Eppies '98 - The Old Dudes Run

Eppies Great Race 1998 – 25^th Anniversary Triathlon.

Billed as the “original” Triathlon.  It’s a 6.5 mile run, then a 12.5 mile bike ride followed by a 6 mile river paddle. This would be my fourth time entering.  I had spent marginal training time as I was busy working on a consulting engagement in Atlanta for the months prior to the race (yeah, yeah; no excuse for not running I know).

Race day.  Got a good night’s sleep.  I am ready.  Get up early.  Already have bike and kayak loaded in and on the Jeep.  Head out to drop off Kayak.  To Sunrise Bridge near Negro Bar on the American River.  Beautiful day!  Put kayak on rocky north bank of river along with many (a thousand?) others doing the same.  Place my life jacket and water bottle in it and it’s ready.  Everyone is in great spirits anticipating a lot of fun. 

Kayaks at Sunrise bridge prepositioned
for their paddlers.

Then, I head west for about 12 miles to Guy West Bridge near Sacramento State College – It’s a little copy of the Golden Gate, designed for foot and bicycle traffic – neat bridge and the day is still beautiful.  Position my bike on rack in over-50 Ironman Division ("Ironman"...a hell of a good sounding name don’t you think?!).  Position helmet and gloves on rack.  Make sure my jugs are on the bike…one is water and one is Gatorade.  Plus, I have been sippin’ a stainless steel mug of delicious coffee all the way through these preparations!

Sacramento State University
Guy West Bridge

Get home and Julieann, my wonderful wife and “Pit Boss” is prepared to drive me to the race start point near Arden Pond a couple of miles away from our home.  I fool around the house and waste time so when Julie gets me there the race is about to start.  I head for the bathroom anyway, along with several hundred entrants with the same mission.  I am a supposedly clever, seasoned veteran though so I mosey a couple of hundred yards up the trail to the permanent facilities.  They are not crowded but I still manage to not make it back in time for the start of the race.  

The famous start line. If there is an old dude
up front there with the pack it could be me.

No problem.  I am after all, again a ‘seasoned veteran’ so I just turn around and fall into a jog with the lead pack.  I am accustomed to being in this position (the lead)….that is for the first few hundred yards of most races because I like to find my way to the front before the start.  Then several hundred, or several thousand, people proceed to pass (the very slow) me on the way to our collective destination.  I like to do this because people feel good when they are passing me – whatever I can do to advance the self esteem of mankind you know.

I am with the "Ironman" (There it is again!) contestants.  The Ironman folks are those who intend to complete the full triathlon alone.  The wheelchair entrants, who are faster than anyone, began two minutes before us and the relay teams (teams of runners, bikers and paddlers) will begin two minutes after us.  After I get maybe a half mile down the trail, the lead runners from the relays  usually catch me.  These are the guys who are 6' tall, weigh 145 pounds and do sub 5-minute miles. As they approach you from behind, the sound of air whooshing in and out of their lungs is very powerful and they look like they can run forever.  I believe these are people who will tell you for a fact that a runner’s high is indescribable.

We run (I shuffle) 6.5 miles west on the trail.  Along the way, around the three-mile point, we are fortunate to find a couple of folks who have run water hoses from their homes backing up against the levee our trail is on.  If you want, they will spray you from head to toe.  It’s a great feeling because it is usually in the 90’s by the time you hit this point.  The first year I did this race, one of the “hose” guys noticed me shuffling along at the back of the pack and said, “don’t worry buddy, there are millions of people out today who aren’t doing a damn thing!”

To the Guy West Bridge, I am somewhere over 70 minutes along.  I am jog/shuffling at a 10 minute mile pace but ahead of last year's pace!  This is great!  I hop on the bike, over 90% of them are gone by this time and head out with a great WHOOP!!! (I am so fired up at this point) to celebrate the end of the run.  The bike and kayaking are a piece of cake in comparison.   Heading east along the river.  It is still a beautiful day, I've got plenty of beverages and I'm making good time on the bike…drafting some guys for a while.  It’s a lot of fun and most of them go faster than I can.  They pull ahead and I go solo for a while until I catch up to two young women who are switching drafts on each other.  I fall in third and they are moving at a good clip for me, 18.5 miles an hour.

Eppies bikers on the trail.

 

We are within a half-mile of finishing the 12.5 mile bike portion when a squirrel suddenly runs across the path in front of the second woman, the one I am drafting. She swerves to avoid the squirrel and goes down immediately.  I know I am going down too. My front tire is a couple of feet from her body lying across the trail, if that much.  I let go of the handlebars and at the moment of impact with her body, do a flying “W” (forward somersault) over the front of both bikes and the fallen rider, landing on my back on the trail.  I am expecting the worst for her but she gets up immediately.  

She and her friend start asking me if I am “OK”.  I am laying there taking inventory to see if everything still moves and I say, “yeah” when I actually don’t have a clue.  It seems all right though so I stand up and start looking over the damage. They take off just as an emergency medicine technician comes running up from a station a couple of hundred feet ahead.  He congratulates me on a “spectacular” crash and watches me pick up my bike to check it out.  He stands back like he is not supposed to assist me for fear of complicating my position among the entrants.  Yeah right, as if I am in contention for anything other than finishing.  I ask him to hold the bike while I attempt to get the rear tire to turn.  Failing, I then decide to carry the bike on my shoulder in manly fashion to the finish.  First, I have him apply a Band-Aid to my finger because it is bleeding all over the place.  Then I pick up the bike and head down the trail.  

An old man (as if I am not) spectator comes by and asks me if I need some help.  I decide to forego the manly behavior and say, “why not?” so I set the bike down to check it out again.  I finally notice the rear wheel isn’t turning because the adjustable brake has been jammed into the tire rim.  It only takes a second to reach down and bend it back into position and I am off!  I come whipping into the finish, a little shocky but damn happy that everything seems to function.  Julieann Marie, my Pit Boss and very understanding wife, is there to catch the bike and point me across the bridge to the kayak.  I quickly tell her my story, hopefully without too much embellishment and head off to finish in the kayak.  Still can’t feel anything hurting too bad – musta been some kind of miracle.

Paddling down the river now, taking it pretty easy knowing I am now so far behind my normal pace it doesn’t matter.  Chatting with a few other entrants along the way.  Even help a female (rookie paddler) get out of a swirl she is caught in.  Now I am feeling manly and heroic again.  It doesn’t take much…

Next, I approach the San Juan rapids which are normally nothing more than a rough chop but “due to unseasonably high runoff” are a little higher this year.  Of course, I am a ‘seasoned veteran’ and know to paddle like hell to get through without losing balance and tipping over.  As I am about half way through, my “paddle like hell” technique suddenly fails and I tip over.  Since I am way behind, it’s ok.  I am floating down river clutching my upturned kayak, paddle and water jug.  The water is moving kind of fast so I am wondering if I am going to be able to tip it over and climb back in as I have been taught…but haven’t practiced in a couple of years.  

A river volunteer comes over in a ski-doo and asks me if I want some help.  I look over and recognize him as the guy who taught me how to go through rapids in a beginners kayak course a few years before.  Of course I want a "full refund" on his class but all I get is a laugh and a tow to shore with my gear.  So I proceed to empty the water out of my kayak, put my gear back in and head down stream.  Finally, the true finish!  I am feeling pretty good, having worked out a little with weights to strengthen the old upper body. I notice Julieann, my trusty Pit Boss, is standing there to cheer me on.  I start to roll out of the kayak while the attendants grab it so I can waddle to the finish line.  

Getting out of a kayak into a foot or so of water is ordinarily a fairly awkward maneuver and this time my left leg has fallen asleep and won’t work!  So I look pretty pitiful as I collapse a couple times into the river before the leg starts working again.  All the time I am thinking Julie will be worried this has something to do with the earlier bike accident.

A kayaker disembarks and heads for the
finish a few yards away.

 

Nevertheless, I stumble a hundred feet to the finish.  This is worth mentioning again: What a beautiful day!

With luck, I’ll be back next year, maybe wearing leathers (heh…heh…) to minimize the road rash I picked up all over the right side of my back.  

Life is an amazing thing.  If I was to do it over, I wouldn’t have smoked so long, I would have had more kids, started running sooner and I would have been a better husband to Julieann.  I am extremely grateful for what there is so far though.

Postscript:  October, 2003.  I have retired the helmet I was wearing that day.  You can see the scrape on the left side where my head hit the pavement as I completed the famous “Flying W” somersault.  My stick-on contestant entry number is on it too.  It is hanging on a rack in my office along with mementoes of son Tyler’s glorious baseball days.  I think that is a great spot for a nice reminder of another day when I was extremely lucky.

I haven’t done another Eppies as I haven’t made time to train.  But you never know…

Post-postscript: September 2019.  Borrowed this note for background:  "Triathlete and fundraising activist Eppaminondas "Eppie" Johnson owned 16 all-night coffee shops plus upscale restaurants between California and Las Vegas.  The first Great Race was held in 1974 as a way for Johnson to promote his original restaurant, at 30th and N streets in Sacramento.  The race ran for 45 years until 2018, five years after Johnson's death at 85." 

The Story of Aught

Don "Aught" Palen
&
His famous blue jacket

A big, stocky man
Six foot plus
A fine athlete in baseball and tennis...
Maybe not golf

A genius at music trivia
He can trace session musicians
At least 6 groups back
With no effort 

An extraordinary collector of albums
He has a good sized, two story home
Where at least half the space,
(The entire upstairs?)
Including a big chunk of garage is taken up
With vinyl, tapes, cd’s, posters and on and on

It has to be one of the largest
Most comprehensive
Collections in existence

He also has a good size (some would say great) heart
He looks for and emphasizes positive features
In every person he meets
He is a sentimentalist of the first degree
Who clings to 'the way we were' with steadfast devotion

Of course he has some eccentricities, as do most of us
His include a propensity to tell or email a joke
(... and yes Virginia, some are extremely lame, moldy, or both)
Every time he communicates with someone

Hanging out with some Texas pals

Be they friend or foe

A Schenectady raised patriot
He served a full career in the US Air Force Medical Service Corps
Rising from the enlisted ranks to become a Lieutenant Colonel

He has a propensity to wear
An (antique?) blue sport coat
With a hue we most often see
On an Easter egg
He also once sported a mullet
Long after the rest of his hair
Had bid him a fond adieu'.

He has a well deserved reputation for wearing outrageous outfits
On golf courses
His standard is set on this objective...
The more conservative the golf course
The more outrageous his outfit
Likely an old carry over from military "Shock and awe" strategy
He failed to learn in Squadron Officer School

Finally, and after living in Texas
So close to the border for so many years
He shaved his head

Collaborating with Lady Gaga

I believe he did this in an effort
To resemble a rare breed
A Mexican Hairless
And blend in better
But I have not been able to confirm this on Snopes,
Truth or Fiction, or Urban Legends

When he played baseball
And he played it well
He favored a double "00" as his uniform number
Another sign that he wasn't planning to take anything too serious

Recalling this some years ago
Right at the turn of the century, 2,000 in fact
I nicknamed him "Double Aught"
Later shortened simply to "Aught"
You see the connection right?

You can find Aught in some unlikely places today
Such as in performance with Lady Gaga
With certain cowboys

Having a frosty with the Pope of Texas

And with other Texas folks
Including the Pope of Texas
Okay, okay... he's the Pope
Of the rest of the world too

Aught's actual name is
Don Palen
An extraordinarily good man
He is married to a wonderful lady,
Andrea
I'm guessing close to 50 years
The two of them together
Andrea is also from the Schenectady area

Aught has two great sons
One; Sean, an MS, and former inner city math teacher (a hero of mine)
The other; Mark, a PhD and professor at Exeter (another hero of mine)

Aught is my brother...from another Mother

Veni, Vidi, Velveeta...they don't make'em

...like they used to.

A recurring September event - dateline Reno circa 10 years ago or so

Veni ("I came" - & thanks for forcing a little bit of Latin into me Mrs. McKillip)

The Coyote, his bride and I
Were to meet early for our annual trek
To Reno, Nevada for the biker event "Street Vibrations"

Both had to work late

Reno's famous Virginia Street during Street Vibrations

The previous night
So they begged off our departure time
I had to get there earlier as I also had
A World Poker Tour tournament
I wanted to enter
I left ahead of them
The Harley packed light just for a couple of nights

I should have been forewarned things might be cockeyed that day
But I pressed on
There were warm temperatures on both sides of the Sierras
So I dressed light
T-shirt, shirt and light jacket
Figured I would endure the cold over Donner pass

The trip was smooth and uneventful
Set the cruise control on 80 and let'er rip...
I hit Reno in a couple hours with a little time to spare
So I headed for Chester's Harley Davidson
To present my HOG (Harley Owner's Group) fanatic card
And pick up my 'proof of life,'
A commemorative event pin for members only

Got that done then went to the wrong casino
To enter the tournament
They were both off the main strip
And I'm easily confused
But then repacked the bike
And found my way to the right casino in time

Vidi ("I saw")

There I quickly paid up
And had a few moments to grab a bite
Went to the table a couple of minutes early
Sat in my assigned seat
And noticed a player there who looked familiar
I asked, "Is it possible I have seen you on the rectangular screen?"
He said "Yes."

This is TJ
He doesn't look mean at all in real life.
(It took a Poker Hall of Fame pro
 to knock me out of that
tournament... I'd like to spin it that way.)

I said, "Please forgive me for forgetting but you are...?"
He said, "TJ" and the dealer said his last name but I couldn't make it out
So I said something dumb like; "Well, it's awesome to be sitting at the same table with you."
He turned out to be TJ Clotier
My first genuine poker pro and I was gambling with him
Me and eight others that is

I'm thinking; 'Wow, these are all pros here? I am in wayyyy over my head.

Velveeta (OK, so I didn't conquer, & enough Latin already.)

I broke (yes, a play on words) into tournament poker here in Sacramento a few months ago

And have played with some pretty tough hombres

So I was surprisingly comfortable with the table

Got about an hour and a half into the puppy

Was a couple thousand ahead

Then after small initial bets ("blinds"), TJ and I were head to head

After the flop I had a flush draw.

TJ was first to act and pushed all in with over 12 thousand in chips

There was a king in the flop
I correctly assumed he had another as one of his hole, or "pocket" cards

But was still surprised at the size of the bet

I knew I had a 15-20% chance, twice to hit the flush

It would be on the turn (sixth card) or the river (seventh and final) card

I had recently seen one of the top players in the world, Phil Hellmuth

Miss a flush in similar circumstances... three consecutive times in a televised tournament

So I had a little more vivid picture of my chances in spite of the odds

Yet, I had a chance to knock out a Hall of Fame poker player

I took the chance and called

It wasn't to be
My flush missed and I was out of the tournament

I again thanked TJ for the privilege of playing against him 

Wished the rest of the table luck
Two had been knocked out before me

And headed on my way with another precious memory

To tuck into the cranial treasure chest

In all, TJ is a really friendly person who plays fairly tight poker
(But I am truly unworthy of judging)

And entertains the entire table with short stories of his past adventures

That part I CAN judge...

As for the rest of the trip...

I had a $49 dollar room that night at Reno's Silver Legacy

Right on the strip and in the middle of the biker/vendor action

They close down Virginia Street
For bikes, spectators and vendors only

It was impressive how low key things were...

Not as many bikers and not as many vendors as years past

The recession has made it less than half of what it once was

But the Coyote, his bride and I still got a chance to mosey

Down the middle of the street,

Enjoying the night lights,  a damn good Santana tribute band

A couple of beers and a couple of stogies

So it was...beat out of a tourney, a low density crowd and few vendors but great friends, music, and atmosphere

Cheap and cheesy.. just the way I like it... Velveeta
...and a little spam can't hurt either! 

An Medical Service Corps Legacy...Unfulfilled?

Almost 35 years ago...lightening struck twice. A young MSC Captain and Air Force Hospital Administrator (SGA/Malmstrom) was promoted three years below the primary zone.

Shortly thereafter, he received a touching letter and package from his old boss and mentor. The letter thoughtfully recounted their previous shared experiences and the package contained a pair of Major mess dress shoulder boards. The letter mentioned previous owners and passed ownership of the boards to the new Major.

Not long after, the Major, with his combined enlisted years was nearing 24 years of service. Although they both were happy with their service life, he and his wife compared notes and decided to start a new career. He applied for retirement and along with that, elected to pass the shoulder boards on to a new Major, next in a long line of succession. Rather than present them for wear, he encased them in a commemorative shadow box along with a request to continue the legacy when the time seemed right.

Now, some 35 years later and likely some 55 years since first acquired by Corps Chief Colonel James. Polkinghorn (RIP), the trail of the shoulder boards has gone cold. But perhaps, an MSC who reads this will pick up the trail and the boards will live once again...

Here is some provenance on the trail:

Byron wrote this thoughtful history and passed them on to Krzys...

...who sent this beautifully penned letter stating that he,
in turn passed them on to Brian Riggs.

Brian then passed them on to Mike O'Gorman and that is last we know of. I have not been able to locate Mike. I did track down someone with the same name at the CDC in Atlanta but have been unable to contact him to see if he is indeed the same "Mike."

The World's Greatest Drag Racer (nah)

Terciera is a Portuguese island within a group known as the Azores.  Its area covers almost 400 square kilometers, roughly one and a half times the size of Sacramento, California.  Because of its relatively small size, the island's speed limits max out at 60 miles an hour and even that doesn't show up very often.  This attribute is what 'drives my story.

A red and white '55 chevy sedan...
like mine although I didn't have those
mighty fine chrome wheels.

There is a US Air Force base there, Lajes Field. I was assigned there as a young Air Force airman and public health technician in early 1965. Toward the end of my 2+ years there, I was able to purchase a 1955 Chevrolet - not because I needed it on that small island but because I was in love with idea of independence and that decent looking ride represented it.  It was red and white and had a 265 cubic-inch "small block" V8 in it with an automatic transmission.

Because of the slow speeds our cars were typically driven on the island, many "experts" claimed the engine's cylinders would load up on carbon and run badly as a result.  The Lajes base commander humored these folks and allowed periodic "carbon blow-outs," another name for drag races, on a relatively unused portion of the base runway.  Not long after I got that Chevy, I decided I was going to participate. I had never done it before so it sounded pretty exciting to me.

On the day of my big race, I was observing the methods of other participants as they lined up at the starting line.  I noticed virtually all of them with automatic transmissions would put their car in gear with one foot on the accelerator and the other foot on the brake.  Then they would increase rpm's as much as possible yet keep the car from moving forward. You could clearly hear the rpm's run up as they did this. Using this technique, when the "go" signal hit they could get a jump off the line.

Then, my turn came.  I pulled up to the line and carefully stopped exactly where the starter told me.  The adrenaline was running pretty pure at that moment...the car wasn't running bad either.  I put it in gear while holding my left foot on the brake and began running up the engine with the accelerator.  Something felt a little funny with the resulting torque there but I didn't dwell on it as I was still a little unfamiliar with the car and the fast start technique.  Then...it was "GO!"

I released the brake just as I floored the little V8 and came out of the gate...backward.  I had put the car in reverse instead of drive.  The car was white and red and that is what I became...white to red in a burst of embarrassment.  The starter was in good humor though and he let me proceed after changing gears then completing my (very slow) run.

That folks, was my first and last drag race.  Shortly thereafter, I sold the Chevy as I was due to separate from the Air Force and head back home to Seattle. (Hmmmm...I wonder if I won a trophy that day and simply forgot to pick it up?) 

God...And The One Iron

Lee Trevino once said; "If you are caught on a golf course during a storm and are afraid of lightning, hold up a one iron.  Not even God can hit a one iron."

San Antonio, Texas in the mid-1980s - I was on my last career assignment with the US Air Force.  Julieann, our son Tyler and I lived on Randolph Air Force Base there in some really comfortable old Spanish style officer quarters.

I had laid off golf for a few years while attending grad school and working some terrific but intense jobs. I found out the course on the air base was very inviting, my work represented pretty regular week day hours and I had a bunch of colleagues who played so I decided to get back in the game. It was a once a week thing for a  few of us and I found a good set of used irons to add to my bag.

They were Ray Cook "Affluent" irons. Ray was a noted San Antonio golf club inventor and entrepreneur. I got what I thought was  a pretty good deal on them at around $150. The shafts were "stiff," meaning you had to have a pretty fast swing to properly compress the golf ball and the combination of speed and shaft flexibility would give you more distance on your shots.  The irons were also noteworthy for having offset heads and I liked the way I hit them. I was still young enough to handle them so I was in business. The set did include one club I was unfamiliar with though...a "1" iron. I would not find out until much later that most golfers didn't carry one and that they were also known as a "driving iron."

My standard swing back then for distance irons and woods was to go at it as hard as I could. That meant I had a lot of fairly spectacular hits...and plenty of misses. Playing strictly by the rules and only on weekends my scoring average was somewhere in the 90's...not terrible but nothing to write home to mom about either.  It also meant I could hit the 1 iron...just often enough to keep me wanting more. It enabled a higher trajectory than a "3" wood for me too which meant I could use it to carry trees when recovering from my frequent errant drives.

The Affluents with their brother, "1 iron" travelled with me to Sacramento when I retired from the Air Force and I continued to swing it often. I was in my early 40's and had enough swing speed to continue making good contact. It was a good 250-yard club give or take, sometimes giving, often taking.

Then the one iron broke, right at the heel. I wasn't ready to quit it and it wasn't available in Sacramento so I called an old Air Force pal in San Antonio, Bob Bunker and asked him to buy me a replacement and ship it to me. He did and I played with it for another ten years before I slowed down and bought a set of regular flex Pings.

I got rid of the Affluents and some other old clubs in a garage sale or at Goodwill I don't remember which. Then a few years later, I came under the grip of nostalgia and would occasionally hit up eBay to see if an old 1 iron was lurking somewhere. A couple of weeks ago I found one and it is now here in my office. I believe I will try it out on the driving range just for grins after I have it regripped as the old one is kind of slippery. It doesn't really matter if it works or not though as it will now occupy a place of honor in my mini-man cave. Hell, I may even eventually use it as a cane!

But once in a while...once in a while I'll haul it out to the patio to keep me company while I smoke a stogie, sip a port and reminisce.  It's never too late to have a happy childhood or, for that matter relive it right?!   

Stones Gambling Hall & Chris Moneymaker

Last Friday, Stones Gambling Hall held their kick-off Texas Hold'em tournament as part of their Spring Classic series. Their guest professional participating that day was 2003 World Series of Poker winner, Chris Moneymaker.

As part of his play, Chris was rotating among various tournament tables and after a while, he joined our table at a seat one of the earlier entries had busted from. He made a comment to our tournament director Justin Kuraitis about whether there was a bounty on him. Justin said "no" so I reached in my pocket, pulled out a dollar bill and offered it up as a bounty. I caught a little justifiable heat for that.

Chris had maybe half a starting stack of 20k in chips and shortly after arriving, shoved all in from 3rd or 4th position on our 9 player table. Players folded around to me in the hijack position and I looked down at AK off with about 30k in chips. I declared "all in" to isolate him and he turned over AJ off.

The cards ran out blanks and I had successfully knocked out the former world champ! The players there and I had a good time commenting on that plus...I got to keep my bounty.

Note:  Some of the details here may be baloney and for that I claim the senior fog of memory. However, certain essential details are facts...the cards were as written, I did get the knockout, there was a bounty offered...and Chris was a fine gentleman in good humor throughout. He reentered shortly thereafter and was still there when I eventually got knocked out.

MSCs and Ethics - Can You Uphold Them In Your Next Life?

Most all of us, at one point or another, have given thought or will be giving thought to our transition from military to civilian medical service.

There are a lot of things that can make this transition a little intimidating beginning with; "Am I worthy?"  Other considerations; "Am I good enough?...smart enough?...strong enough?"  It's as fundamental as, how to get your resume to 'speak' civilian instead of military terminology. It gets as complex as, how to get along in health care organizations that seem to have no real common cause...other than money that is.

Once you jump in the middle of all this you will very often find a mix of ethics ranging from humanitarian to business and that...can be disturbing when the business ethic transcends all.

In military health care, the vast majority of us are united in a common cause, various versions of "quality health care to maintain maximum readiness." It's all about patients, their families and the overall population-at-risk.

Sure it can often be a madhouse of multidisciplinary purposes...docs, dentists, nurses, technicians, administrators can't always be on exactly the same wave length on the best way to get from point A to point B.  But...when "it" hits the fan, we all come together and we have historically done some wonderful things for our fighting men, women and their families.

When you move to a civilian health care environment, particularly in management, you will very often find this "common cause" lacking or even non-existent.  The business ethic often dominates the scales, outweighing the humanitarian cause we are so accustomed to in a military environment.

This can do some pretty serious damage to your outlook on things if you are not prepared for it.

When I left the Medical Service Corps, I spent a couple of years working in an HMO, implementing the very first TRICARE - then called CHAMPUS Reform Initiative (CRI) contract. My gang and I were responsible for supporting all MTFs and over 350,000 beneficiaries in Northern California. I can tell you most of us loved the cause of supplementing the military health care system. I can also tell you that encountering the harsh reality of a business environment was difficult.  It's not the 'need to make a profit to remain viable' part...it's more the 'need to put increasing EPS over compassionate, quality care.'

A year and a half or so after we successfully implemented the contract, our new CEO did some business process re-engineeering and absorbed all the military contract operations into their commercial counterpart functions. Dozens of people who had worked so hard to successfully implement the federal functions were laid off.

I was the COO of Northern California CRI and was not laid off but put in a token position - my job, to travel to the military medical facilities we supported and reassure them that services they had grown accustomed to would not be diminished.

I slept on that for a night, considering my new responsibility to spin a story I didn't believe was true. The next morning I discussed my predicament with my wife and when I arrived at work, announced my resignation. Almost 30 years later, TRICARE continues successfully and still, I do not regret my decision. After all, it was the great team I was privileged to work with that garnered the accolades in an independent Rand Corporation study...a study that affirmed the benefits of the program and set the stage for its expansion to the rest of the US and overseas.

Shortly thereafter, the former Chairman of the Board of the HMO, Dr. Jim Schubert hired me to help him start a consulting firm.  We built it over a seven year period and along the way worked for many health care firms ranging from the largest in the U.S to some of the smallest. After that, I started my own consulting firm, assisting health care organizations in continuing or rolling out new programs in support of state and federal contracts.  For me, one of the biggest benefits was being able to walk away from the organizations that had toxic environments fueled by...I guess "greed" would be the right word to use here. I was also fortunate to have several clients for more than 20 years, occasionally assisting many non-profit health care organizations in the pursuit of renewed or new contracts, mostly Medicare and Medicaid. 

Along the way, I continued to encounter many instances where the humanitarian cause was subordinate to the business end of things. It is a delicate balance, the one between stakeholders and patients I know, and it is often tilted too far toward the corporate pocketbook. So you need to be prepared for this eventuality as you will likely encounter it at some point in your life after the Corps.

How do you hang on to your sense of ethics?  My only advice; follow your heart and help when you can.  You will sleep good at night.  Plus, you will retain some warm thoughts about your days serving in a bastion of moral code...the Air Force Medical Service Corps.

For excruciating detail, including feeble attempts at humor, click here: The Last Resume.
 

"Doctor Major Keith Curtis Sir!"

Mid 1974 - Notified of "direct commission" as officer in the Air Force Medical Service Corps.
What an exciting time that was!  All noted in this episode: "Yes!  Lightening Can Strike...". The Luke AFB newspaper even published an article about it: "Is the Sergeant, er, Lieutenant In?"

Late 1974 - Notified of first assignment as Second Lieutenant to USAF Hospital at Mountain Home, Idaho.
Julieann and I were always pretty dialed in to living somewhere in the West so this was a gift from the powers that be (It was Colonel Harold Batiste I believe).

Dec 31st,  1974 - Left Luke Air Force Base, Arizona.  Last day as Air Force Staff Sergeant. Drove to Idaho.
We had a 1970 Cougar that sported a 351 Cleveland V-8.  We were ready to tackle the world.

Jan 1st, 1975 - Reported for duty at Mountain Home Idaho.  First day as genuine brown bar.
First job:  Hospital Squadron Commander. This was a crazy experience to be sure.  Overnight, I had to turn from someone who didn't care about Air Force Grooming standards as mandated in the infamous Air Force Regulation 35-10, to someone who had to enforce it.

Spring, 1975 - Attended Health Services Administration course at Sheppard Air Force Base, Wichita Falls Texas...to learn fundamentals of being a health care administrator.  Instructors/gurus; "Smokey Stover", Major-Logistics; "Mac" McClean, Captain-Registrar-Patient Affairs; Gary Weishauer, Captain-Resource Management.  Overall course supervisor, Keith W. Curtis, Major, MSC, PhD.

Members of our MSC class quickly became aware of the Curtis management style - sort of a blustery, straight forward, size-those-young-whippersnappers up Lombardi style that could be a little intimidating at first.  He was right in our faces most of the time and we took to calling him "Doctor, Major Keith Curtis Sir" in recognition of his obvious pride in having a PhD.  This, never to his face of course.

Some of us thought he pursued the "Dr." title to give him a more equal platform with the whacky group of physicians (can you say "Berry Planners?") we had in the Medical Service back in those days.  For those of you don't know, Berry Plan docs were draftees in various stages of their medical training.  Many were disgruntled (understatement) because they were in the military making a lot less money than their civilian counterparts.

We all made it through though...with very few hiccups, some great presentations from our instructors and guest speakers and some heavy O'Club partying to work off the tension.

I'll never forget, but I wish I could remember more, about the parting presentation to our class by "Doctor, Major Keith Curtis Sir."  He had obviously taken a lot of time to prepare it, using color - I think fluorescent chalk on blackboard plus slides.  His theme was a metaphor that went something like this; as MSCs, our job was to stick our hands in a "bucket of worms" and pull out something good.  I was pretty dazzled although a few of my classmates thought it was over the top.  But then again that was me, a North Dakota kid who had a patent on the word Naiveté.

Circa 1986 - The next and last time I recall seeing the Doctor was when he was a Colonel and Administrator of Big Willy.  He had a couple of MSC interns with him and had stopped by the MSC assignments section at MPC where Paul Murrell and I were working.  He gave me 'that look' and said something like; "So where do you want to be one day?  In my job (as Administrator)?" He was referring to Wilford Hall Medical Center of course and I said; "Absolutely!"  I left out the "Doctor Colonel Keith Curtis Sir" part out of my response and as a result now live to tell about it...

Spring 1987 - I loved the Corps but retired out of MPC and the Air Force with 24 years, almost half as an enlisted person.  My second career in health care management went well plus Julieann and I got to raise our kids in one spot from then forward.  Nevertheless, I have often wondered with some regret what it would have been like to stick around and compete for that Big Willy job...in the place where I pulled graveyard shift KP, peeling potatoes in the fall of 1963.

Circa 1990? -  The good Doctor had retired and went on to become a management professor in the Health Care Management masters program at (I believe) the University of Oklahoma in the city.  While there, he also wrote a textbook on management; "From Management Goal Setting to Organizational Results." Special price for university students...$85.  I wanted to buy one but not at university prices.

Years later, I managed to locate a used copy on Amazon for a lot less and bought it.  The book turned out to be an academic treatise  quoting folks like Toffler, Maslow and Drucker.  It had good basics and memorization pain for grad students but not for me as I had already studied most of those.  I wanted to read something more visceral...about sticking my hands in a "bucket of worms" and pulling out something good.  I wanted to be able to say; "Keith...you were right and I have done it.  Thanks for the heads up!"  So I'll just write it here.  Now.

"Dr. Major Keith Curtis Sir" was a damn good man.  I am proud to have known him. 

To My Pals (You Know Who You Are)

Okay…these are the sites I draw my news from.  It’s all mainstream stuff and I’m sure “fake news” often creeps in but they are nothing at all like extremist left and right fringe media.  I also like to focus on transcripts, live telecasts on CNN (Congressional News Network) and what appear to be facts supported by multiple sources like Snopes, Truth or Fiction and Politifact.  Can all of these sources be wrong at times?  Of course they can but on the whole - they are the best we’ve got. And don’t forget Twitter - knee jerk thoughts posted in 240 characters or less straight from the horse’s mouth…and very often from the horse’s ass.

To me, fringe media exists for one purpose - to exploit and incite fear and bias in their audience.  I’m going to include fringe politicians in this as well although I realize our definitions of “fringe” vary widely.

Unfortunately, I believe pointing this all out is…pointless as old white guys, “OWGs” have their minds made up and that’s that.  It’s a new day though and I wish I was going to be around to see what is sure to transpire over the next 10-20 years.  It’s going to be a noble experiment and, like the Affordable Care Act, I am sure there will be hiccups but again, as with the Act, the good (“preexisting conditions”) will outweigh the bad.  I sincerely believe lives will be saved and the Common Man will have a better opportunity to work and live a decent life.

This little rant will not change a thing though within this little email group we have had going for many years - there are far too many divides.

So with this, I am bailing on the hurt and disappointment I feel when I see one of us being lured into the extreme edges of race (muslims, etc.) and guns (bump stocks and automatics) along with other issues of our time.

Thanks Dooooooooods.  It’s been a hell of a ride, culminating in a fantastic reunion in Las Vegas a year or so ago.

"It’s not hard to see at all…

Except for those who refuse to look."

- 6/25/2018

PS - I wrote this a couple of days earlier but decided to hold off on sending. I was considering some advice once shared with me by our very own Harold W. (Bill) Grinstaff that went something like this; “When you write something that some might find disturbing, put it in a drawer overnight and let it simmer.  You might change your mind and decided to defer.  Well, I did...and I didn’t.

"Leadership" - Just What the Hell is It?

Yes, I had to study it in grad school, and yes, I had study it in the military.  But wait...what the hell IS leadership really?! Reduced to its purest elements and in no particular order, I would say it, at least the successful "it," consists of nine critical factors:

1. Sincerity - Believe in people.  If you are not sincere in this, they will pick you off from a mile away.
2. Enthusiasm - It's infectious...really!
3. Curiosity - The search for understanding...for knowing what is right, and what is wrong.
4. Innovation - A hunger to do things better.
5. Decisiveness - You have to be ready to get out on that limb when it's called for.
6. Compassion - The desire to help
7. Humor - To diffuse stress and discomfort in yourself and others when the pressure is on.
8. Smile - A killer, light up the room sort of smile.  If you don't have it that's okay...see #7.
9. Tolerance - Of ambiguity that is.  This is a biggie.  If you can't do this...you can't do it period.

Aside from whatever schools might teach you, I believe these elements have to be part of you...going in.

Now here's some old fashioned and modern day "click bait" (Without links...you can Google them ok?) for wannabe' leaders:

• High Reliability Organization
• Lean Management
• Management by Objectives
• Zero Defects
• Performance Improvement Program
• Six Sigma

Yeah man; these and others like them will have you buried in the books for a while. While I generally shy away from newly spun management fads, certain elements of all these programs can add value for a leader and his gang.  Examples include wrapping some measurable objectives (MBO) around your organizations goals and using statistics (6S) to help you track and locate areas you can improve.

From my old "I Love Me"
Collection.  It's about "spirit."
Thanks Charlie Brown!

As an aside and personally, I would like to have a Certified Project Manager at my elbow to help me and my gang figure out the best way to get from point A to point B. Assuming of course...we are headed in that direction.  Also assuming we have a bunch of independent and dependent variables to consider.  (Now I am really wandering off course here right?!)

So a successful leader has to have some built in attributes and should cherry pick some useful management tools.  What attributes and tools would you add?  Or do you think a good leader should be something else entirely?

My credentials?  I have worked for some of the most amazing bosses. I have led some wonderful Air Force health care teams.  I have also led dozens of wonderful, whacky, sometimes toxic and most often talented multi-disciplinary health care contract teams in well over half the United States.  (For more on this, Google "herding cats.") 

"Louie Louie...Oh No!..."

No, not the "Louie Louie" of legendary music fame.
That is just what the millennials call "click bait" and yeah, I am as guilty as anyone of spinning that stuff from time to time.

Actually, here I am referring to "Louie" the tournament Texas hold'em poker player of Sacramento's now defunct Casino Royale fame. I played with Louie in a number of tournaments at that Casino although it was not my preferred location for weekday events.

I would often begin the day at Capital Casino and at times would be eliminated early. There was no reentry option at Capital back then so when it happened, I and few others would race up the freeway a few miles to what we called " Plan B", actually Casino Royale, to enter their tournament. Timing was usually tight though as both tourneys began at the same time and entries closed an hour or so after they started.

Louies favorite, Casino Royale

Louie was a quiet, friendly old guy, bearded, possibly of Mexican-American descent.  With a habit common to  more than a few tournament players, he carried a back pack filled with a lot of sundries one might include in anticipation of a long day at the tables. I think most people, upon meeting Louie would think of him as a sweet, innocent old man....(kinda like me without the "sweet" and "innocent" part).

Not a particularly good poker player, Louie nonetheless showed up  at the Royale regularly and made contributions in the form of tournament entry fees. Over time, I noticed he also liked to occasionally pull out a small spiral pad and make notes. I thought it might have been to note play details for his future reference as some of the more serious players do.

One day at a Capital Casino I overheard another tournament player mention Louie's name and when I asked was told he had been banned from play at the Casino Royale. Apparently Louie had been pocketing chips from his tournament stack for use in later events.  He must have thought by adding accumulated chips it would give him more chances to end up cashing in some future tourney. I am guessing his notes may have included a running total of chips he had stored in his famous back pack.

Around that time, Capital Casino added a reentry option to tournaments there and that ended our rush to join the "Plan B" event at the Royale. Not long after, I heard that the Royale had let Louie rejoin the tournaments there and as a result many of their regulars had angrily quit patronizing it.

The Casino Royale later moved and then closed.  I don't know what happened to Louie. He is the only known cheater I have encountered in a dozen years of studying the nuances of playing tournament hold'em poker.

I kinda' miss old Louie. Sure he was cheating, but I don't think I ever saw him hit a final table let alone cash.

Three Guns - Looking Down the Muzzles

First Gun - 1964...

He had just turned eighteen.  A brand-new Air Force Airman Third Class, he was a medic, a Preventive Medicine Specialist stationed at Cannon Air Force Base near Clovis, New Mexico.

There wasn't much money floating around at the time so the junior enlisted men would often pool theirs and buy some liquor to party  in one of the barracks rooms during their nights off.

One weekend night a handful of them were partying in a room and were all pretty drunk. The discussion had turned to marksmanship when one of the airman bragged he could shoot an apple off the top of another's (my) head. A .22 rifle was produced. They were illegal to have in a barracks at time. All weapons were supposed to be checked in for safe-keeping with the Base Air Police.  Nevertheless there it was.

He sat in a chair with an apple on his head while across the room the self-proclaimed marksman aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger.  There was a pretty loud noise, the apple split and behind it appeared a hole in the metal wall locker.  There were some complimentary remarks made and they carried on with the party as if that were a normal occurrence.

Second Gun - Ten years later...

He was a brand new Lieutenant in the Air Force Medical Service Corps.  First job...Hospital Squadron Commander  at Mountain Home Air Force Base, Idaho.  Just a few months in, the base commander had called an early morning shakedown inspection beginning at 5am.  After a short night's sleep, he and his First Sergeant and a couple other senior NCO's assembled at the squadron barracks and began a room-to-room search for contraband; primarily drugs and weapons.

After a few rooms were complete, he knocked on a door announcing their presence.  The door suddenly opened and the Lieutenant was staring down the barrel of a shotgun.  The airman inside insisted they would not be confiscating his weapon.  Before the Lieutenant could react, the First Sergeant stepped between them.  The First Sergeant knew the airman well and quickly diffused the situation by explaining they would just have the airman's shotgun stored in the base armory for safekeeping.

Third Gun - Seven years later...

He was a junior Captain less than a year into his job as Hospital Administrator at Malmstrom Air Force Base near Great Falls, Montana.  He had a lot of hospital experience by then, as enlisted man and officer.  He loved the job and spent a lot of time out and about in the hospital, seeing if staff needed anything to help them do their jobs better. Often, he could offer assistance and sometimes, with medical funds limited, all he could offer were condolences.

One evening around dinner time, he was talking with the staff in the Hospital Emergency Room when he noticed a button under the reception counter.  He asked the NCO in charge what the button was for and the NCO said; "I'm not sure. Let's press it and see what happens."  So he did (Let's add a little emphasis on "naive" right here okay?).  The ER phone rang almost immediately and one of the staff answered it.  Part of the conversation mentioned the "button" and the calling party then asked to have the Administrator put on the line.  It was the Security Police announcing they had received an emergency signal from the ER and asking if everything was "all right.'

The Administrator, now realizing it was a 'panic button' said it had been pushed by mistake.  The caller said; "Sir, please open the emergency room door and step outside with your hands raised.  He complied with the request and as soon as he was through the door, looked to his right toward the entry ramp.  There were two Air policeman there, backs against the wall with their revolvers aimed at him.  He explained the situation and all three went into the ER.  After satisfying themselves there was no emergency, the police left and the Administrator suddenly knew a lot more about hospital operations.     

The Naked City...and Tournament Poker

"There are 8 million stories in the Naked City.  This has been one of them." - Opening line of the TV series by that name. 1958-63.

I am reminded of this old quote as I contemplate the billions of "bad beat" stories that have likely been told since cards, and especially poker were invented. Most veteran players are tired of hearing them...they believe they have seen and heard it all and they are probably right. But if you play poker regularly, you have yet to hear your last one - one of your pals will surely lay one you and soon.

From another...better day.

And now I am sure you have guessed it. Here is yet another.

Just yesterday, playing a World Series of Poker circuit Senior (age 50+) event, I was hanging around with an average starting chip stack of 10k an hour and a half or so into the tournament. The action came to me and I looked down at a pocket pair of Tens. I raised to 4 times the big blind as I wasn't too anxious to see a call.  Surprisingly, four players stuck around. Flop was little card, King, little card.

The player, I'll call him "Individual 1" ahead of me bet and I hung around as I wasn't too sure he had a king - I was cautious about hanging on with a lesser hand but bored* from folding so many earlier hands and wanted to see more cards. The other two players folded. Turn was another king. Individual 1 doubled his previous bet but it wasn't much of dig into my remaining stack so I called.  Besides, I was still trying to decide whether he had a king. The final card, the "river" was a 10 giving me a full house.

Individual 1 again increased his bet.  I thought; "Yup, he's got a set of Kings but I got him!"  I acted a little...looking at my cards then looking at the tournament clock then looking at him. Finally, with a reluctant air, said "all in."  Individual 1 said; "I gotta' call" and turned over...a King-Ten off-suit making him the winner and me the opposite of a winner.  Now, many players and books would suggest he didn't have strong enough hand to call the initial raise but nevertheless, there he was and he had me boat over boat.

Yes folks, there are billions of sad stories in poker.  This has been one of them. Condolences are welcome here and yes, I should have got the hell out of that hand right after the flop.

PS - if you haven't had enough yet, there are more stories and most all are not about bad beats...thank God.  

Poker in Des Moines
Don't Move! Much anyway... 
Poker Face 
The Perfect Muck
Moron Poker
The Clock
When You're Losing
Luck of the Draw - Where Poker Begins
Aces in Places
Profiles in Poker
Cards in the Air!
Poker is...a mofo!
Poker...More on "Dat Metaphor"
Pocket Aces - Dat Metaphor
Chasing the "Cheese"
Veni. Vidi. Velveeta.
The "River"

*Note:  "Bored" is an extremely dangerous attitude in tournament, or for that matter any other kind of poker.  If this happens you lose focus and when you lose that you will very likely get zapped.