How to Operate a Floor Buffer - Dad

Among other things, my father was a runaway, Navy veteran, mayor and lumber yard manager.  But mostly, he was a janitor in Ohio and in Washington state. When I was a young boy I would help him so I learned how to clean bathrooms, move furniture, sweep floors and operate a big, heavy floor buffer.

Running the buffer was a blast.  Typically, we would first sweep, then use a mop to clean, then another mop to put a thin layer of wax on a hall or classroom floor. When it dried we would cruise it with a buffer. We could lay a perfect pattern if we used the linoleum tiles as guides and used three basic motions. Tilt up and the buffer would go right, pull back to move to the next line of tiles, push down to go left and repeat. We would move back and forth in rhythmic motions until the job was done.  We worked backwards so we could see our even patterns and not track up the fresh work. When finished, it was pretty satisfying to step back and admire the job. It was also a technique I would use many times later as an Air Force airman living in a barracks.

But this story isn't entirely about a buffer, its more about my father. He seemed pretty happy being a janitor. I could tell because I got to spend time with him at work and at home. He had the job figured out and it wasn't complicated by politics as so many other jobs seem to be.  In fact, his M.O. in the early days was to get really pissed at some political development at work, quit and move on with Mom, my brother David and I in tow.

At home, he and Mom laughed a lot, he messed around with hobbies, spent time with my brother and I and made music. He could sing too. I mean he could really sing and Mom could harmonize perfectly with him.  They had home made sheet music written in Mom's beautiful hand. They have both been gone for quite a while now but I can still, in my mind, hear them harmonizing on songs like "Whispering Hope, Do Lord" and others.

Somewhere...somewhere in my brother's garage I believe that sheet music is at rest. Next time I visit him, I plan to drag him out there and help him locate it so we can get it scanned and preserve it properly for family archives.

Dive Bombing

On a visit to the coast
To watch Speedy do her first half-marathon
We happened to walk to the flights of stairs
Descending to Solana Beach, California

As the sun set
We focused on the cresting waves
And their visitors

First the surfers
Patiently waiting for the final sets of the day
Second the pelicans
Dive bombing dinner

The graceful birds would fly
Parallel to the wave crests
Often tucking their wings
Banking sharply into the ocean

Their trajectory would often take them
Just a few feet from the surfers
Where they would splash in
Mostly ignored by their neighbors
Who were more intent on
Catching the next decent wave

Each to their own tasks at hand
Allowing space for one another
Could be a formula for a decent world
Could it not?

"Square Wheels"

Fairchild Air Force Base, Spokane Washington, late '70s. We were a crew of Air Force health care administrators working at a Strategic Air Command hospital there.

Our Administrator, Colonel Paul McNally had been selected for a senior officer course, Air War College, and was leaving for a few months. He appointed me as his temporary replacement. I was fairly fresh out of grad school and a pretty new Captain so I was damn happy and flattered to get the job.  His last words of advice (Or was it an order?!), "Don't change anything."

A few weeks later we received a "Staff assistance" visit from our major air command counterparts at SAC. Among them, Colonel Harold Gottlieb (RIP), Command Administrator and Captain Tim Morgan, his medical logistics guru or as we called those of his specialty, a "Box Kicker." Colonel Gottlieb was preceded with a reputation as the sort who would chew you out for an improperly hung picture in your hospital hallway and he would do so spontaneously in front of God and everybody. Plus, at any hospital you could get fired on the spot if you were found lacking.  Thus, we had all done our best to get things in order and just in case, had prepared for just such an act.

Surprisingly, the visit went very well and I was impressed with the Colonel's obvious love for what he was doing...hospitals and health care. His whole team was upbeat and truly there to assist.

One evening Julieann and I had the two over for dinner. We were joined by our hospital "box kicker" Captain Matt Pisut (RIP) and his wife Judy. After dinner, we went out on our back deck and played a few games of darts. Toward the end, we made a wager. If Matt and I won two out of three games our hospital would be funded with $50,000 worth of additional medical equipment from our wish list. If the Colonel and Tim won, they wouldn't owe us anything. This was important to us because in those days' peace had broken out and in the military that meant funds were pretty difficult to come by. Matt and I lost and to this day, I am not entirely certain we were not motivated by fear, awe, lack of skill or any combination of the three.

Not long after, I received a call from Major Steve Coleman at SAC. He worked for Colonel Gottlieb and was our medical staffing guy there.  Steve offered me the Administrator job at the SAC hospital at Kincheloe in Northern Michigan. (Hmmmm...was that a reward or punishment for doing a good job at Fairchild? We'll never know.) Anyway, it was a great opportunity and I took that news home to my wife straight away. We had a brand-new son, Tyler. He was just a few months old and we had had been at Fairchild less then a year. When I gave Julie the news, I could see a tear immediately in her eye and I knew what our answer was. Next day I told Steve I was eternally grateful but we had to let our family settle a little more.

A couple months later, Steve called again and offered the same job at Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana. I again took the news to Julieann and this time she was prepared so we soon left for Great Falls.

I loved the job and soon became aware that some of our docs had legitimate concerns about the medical equipment we had available. I knew money was tight and the gang Colonel Gottlieb had assembled at SAC (Geiger and Edenfield on the finance side were a couple of others) were really terrific with their support. Yet no one seemed to be making progress...we were just getting by. So, I wrote a letter titled "Square Wheels" to the guys at SAC. I pointed out that I believed our docs and nurses were doing a terrific job considering the resources available. Then I asked if there was anything further we could do to help improve the situation, otherwise we would have to continue down the road hobbled by "square wheels."

Well, I wasn't fired and the medical equipment situation didn't change much, through no fault of the SAC guys. I learned more about the budget process in Washington though and how difficult it could be in times of peace.

Today, more then 40 years later, Morgan still calls me "Square Wheels" and I am left wondering if I don't have a copy of that letter around somewhere.

In the end, I remain grateful for  the best Strategic Air Command support people an operations guy could have ever hoped for; Colonel Harold Gottlieb, Major Steve Coleman, Captain Tim Morgan, Captain Jim Geiger, TSgt Bill Edenfield and others.

"Those were the days my friend.
We thought they'd never end.
Those were the days!
Oh yes those were the days."
(Thanks Mary Hopkin)

The Need

I feel the need,
The need to read.

A favorite pen
A Tul roller ball
Favorite because
For lefties, it drags
Across the page smoothly

I feel the right,
The right to write.

To what end? Who knows?
Curiosity. I suppose.

For how does the story end?
And where will my mind take me?
Will we capture a moment from the past?
Or will we stir an adventure not yet begun?

I'll just take another sip of this damn fine coffee,
And it will come to me sooner or later.

As Long As You're There

Lift your world a little higher today:

As Long As You're There

Write Your Wrongs

"And I could be a better man,
I could be a better son,
Give back to everyone."

Cleats!

High school in the early sixties

Here's a brand new pair.
Just grab a hammer and some short nails,
tack'em on and you are in business!

A small Ohio town
More to the point; Huron
Even more to the point; Huron High School

Pointed toe shoes
Italian style were popular

Along with pegged pants
And white t-shirts with rolled sleeves
Better to have a cigarette pack rolled in the sleeve

Metal heel cleats were popular too...
The clink, clink, clink on a hard surface
Was pretty cool to hear

We discovered you could take off
Down the buffed linoleum tile hallway
Roll back on your heels
And slide ten or twenty feet down the middle

A great pastime for a bored high schooler.

Alone. But not.

One day post-Christmas
Sitting at kitchen counter
Coffee, homemade caramel roll and morning paper
Alone. Quiet. But not.

In other bedrooms wife, son and daughter sleeping
First time we have all been together
Just the four of us...for a while

We are all safe and I am grateful for the fleeting moment
It could very well be one of the last times
As our separate lives, the natural flow of things, proceed

Early tomorrow morning planes fly
Our family returns to media connections
Wife and I will look at each other
Recall our youth and their youth

All of us...growing together
Then once again
Alone. Quiet. But not.

Dubya, B.O. and Little Dickie

Dubya, "What's the word I'm looking for?"
Little Dickie, "Evildoers."
Dubya, "That's it!  Let's corral them and put them somewhere right?!"
Little Dickie,  "Yup.  You're on the right track.  Let's corral them in Cuba and torture them until they tell us what we want to know."
Dubya,  "Done."

(Years later)

Little Dickie,  "Well Dubya, it didn't work.  They didn't tell us a damn thing. Now the problem is we can't just release them because they will go squealing home to Momma, complaining about the torture and probably come up with some more evildoing. Not too mention a bunch of self-righteous Americans are going to find out and claim torture is 'not who we are'."
Dubya,  "Sounds about right.  So what can we do?'
Little Dickie,  "Keep them in the corral and let them become the next President's problem."
Dubya, "Well okay boss...but I have this note here from someone in my Cabinet, forgot his name, that says we are spending over $400 million a year to keep that place open.  Does that matter?"
Little Dickie,  "Not all.  Hell, I make that much from my Halliburton defense contracts.  Besides you and I are not paying for it.  With the tax loopholes we have it costs us nothing.  The average schmuck in the street is picking up this tab."
Dubya, "But Dickie, somethings wrong with this."
Little Dickie, "Now Dubya, don't sass me.  Remember how fancy I can get with a shotgun.  Besides, your father told you to mind me so step up."

(Pre-2008 election)

B.O., "I will close Guantanamo."

(2014)

B.O., "I am still closing Guantanamo."

Little Dickie, "I would do it again."

B.O., Little Dickie and Dubya, "Let's just not call it 'torture' okay?!"

PROSECUTE

Chasing the "Cheese*

Once you have played live Texas Hold'em poker tournaments a while you come to the realization that, as in life, anything can happen. Consider three of the tournaments I have failed miserably in over the past couple or weeks:

One of those fine days when I won all the "cheese."
Here , the tournament director is forking it over,
thank you Mark Pritchett

The first occurred when I caught Jack, nine off suit pockets (first two down cards in my hand) five, yes five times in the first hour. The first two times I called small blinds just to ride along and see if I might catch anything on the flop (first three common cards dealer turns face up on the board). The flop gave me open ended straight draws both times (not a bad thing) so I hung on as long as the bets weren't too big. Sure enough the bets on the table got too big for me to test the odds (about 16% each to hit on the last two cards, "turn and river") so I folded. The third time I caught them I hung around and hit two pair on the flop. I eventually had to fold as the board showed too may hands that could beat me then two large wagers convinced me someone had hit (sure enough straights appeared on the showdown). I caught the same pocket two more times and dumped them in disgust pre-flop (something I should have done the first three times).

The lesson here; quit chasing mediocre hands even when the blinds are really small.

A tournament or two later I caught pocket Aces three times in the first hour. This is a hand that wins approximately 72% of the time but not that day. The first time I was beat by a bigger hand (two pair or something bigger I forget).  The second time I won a small amount as no other players had good enough draws to stay in the hand with me. The third time I chopped with another player who also had pocket Aces. The likelihood of drawing pocket Aces is less than 1 in 200 but that day I caught them three times right?!  To win just one of the hands was also defying the odds...in a bad way. That left me shaking my head well through the first tournament break and into the third hour when, you guessed it, pocket Aces knocked me and my lesser hand out of the tournament.

The lesson here; Lady Luck doesn't always smile on you, you pitiful poker player Campbell.

A tournament or two later I caught some more mighty fine appearing hands, again in the first hour of the tournament. Three times I caught strong Ace pockets. Ace, Jack of hearts, Ace, King of diamonds and Ace, King of hearts. Each time I made it to the flop and each time caught flush draws. A nut flush draw off the flop has a one in five chance of hitting each time on the next two cards. I managed to miss all three and by that time I was once again knocked out of a tournament....go figure.

The lesson here; Lady Luck has a way of rubbing it in doesn't she?!

I don't know. I would guess the chances of any one of these three situations occurring in many years of poker are pretty slim but then again, "anything can happen" right?!

Yes Sir it all happened right here at Sacramento's famous Capital Casino.  If you should visit, you may occasionally spot a famous player such as...well, you know...

*You may have already guessed that "Cheese" is cash in poker vernacular...cold, hard cash.

Spuds and Big Willy - It's the Little Things

One Thanksgiving morning I was assigned "KP" duties by the "boss of me." Among other tasks, one was to peel a dozen potatoes.  Given several options for getting the job done, I selected a plain old paring knife and had at it.

I was soon preoccupied with trying to carve the longest peel possible and my feeble mind began wandering to KP days past... mainly the first.

In the fall of '63, I was seventeen years old and in Air Force basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas.  As part of our "training" we would also get picked for various odd jobs on the base. One night I caught  KP duty at the Air Force's largest hospital, Wilford Hall Medical Center, affectionately known as "Big Willy."  My main job was, you guessed it... peeling potatoes and I learned how that night.  It was a pretty good job, just sitting there letting my mind wander as it did again this morning. I also caught delivery duties to the inpatient wards.  We would load up giant carts with hot meals and get to ride elevators to the heights of the grand old center.

We were at it pretty late on those jobs... well past midnight. At the end of our shift, the full-time kitchen staff had pity on us raw recruits and let us each have an ice cream cup.  We worked so hard for that ice cream it still stands out in my mind as the best I have ever had.

Twenty years later, I was an Air Force Medical Service Corps officer stationed in the same area, San Antonio, Texas. I was working for Paul Murrell.  He and I were assisting some 1,200 MSCs with their development and follow-on assignments. One day, at a casual meeting there, a senior Colonel named Keith Curtis looked at me and asked a question in a collegial way;  "Tom, what do you want to do, be Administrator of Wilford Hall (his job) one day?" Considering my previous assignment was as administrator of Malmstom Hospital, I got pretty fired up and my answer was an immediate; "Yes!"  

But then after 24 short years; 6 as a medic, 5 as an intelligence specialist and 13 amazing years as a member of the Medical Service Corps, I was sidetracked with curiosity about health care administration in the civil sector and end up serving another career there. Still, to this very day I would like to be Administrator of Wilford Hall (thank you Keith) and still, I would like to peel another potato there.

Twenty-seven years after that meeting (this morning) I pulled the KP assignment once again. I am grateful now, as I was then for those seemingly menial tasks and for all that has transpired in between.

(November '17 update:  The demolition of "Big Willy" is now up for bid.)

(September '23 update:  The demolition of Wilford Hall is near complete.)

For some, life goes on.  For others...it ends.  But the journey... oh, the journey!