bloody pulp beneath beating wings and pecking beaks. It really was an awesome and noisome sight.

(I counted and there are over 300 geese in my photo and I didn't even capture the rear guard.)

Then the  geese broke off into groups and went flitting here and yon. All coming back after a big New Year's Eve gathering, I suppose, a bit tipsy, a bit confused as to how to start the year.

So where does one, goose or man, begin a new year? I'll just start where I left off the last year.

I will take my usual early morning walks on my non-work days. I did so today and the rest of the photos accompanying this diatribe were taken on the new trail I tried. (I mean a new trail to me. The trail itself was as old as dirt; in fact was dirt. So, since I am also as old as dirt the trail and I had common ground and got along famously.)

This time I crossed the Rubicon, the Brandywine Creek anyway, to the other half of Brandywine Creek State Park. I have never walked that portion. I decided let's give her a go, me lad.

I remembered to tuck my cell phone in my pocket for the first time, too. It just occurred to me that I never tell anyone which park I am headed off to walk. What if something did happen or I got lost? No one would know where to begin looking for me and I knew no one would even suspect I headed to this particular place.

Anyway, we all know I am going to go on trudging down some woodland trail alone, that's just my nature, but isn't new news.

I don't think I have any new news actually.

Wife, working, walking, writing are pretty much the four big Ws of me life.

Wife will be a nice round number this year as well, fifty years married. I don't foresee any changes there.

Work, well, work I must.

Just where do I intend to go in my writing going forth?

For one thing, I want to get back to doing entries in my "Night Writing in the Morning Light" Blog, which I haven't yet, and continue adding to "Nitewrit's Own Harmony", which I have.

I wrote a post covering Jesus' reading of Isaiah and being accused of blasphemy as a result and almost getting thrown over a cliff;  my little examination of "Jesus Is Rejected in Nazareth", mostly from Luke 4:16-30. It is an adventure story.

As for "Drinking With Elder Men", I collected related posts from last year into several books. There are seven of them.

A Writer Walks and Writes of Walking (Rambling thoughts as I went ambling)
Bends of the Brandywine: Adventures of The Kid as a Kid (A kind of autobiography)
Lava from the Lair (Some of my past published essays and commentary)
Life, Death and the Lonely Art (Title pretty much describes the subject matter.)
Modern Inconveniences: Living with Frankenstein (My struggled with today's technology)
Pretzels for Lunch (My Life in Philadelphia)
This Old Man (Everything else)

If someone has an interest in reading these narratives, here is what you do. Once in my blog, go to the right hand side and down to the title, "Keepsakes:  Related Post Subjects" This is an index (Labels if you prefer). The books are listed first. Simply click on a book and its chapters will pop up. Click on the chapter you wish to read.

I will be doing the same thing with whatever I manage to produce in this The Year of Our Lord 2011.

There will surely be another volume of rambling stream-of-consciousness thoughts illustrated by photos from my hikes. I can't help myself; its what I do.

I have no title for it yet, perhaps the "Frigid Photographer".

No, that won't work for the whole year. In a few month it will warm up, the trees will bud and next thing you know I will be happily sauntering about in just T-shirt and shorts; not even sox.

So perhaps the "Naked Photographer"?

Of course, that would be deceptive, but "Near-Naked Photographer", I don't know? Still, when I look at the list of my "Most Popular Posts" or my stats, there were two essays I did last year that rank at or near the top.

"Mirror Mirror on the Wall Don't You Show Then What you Saw" and "There Is Nudity In This Post" both spoke of or hinted at nakedness and my readership spiked up when both appeared. Now I know what draws the public curiosity, so "Naked Photographer" might be just the thing to draw an audience.

There has already been The Naked Cook","The Naked Archeologist" and "The Naked Cowboy" and they all wear clothes. Well, the Naked Cowboy isn't exactly dressed, but even he wears tighty-whities and hides behind a guitar.  Maybe I could employ the common tease from the 1950s men's magazines. I could peek out from behind a bush and the reader can imagine what they wish.

The other grouping I have decided to do I have called "Contankery Road", and that first post of this year, "So New Year's Begins-2011", would qualify to be in it.

"Contankery Road", that's the working title anyway. It may change by 2012. It may change by tomorrow. It has changed a couple times already. I had it, "Contankery Row", but then decided "Road" worked better. I've also considered "Down the Cantankery Road". Cantankerous means bad tempered, uncooperative and argumentative, as in "a crusty, cantankerous old man".

This was kind of a cantankerous old trail I was on this morning. I came to this fallen sapling across the trail early on and fully expected a limbo band to pop out from behind a tree.

"Yo, ho, don't you know?
Yo gotta get down; gotta get low!"

Did I bend over backward and go under?

Are you crazy? Didn't you read the first paragraph. I'm almost 70, for Pete's sake! No, I stepped over it.

Now we return you to "Cantankery Road". I started out calling it plain "Curmudgeonry", but  a curmudgeon is a bad tempered and surly person. I don't feel I am really very surly.

I am not bad tempered or uncooperative or argumentative for that matter. That is why I am still unsatisfied with that title. I may not be either a curmudgeon or a cantankerous old foggy.

I am really a pretty even-tempered dude who doesn't much dislike anyone.

But "Even-Tempered Road", where's the excitement in that?

Maybe if I described what kind of content this collection will contain someone would have a better title suggestion. There won't be any prize for coming up with one though.

I will be writing about certain issues of the times where I have questions. Now I don't want anyone to get confused. I don't do political, don't like politics, don't like politicians and won't indulge in polemics with anyone.

After all, you're wrong, I'm right, and that's the end of it, you twit!

That's how political arguments always end, isn't it?

Anyway, back to the non-political statement on the floor that sounds a little political. I want to write about issues that might sound political, but they won't be because I am interested in knowing what's what, not pleasing somebody's agenda, even my own, if I have one.

Today there is a mother-lode of talking heads and loud-mouths in the Media telling us what to think. This side says that and that side says this and consequently nobody says much of anything helpful. So I have questions — about everything - I'm going to ask my questions. Who knows, someone may have an answer.

But I won't argue with you. You want to argue, find somebody else. There are plenty of political rant Blogs out there in the cyber world with people who would love to take you on or may agree with you and embrace you.

What kind of questions?

How about questions about the law that will soon go into effect banning the incandescent lightbulb? Will the CFLs really save energy? Will they create "Green Jobs"? Are they safe to use? What about all that mercury? Is there all that much mercury?

How about questions about electric cars? Will they really save all that energy? Will they create "Green Jobs"? How far can you drive? How do you refuel; that is, recharge? How long does a recharge take? Will these really do away with carbon fuels? Are they practical?

How about the recent report on improved employment. Is the report looking at prunes and seeing plums? Is the fact first-time unemployment claims peaked in October 2010 really meaningful? Is the fact first-time unemployment claims decreased in December really meaningful? Has the unemployment picture been altered forever?

You know, little trivial matters like those.

We'll see how it goes.

It may be difficult for me because some of those questions touch on controversy. I may express an opinion that another doesn't like and I don't like to be disliked. If you had been paying attention, you will remember I actually started two previous posts off exactly the same way ("On My Fences" and "Lost in Transition"):


"Perhaps the biggest handicap in life is wanting everyone to like you. It fences you in and is a hard rail to climb over. It isn't logical and it borders on insanity.  It's a syndrome. It is self-suffocation.

"And along the line The Kid caught this disease."

I had intended to explain that quote in a later chapter of The Kid's life, but somehow never got around to it.

And unless you are particular;y dense, I'm sure you figured out The Kid is just the youthful personification of this Old Goat. Despite learning very young that if people are going to dislike you it isn't going to matter what you say, I did catch that want-everyone-to-like-me disease.

What else will I scribble about?

Speaking of The Kid, I will certainly continue with his life as he graduates high school and moves into adulthood, gets married, goes to work and all that good stuff.


I may write more about some of the eateries The Little Woman and I go to, assuming we can afford to eat out in 2011.

And I will certainly continue to write of the absurdities of living as they happen.

I hope some Gentle Readers will be there in that distant Blogospeare.

Hmm, the trail is getting a bit spooky looking. I will have to do a post on just what I got myself into down these overgrown lanes.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

So a New Year's Begins - 2011

Well, another New Year's begins.

In a moment of inspired (ha! Incipit.) television, they dropped Snooki, Sloppi, Slutti, whatever her name is, inside a ball for the ten-second count down to midnight. Despite plunging from the fearful height of about six feet, she survived. As entertainment it didn't.

2011 doesn't seem much improved over 2010 today for the staging of that particular stunt and all the other forced hoopla of New Year's Eve. Perhaps it would have been a small splash in the right direction if they had dropped her in the ocean and watched her float out to sea. A new year without Snooki and the whole "South Jersey" cast would be cause for celebration.

In case you haven't sensed it, I am very over the whole New Year's thing. The photograph was taken at midnight in the early 1970s. The Little Woman and I would spend the period just after Christmas in the Poconos. We and a group of friends would chip in to rent a cabin (more a lodge, really, since it had ten bedrooms) and spend a week having fun sledding and skating and enjoying each other's company. It would culminate on New Year's Eve and after New Year's Day we would all return to our normal worlds. Most of those in the gang were Social Workers or spouses of Social Workers. Mostly these people were long time friends of The Little Woman or friends of these friends.

Those were good New Year's celebrations because they were really celebrations of friendships.

But New Year's for New Year's sake seems very empty and artificial to me. I'm not sure that lighting up the sky with fireworks while millions of people get lit up on alcohol is really a new beginning.

For me, the real New Year and the real sense of refreshing one's hopes and goals has always come in September.  No specific day in September, just the time around Labor Day. I would guess many people in this country get that same feeling. It isn't hard to understand why, although I imagine for some it is a month of melancholy instead, those who grieve the end to summer.

School started in September. At least it traditionally did until more recent years, when those we call educators and I call failures, dictated an earlier start, as if that would do anything less than extend the time they had to demonstrate their inability to teach. But that is a subject for more serious postings.

My parents sent me to Kindergarten at age four. Therefore and forward, my next thirteen years began in September. Actually this September as a new beginning really didn't end with high school graduation. Two years after that I was married in September and so for coming up 50 years we were always celebrating that in September.

Then when I was twenty-two I went to evening college. I went to three colleges over the next 20 years (all in evening class) and although I did an occasional summer session, the school year still began in September.

I was hired at The Bank, my longest continuing employer, in September 1980, and since you were evaluated and received any raise in salary on your yearly anniversary, September remained the marker of a new year for me. After a time the date was further marked by ceremony. After so many years you received a service pin, a handshake and usually a cake, another marker of an era ending and new one beginning. At least for 21 years, after that I was forced to retire, also in September, which at the moment it happened felt a bit as if time had ended.

Yet time goes on and although there is no more school years starting nor anymore hire-day anniversaries in September it still remains the real New Year for me. Even if my wedding anniversary didn't fall in that month, this would still be so just out of habit.