November, 2016

The 10’s.
The 20’s.
The 30’s.

I turned 40 on April 30, 2003; I had been living in and working remotely from Tahoe City for almost 6 years by this time, and was the parent of a beautiful 2 month old baby girl named Annika.

This, the final chapter of my autobiography, will be purposely short. The original intent of this project was to document my life before you girls were born; with Annika’s birth my life transitioned (as it does for most parents) from being about me, to being about her. And that life is pretty well documented in pictures.

April 2003 – July 2003. I take my second Leave of Absence from Cisco (my third is after the twins are born), and we travel around 3 months in our “new” Westfalia camper. With Rups and Inge we head east to Colorado to visit the Ruddy’s. Rups and Inge fly home, and we continue south through the National Parks of Colorado, eventually hanging a hard right to spend weeks at the CA coast. It’s an exceptional trip; Annika is too young for any real bonding, but it’s fun to spend time with her without any work distractions.

I had created a web page, lifeofannika.com, which was going to be our family photo album; I thought Rups and Inge would appreciate this, as they could stay in touch with Annika via pictures. I named it lifeofannika since, for different reasons, I was not intending to have any more children.

Fast forward to December of 2006; we are spending Christmas in Salzburg with Rups and Inge as well as with our friends Dale and Jill Marcellini, who have a son Dylan that is Annika’s age. In Salzburg I have an epiphany, while watching Annika (who is not yet 4) as a hostess take such good care of her friend Dylan, through an extreme amount of compassion and sensitivity. I realize Annika not only should have a sibling; she will thrive with and as a sibling. Case closed.

We go to the first ultrasound after Andrea is pregnant; after the nurse excitedly indicates that there are two fetus’s in there, she see’s my expression and suggests she will give us some time alone. The moment the nurse steps out I look at Andrea and say “This does not make me happy”. This is simply a byproduct of my personality: I was ready for a second child, and mother nature threw a curve ball.

But my reaction was short lived, and on Dec 9th 2007 Annika (and Mama and Papa) is so damned excited to have her two sisters Niki and Britta finally here. From the very first day Annika validates what I saw back in Salzburg during Christmas of ’06; namely that she thrives as a sibling, she has a heart of gold, and she has deep wells of compassion and empathy.

Back up. Prior to their birth I freak out, professionally. My work is often intense and inflexible (in terms of time), and so I wonder how I can manage being an active parent with the twins while also working. I actually contemplate quitting, but am luckily talked out of it by my old boss and good friend Ed Swenson. Through him I arrange a job transfer, from Technical Support to Learning@Cisco, which is responsible for the Cisco certifications. I join that group as a content developer and proceed to work part time (which I had negotiated) for almost a year despite the fact that I am still receiving my full pay, since HR admits that they don’t know how to accommodate a part time employee. Thanks to Cisco I am able to support my growing family, both financially and personally.

The 10’s.
The 20’s.
The 40’s.

I turned 30 on April 30, 1993; I was living in Mountain View, CA; I had just started working for Cisco Systems. I turned 40 on April 30, 2003; I had been living in and working remotely from Tahoe City for almost 6 years by this time. This was the emotional roller coaster decade; big high’s, big low’s.

May 1993 – April 1994. I had been working at Cisco just a few months when Birgit came to visit; after some soul searching in Germany, Birgit had come to the conclusion that she was ready to make the sacrifice and move to CA for our relationship. While I can’t emphasize enough the strength and depth of my feelings for Birgit, returning to live in CA was exhilarating, knocking some of the edge of my commitment to Birgit and our future. I can’t reconcile the wide void that separates the authenticity of an intense relationship informed by 2 months of living, laughing, loving, and traveling together, non-stop, 24×7; with the superficial attractions of living and working in the Bay Area as an adult for just 2 months. The two just don’t compare. And yet, when push came to shove, by June I was unable to commit to Birgit. Certainly part of it was the dramatic step we spoke of: getting married, essentially ASAP. Birgit would only have been able to stay in the States for 3 months as a visitor, and she could not get another 3 months off from work after her travels in Australia. She would not have been able to work in the US without a visa, which wasn’t practically possible. The only feasible option was for us to get married; she gets a green card, and we start our new life together.

And I couldn’t do it; it was too much, too fast. What had been happening in my life the past 2 months was just distracting enough. Maybe Birgit was right, back in Australia, when I had first proposed to her. She said it’s easy to fall in love when you are traveling the world, without a care or responsibility or obligation.

She returned to Germany, and with a very few exceptions, we didn’t talk again. She ended up marrying a banker guy, having a daughter, and living in NYC for a few years due to her husbands work. Around 2006 they were in Tahoe for a vacation; we tried to connect, but with summer traffic they turned back towards south shore, just before reaching our house.

Still, the time in Australia, really was extraordinary.

Meanwhile, I worked; and worked; and worked; 12 hour days was not uncommon, and it was entirely voluntary. I loved Cisco, loved the atmosphere, environment, people. The agility of the corporate world; the incredible intelligence and competence of my co-workers; the excitement of working for a company that was at the leading edge of technology (at this time it was estimated that over 90% of all traffic traversing the Internet was using Cisco equipment).

While I didn’t pay attention to the stock price at the time – in a few years it would be a welcome surprise – others did care about it (I always thought the public display of what was essentially greed was embarrassing) and it was a constant – meaning daily – mention in the office. When I started with Cisco the stock price was $1.24 (adjusted for all the splits); 7 years later it was $79.38, before it crashed like all the other tech stocks. Still, the crash brought it down to the $20 range, still well above my starting point of $1.24.

Through work I was being exposed to different cultures, religions, and people (Indian and Pakistani being the most prevalent). And my work was being recognized; I was promoted after one year at Cisco, and again 4 months after that.

My hesitation towards committing to Birgit was not because of any other women or the CA nightlife; as pathetic as it sounds, it was Cisco.

In the Fall I went to work at the new Cisco office in Brussels, Belgium for a month; there were only 4 employees, and they needed to ramp up. I ended up having a fling with the office administrator, Hasnia. She was this exotic beauty from Algeria, whose first language was French but spoke others as well, to include of course English. She was gorgeous; the most beautiful woman I had ever dated. But – she was Mediterranean. She was extroverted and boisterous and emotional and dramatic; it’s how I imagined Italian women to be. She was just too overpowering for me; I was much too introverted, reserved, undramatic. While she came to visit me in CA for a week, and we rendezvoused in DC for a week, that was it. She was ready for a larger commitment, but the differences in our personalities were just too extreme.

While in DC to see Hasnia, I also met up with Mansour, my college roommate; it had been about 6 years since we last saw each other. I also met up with Bill Boruff, the mover from Tucson who had returned to the DC area. In some ways seeing them was more of a highlight than the time spent with Hasnia.

Back in CA I reconnected in a big way with Rich, my buddy from High School. Still an unemployed plumber, we would go scuba diving quite often down in Monterey. I had gotten certified when I was living in Tucson (seems odd, right? Scuba diving in Tucson. Our certification dive was a weekend in Mexico), and Rich had multiple certifications (day, night, high altitude, etc). The diving in Monterey is not that nice – visibility is almost always under 10 feet – but the excursions were always fun. Rich was not a partier, so we often just hung out when not diving, pretty low key. The commitment was larger for Rich; he’d drive ~2 hours from Sacramento to meet me in SJ; it was only an hour on to Monterey.

When my lease was coming up in April ’94, I was ready for a change. Living so close to work was an advantage those first 12 months, but my two roommates were odd ducks (like me, they were not friends, either; it was 3 strangers in a 3 bedroom apartment); we never (literally) did anything together. A guy I worked with, BG Seneviratne (from Sri Lanka), asked if I wanted to move to SF with him. Did I? Damn right I did!

April 1994 – October 1995. In one important way, living in SF made no sense at all. Just as I was moving to SF, Cisco was moving to its new, large campus in San Jose. (In 1994 the campus was 7 buildings; by 2010 it was about 50 buildings). This meant an hour drive (at least; longer with traffic) to work, one way from SF. The drive was even longer since BG and I found a very cool apartment in the Marina district, on the corner of Chestnut and Fillmore St; basically, we would have to drive through SF before we could even get on Hwy 101 to take us South to San Jose. Still, the decision to move to SF was easy; I was confident that this would be the best, if not only, chance I would have to experience living in The City; I had to take it.

The SF atmosphere, music and concert options, cultural events; there was just so much to do. Just about each weekend there was something going on; and if I weren’t entertaining Rich or Tim Healy (he had gotten a divorce about a year prior, and was slowly coming out of his shell after moving back to Napa where he was working at the Sanitation District, which he would end up leading after another ~10 years), I was spending time in Napa with Arlene and her family. But SF wasn’t just for weekends! At least once a week I would typically go out to a concert (the Great American Music Hall was a favorite stop) or show, and I began a routine where each Thursday night I would hit a bar with Sean Dolan, Brian Dolan’s (Justin Siena) younger brother who was living in SF. Too. Much. Fun.

My ambition had not been abandoned; I was still working hard at Cisco. My time in SF coincided with a promotion when I first moved, and a promotion when I moved out of SF. At the same time I pursued my CCIE; Cisco Certified Internet Expert. At the time it was just a curiosity; the next challenge to try. Years later the CCIE brand became a big deal, and the fact that my certification number was so low (1072; the numbers started with 1025) made me a bit of a rock star in any high tech geek circles.

In Dec ’94, BG was ready for a change; now that he had his green card, he could be more mobile and he wanted to live in Europe (with the knowledge that he could legally return to the US whenever he wanted). He moved out and my good friend (and co-worker) Matt Dodd moved in. In some ways Matt was even a better fit for me; he was much more interested in music and culture (BG was mostly motivated by women), and we were equals in terms of coming up with activities. I was with Matt in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood on the night of August 9th ’95, the day Jerry Garcia died, mourning with the thousands of other Grateful Dead fans.

I started to do more bike riding, on an old Trek that I had bought in Germany. SF (or more accurately the North Bay) has great potential for riding; just ride across the Golden Gate Bridge and off you go. In May of ’95 I rode a 7 day bike ride from SF to LA, benefiting AIDS research. In order to ride, each rider had to come up with donations totaling $2000. I later heard stories of riders who worked for months to get enough donations to meet the requirement. Me? I was so damned lucky. I sent out a single email, to every Cisco employee in the San Jose area, asking for donations. In addition to whatever donations I received, Cisco had a program to match each and every dollar. Within a week, from that single email, I had $1200 in donations, with another $1200 from Cisco. Problem solved.

The ride was fully supported, but I wanted to support myself as much as possible, if only for the challenge. So instead of my road bike, I took my mountain bike, a Specialized Rock Hopper I had bought in ’93. I put slick tires on and a rack in back with small panniers on each side; I was going to pack light and haul my own stuff. The first day of riding was from SF to Santa Cruz, over the peninsula hills on Hwy 92. It wasn’t that much fun; everyone was on a nice road bike, and many complimented me on my approach as they whizzed by. That next day I decided to turn in my sleeping bag and one pannier; a compromise of sorts. 7 days later I was in LA after a great ride; I met up with Kel for a night, and me and my bike flew back to SF the next day.

Summer of 1995 I took a trip with my Papa to Colorado, for his High School reunion. I felt like a reporter; my primary goal was to learn as much as possible about his life, his story, his anecdotes. It was a very personal trip, one which I’m glad we were successful in making happen.

For the first time in my life I led a somewhat normal life, in terms of dating; I did more of it. I was seeing Judy, a smart, ambitious woman originally from Boston (she was my cultural touch stone; we saw a lot of Symphony and off Broadway shows together); and later I dated an Irish lass who was low key but a lot of fun. And, of course, it was in San Francisco where I reconnected with your Mom, in the Summer of ’95, who I had not talked to since I left Germany in Aug of ’92.

Andrea was in the midst of a 5 week trip; she worked as a flight attendant for Lufthansa, and so could fly for free. She first went to Colorado to visit mutual friends (Rodney Mayo) who had been in the Army and stationed in Germany; then she continued to Hawaii to visit a German friend she had grown up with. She was traveling with her roommate Christina, and while Christina needed to return to Germany to work Andrea still had a week left of vacation. She called me out of the blue to ask if she could stay with me in SF for a week. I took a few days off and we went to Tahoe. The past 2 winters I went in with a group of 12 people on a ski lease in Tahoe City; we rented an entire house in the Talmont neighborhood of Tahoe City, and could then come and go as we please over the winter. I was getting to know Tahoe a little more, and thought Andrea would enjoy it. Andrea didn’t know there was snow in CA (despite the 1960 Olympics), and unbeknownst to me those few days with Andrea in Tahoe would set the course for my life.

Soon after Andrea returned to Germany, I had another trip to work in the Belgium office. I was able to see Andrea a few times, only after I met up with Hasnia and explained (again) that we didn’t have a future together. Andrea came to Brussels once, and I met her in Hamburg (she had an overnight due to flying) once. Our journey together was beginning…

Despite the fun in SF, by October ’95 Matt and I were exhausted from the commute; after 18 months in SF it was time to move closer to Cisco. But we were going out with a bang! We had seen a 70’s cover (primarily disco) band a few times, and so we arranged to have them come to our apartment to play. I can’t stress enough how impossible this really was: we lived on the third floor in a small ~800 sq ft 2 bedroom apartment. We didn’t have the space, and we had lots of neighbors to be cognizant of. Didn’t matter. Over the course of a few months Matt and I bought any 70’s nostalgic memorabilia that we could find; everyone would come dressed for the 70’s (big collars, bell bottom jeans, flashy color’s); a keg of beer, and the band, squished in the corner of our living room. The theme of our party was 1974. At one point I went down the street to get some liquor, and walking back I could hear the music a block away.

Despite our warnings to our neighbors, eventually someone called the police. They came, we stopped the music…but only for 10 minutes. The music started back up, the police came again. The third time the police insisted, with the threat of jailing the band members. Simply. Epic.

That night, before the party had begun, I was walking down Chestnut. In the window of a restaurant I saw what I swore was Susan Sheela, my high school love. I stopped, sorta stunned; the feelings were a bit surreal. We had broken up about 10 years earlier, primarily due to the physical distance between us. When I returned to CA I didn’t bother to look her up; but here she was now, our physical distance eliminated. I was disorientated. Most relationships end when the emotional well is dry; that was not the case with Susan. When we broke up, I was still in love with her; our reality couldn’t accommodate that love. And there she was! But…I had a 1974 party to attend to; I didn’t go inside to say hello, to interrupt her dinner with her date.

The weekend after the party, Matt and I started our hibernation south; we were moving to Los Gatos, without cats.

November 1995 – November 1997. Our apartment was nothing special, and we were on the eastern edge of Los Gatos, away from the more attractive downtown area. The black hole left by the absence of SF and all its options was pretty large; but the good news is that our commute was down to a more reasonable 20 minutes.

Work was going great; I had been promoted to the “Escalation Team”, which meant I was off the phones, working on bigger technical (software) problems that were getting executive visibility within Cisco. I was also giving a lot of internal training to other engineers.

In Los Gatos Matt and I become closer to another co-worker, Ben Goldman, who also lived in Los Gatos. Ben was a treat; the type of person who was super active, always finding fun mini-adventures (full moon kayak trips in Santa Cruz bay; full mood mountain bike ride rides in the Santa Cruz mountains; surfing; etc). Ben was also a member of the winter ski lease program, so our adventures extended to Tahoe (much more cross country in Paige Meadows than downhill at the resorts). Ben was a musician! Played guitar, knew all sorts of songs, and his guitar was always along for the ride; in fact Ben played two songs at our wedding in Germany in ’97. After we moved to Tahoe, I saw less of Ben; but whenever I did, it was special. Ben was more contemplative as we got older, and the few times he came to Tahoe (typically in the winter) he and I would take nighttime trips on skis into the meadows, and talk about life – most our professional life, since Ben’s personal life was rock solid, with his marriage to his teenage sweetheart Lonni.

[In August, 2008, Ben was murdered on the street one night in Detroit while there for work with Cisco; he left two daughters behind, Rebecca and Daphne. I still think of him now and again…]

By April ’96 Andrea and I were getting more serious; despite living on different continents we would see each other pretty often, since Andrea could fly for free and she often had 4-7 days off in a row. In Feb ’96 we met in Chicago for a weekend. Still, in the interest of taking the relationship to the next level, I took a 3 month leave of absence from work from April to July of ’96, and lived with Andrea and her roommate Christina outside of Munich. We had a great time together; when Andrea had overnight flights I would go with her, and when she had days off we would do a lot around southern Germany.

Inspired, Matt also decided to take some time off and travel with his girlfriend Jamie. So after only 6 months in our Los Gatos apartment, we moved all our stuff into storage, shook hands and said “see ya in 3 months”. When I returned in June Ben had already been looking for an apartment for us back in Los Gatos, and he scored a great spot: walking distance to downtown, walking distance to Ben’s, and in a quiet and peaceful cul-de-sac. This was a large upgrade to our previous apartment; Matt and I were happy to be back.

Despite the appearance of seriousness around my 3 month trip to Germany, when I left Andrea and I didn’t have any conversations about our future; it just didn’t come up. We continued to see each other as before (Matt and I met her in NYC in November), and I returned to Germany the following month for Christmas and New Years (’96) back in Bobenheim-Roxheim. Our mutual friend Tim Brauer was throwing a New Years party, and he and I were talking. He asked about the future of Andrea and I; I had no answer. He continued to press me on it, which got me to thinking (for, literally, the first time). At one point, before it was midnight, Andrea and I were sitting in the stairwell upstairs against a glass door with a large dog on the other side. I was buzzed but not drunk; I asked Andrea to marry me, and she said yes. I had no ring. It was a strange moment, only because I am usually not that (if at all) spontaneous or impulsive. But Tim’s questioning got me to looking at this practically: what was I waiting for?

I was to fly home early the next morning (Jan 1st), so we didn’t have time to talk with Andrea’s parents. So a few weeks later I literally flew to Germany for a day, so that Andrea and I could announce our plans to Rups and Inge. I flew on a Monday, arrived Tuesday morning, spent the evening with Rups and Inge, then flew back Wed morning.

We started making plans, mostly with respect to the wedding. Then one day during a visit from Andrea, she casually mentions that she has no desire to live in the Bay Area. Casually. I ask where she would like to live; “Tahoe”, she says.

Hmm.

That week I run into my manager Phil Remaker in the break room; he is bending down to grab a canned drink when I say “Phil, my fiance wants to live in Tahoe; what are the chances that I can work remotely from Tahoe?”.

“No one has ever asked me that before”, Phil replies. “But I don’t see a problem with it”.

I kid you not; that was the extent of the conversation.

During Andrea’s visits, we start to take trips to Tahoe City, looking for a house. The only neighborhood that I am familiar with is Talmont, where our winter ski leases have been. Each trip we drive the streets (there are only about 15 of them) of Talmont (I had a very cynical attitude about realtors, and was determined not to use one), looking for houses for sale. After more than a few trips, and more than a few house tours, one day we find a house that is half way through construction, being built by Jim Blundell. We have some conversations, I make an offer of $299,000 (the price of the last house Jim had built), he counters with $350,000, I readily accept (I drive a hard bargain), and come November timeframe we will be residents of Tahoe City.

This motivated Matt for a change as well. He transferred jobs, to Cisco in NYC. 13 months later Matt is getting married, and only a few months after that he is getting a divorce. Years later he remarries again, and after a few moves he settles in Portland, where he lives today.

November 1997 – April 2003. On the weekend prior to Thanksgiving, me move our stuff to Tahoe, with the help of Ben and Lonni, and Tim Healy and his girlfriend Debbie. There is no snow on the ground; but the day after Thanksgiving, it dumps over a foot. Welcome to Tahoe! It’s fantastic.

In terms of work, for the first 6 weeks all I have is 56k dial-up; then I get ISDN (128kbps) installed. Despite the fact that DSL is already available in the Bay Area, it will be about 10 years before it is available in my neighborhood. I am rather paranoid about the impressions my co-workers might have back in San Jose about me working. Thus, I never leave my office (a bedroom downstairs), in order to not miss a call or an email (Instant Messaging did not exist yet); my intent is to respond immediately to anything, so that people will see I am not somewhere else screwing off. This approach persists for 2 years; really. I move to Tahoe, but for the first 2 years I don’t really meet anyone, I rarely leave home, and I have no life. But defending any perceived insults to my professional integrity was vital.

Of course, this can go on for only so long. At Andrea’s urging I join the Tahoe Nordic Search and Rescue team in Jan ’00. This turns out to be an excellent move for me. Over time I become a searcher, then a Director, then the web master. I meet plenty of fantastic people in the community, and I see more and more of the Tahoe backcountry. More than anything else besides kids, TNSAR turns out to be my one lifeline to the community I live in.

In Feb ’98 we get our first dog, Pooh, a lab mix from the Santa Clara Humane Society. He is an expensive investment, but he turns out to be such a fantastic dog.

Andrea is always busy at Squaw; when winter is in session she is working at least 5 days a week, often more (it’s likely similar to when I started working at Cisco; Andrea loved Squaw, loved the work and the people, and could not get enough of it). With the absurd tourist traffic, Andrea is often gone 12 hours a day. It sucks, so we try to make up for it with trips in the summer (Costa Rica, Moab, etc), as soon as Squaw closes. The summer trips were fun days, making up for all those winter days when I was either home alone (to include Christmas), or off behind the house skiing with Pooh. He was my trust companion throughout.

Up until 2002, Andrea and I never spoke of children; seems odd. However, in 2002 we decide to start a family, and in June of 2002 Andrea is pregnant with Annika. In many more ways than 1 this is a huge life change, with all sorts of revelations on their way. On February 22nd, 2003, 2 months shy of my 40th Birthday, Annika was born and I was the happiest guy around; parenthood saved me!

While “interviewing” my Papa many years ago (1996) to document the family history, one of the themes was politics (JFK’s assassination; Vietnam; Watergate; etc). My Papa had very little to say; it’s as if, as long as he had something to build, he didn’t have much of a care for anything else.

I’m different. 🙂

So, assuming that you girls will wonder about my thoughts immediately after this 2016 election, I will paste in 2 emails that might help towards an answer.

——————————————————————–

Subject: Re: Happy Thanksgiving!
From: “Mark Johnson”
Date: Sun, November 27, 2016 9:35 am
To: “Sherisse Hawkins”

> Still having a hard time with politics in fact I’m having nightmares about
> it :-(.

Yikes; that’s not good.

First, in the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you that I did not
vote for Hillary.

Pause.

Now, our relationship has been tested here; if you, for even a moment,
thought “HE VOTED FOR TRUMP!?”, then you need to be punished; no chocolate
for the next week.

In the CA primary I voted for Bernie; in the general I voted for Gary
Johnson. My primary opinion of Hillary: she would get nothing done
domestically (due to Republican control), her administration would be
under constant attack from the Right, and in terms of foreign affairs I
find her much-much too hawkish. There are many scenarios where Bernie (who
stood a chance of winning the general) or Gary (who did not) would also
fail their agenda domestically, but I don’t think they would go off and
play Army on other peoples front lawns. Hillary likely would.

And, to be clear about principle over pragmatism (or, put another way,
conscience over winning): I made my choice (not to vote for Hillary) long
ago, well before Trump was the nominee. So I didn’t rationalize my vote
(“Hillary will win CA anyway, so I can afford this protest vote”). Had
Kasich won the Republican nomination, I would have looked more into him
for my vote.

Now, Donald J Trump.

Here is what I find depressing:

1. The extreme amount of tribalism; this is a deterioration from the toxic
partisan atmosphere that has formed of late. Tribalism is at complete odds
with democracy; the two cannot co-exist.

2. The protesters, unwilling to accept the outcome. These are likely the
same folks who elicited shock when DJT suggested at the third debate that
he may not accept the outcome if Hillary were to win.

3. Women who didn’t like Hillary, but voted for her for gender reasons
alone. This too is tribal. If there were less of these people around
during the primary, maybe Bernie would have done better. He was the better
candidate (IMHO).

4. Republicans (not all of them) who disregarded most of their party’s
platform and rhetoric, most of their morals and values, and most of their
sense of decency by voting for DJT. This is the same party that chose
Romney in 2012?? Rank hypocrisy.

5. Everyone who voted for DJT. They neglected the importance of character
in a President. They placed domestic concerns over foreign concerns, even
though the domestic agenda is much (much) more controlled by Congress than
the Executive branch. In response to their valid concerns, they voted for
a complete neophyte in the most important position of the country, but
then also voted for all their entrenched Congressional incumbents. The
schizophrenic nature of these two opposing actions is stunning.

6. Conversely, the media. Not because they *didn’t* cover DJT sufficiently
enough; but because they set up every non-DJT voter with the impression
that he could permanently and disastrously ruin America. This was too
extreme.

The theme throughout all of the above is my disappointment in American’s.
This is the reason I resisted returning to America after Europe in ’92;
after three years as an expatriate, I had a huge amount of respect for the
American story (despite all its blemishes), but much less respect for the
participants.

Now people are freaking out: their tribe lost; DJT is going to ruin
America; the first woman candidate was scorned; a (fill in the blank:
misogynist, racist, incompetent, all of the above) man is now President of
the USA.

OK, I may have provided nitro for your nightmares, so let me attempt to
extinguish the flames. Much of what follows is complete and utter
speculation.

1. The liberal agenda has been blocked the last 6 years by Republicans in
Congress. In fact, going back to 1994 (Newt Gingrich’s revolution), the
primary message from Republican politicians has been obstruction. Now the
Republican politicians are entirely in charge; there is no shirking the
responsibility or subsequent performance of their leadership. America has
ridded itself of the petulant punk sitting in the back of the class
hucking spitballs, by putting him behind the teachers desk. As long as you
don’t believe the country is vulnerable to anarchy, this can be a good
thing.

2. A liberal or progressive agenda might be better served by 2-4 years of
Republican leadership, versus 8 years of Democratic leadership. It’s the
(tired) pendulum metaphor: Obama likely could not have been elected after
Bill Clinton (or any Democrat); America needed an incompetent like Bush to
get us to Obama.

3. Cracks in the wall. Republican politicians have always been
significantly better than Democratic politicians at forming a united
front. That has started to crack over the years (see Freedom Caucus;
Tuesday Group; etc). There is a good chance this administration will bring
down the Republican united front.

4. Broken promises. Many Republican politicians or power brokers who
supported (or even didn’t) DJT thought many of his campaign promises (the
wall; deportation; a religious litmus test; investigate Hillary) were
fiction. Many citizens who voted for DJT did not. If these campaign
promises do not come to fruition (which is very likely), the cynicism of
politics will do great harm to the Republican brand (albeit this could
indirectly effect the US as well; the country is only as strong as the
faith of its constituents).

5. Business as usual. In the end this is less about DJT, and more about
Republicans. Yes, Democrats lost. Yes, DJT is the President. But if you
look at who is filling his administration, this much is clear: it’s the
usual suspects. Democrats may not like them in terms of their ideology,
but they are sane, experienced, pragmatic people. That’s not to say that
harm can’t be done; the effects of Bush’s tenure (wars and recession and
unemployment) are vast and debilitating; but they didn’t paralyze the
country. There is a difference, albeit hard to see up close in real time.

I’m still processing all this as well. But as you know, one has to look
back, but only briefly, to inform the actions to take looking forward. If
(for example) enough people in the Rust Belt are so disempowered that they
would vote for DJT, maybe the Democratic establishment will start to give
their valid concerns some attention. I suspect there are many citizens who
think that Democrats are more vested in identity politics (transgender
rights, for example) than the plight of the disenfranchised and
economically insecure.

So maybe, in all, this will be a good thing.

Maybe. 🙂

mark

———————————————————————–

Subject: Re: Happy Thanksgiving!
From: “Mark Johnson”
Date: Mon, November 28, 2016 3:36 pm
To: “Sherisse Hawkins”

Everything here is, of course, my opinions only; worth what you paid.

> Should I force myself to learn more about history or politics?

No; not only is this unreasonable, it’s doomed to fail. With the exception of work, how we invest our time directly corresponds to our interests.

Prior to voting (for all offices, propositions, etc), it *is* important for any citizen to be:

1. Aware of their value system, in absolute terms

2. To be willing to do the requisite last minute homework; this is measured in hours, not minutes, but also not days (eg > 24 hours).

3. To have the proper resources available to fulfill the homework requirement.

Many citizens fail on some or all of these. For example, many Evangelical voters were absolute in their moral convictions, until DJT come along. Many people leaned on partisan resources to fill an intellectual void that required more honest brokering.

> Did I seriously consider any other candidates beside Bernie and Hillary?

Don’t fret; most people dismiss entirely the notion of political parties beyond the usual 2 suspects. For them, I think it’s more about winning (which gets back to your sports analogy, which I entirely agree with) than principle (or, put another way, short term over long term).

Read this link, for example; a poll of 26 conservatives, libertarians, and independently minded progressives, and even though most are antagonistic about Trump, nearly 20% say they won’t vote (versus voting for a 3rd party).

http://www.theamericanconservative.com/articles/the-american-conservative-presidential-symposium/

You are not alone.

> And why do we still have the electoral college?

Good question. I think the answer is as simple as “status quo”; before the 2000 election there wern’t any recent real world examples to argue overturning it. And even in 2000 the popular vote was close enough (Gore was about 534,000 votes, or about .5%, ahead of Bush) that any momentum to overturn it was moot.

There needs to be more light shined on the only (realistically) reason the system was enacted: our esteemed Founders were compromising to be “fair” to the slave states (slaves would not be counted in the popular vote, since they could not vote; they would, however, be counted in the electoral college – well, counted as 3/5ths. Yikes.). When logic doesn’t work, try shame. 🙂

It’s almost impossible to get rid of by the Article V amendment process, because only 13 states can block ratification. One party or another will always be likely to smell disadvantage in the next election from such an amendment, and rustle up enough “no” votes to block it.

You want to effect change? Campaign for this (it’s not yet been passed in CO). http://www.nationalpopularvote.com (just read the top paragraph).

> I also don’t understand why something like abortion is a platform for how
> our country should be run and the fiscal decisions we make.

For better or worse, abortion is a factor because the political parties use it as a wedge issue (which gets out the voters).

That said, there is a way to de-emphasize the issue. There is a principled position (either for or against abortion), and there is a pragmatic (compromised) position. This year Hillary took the principled approach (although I would argue she wasn’t being principled; she was being political, digging in with her core constituency. The Clinton’s are known more for their polling than their value positions). Here is one view:

http://www.latimes.com/opinion/opinion-la/la-ol-hillaryclinton-abortion-campaign-20160209-story.html

Still, I don’t think this issue hurt her more than other issues.

> But I think more scientific thought should be taught and regarded but
> that is alienating Christian viewpoint.

In my mind the issue is one of sophistication; American’s don’t have enough of it. When science speaks intellectually about evolution (or about some rock being 1 million years old), Christians take offense and disregard all of science (howzabout some moderation, folks?). Same goes when science discusses galaxies, pre-natal life, climate change, etc. We love the computer mouse and our iPhone, but those are products of a store, not intense R&D; right?

During my epic bike ride through Oregon in September, thru VERY rural country, there was a sign (amongst many) that said “Don’t always trust your brain”. I wish I had taken a picture of it.

But, in terms of the politicization of science (or anti-science), here is one push back:

http://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2013/11/the-republican-party-isnt-really-the-anti-science-party/281219/

> I spoke at a fundamentalist Christian book convention (interesting story

I’d love to hear that one!

> Our founding fathers
> and their debates about things much more subtle would be upset. Well,
> maybe
> I’m just guessing here I actually have no idea (back to not being educated
> on this) how they acted or led. It’s just what’s in my mind from 4th grade
> history propaganda. Perhaps they argued about the same type of shit.

Yeah, sorry to disappoint. Google “Polman 1800”, or try this:

http://www.pennlive.com/opinion/2016/11/jefferson_v_adams_was_the_clin.html

Or this:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/answer-sheet/wp/2016/10/19/this-school-is-holding-a-presidential-election-but-not-the-one-you-think/

There are plenty of examples. Politics has never been clean; competition for power and influence rarely are.

> QFM: Do you think most people have the time and interest to NOT follow a
> tribe mentality?

There are no centrist tribes (that’s an oxymoron); they only proliferate on the fringe (left or right). The question is one of distance: Even if someone doesn’t embrace the right or left extreme (tribal) positions, if those are the predominant positions then voters still have to conclude which they will subscribe to (which positions they are closest to). This introduces much more than a simple rounding error (“You voted for a racist?” “Um, no…”).

The challenge for democracy is for institutions (mostly media), people, and politicians to nurture and support a centrist idealism. Compete against the fringe players for the attention of voters; people will (willingly yet unknowingly) shed their tribal attire once they enter a centrist tent of reason that they feel much more akin to. For comedic input, The Onion (http://www.theonion.com/) would have to be leveraged.

Media? Social media companies (in particular) need to be held accountable for facilitating the spread of misinformation. Since they are dealing with a narcissist, reporters must refuse to treat DJT like a normal president and refuse to bestow any unearned legitimacy on his administration. [Stole this from https://thinkprogress.org/when-everything-is-a-lie-power-is-the-only-truth-1e641751d150#.ixluabjyl).

People and Politicians? This is joined at the hip with media, since media are the ones to get the message out. But in essence there are plenty of success stories of local (city) people and politicians, from different political persuasions, working together to fix their local problems. Voters need to be reminded that not only did this used to happen at the National level, it still happens successfully at the local level. http://www.theatlantic.com/projects/city-makers-american-futures/

> I disagree
> with you about being mad that trump said he wouldn’t accept defeat and
> then
> not accepting it myself.

I concur with you that we don’t want racism and sexism and xenophobia to become normalized; and I encourage anyone to march to that effect. But that would be a case of not capitulating to notions of racism, sexism or xenophobia. Contrast that with people protesting the outcome of the election, or the validity of a Trump administration. That boat has sailed.

> QFM Am I just as bad as the other side?

Put aside the idea that the other side is bad. 🙂

Voters are the pawns; the political process has been hijacked by people who either never had leadership-type qualifications, or they did but these qualifications were jettisoned in the pursuit of power (as addictive as that might be). The envelope was pushed out, the tribes naturally formed, and a white-noise information-lacking feedback-loop machine called the media (Trump grabs pussy! Hillary’s emails! Trump grabs pussy! Hillary’s emails! Trump grabs pussy! Hillary’s emails! Trump grabs pussy! Hillary’s emails!) dropped napalm in the center, creating a huge DMZ zone.

> QFM Am I just as bad as the other side when it comes to not accepting
> their religion?

The challenge (on all sides) is one of moderation, understanding, and acceptance. The higher pitch the rhetoric, the less likely there will be a truce. You have to want a relationship with someone on the “other side”, more than you want to defend or sell your position. It is possible to be vested in both.

I value the mind over the heart; fact over fiction; proof over faith. But, I know there are many very smart people, some of whom are in the STEM fields, who are devoutly religious. If I can’t rationally take these people on in a debate, then I also can’t take on the simple citizen who is less able to articulately defend their faith.

A high school friend who I’ve gotten much closer to these past ~15 years is very religious (Catholic); just as I know where he stands, he knows where I stand. Regardless, we value our friendship, our perspectives, our morals and values (we were in Napa two weekends ago, camping in his driveway with our Westfalia, having late night discussions. http://lifeofannika.com/year/13/images/PumpkinRoll/). It’s not hard, but then it might seem too easy since he and I both came to the table with moderation, understanding, and acceptance in hand.

Plus, we had a bottle of wine; there is almost always a bottle of wine.

> QFM Am I just a spoiled baby boomer/GenX that hasn’t experienced real
> strife in their adult lifetime?

Oh my gosh, no.

> foolishly thought the world was going to improve?

Um…maybe. 🙂 Or, you forgot how to think non-linearly due to the Obama years; you were still buzzed from 2008. Roads close, detours have to be made. In this way, you can still leverage Obama as your muse; I suspect he’s not finished building his legacy.

Out of necessity, you will once again be immersed in non-linear thinking; you will likely meet new friends (https://www.facebook.com/events/1638075409825947/ ?); and undoubtedly you will influence much more than you will be influenced, because you add more to any equation.

> We will alway persecute each other right? The majority will
> always abuse power. This has always been the case…..is it getting less?
> I have no idea? Am I an idiot to hope that this will ever improve?

It’s human nature to be tribal. Any atheist or even agnostic likely believes in Darwin’s “Survival of the fittest”. So, yes, the majority (for whichever category) will always abuse (not only externally to the minority, but internally to each other). Still, many members of the majority, as well as the minority, will not tolerate this status quo at some point. They will resist their inclination towards tribalism. They will resist their natural urge to survive at the expense of others, even if they are the fittest. They will empathize with those not in their camp. They will risk ostracization to defend ideals over group think.

Or at least that’s what I hope. Consensus is the bedrock of democracy; cerebrally we all know how to get there. The question is just who wants to take the journey, and who can persuade the others to come along anyway.

Or something like that.

mark

The 20’s.
The 30’s.
The 40’s.

This is the first installment of my unrequested auto-biography; it’s being written on account of three reasons:

1. I just finished reading the excellent auto-biography of Bruce Springsteen; it got me to thinking…

2. Many years ago, around 1997, I created a web page to document the lives of my paternal grandparents. I was keenly interested in their story at that time – I knew so little – which came much too late in my life. Similarly, since I married late (34 years old), and didn’t have Annika until I was two months shy of my 40th, I already had a lot of mileage under the wheels. I figure it’s better to document those miles while I’m alive and can still see in the rearview mirror, rather than waiting for a grandkid to take interest.

3. Let’s be honest; as one grows older, with less road up ahead, taking a long look at our journey has its own rewards.

For organizational purposes I’ve arbitrarily decided to order this by decades; I’m starting with 10’s, since I don’t really recall anything during the aught’s. Here we go…

————————————————————————————-

I turned 10 on April 30, 1973; I was at the end of my 4th grade in St. John’s Lutheran School in Napa, with the amazing Mr. Turner as my teacher. I turned 20 on April 30, 1983, living on-campus in a dorm, nearing the end of my freshman year at the University of Arizona in Tucson. A decade of formative schooling. I ended my 10’s with a small set of friends who would remain a fixture of positive influence in my life; in that regard, this chunk of time is both important and unique.

May 1973 – Aug 1977. I was in the middle of a long and prestigious 9 years at St. John’s Lutheran School.

Backdrop: After moving to Napa from Vallejo around 1966, Arlene, Diana and myself would all go to St. John’s; this is also where we went to Church – a Church that my Grama had been going to for quite a few years.

1st and 2nd grade – Ms. Lebahn, an old maid, who was intolerant, unfriendly to young kids, and entirely impatient for the job at had. My primary recollection is of her tying me to my desk if I was walking around too much, using scarfs that she would be wearing; or, her wrapping masking tape around and around my head, numerous times, to prevent me from talking in class. Of course, slowly wiggling my tongue through the tape was great fun. She would shake uncontrollably when she was exceptionally angry. Oh, there was also the time I wet my pants, in class, since she wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom. Yup; no scars here. 🙂

It didn’t end with Ms. Lebahn. One day after morning recess, I cupped my hand under the faucet in the boys bathroom, spraying my friends. Of course, water was everywhere. Someone told on me, and the principle Mr. Ashbrenner got involved. He took me out of class, brought me back to the bathroom, spanked me after a tortured confession, and had me clean up the mess. Corporal punishment was mainstream at St. John’s.

3rd grade – Mr. Losey. His sons Eric and Kyle were also in school. He was an absurdly strict man; he did not need tape or scarfs to get his point across. Unlike Ms. Lebahn, we were all truly fearful of him. Primary recollection: he saw kids (not from his class) playing outside near an old incinerator, which was a verboten place to play. He told us to be quiet, and went out the back door with a 3 foot wooden ruler. He returned with the ruler, which had been broken into 3 pieces. Yup; no scars here, either. 🙂

In 3rd grade I was in the German and Christian choir group. The German group required that I wear lederhosen (the girls wore dirndl’s) whilst singing German folk songs, and the Christian group required that we wear robes. We were supposed to stand entirely still while singing; on at least 3 occasions, I became so hot that I fainted, usually in a church (which typically meant head first onto stone floors). After the school year we traveled for 2 weeks, to Southern California and then across to Las Vegas with a side trip to the Grand Canyon. Each night we would pair up and sleep with a local family who had volunteered to accommodate us. Two memory’s (besides fainting): standing on a red ant hill somewhere in Arizona, at my host family’s house. Fun. #2 – visiting Circus Circus in Las Vegas, with strict instructions to be back at the bus at some anointed time. We all returned except Lane Dyke (he had taken a detour to the bathroom). The director, Mr. Ashbrenner (him again!), was furious that Lane had disrespected his orders, and so ordered the bus driver to leave! A few Mom’s (there as chaperone’s, to include my Mom) revolted and left the bus to go find Lane. The Mom’s, with Lane in tow, met us later at a local Church, our intended destination for the night.

I quit Choir after 3rd grade; it wasn’t cool for boys to sing, and especially uncool for boys to faint all the time. BUT – my retirement was only after we cut an album, with my claim to fame being a solo vocal of the second verse from “This Land is your land”. Time to move on.

/Backdrop

Classes at St. John’s were combined, with just one teacher (no parents helping out in those days); so, 1-2, 3-4, 5-6, and 7-8. Mr. Losey and his family moved away after 3rd grade, so our new 4th grade teacher was a young charismatic, Mr. Turner. He was revolutionary, in that he was extremely funny, friendly, engaging, and non-traditional. We loved him, and he only lasted a year for it. St. John’s was too conservative of a bastion to tolerate such insubordination to tradition. One highlight: he took me and some friends (Lane Dyke, Eddie Russell) bowling one time after school. Impossible to imagine Ms. Lebahn or Mr. Losey doing such a thing.

5th and 6th grade; huge crush on Mrs. Klein, who was young, attractive, very nice, and a great teacher. The 6th grade highlight: winning Athlete of the Year. It was undeserving, so here is some context. The school was very small; my 8th grade graduating class was 13 kids. It was disproportionally female; again, my 8th grade class had just 3 boys, including me. (I don’t recall the 6th grade numbers, but I suspect they were similar, if not identical). The Athlete of the Year award should have gone to Kevin Hall, who was older than me and a superior athlete. However, earlier in the school year, Kevin thought it would be funny to bring a dried herb to school, and tell everyone it was marijuana. A move like this will get one in trouble in a small Lutheran school, and the consequences will obviously linger, to include end of year Athlete of the Year voting by the school administrators. At best I should have gotten second place.

7th and 8th grade; Mr. Aschbrenner (remember him?), was the teacher. At this point shades of my personality were beginning to emerge. I am (mostly) not competitive. Before softball practice we would run around the entire softball field. John Miller (one year younger than me) would want to race; I would comply, until the very end when I would, in the lead, pull up and let John pass. Passive aggressive? Dunno. Then there were girls; my introversion and indifference were showing. I had been to school with most of these girls since kindergarten; I recall a conversation with a few of them (Sherri Lahei in particular) where I presented my case that it was a silly waste of time for us to date, since we weren’t going to get married. How pragmatic is that? Still, I did have a brief girlfriend (Gina, a new girl and therefore interesting who was younger than me). And, of course, there was Halloween.

7th grade I once again won Athlete of the Year; 8th grade I didn’t, due to a broken right arm that kept me out of the basketball season. My best friend Scott Young won it, and the administration must have felt bad since they gave me some other, new, one-time award (Sportsman of the Year or some such).

Friendships during this entire period were interesting. St. John’s was 1.1 miles from home; starting around 3rd grade I rode my bike to school everyday, unless it rained (huge dose of independence there). All my friends who lived on my street went to another school; St. Appolinaris (a Catholic school). Thus the demarc: school friends and neighborhood friends, and neither knew each other and never would the two meet. At the end of the school year, I would say goodbye to my best friend Lane Dyke, knowing full well that I would not see him for ~3 months. Bizarre…

Lane ended up leaving St. John’s before 7th grade, after having gone to school there since Kindergarten. I don’t actually recall who my best friend was in 7th grade; odd. Starting 8th grade I had a new buddy – Scott Young. His Mom had gone to High School with my Mom at Napa High, and the Young family had recently returned from the big island of Hawaii after living there for a number of years. In that way Scott broke the mold that had been established by Lane – we saw a lot of each other in the summer, since our families were good friends. In the summer, with both of our families having a water ski boat, we would vacation together, at Lake Berryessa, or Buck’s Lake, or Whiskeytown Lake – these were some really fun times together with Scott.

In hindsight, despite the outrageous behavior of some of the adults at St. John’s, I still equate my childhood with the old 50’s show “Leave it to Beaver”. It was innocent, free of conflict in the house (my parents never drank, never fought, held hands and kissed regularly, we always ate dinner together, and took a number of fun family trips every summer), idyllic.

Summers were spent hanging out with my neighborhood friends: Mick Gagetta, Doug Davis, Mike Velastalin, Jerry Harris. We did everything on bike; explored the creek next to the frontage road leading to Yountville, rode to Conn Damn via Silverado Trail, poked around that huge undeveloped area that would later become Vintage High School.

There were 3 High Schools in Napa; Vintage (which was new and close to our house), Napa, and the private Catholic school Justin-Siena. For reasons unknown to me – but I assume it was the assumption of a higher quality education – I was to attend Justin, where I would reunite with Lane. After 9 years at St. John’s, I was ready to move on, without hesitation.

Aug 1977 – Aug 1981. Freshman year was a bore; my introversion, and the fact that I really knew no one besides Lane, helped.

Well, that’s not exactly true. There were 155 students in our Freshman class, and 8 were from St. John’s: Natalie Anderson; Lane Dyke; Sue Geear; and Sean Scott, all of whom would attend all 4 years at Justin and graduate with me. There was also Julie Greenwalt, Barbara Rose, and Mark Zeller, who all left after Freshman year. Finally there was Becky Hall, who left after Junior year.

Most (~90%) of the kids came from two Catholic grammar schools: St. Appolinaris and St. John’s Catholic. They all knew each other, had played sports together, gone to church together. Being from a Lutheran school left me at a disadvantage; it’s not that this made Freshman year bad; just uneventful.

I did play on the football team (all 4 years), which is odd since I was such a poor player (too intimiated). I had also played Pop Warner football for a few years while at St. John’s, and I was a poor player there too. Other than playing on the golf team senior year, football was my only sport – and I sucked at it. Not sure why I stuck it out; I assume that, with the exception of choir in third grade, I didn’t want to be a quitter.

Still, my social circle expanded with each grade. I was more of a follower than a leader, which is not a proud characteristic, but the school was small (~500 students), my class was typically small (125-155 kids), so befriending kids wasn’t a problem. Clique’s didn’t really exist; it was too small for that. Being a private Catholic school, there were kids from all over: Calistoga, St. Helena, Napa, and Sonoma.

One inadvertent journey which started at Justin was my move away from Christianity. By 9th grade I had 9 years of religious education; 9 years of Sunday School, Church, and vacation bible school; confirmation studies and the subsequent communion. I knew much about the bible, but what I didn’t know – I was never taught it, or it never registered – is that the whole of human kind is not Christian. What’s more: while Christianity is a religion, it’s really an umbrella term, under which falls a number of denominations that don’t necessarily get along, play nice, or believe the same things. This is what Justin first taught me.

For example, a handful of times each school year there would be mass; I was not allowed to participate in communion (even though I was a baptized and confirmed Christian) because I was not Catholic (this didn’t bother me; just piqued my curiosity). Another example: the difference in the Apostles Creed. Lutheran version I grew up with (“I believe in the holy Christian church”), but at Justin it was different (“I believe in the holy Catholic church”). Sophomore year all Catholics took religion class together, while all non-Catholics (about 10% of the class) were lumped together in another “world religions” class. I recall wondering if I was being discriminated against…

Again, this move from Christianity was the start of a journey; it would continue through college and beyond.

Sophomore year was a big deal: the year ends with me turning 16, buying my own car, and getting my first “real” job. Just as I turned 16, I bought a 1974 Chevy Vega for $800. I had saved this money after years (and years) of mowing lawns in the neighborhood. It had an 8-track player, and I thought I was the shit. The car allowed me to get my first job; as a cook at Kentucky Fried Chicken on Jefferson. I worked 5 days each week; 3-10 during the week, or 8-4 on weekends. Cooking regular and extra crispy KFC chicken. I loved working, I loved being more independent with a pay check, I liked the camaraderie at work, and I was an ambitious 16 year old without realizing it.

On Tuesday May 4th 1980, having worked at KFC for just over a year, I had a freak accident. The cooking oil would come as a solid in large 12″x12″ boxes. I was opening one up and asked the assistant manager Alex (a really fun guy) for a knife; he slammed it into the side of the box. I went to grab the serrated edge (dumb), thinking Alex had let go. In fact he was pulling the knife back out of the box, slicing my thumb open to the bone. That was the first mistake. The second mistake was to sit up on the counter, holding my thumb with my large white apron to control the bleeding. Alex asked to look at the cut; I took a peek as well. After doing this I told Alex I was going to faint, which he thought was a joke (we joked around constantly) and I fell face first off the counter onto the floor, without putting my hands out to break my fall. They called an ambulance, and I went to the hospital for stitches (I don’t remember any of this) with a good concussion and two black eyes. Mom came to pick me up; an orderly took my thumb, soaking in a solution, and showed my Mom the cut in the thumb; she fainted, dropping like a rock. Dad was called to come collect his family, if he could promise not to faint.

I know the day was Tuesday May 4th, because for the next few days I kept asking the same questions (a side effect of a concussion): What day is it? What did I do for my birthday? Did I invite anyone to the Prom? What day is it? (etc). Diana and Arlene were tasked to follow me around, patiently answering my repeated questions.

Spring of my Senior year a friend Suzy Frommelt offered me a job at her family’s pharmacy, delivering prescription drugs around town. I gave my manager at KFC 2 weeks notice; by that time I knew every job, to include cashier, and had more than demonstrated my work ethic to him. I think I was making $3.25 per hour; on my last day, my manager kept offering me raises to try and get me to stay; $3.50; $3.75; $4.00! Instead of tempting me to stay, it was pissing me off. I realized he valued my work for more than he was paying me, but wasn’t going to volunteer that pay unless I asked for it (or quit). This was an exceptional lesson in life: in the professional world, no matter how good your boss is or how exemplary of a worker you are or how great the company is, you have to protect your own interests. Always. Otherwise, there is a great chance you will be taken advantage of.

TAKE THAT TO HEART GIRLS!

I delivered prescription drugs for Rexall pharmacy for less than a year. It was a great job, driving around all afternoon, without having to deal with grease and chicken. And it humored many that I got the job, since my nickname was “Crash”.

Crash? Remember that Vega I bought when I was 16? I totaled it (Aug ’79) after owning it for just 4 months, by driving much too fast while taking a right hand turn outside of Justin, trying to impress Pooch Dybadal; I hit a large truck head on, with my Vega ruined, the truck barely had a scratch. The next day at school I’m at my locker when I hear a loud tire screeching sound “eeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…….CRASH”. It’s Tim Healy, whose locker was next to mine; he thought he was hilarious; I was still bummed about my car and so not laughing. The name stuck.

But wait! Next I wrecked the family Ford Pinto (Oct ’79) at Dillon’s beach during the end of season overnight football party. We were too loud and rowdy at the beach, with a picnic table serving as our bon fire. The Police came and asked the large, drunk group of 17 year olds to leave. Smart move on their part (of course, driving was not a smart move on my part, too). Less than a mile later I rear ended my teammate Mike Abate (later he brought me home, and I threw up in his car for good measure).

Soon after I bought an Oldsmobile Cutlass; I wrecked that in the Spring of ’80 when I hit a parked car while driving and bending down to find a cassette (smart again!).

In the Fall of ’80 my Cutlass was wrecked by a girl who took it for a drive without telling me; hit and run, luckily she only ran over a small tree in someone’s yard.

Still in the Fall, I was with another friend (Bernie; see the 20’s biography and LA) driving to that years end of season overnight football party at Dillon’s beach when we were rear ended by Rich (and Kellan), who were following us. I was bad luck; which continued!

In the early (early) morning hours of December 24th ’80, riding with Rich, slightly drunk, he took a turn too fast on the wet Partrick’s road, started fish tailing it, and ended up rolling his truck (that he had just gotten back from the auto body shop to fix the front end from the previous accident). We were both unharmed, luckily; not so for the Chevy Luv truck.

So, yeah, people were amused that I got a job delivering prescription drugs. And, sure enough, I wrecked that truck too. Rear ended (sorta) a car that had pulled to the right off the road, only to then swerve left to go into a driveway. When I told Suzy her reply was simply “Not surprised!”.

Throughout High School music became more important to me (this was preceded by my Mom’s music: Barry Manilow, Eagles, Carpenters, Simon & Garfunkle). My first album was a gift from my Grama; An evening with John Denver. Next came a lot of Beatle albums, which I loved. As a surprise 16th birthday party, my parents took us to SF for the off-Broadway show “The Beatles”. It amazed me that they were responsible for all these songs I knew, but did not know was theirs.

My first 8-track was Wings over America (Paul McCartney); many more followed. Then came cassette’s; Bob Segar, Tom Petty, AC/DC, Foreigner, Ted Nugent, Journey, Elton John. Then the concerts (Ted Nugent was the first; Journey; Day on the Green [Foreigner, Loverboy, Scorpions]; AC/DC).

But the biggest event in my young life was the murder of John Lennon on Monday, December 8th, 1980; it was during Monday Night football. I was stunned; my parents, not so much. I went to my bedroom and stayed up until well past midnight, turning the dial on my clock FM radio. Every station – pop, rock, classic, jazz, news – was playing Lennon and Beatles music. The scope of his influence was just now dawning on me; and it would reverberate more that next Saturday. John’s wife Yoko Ono had asked for 10 minutes of silence that Saturday, starting at 10AM. I always brought a radio to work at KFC; it was turned on when the clock struck 10. As expected, the DJ said there would be a moment of silence in remembrance of John Lennon. I flipped the dial; there was nothing: no songs, no talking, no music, no news. Every station, across the entire AM and FM range, was silent. Just amazing. After 10 minutes, the first song played on many of the stations was Lennon’s Imagine. I wanted to cry, but I had chicken to cook.

[Fast forward to today. It’s my one, possibly only, regret: that I never put the time in to learn how to play music (guitar, piano, whatever). I wonder if maybe my ideal role would have been as a producer.]

Finally, let me talk about love. Or dating. Or both. My first girlfriend was Sheri Jennum, sophomore year; she was the stud female athlete in our class. She had braces, acne, and I really had no attraction to her. But she liked me, so we went to a movie at the Uptown theater, and afterwords on the sidewalk, totally in public, we mashed faces like mad. This was the first time I was kissing a girl since Halloween, 8th grade. The first time tongue was being exchanged. And all I could think was that I wanted to go home (I assume we were waiting for our parents to come pick us up). This relationship was over fast.

Junior year I dated Sandie Bianco, a Senior; her parents owned vineyards, and she lived in St. Helena. I don’t recall how we started dating; I’m sure it was her initiative. She was slightly overweight, cute and nice, but to be honest I was much more attracted to her younger sister Shelli. We dated for most of my Junior year; I had a car by then so we had more opportunities to go out. We broke up (I don’t recall the details) after she graduated (college? I dunno).

Senior year I started dating Susan Sheela; this was my initiative. Susan was a year below me, and she was beautiful. I fell hard for her, fast. Her parents owned Kenwood winery, and she lived in Sonoma. This meant ~30 minute drives one way to go out on a data (sometimes we’d drive back to Napa, too). Her family was wealthy and sophisticated and white collar and physically beautiful (parents included; Susan’s two sisters Sally and Nancy were gorgeous!). Despite – or I suspect because of – my strong feelings for Susan, we broke up a few times (maturity or lack thereof plays a role, too), always my initiative. Once, at the Valentine’s dance (we went together, I brought her flowers, then I broke up with her); again just after I graduated. Each time the breakup only lasted a week; I missed her too much, right away. Susan was always the mature one about it; she was willing to wait for me to catch up.

The period immediately after graduation was very strange; most of my classmates had been accepted to college (Justin was considered a college-prep school), but I hadn’t made any plans. Therefore, I was going to go to the Napa JC, if for no reason other than I had no clue what to do next. What was odd is that there was this immediate lapse; I didn’t see or talk with anyone for a few weeks (I was still delivering drugs at this time). One day I accidentally run into John Bussell at the car wash; since then I’ve wondered how things would have played out had I not run into him. We talked, I realized I missed my friends, and we decided to throw a party at my house. This was a big sentimental moment for me; I was certain, although it was irrational, that I wouldn’t see any of my High School friends again. The parties on graduation night were multiple and unorganized, so there hadn’t been a real send off; I decided that was my goal. I invited (as far as I know) every one of my 125 graduating classmates.

My parents were champs! As I learned of more and more people intending to come (to include a large number from the class of 1980), I approached my Dad: can we get a keg of beer? Sure, he says. Days later…can we get 2 kegs? Sure, he says. Days later…can we get a third keg, on reserve? Sure, he says. Yes, we are all obviously underage. Those were the times, I guess.

The party was a huge success; I’d say more, but for all intents and purposes I wasn’t there. We tapped the keg early, I started drinking, and by the time people were really coming I was nearly passed out. I heard all sorts of great stories, though, so my mission was accomplished. 3 empty kegs.

And maybe it was; I might be reading more into this, but suddenly I was seeing many of my friends again; hanging out, being silly, drinking. This was a transitional phase, but a critical one that kept me in touch with the friends that I still keep in touch with today: John (Russ) Bussell, Greg Brush, Rich Williams, Brian Dolan, Kellan Flynn, Tim Healy, and more.

In fact, soon after the party Greg asked if I wanted to go to Hawaii (Oahu) with him; he had been given the trip as a graduation gift. Sure! I sold my car ($1500), and we went to Hawaii for 8 days; the drinking age at the time was 18, and we had a blast. Greg ended up getting third degree burns on the back of his ankles from surfing (well, mostly from lying on the board waiting for waves). He could hardly walk, with huge blisters on his ankles, when we got on the plane to return home.

I returned home with no money in my pocket and no car; so I pursued an impulse and bought a motorcycle (cheaper than a car), a Suzuki GS550. Mom was not happy, which was valid given my driving record.

Aug 1981 – Aug 1982. Time for college. Well, sort of. Junior college, in Napa, living at home. In the Fall I was painting houses, work that I got through Russ. I hated it. Soon after I got a job at Val’s Liquors on Third St; it was Brian’s old job, and he was leaving for Ireland for a year. Russ worked there already; he had taken Tim’s spot when Tim left for college.

[Russ had been accepted to Davis, but took a year off. His sister Katherine was battling cancer, to which she would eventually succumb. Russ stayed home to help out during this difficult time. I was not at all empathetically aware enough during this time; I’m ashamed.]

I had a light course load at the JC: calculus (I had pre-calc at Justin); chemistry; and physics. I worked a lot at Val’s, and soon – since Justin boys were considered to be good, upstanding young men – Russ and I were working together and closing the store at night, despite the fact we were both 18 and underage. After about a month of being good boys, we started a routine where we would select a few beers from the exceptional collection at the store, and each of us would chug half while we cleaned the store before closing.

In terms of academics, I was wandering aimlessly, despite my potential. Going through the motions at the JC, without looking ahead. It’s stunning to look back on it. Without blaming my parents, I think that was part of the equation. No one in our family had ever gone to college, so they didn’t know any better. They never brought it up, never encouraged it, but never discouraged it. If I had simply joined the trade union and gone to work in a trade, they would have been OK. They always supported me, always said to all of us “You can do anything”. But they never set goals; whatever work made me happy, made them happy.

Thanks to Kel, I involuntarily got off my ass. His High School girlfriend Liane had gone to college at the University of Arizona, in Tucson. Kel and Liane had sorta broken up, but typically impulsive Kel, he wanted to go visit her. He mentioned it to me at the JC on a Wednesday morning in April, and that afternoon we were on the road in my parents Ford Pinto.

As we backed out of the driveway, my Mom was in tears. I got out, asking her what’s wrong? “You are leaving me for good”, she said; I had no clue what she was talking about. But it turns out her intuition was rather accurate.

We drove all night, arriving in Tucson Thursday morning. We listened to Springsteen the entire way; 16 hours straight. We saw Liane, saw the campus, saw Tucson; it was awesome! The weather was fantastic, the campus was beautiful, the drinking age was 18, and the women were plentiful. We left to drive home that Sunday, again listening to Springsteen the entire way. But before leaving, both Kel and I filled out an application for the coming school year (1982-1983). We were going to the UofA!

When I got home I did a little research; the UofA Engineering program was accredited by ABET (Accreditation Board for Engineering and Technology); I had no clue if that was significant or not, but it was sufficient for me!

After about 10 amazing months at Val’s, we had problems. The crew was small; one older lady Joanne who worked days, two great guys in their 20’s Dane and Matt who worked days and night; Russ and I; and the manager Cathy. Cathy had hired an older gentleman who was also a High School teacher; his starting salary was higher than ours. This really infuriated Russ; it was the principle, and it was age discrimination. Russ talked with Cathy about it, but she would not budge. Out of principle, Russ was going to quit. Impulsively, Dane, Matt, and I agreed to as well. All 4 of us quit on the spot, and the store had to close down for a few days since there weren’t enough employees. At the time I don’t think I knew what principle was, exactly; Russ set me straight.

I quickly got another job at 7-11 off Silverado Trail; worked the graveyard shift. This was 4th job in less than 3 years. I only needed to work until August, when I would leave for Tucson. Both Kel and I were accepted, and got assigned rooms in a dorm. I sold my motorcycle for college money; still, I don’t think I ever explicitly asked my Dad if he would or could afford school; to their credit, I assumed all along that they would support me (to include financially). That assumption is a nice gift to give one’s children. At the time a semester for out of state students cost around $500.

About 2 weeks before flying to Tucson, Kel breaks the news: he’s not going. His Dad guilted him into going to the Maritime Academy in Vallejo; I was stunned, but Kel was pretty flakey anyway so it didn’t bother me too much. I was super excited to be leaving Napa, to be leaving California, to be going to college at the UofA.

Susan and I were still together; we were determined to make it work. She would be going to Santa Clara University, me in Arizona. I was in love with her, but it was only after I visited AZ in April that I realized how much I needed this distance; not from Susan, but from everything else. It was independence, and I needed to drink of it and prove I could survive.

We had a party the night before I left; Russ, Rich, Kel, Brian (he was back from Ireland), Mark Giovanini, a few others. I got very, very drunk, and spent the entire time on the plane the next day trying not to throw up. Great way to start my official college life!

But it was an appropriate send-off; these were my best friends, and after 4 years in High School we had forged a “post high school” relationship that would stand the test of time. 35 years later we would all still be keeping in close contact, and seeing each other whenever possible. We would know each other’s parents, and come to know each other’s children.

Aug 1982 – April 1983. My parents drop me off at the dorm, we get some food, and then they leave. My Mom was really upset, my Dad was smoking a lot so I knew we has upset too. I was still a little hung over; I met my roommate Al from New York (he was a sophomore, and had stayed in the dorm the prior year), and we went for some dinner.

1-2 weeks later Russ and Rich came to visit for the hell of it; Russ didn’t start at Davis before Sept, and the idea of a road trip appealed to them both. They only stayed for a few days, but we had a good time (remember: AZ drinking age was 18!).

[Rich, after fooling himself that he was college material, ended up joining the Air Force and doing a 4 year tour before getting out. He ended up learning how to be a plumber, which worked out really well for him.]

In those years there was little to no handholding for incoming students; but you figured it out. Bought your books, got your meal card, scoped out campus and the surroundings (one didn’t need to go too far to find food, drink, or shopping; it was all within walking distance), and started school. I was taking calculus, physics, chemistry, electrical engineering, philosophy, and sociology. Some credits from Justin and Napa JC had transferred, so this was considered a “light” load.

The dorm was all males, 3 or 4 floors, each floor broken into about 5 sections; each section had its own “Room Assistant” (a babysitter for college students). After the first semester Al wanted to switch roommates; it was odd, since we got along great. No big deal, he switched rooms in our section, and Ken Gouseman moved in; Kenny and I would end up being roommates for the next 2.5 years. He was a great guy, a straight A student, so a good influence (albeit not enough; my grades still sucked). He was from Jersey and so loved the Boss (Springsteen; although he loved The Who the most).

There were two significant learning events freshman year at UofA:

1. Home, history, and friends. I met so many students who had ambivalent (at best) or negative (at worst) experiences growing up. Either their family, or their town, or their schools; one or more sucked, one or more was gone from their life. While I was excited to be out of Napa and away from CA, I still loved the town, my family, my friends. Meeting so many people who had experiences far different than mine, much more negative, made me appreciate what I had even more. I was now vested in the relationships I had, and will do whatever is necessary to maintain these relationships; their currency is now obvious to me.

2. Independence – meaning be your own person, make your own decisions, be responsible. I go to a Police concert with some friends I met through Al; one is named Joe, and he is a total pot head. We smoke a little before the concert – and Joe is stoned. I smoked too, but I am completely sober. I watch Joe, how he acts, and I am a bit repulsed. I realize that marijuana is as much a communal high as it is a chemical high, and I am not amongst my community here in Tucson. I don’t smoke again for the rest of college, which is a first big step towards me making the right and responsible decisions, for myself. In general the reality of independence, being away from home and responsible for my finances and schooling, was pretty powerful, but I was up to the task; wanting it, even.

The 10’s.
The 30’s.
The 40’s.

I turned 20 on April 30, 1983; I was living on-campus in a dorm, nearing the end of my freshman year at the University of Arizona in Tucson. I turned 30 on April 30, 1993, living in Mountain View, CA; I had just started working for Cisco Systems. Much happened in between, of course. Without question this decade was the most adventurous, the most variable, the most mobile, and a whole lotta fun.

May 1983 – Aug 1983. End of my uneventful freshman year; final exams are in early May, and my final grades are not impressive (I forget, but my GPA was around 2.75). I had started my Freshman year in the Electrical Engineering department, but after taking a coding course I was hooked and changed my degree to Computer Engineering. The Computer Engineering program was brand new; we were literally the first students in the program, which began as mostly an EE course load, with EE electives removed in favor of Computer Science courses (Fortran, LISP, C, etc).

In the Spring I was working the graveyard shift at Levicio’s (like a 7-11); it turns out many of the men working there were gay, and I never had a clue. Typical Mark. The job was a secret to my parents; after the school year was out, back in Napa, I surprised my parents with $500, to help pay for college the following year. I felt good about that, although there is a good argument that one’s priorities should first be about classes and learning and grades, and not about money (to the point of working graveyard!).

I spent the summer back in Napa, working with Dad at Alhambra Electric in Martinez, delivering supplies to the electricians and cleaning up the shop. Susan and I see each other as much as possible; she will be returning to college at Santa Clara in September. Luckily I am home when AT&T calls; they are trying to track down the person who has been making free calls from the University of Arizona, and some of the calls made were to the house in Napa. They ask if the owners of the household are home (they are); I say they aren’t. They ask if I know anyone in Tucson, AZ (I do); I say I don’t. They ask a few more questions, and that’s it. I never hear from or about AT&T again. This is a big moral failure, and demonstrates how economic realities can compromise a (weak) moral compass – pretty easily in fact when the victim is a large, faceless corporation.

Aug 1983 – May 1984. Sophomore year; living in an apartment with Mansour Abu Rahmeh, Ken Gouseman, and Randy (?). Mansour is Jordanian (Christian); our living together was a fluke (I accidentally ran into him the day I arrived in Tucson, ready to look for an apartment), but he ended up being a great and fun friend, a huge social extrovert and music fan who had beautiful female friends. Kenny was a serious straight A student (Aerospace Engineering), not much fun but an outstanding character. Randy (Astronomy)…odd, from Wisconsin, loved Def Leopard (Ken’s choice was The Who), who didn’t have much of a personality. All three I had met in the dorm freshman year. I’m not working at all this school year; my grades increase a little, but I still think I was below a 3.0 GPA, which is pathetic. Arlene came to visit for a week in March; Diana was supposed to come, but she couldn’t save enough money for the flight.

After 4 years together, Susan and I have split up; the reality of a long distance relationship is just too much. Our relationship had plenty of bumps, even though my feelings for Susan were strong and never in question. In High School I broke up with Susan at a dance – after giving her a dozen roses! In hindsight I think the reason I broke up is that I was so crazy for her the strength of my emotions were confusing me. This break up lasted about a week. We broke up again once I graduated from High School, mostly because I thought I needed to move on (from everything, which was absurd since I wasn’t going anywhere). This break up lasted about a week. Two years at UofA I was completely faithful to Susan; never dated, never flirted, had her pictures and cards all over the walls, called her weekly. But the reality of a physical distance between two people slowly introduces an emotional distance that can’t be mitigated by weekly phone calls…

April 1984. It’s early Saturday morning when Arlene calls; Diana has been in an auto accident the previous night, there are no assurances that she will survive (she is in a coma), and I should come home now. I collapse on the floor, into a fog; details were absent, so there wasn’t anything for me to specifically ponder, just unanswered questions. I had signed up for a triathlon that day with Kel (who transferred to UofA after one year at the Maritime Academy) and Marty Flynn; after the tri I took a flight home.

Diana’s accident was on Hwy 121 in Sonoma; she was returning home late (after midnight) after visiting her boyfriend who had recently moved from Napa to Santa Rosa. Her car had simply run off the road, hitting a huge, mature eucalyptus tree; the only plausible explanation is that she fell asleep at the wheel. It was ~6 weeks before her 18th birthday, 2 months before her graduation from Vintage High School.

I went right to the hospital in Santa Rosa from the airport; Diana was in a coma, on life support. Her entire head was bandaged; the impact to her head in the accident was the deciding factor. After 4 days the family made the difficult but obvious decision to take Diana off of life support, and donate any organs. My Mom had been in the hospital in Napa when the accident occurred; she was recuperating from gal bladder surgery. It was only when she was able to leave the hospital that we told her of Diana’s situation; she came to Santa Rosa to spend some time with Diana before saying goodbye.

I have to be honest in my recollections: Diana’s death was a stunning shock initially, but in hindsight I was still relatively immature and self-centered, which prevented me from empathizing with the pain my parents were going through. My suffering was abbreviated; my entry into college had already cemented the reality that I was on to my next phase in life, physically and somewhat emotionally remote from my immediate family. After a few weeks in Napa for the funeral, I returned to Arizona for finals, and then spent the summer in LA as originally planned. I had plenty of moments where I pondered Diana and the loss, but the pain quickly decreased to a remote numbness.

I suspect that my muted mourning was also a reflection of my relationship with Diana; we were very close. While it seems intuitive that this would result in more suffering, my take was that I had no regrets – of mean things I had said, nice things I hadn’t said, actions I hadn’t taken. I had plenty of fond memories of the two of us talking and sharing, especially the year prior to my leaving for Arizona.

Still, nothing can compare you for going home. Going into Diana’s room, with clothes everywhere and the bed unmade, as if she has just left right then and we missed seeing her. It was still a few weeks before Easter, but she had her Easter gift (to include, oddly, a helium balloon) for her boyfriend on the dresser. Pinned to a wall was a cutout Ann Landers self-help column, with a hypothetical story about a young girl in an auto accident who hovers above the scene while the paramedics and her family arrive (the message was “drive safe!”). How bizarre is that?

May 1984 – August 1984 – Summer in LA, working as (seriously) a secretary at Texaco, Inc. I got the job due to Bernie Hertan, a High School friend who had returned to CA after 3 years in the Army. He worked odd jobs with Texaco (his sister worked there), to include as a chauffeur for the CEO. The Olympics were in LA that summer, so I should have had a blast. But between me still processing Diana’s death, Bernie spending most of his free time with his girlfriend Lisa (whom he met at UofA when he came to visit me after returning to the States from his tour in Berlin), the job being a joke, and me not knowing anyone in SoCal, it was not that much fun. I briefly dated a woman who also worked at Texaco; it was an extended fling, but not in the normal sense due to her having a ~7 year old son and living with her parents. She was a wonderful and energetic woman, but she was an escape for me, I was likely an escape for her.

August 1984 – May 1985 – Junior year; living in a 4 bedroom apartment further off campus with Mansour, Kenny, Kellan and Marty Flynn. Kel gets me a job that Fall at a local grocery store (forget the name) where he has spent the summer working; this is where I first meet Carolyn Wilkinson, the high energy ambitious manager. She is a member of the Alpha Chi Omega sorority, so I also meet her friends Debbie Goldwater, Debbie Hinz, etc. These women all had cars, were all independent, all very ambitious, and just a lot of fun.

In September, barely a month into school, I flew back to Napa as a surprise for a party being held for my parents anniversary (trying to celebrate while we were all still recovering from Diana’s death). We (Arlene) rented out a room at a restaurant, and some of my High School friends (Rich Williams, Brian Dolan, John Bussell) attended as well – which means I got drunk! Sunday came too quickly…

On November 8, 1984 a group of us went to see Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” tour at the Arizona State University Activity Center in Tempe. I had been a big Springsteen fan since around 1980, so this was a big deal. The fun began well before November 8, however. Back before the internet, one had to purchase tickets in person at a ticket outlet. In the case of Springsteen, the excitement was huge so we arrived on a Saturday night around 9PM (tickets went on sale Sunday morning at 10AM) to wait in line, only to find out there was already a substantial line through the empty parking lot of a large shopping mall in Tucson. Didn’t sleep the entire night; instead we listened non-stop to bootleg concert cassette tapes from those around us also waiting (sitting) in line. This was pretty special, since the tapes were so much more personal (Bruce would talk a lot in between songs) than the albums I had been listening to.

I recall Christmas in Napa. Mom was an emotional wreck, wrestling with Diana’s death. Things were not going well between Mom and Dad; Arlene did a lot of mediating, since she had moved back home to go to college at Sonoma State (nursing program). At one point Mom mentioned how some absurdly high percentage of marriages (80%?) end in divorce after the loss of a child; as it turns out, that would happen in 1986, when Dad left for work and never returned. The challenge of both processing your loss, as well as empathizing with how your spouse is (or is not) processing the loss, was just too difficult to reconcile.

Carolyn and Goldwater took a short trip to Napa for Christmas, to visit with Kel, Marty, and I. I ended up fooling around with Carolyn in a back bedroom; I was extremely attracted to her personality, not as much physically. We were both shocked at what was going on, but in the end nothing came of it; in hindsight I think that was good, because our friendship was so fantastic that a relationship beyond that might have ruined it.

The grocery store ended up shutting down in January; I was out of work! I missed the job, the pay, and the time with Carolyn, although we (Kel, Marty, and I with the girls – they all lived together) continued to see a lot of each other.

I end the school year with still better grades, reaching a 3.0 GPA. I am not a stellar student.

May 1985 – June 1986 – Senior year; I live in an apartment with Nick Ong (Electrical Engineering) and Steve Harvey (an Aerospace Engineer and total ladies man). Kel, Marty and Kenny wanted to live closer to campus; Mansour had graduated. I spent the summer working for a (new) moving company; there were only 3 of us: the owner (Bill Boruff, a young, cosmopolitan guy who was extremely nice and professional and supportive), me, and another guy (an out of shape mechanic geek, but a lovely and innocent man). Socially most of the Summer was spent with Carolyn, Goldwater, Kel and Marty; it’s not that I have specific memories of this summer, but certainly have a fond feeling for this period of few responsibilities and much relaxation.

Before the school year begins, I take a week trip to SoCal (San Diego, Newport Beach, Venice, Oxnard, where Nick has an Aunt) with Nick and Jim Carreno, and return with an earring, which doesn’t last the entire school year. Silly, but the trip was a lot of fun.

Before school starts I accompany Mansour to Phoenix; he will be getting his Master’s degree at Thunderbird, and they offer a special week of activities exclusively for the international students. I pretend I am a student; get my student ID, attend all sorts of activities, and Mansour and I are giggling like little kids nearly the entire time. We sleep on the floor in his room, which (we learn later) caused people to think we were gay lovers.

Senior year I “work” as a hasher at the Alpha Chi sorority; basically work in the kitchen in exchange for free food. Plus, almost guaranteed to go to every Alpha Chi party. 🙂 I also do a lot with and get closer to Sherisse Hawkins (Chemical Engineer) who I met through Nick. Like my other female friends, Sherisse is great fun to be around: interesting, curious, adventurous, and contemplative. 30 years after college, she is by far my closest friend from those days at the UofA.

Financial lesson 101. Near the end of my senior year I happen upon a table outside an engineering building where, simply by signing my name, I can get a VISA credit card. Wow! With this move, I graduate from college in debt, with about a $1000 balance paying 19% interest. Yeah, that’s smart.

While the school year started with road trips to Phoenix and SoCal, at Spring Break Sherisse and I and a few others took a ski road trip to Colorado (Breckenridge, A-Basin, Keystone). We drive to Prescott (where Sherisse grew up), and borrowed the Suburban from Sherisse’s lovely parents. I suppose my CC came in handy on this trip. While I had essentially never skied before – maybe once or twice back in Tahoe growing up – these details are irrelevant when one is young and irresponsible and simply looking for road trip adventures. The trip was tame in terms of “partying” (Sherisse was a lot of fun to be around but didn’t drink at all). One funny memory is when I stole (moral compass failure #63) hundreds of scratch-off cards from a grocery store. Amazingly enough, we scratched them all and won…not a damned thing.

Without a doubt, this year was by far my most fun at UofA. Still, never formally dated anyone, and did not attend graduation (felt too symbolic to me), much to the chagrin of Sherisse. There was never a hard period of partying; partially because I could not afford it, partially a lack of interest. There were occasional “White Wednesday” nights at the Bum Steer; dancing at the Wildcat across the street from the Bum Steer; hanging with Harv and the other greek’s at Dirtbags on the border of campus. But in all those nights seemed to be the exception rather than the rule.

I graduated without a job. I had interviewed with a number of companies on campus, but nothing came of it. I think this speaks to my poor grades, and my (in)ability to sell myself. Humble introverts have it rough in this regard. A college friend who had graduated in 1985, Albert Rivera, was working as a civil servant for the US Army 1 hour SE of Tucson at Ft. Huachuca. He promised to walk my application around and drum up some support for me.

Some time after graduation, we all went to see “St. Elmo’s Fire”. The movie hit close to home; about a group of close friends who were graduating, separating, into the great unknown. I can still recall the vertigo sensation as I walked out of the theater; like I had seen some of my own life, on screen.

Nick, my smarter roommate, got an offer with Texas Instruments in Dallas; he celebrated by buying a new Camaro Z28. Sure, I was in mild debt with a CC, but I thought this purchase was (financially) absurd! My self-righteousness was beginning to bloom…

Sherisse got a job with Proctor and Gamble in Long Beach, CA; Goldwater got a job with a bank (forget which one) in SoCal; and Carolyn (who had graduated early in Dec) was already working in Tucson. Marty still had one year of school left, and Kellan (who had also graduated in Dec) did what Kellan did best by surprising us all and joining…the Navy. Go figure.

As for my religious journey these 4 years; there were events that fed my journey away from Christianity. The first was freshman year; on the grassy mall in the middle of campus, individuals would stand there and preach aloud, to no one in particular. This was stunning to me. Up until this point I thought that Christians were sane, rationale, reserved people. Justin taught me that Christians are actually Catholics, Lutherans, etc; now UofA taught me that Christians are actually Catholics, Lutherans, Evangelic “born-agains”. etc. The field was growing, and it was not attractive.

Second was my friendship with Goldwater; she’s Jewish. These are the folks that killed Jesus (who was also a Jew), and would go to hell unless they accepted Jesus as their savior, which is another way of saying they abandon their faith. It’s easy to be dismissive of a broad group of people…until you befriend them. Then it gets complicated.

June 1986 – June 1987 – I headed home to Napa; despite the potentially anxious position of being a college graduate without a job, I don’t recall being stressed about it – typical Mark. But within weeks I receive and accept the job offer for ISEC, the Information Systems Engineering Command. It’s essentially the world wide HQ for US Army engineering efforts; why it’s located at Ft. Huachuca (in the middle of nowhere, near the Mexico border) is likely a historical political story wrapped in cynicism.

I buy a VW Passat from my great Aunt, sister of Grama, who lives near Chico. It’s in great shape, low mileage, and for the first time in 4 years I have a car again (I never had a car my entire time in college; biked everywhere). I pack up my meager belongings, and head back to Tucson to find an apartment. My starting salary as a GS-7 employee was around $23,000; I was RICH! 🙂

I find a 1 BR apartment in a huge 3 story multi-building complex on St. Mary’s Road in Tucson. While I will be working in Sierra Vista, an hour drive from Tucson, I have no desire to live there (small town, nothing going on). Albert and his twin brother Alfred also work at ISEC and also live in Tucson, as does my new manager Dennis Robbins; we become the commute train, always driving Dennis’s beat up car, leaving around 6:30 and home around 5:30. Brutal, but worth it.

Albert had told me lots of stories about traveling the world with work (Germany, Korea, all over the US); but soon after I was hired a travel freeze went into effect by the Reagan administration; thus, my first year of working I didn’t travel a single time. I was stuck working in these old (as in WWII) quonset huts with old government issue metal cubicle’s; I was working and could not have been happier. After 6 months I was promoted to GS-9, making $29,000.

Once I was settled, I acted on a desire that I first looked into Freshman year (I was stopped then because having a car was a requirement). I joined the Big Brother’s/Big Sister’s of Tucson organization, and was soon introduced to Herman Van Natter, a 9 year old originally from the South (West Virginia). Herman was in a bad way; father was gone, never had a positive male figure in his life, his Mom was friendly but also a bad role model (obese, unemployed, watched TV all day long). But to her credit she enrolled Herman in BB. The commitment was once a week for 4 hours, although usually I exceeded that. I wanted so badly to give Herman something to look forward to, to expose him to a way of living unlike anything he had yet seen.

As I got closer to Albert and Alfred, I was “adopted” by their family who lived in Bisbee. I spent many a holiday (Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc) with their family, who were always so wonderful to me. The poor gringo.

Admittedly, I felt a little odd in Tucson after graduation. With many of my college friends gone, I could not shake the feeling that I was going backward by staying in Tucson. Going to any of the old college bars felt uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong, so I didn’t go there that much. With a car I could explore more of Tucson than I had in college, but it was hard to get motivated to drive 30+ minutes, which was easy in Tucson given the flat, broad urban layout of the city.

Soon after I moved into my apartment, Kel showed up; he ended up leaving the Navy. Uncertain as to what to do, he stayed with me in Tucson for a few days, but then decided to return to Napa. He ended up dating his old High School girlfriend Liane (she was the one responsible for Kel and I going to the UofA in the first place), she accidentally got pregnant, and by 1987 Kel was a father to Ryan. Talk about different roads traveled…

June 1987 – Oct 1989 – Making the big bucks, I decided the smart move would be to….buy a house! After weeks and weeks of looking around with a realtor (she admitted later that she had never spent so much time looking for a house with a client), in June I moved in to a brand new $76,000 3 BR 2 BA house in a master planned community in SW Tucson, off of Valencia Rd. Brand new really is pretty cool. And the good news about the purchase: in order for me to qualify, I had to pay off my CC. Since then (June 1987), I’ve never – and I really do mean never – had an outstanding balance on a CC. Interest payments my ass.

Alfred moved in with me, and soon thereafter I got a call from Carolyn (still in Tucson) who had a dog that she needed to get rid of. Alfred and I adopted a male cocker spaniel and (we thought we were so cool) named him Beaujolais, or Beau for short.

Soon after I moved into my house, my Grama came to visit. As a boy I dreaded my Grama; she was stern, she didn’t tolerate my ambivalence (which was a good thing on her part but she could have communicated that better), and she terrorized me as a young boy for dribbling urine on the toilet seat. But, I give her much of the credit for whatever skills I have in terms of manners.

She is recently retired, wants to travel, and has set her sights on Tucson. I am apprehensive but (of course) invite her to come. Her visit lasts a week, and I…have a fantastic time. We get to know each other as adults, we laugh, we see more of Tucson than I had seen the previous 4 years, and we talk about everything. But most of all, I make her laugh – this is a big deal for a woman not known for her humor. That trip, more than anything else, is the cornerstone for what became a very rewarding relationship.

Mom also visited at some point (her first time to Arizona after dropping me off for school in August of ’82), although still recovering from Diana’s accident and the subsequent divorce that visit was a much different, more subdued experience.

Arlene visited, too; in fact I think she visited more than once. Arlene was not a drinker, but we’d go out and she would get giddy, fast. One night we went to a posh bar at Ventana Canyon, and Arlene, with a serious buzz going, ended up stealing handfuls of silverware. Like, who needs silverware?

In June of 1988 Arlene and David were married, in Napa. Dad, still transitioning into being single again and getting through the financial realities of divorce (half his retirement going to Mom, entirely warranted), was a bit of a jerk with Arlene, judging her wedding decisions from purely a financial perspective. Mark to the rescue! I take out a $5000 loan from the Electrical Credit Union that I had been a member of ever since I could walk, and paid for the entire wedding.

With the travel ban now lifted, I started traveling for work; this planted a seed that would soon bloom big. I traveled to Germany (twice), and Korea once for a project called DAMMS-R (Department of the Army Movement Management System). It was absurd – essentially a huge IBM mainframe in a 18 wheel truck, running logistics software. It was supposed to be ruggedized – you know, driving through war zones. Right.

I also traveled to a few places in the US; mostly Ft. Lee (Virginia) and Ft. Belvoir (also Virginia, near Washington DC).

In Ft. Lee I worked primarily with a Lt Col Booth, who was an exemplary man of honor; it was a privilege to work with him.

[Let me be clear on what “work” means; admittedly, it was bullshit. We worked heavily through contractors, who did most of the documentation of the design (and documentation really was the extent of our output). My title was Systems Engineer; I was the integrator for a system that didn’t exist and likely would not for some time.]

For one 12 month period (circa 1988-1989) I traveled to Ft. Belvoir for two weeks each month; usually the two weeks were not always back to back, so often times I only worked 3 days a week (flew east on Monday, which took all day; and returned on Friday, back in Tucson before lunch. This is what government abuse looks like). The Army Program Managers were located at TACMIS (Tactical Management Information Systems) in Belvoir, and I was the “PM” representing ISEC due to a Colonel Senkus – who was a very large prick, a horrible manager and a nasty man, who would joke about obliterating Ft. Huachuca with Air Force assets – who was bitter about being forced to use ISEC for his engineering resources and so took it out on me. The work was not fun, but I really enjoyed Washington DC.

One of the positive work experiences did not include TACMIS. I was working on a “electronic dog tag” project, which consisted of doing a market survey to explore what technologies were available to meet the requirements. The essence: soldiers show up (new job, new installation, new war zone, whatever) and all their records (medical, professional, etc) were digitally on their dog tag. Security was an issue, but the exposure to cutting edge technologies was really interesting! The effort resulted in a presentation, along with my recommendations, to a group of Army Generals at the Pentagon. What a rush! I was 25, rubbing elbows with the highest echelons of power in the Pentagon. Of course, they rejected my recommendation; I was ready to take chances in a very risk adverse environment (again, security implications being the most important).

When I wanted to stay in DC, I would plan the two weeks to go back to back. I visited all the different historical monuments, the Smithsonian museums, and had fun with the night life. I started an “East Coast” relationship with a nice lady named Sheila who also worked at TACMIS; for reasons unknown to me she was still single despite being a very positive, optimistic, and adventurous young lady. She would arrange tickets for concerts that we would go to once I was in town. She never talked of our relationship getting more serious; never talked about visiting me in Tucson. She was happy, I was content, and we enjoyed all of our time together.

As for my continuing religious journey; my first few years working I worked closely with a Mormon, Jim Davis. He was my age, and to this day he remains one of the most decent and conscientious human beings I’ve had the pleasure to be around. I kept asking myself, “Does he seem like a typical member of a cult?” (which is how mainstream Christianity views the Church of the Latter Day Saints). Nope; he seems like someone who is following the religion he was raised in, trying to do his best as a human being, and succeeding in a grand way as far as I could tell.

I was slowly coming to the conclusion that organized religion (although I’m most familiar with Christianity) was simply a matter of divide and conquer; pursuit of power; non-stop judgement; and no toleration for dissent or open minded, philosophical contemplation. Religion is tribal, and as an adult I had no interest in joining tribes.

I didn’t really date in Tucson during most of this time. For the first year after graduation, I sorta dated a friend who I had known from my Alpha Chi days with Goldwater. But the fire was never there for me…plus, with the weekly commute, weekends with Herman, and enough traveling I didn’t have a lot of time.

However, in the summer of 1989 I did the unthinkable: I hit on Alfred and Albert’s very attractive cousin, who had a boyfriend. She ditched him, we dated, and it ended quickly as she still had feelings for her boyfriend. But before it ended I dreamt up a great trip for us to the US Virgin Islands.

The airlines had recently started the frequent flier programs which are now ubiquitous; to compete against each other the airlines offered triple the miles. With all my work travel soon I had over 200,000 miles on American Airlines, which would get me two free tickets to St. Thomas. With my breakup now complete, I phoned my High School buddy John “Russ” Bussell. He was going to grad school to get his MBA at SF State, and had a flexible schedule; he was in!

Now for another example of my casual, ambivalent, laissez faire personality. I had originally arranged for the tickets in the name of the girl I was dating; after Russ was on board, I didn’t bother formally changing the names since I didn’t see it as a big deal. Russ and I meet in Los Angeles the day before our flight out; we stayed with Goldwater, and had a great time catching up with her. The next day she takes us to the airport, and we eventually find out….we ain’t flyin’ without officially changing the name on the ticket, which can only be done Mon-Fri 8-5. Russ, ever the trooper (only good old friends would tolerate such irresponsibility) fly’s home, as do I. That week I change the tickets, change our hotel reservations (luckily since it is September, which is Hurricane season, it’s easy to make these changes), and that next Friday we…meet in LA! See Goldwater, who enjoys my mistakes, but Russ and I finally make it to the US Virgin Islands.

What a time! We spent 3 days in St. Thomas, then moved on to St. John. At St. John we met a group of 5 (4 ladies and one guy) from Chicago the first night; we grouped up and spent the next 3 days together, just having a blast. We took a boat tour, partied on an uninhabited island one night, and had all sorts of fun conversations. Russ hit’s (successfully!) on one girl, I hit (unsuccessfully!) on another, but still end up making out with the third girl (the fourth girl was the cutest but was with her boyfriend). To be young and adventurous…

Back in Tucson Big Brothers put an an “adults only” event, which consisted of a pub crawl via a bus. We ended up going to a number (6? 9?) of bars, where I quickly got very drunk. I met a girl (a Big Sister) who was really cute, lots of fun. We danced, hung out, and at the end of the evening I asked for her number. She said I was too drunk to remember, but I promised otherwise. The next morning, I had of course no clue what her number was. I called my counselor at BB, sheepishly explained the situation, and asked if I could get this girls number (I totally forget her name; sigh). I did, I called, we dated – but it was brief, and for this I am a bit embarrassed. Without going into inappropriate details, it was only when I was sober that I realized this fun, really cute girl had a relatively large butt. It just…couldn’t work for me.

The work promotions kept coming; I can’t make this sound like an accomplishment, however, since in some ways they were almost automatic. After a year as a GS-9 I was promoted to GS-11 ($36,000), and a year later (Jan ’89) to GS-12 ($42,000); it helps to work at HQ, where positions and mobility are easier to come by.

However, that upward mobility almost came back to bite me. By 1989, after two trips to Germany, I wanted to move there and work for ISEC-Europe, located in Worms. I applied, met some people, let my intentions be known, to no avail. I learned later that my being a GS-12 was part of the problem; there weren’t many of those positions open, and the ones that did exist were being “held” for folks already working there.

It turns out that my talks of wanting to go to Germany during the daily commutes to Huachuca got my manager Dennis Robbins to thinking that he should be adventurous as well (he was married, with 3 step daughters). With more seniority and experience and relationships, he was able to get a transfer approved pretty quick. Dennis and I had a wonderful working relationship, and so he put in more than a few good words and the next thing I know I was offered a transfer. I signed a 3 year commitment (I was civil service, but the commitment was standard, to justify the expenses of shipping me to and back from Germany).

I was off to Europe! I could not have been more excited.

After 3 post-college years in Tucson – with annual ski trip to Colordo, Utah, and Tahoe with Sherisse and Goldwater and others; with random visits from Goldwater; with a SoCal trip for Carolyn’s wedding (her second marriage by that time!); after many quality nights with Ed from Louisiana (whom I met from the moving company; he took my place) listening to U2; but, mostly, after a very domesticated life in Tucson, I was out-a-here!

Oct 1989 – Aug 1992 – While I am reserved in life, I’m always ready for an adventure. I had a 2 year old house in Tucson – no problem, rent it out! I had been in Tucson for 7 years now – no problem, time for new experiences! I had my relationship with Herman – no problem, it’s been 3 years, I’ve done all I can do! I have a dog – no problem, Alfred will take him! I have a car – no problem, sell it (actually it broke down just before I left)!

Actually, after saying goodbye to Herman I pondered the impact that I had on him. Despite the many hours I spent with him, showing him my “white collar” lifestyle and introducing him to all my friends, I still came to the conclusion that I hadn’t moved the needle. He was still motivated to become a truck driver, still not that adventurous or ambitious. This experience tainted me in some ways, in terms of subscribing to the liberal outlook that we can all make a difference, one day at a time, one person at a time.

I packed up my house, with most things going in storage (compliments of the government). I was heading to Germany for 3 years with literally 2 suitcases; starting fresh. Leaving the house for the last time was a surprise; the relief, the weight immediately falling from my shoulders, was a shock. This might sound insignificant, but the stress was not the mortgage or the general responsibility. The stress was the backyard; it was not landscaped when I bought the house, and rather than pay someone to do it, I took it upon myself. With my limited free time, after living in the house for 2 years the backyard was just recently finished. I never realized how much this effected (limited) me until I walked out of the house. Bye-bye!

[I would keep the house as a rental, until selling it in the Summer of 2003. I was stunned to return to Tucson in 2003 to sign the papers; the neighborhood, which was exceptional when I first moved in, was run down, with cars on the front lawns. One street was roped off by the Police for some reason. I didn’t realize how lucky I was to get out sooner rather than later. After 16 years of ownership I walked away with $7,000 profit. Impressive…not.]

After a few days in Napa, I flew out of San Francisco on October 16th 1989, arriving in Germany on October 17th. That night, awake with jet lag, I turned the radio on to listen to the World Series between the Oakland A’s and SF Giants, held that night in Candlestick Park. It’s the pregame show when suddenly the announcers are rattled, because of a 6.9 earthquake centered near Santa Cruz that was rocking the stadium. I panicked for a short time, as they reported that the Marina was in flames and the Bay Bridge had collapsed. I missed it by a day…luckily!

I quickly got setup with a new and large 2 BR apartment (rare for Americans in Germany), horribly bland government furniture, and NO kitchen (my choice). For 3 years I would eat out and, when necessary, do dishes in the bathtub. I also lacked any light fixtures, so light bulbs hung from a wire from all the ceilings. But what I lacked in house hold goods I made up for with…a BMW. The Government loaned me $5000 to get settled, and I went and blew nearly it all on a used BMW. This was Financial Lesson 102. Stupid.

I quickly – as in, just a few weeks – realized these 3 years were going to be amazing. What an adventure it was! I arrived in Germany literally weeks before the Berlin Wall came down. Sheila from my Ft. Belvoir days came to visit, and we took a trip to Berlin. A weekend in Amsterdam (coffee shop – yes; red light – no). Arlene visits in December; we visit Paris (Christmas) and Copenhagen (New Years). I started keeping a list of my weekend adventures.

But along with the travel adventures, there were my friends and colleagues. People have different reasons to take the dramatic step of living and working in Germany, and these differences mean that the group of folks who live and work there end up being quite the variety. But there was a core group of young people in their 20’s – say about 20 of us – from all different walks of life and political persuasions. It was a treat to be gently forced into spending time with all these different folks, some of whom for silly reasons I may have never befriended back in the States. Ernst Schuppe (hypochondriac), Lee LeClair (top shelf taste), Mike Macari (always secretive), Tom Kudla (alt everything), John Fehan (trying to be more adventurous than he truly was), Brad and Laurel Boyer (“old” people showing us old is still cool), and of course the musketeers: Mark Maier (the professor), Scott Gilcrest (the philosopher), Tom Kunath (the warrior), whom I spent the most time with on the different adventures. Of which, I’ll only point out two in particular:

1. July ’90. 5 of us (Tom, Scott, John, Tom’s brother Brian, and myself) cram into a small french truck (2 in front, 3 lying down in the back truck bed with a camper cover), and head south. We drive through the night past France, into Spain (this is before the EU lifted restrictions on border crossings and before the Euro, so we had multiple denominations and passports for all the border stops). We stop on the east coast of Spain for a night, before continuing on to Pamplona; we are destined for the Running of the Bulls. We arrive late afternoon, and start the partying. Soon it’s dark, and suddenly things are going very wrong. There is rioting, buses and cars being vandalized, people (to include us) getting in fights. What’s happening? Turns out it’s demonstrations that got out of control by people supporting the separation cause for Catalonia. We sleep literally on the streets, in the gutter (we had never bothered to make hotel arrangements, which were impossible anyway), expecting to leave in the morning, the Run cancelled. We are awoken at 6AM by water hoses; the street cleaners are slowly cleaning everything up in an amazingly efficient way, not because the party or Run is cancelled; rather, it’s show time. With torched buses still in the street, we take our place in the cobblestone gauntlet where the bulls will soon be running. And here they come; adrenaline rush! Run as fast and as long as you can, pushing any and everyone out of the way as it’s dog eat dog. As soon as the bulls are almost on you, dart to the side (there is no sidewalk or curb here; it’s the old town, literally a ~20′ wide street, with boxy 3 and 4 story buildings on either side butting right up against the street) and plaster yourself against the wall. Bulls run by, and we follow! All the way to the coliseum; we didn’t know what we were doing, but we were lucky since we followed the last bull (of about 7 total) into the bullring, at which time the doors close and no one else can get it. In total we ran about 1000 yards, in under 3 minutes. We are hungover, but we are happily in the coliseum with about 200 other lucky bodies. The coliseum is packed; immediately the image of Christians being fed to the lions comes to mind. One by one they let out bulls, who run around chasing young drunk men who think they know better. One moment I’m casually talking with Tom, the next I’m running for my life. That night we party more, in the streets, with thousands of people. It is insane. We barely last 48 hours in Pamplona before we have to leave; this lifestyle can’t be sustained. We head west to San Sebastian, where we relax again for a day, sleeping on the streets like homeless, waking up in the morning to the police asking us to move. One night in particular our truck is broken into and some stuff stolen; all I’ve lost is my passport (remember, I’m casual, ambivalent, laissez faire!). We continue on, playing hacky sack everywhere we go, which enthralls young Spaniards who are well versed in soccer to join in and shame us. But we meet people, and try to serve as our own unique ambassadors of the USA. We end up in Switzerland, at the Montreux Jazz Festival, where we spend a few nights camping. I get to see Lee Ritenour and Quincy Jones; both great shows. No one knows that days prior we were drunk, sleeping in gutters and chasing bulls. We make it back to Worms on a Sunday, in time to get back to work. Just an amazing trip (with plenty of pictures!). We went back to Pamplona in ’91, but the first trip is always the best.

2. Summer 1990; kayaking in Austria. I am still a novice; Scott, Tom, Mark and Jake are pretty good. In 1990 the kayaks are huge (~13 feet long) and unsculptured; they are a coffin. We are hung over; the previous night we had stumbled onto a band and party at a campground, with beers flowing. That morning we hit the water. There is a horizon up ahead; I am clueless and in front. It’s a drop, a 15′ waterfall. I go over and immediately eject; the others, smartly pull to the side to watch me disappear, and wait for me to reappear again down river. I don’t. I’m being churned in the wash cycle; being brought up, gasping a breathe of air, and immediately sucked back down. Over and over (well, likely only about 5 times). I am struggling to get out of the grasp, but I can’t, and I give up. My mind is clear, I am calm: I’m amused at how my life will end. Over a watefall! What an idiot. However, I guess it’s not my time. By me relaxing, stopping the good fight, I stretch out my 6 foot body, which breaks through the wash cycle cylinder and spits we out just as fast as I’d gone in. I’m exhausted, amused, and my friends aren’t sure how close of a call this really was. Later, down the Class 4 river, just for grins I get flipped and face butt a rock, doing some impressive damage to my nose and face that will take a few weeks to recover. It never pays for a novice to hang with the more experienced.

In the Summer of ’91, after the aforementioned second Pamplona trip, I leave the gang in Spain and head back to Germany early. I’m flying to the States; with some stops along the way, I head to Napa for my 10th High School reunion. I see friends who I’ve kept in touch with over the intervening 10 years, but I also see old classmates. It was great to go back in time for a night…

Back in Germany I start to date a German, Steffi, for about a year; I take her home to California for Christmas ’91, which was likely foolish because even though I was adamant that at the end of my 3 year tour I was leaving Germany, alone, she certainly dreamt otherwise. Steffi has a son Christian who is about 8; we really don’t get along that well, and I’ll take the full blame. Steffi and Christian live with me for a while when she is in between homes; Corky lives with me too, and demonstrates how to really live in Germany (fluent in German due to his days at the language school in the Army), he works at a club and stays hours after closing, getting drunk and having a good time.

I see the Dead on acid; I see Bruce Springsteen with Steffi; I visit just about every country in Europe; I kayak some of the best white water in Austria, ski some great terrain in Austria and Switzerland (Grindlewald, where there is a very cheap hostel-like hotel that we go to regularly). I never hesitate to drive 4 hours for a weekend adventure; I am, after all, only here a known, finite amount of time. I befriend a lot of young Germans, who are eager to practice their english (and we are not eager to practice our german). I am in Prague for Thanksgiving ’90, before capitalism has descended so to find accommodations one simply barters at the train station with people desperate for money and so are renting out their entire apartments. I am in Paris for New Years ’91, and other times as well visiting Sherisse who is there for 6 months working as an engineer for Disney on the new Disney World. Old friends visit, like Brian Dolan and Debbie Goldwater. I say goodbye to good friends, who are constantly revolving out (all military personal are here for 3 years only; civilians can stay longer by committing to another 3 years); I say hello to new friends, but the loss is always greater than the gain.

It is an amazing time, but by the summer of ’92, with my 3 year contract expiring in October, I have a decision to make, and it’s very easy to make it. I don’t want to stay in Germany; it’s been a wild ride, but I’ve seen and done so much the lifestyle cannot be maintained. Soon it will be a hassle to drive 4 hours for a weekend adventure, and I’ll opt not to. What’s the point of living in Europe if your lifestyle is going to be “normal”? I don’t want to work for the Government. It’s been good to me, with the personal and professional opportunities I’ve experienced, but the government (like all large companies I suppose) is bloated and slow and bureaucratic and inefficient and wasteful. To leave the government you have to (of course!) fill out a form, with a little small box asking for the reason you are quitting. I wrote a novel in small print, venting my frustrations about my time in the government. I didn’t want to return to America. It’s difficult to comprehend, but as an expatriate all of your information about the USA is via the media; and the media is more often negative. After 3 years in Europe I felt a deep respect for the history of America, and a deeper cynicism for Americans. I still suffered from Wanderlust, and needed other places to explore. I decided upon Australia.

Aug 1992 – Jan 1993 – Prior to leaving Europe, I did a bit of homework. It is still a minor mystery to me how I did this prior to the Internet, but I researched Companies in the Sydney area that were hiring foreigners for engineering positions. I sent letters with a resume out to over 50 companies, asking specifically if they were considering foreigners (the company would have to supply the work visa), and inquiring generally to an interview around the Sept timeframe. I got enough replies that encouraged me to give it a go.

But first, I had to say goodbye to Steffi and return to the States. I’m certain Steffi was still hopeful that I’d throw out a surprise offer, but the thought honestly never crossed my mind. I enjoyed my time with her, but we were not compatible in so many ways.

I flew to Chicago first, where Arlene lived. She had just had her first child Jake in July, so I went to meet him, as well as seeing Dad and Dave and Arlene Young (Scott Young’s parents, from my St. John’s days), also all visiting. Then I continued to Napa, where I caught up with friends before leaving for Australia.

Arriving in Sydney with one huge backpack (I hadn’t contemplated it much, but I roughly figured I might be living in Australia for 3 years, as in Europe), I checked in to a hostel near the University. I called all the companies I had mailed a resume to ~3 months prior, and every one of them indicated they could no longer sponsor a foreigner visa, and thus an interview didn’t really make sense.

Every one!

It turns out Australia was suffering from a recession that began around September 1991; unemployment continued to rise until late 1992. For a long time the white collar industries were insulated from the damage, but by the time I arrived that was no longer the case. By late 1992, unemployment had reached 11%, the highest level in Australia since the Great Depression of the 1930s.

Undeterred, I did the next best thing: I stored my “work” stuff with a friend in Sydney, bought a 3 month open bus pass, and went traveling (people will often say they “backpacked” through Australia, which is a misnomer; yes, you travel with a backpack, but you rarely camp since hostels are everywhere and cheap, and you rarely hitchhike since the bus system is exceptional and also cheap). I traveled the east coast, from Sydney to Canberra to Melbourne; along the southern coast over to Adelaide; up the gut to Darwin; hard right to Cairns; and down the amazing east coast, back to Sydney. In about 12 weeks.

It was such an amazing journey. Meeting all sorts of people – no American’s, many Canadians and Europeans – exchanging stories and recommendations; enjoying the time on the bus, reading, pondering, watching, and waking in the middle of the night to a loud crash, the sound of another kangaroo being plowed over by the bus which was equipped with a fail safe “roo-bar”; and truly seeing the huge island and it’s amazing landscape. Europe was a lot of small vacations, all exceptional. But this? It was traveling, with no time boundary or destination, other than the next stop.

In Melbourne I met a girl who was in a college exchange program via Stanford; she was spending 6 months in Melbourne at school, and would return to CA in December. We met on a 3 day tour trip I took, wandering the South Coast up to and including Kangaroo Island. We made definite plans to travel to New Zealand together in December; again, I have no idea how we coordinated this, without the internet or email. I wish I knew.

In Coober Pedy, the Outback, arriving late at night, I quietly went into a pitch dark hostel, no one around, found the first bed and went to sleep. I awoke to realize I was in a cave (most people here lived underground, due to the exceptional heat), and I was by myself – 40 empty beds all in a row. After a day here, I moved on to Alice Springs, where I hiked Uluru (Ayers Rock) in time to watch the sun rise.

In Darwin I met another woman on another multi-day tour. By this time I had met a number of Germans – they are the most traveled people in the world! – which was somewhat unexceptional since I had just lived there for 3 years. But in Darwin, I was swept off my feet by Birgit Schlüter, who was in the midst of her own 6 week trip, solo. She was meeting her boyfriend in Fiji at the end of her trip, but right away if I had anything to do with that it was going to be sabotage. Birgit worked at a publishing house in Hannover; she was well read and imaginative and adventurous and perceptive (albeit she was still German, with a cerebrally retarded emotional level and pragmatic to the end). Since we were generally going the same route (clockwise!), we decided to travel together, with one anxiety inducing interruption: after a week in the Darwin area, Birgit and I separate, intending to meet again in Cairns; she had a pre-arranged trip to Alice Springs, where I had already been. She could have blown me off, but we met back up in Cairns as I was hoping for. We went snorkeling in the Barrier Reef, took a breathtaking 3 day sailboat tour of the Whit Sunday islands, enjoyed a 3 day unguided jeep tour on Fraser Island. On Fraser we traveled with 2 other couples, both from the UK. They were shocked to learn that Birgit and I had only known each other for a few weeks; they commented that our ease together suggested we had been together for years.

It was during this time that Birgit extracted my imagination which had been buried under layers of rationale, dry, engineering detritus. Each and every night we had a routine: one of us would start a story, of our own design. At some point, we would simply stop, nod to the other, who would then have to continue the story. The creative process was intoxicating. She also exposed me to some great fictional writers that I was ignorant of: Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Milan Kundera, Günter Grass, Isabel Allende, et al. We read, we talked, we listened, we loved.

We ended up in Sydney, late November, and it was Birgit’s birthday. I snuck out early, bought some flowers and breakfast and a card, and laid them at the base of the bed so she would see them when she first awoke. That night we went to a play (Cats), and had an exceptional dinner at a very nice restaurant, the first in months for me. We grudgingly acknowledged, as little as possible, the reality that our romance in the land of the Never Never was coming to an end. Birgit was flying to Fiji to meet her boyfriend, while I was flying to New Zealand to meet my Stanford friend from Melbourne. At one point I got on my knee and asked Birgit to come to CA and marry me; her emotional spirit yelled yes, but her pragmatic German said no. We said goodbye…

I spent 2 weeks in New Zealand, touring around with a company called the Magic Bus. As in Australia, you could get off and on when you wanted, but for the most part this bus was less dedicated to transportation than it was our trip; if we stayed off one day, we might have to wait 3-5 days before the next Magic Bus would round the corner.

We spent the entire time on the South Island. Right away my friend let me know of her intentions, but I was so heart broken from leaving Birgit that nothing happened; still, we enjoyed our travels together, staying in hostels along the way.

New Zealand is an amazingly beautiful country; at the end of my trip, I realized I had done things backwards. I should have spent months in New Zealand, and weeks in Australia. This was due to most of the geographical beauty of Australia reminding me of California (the coast) and Arizona (the outback). It was beautiful but not completely unique to me. New Zealand, on the other hand, also had plenty of coast but it was wild and felt different. There were dramatic mountain ranges, and glaciers leading right down to the ocean beaches. Thick and lush (unlike CA), green and dramatic.

We flew back to Sydney; I had a few more days before returning to San Francisco. At the airport I get off the plane and am walking to the luggage area when I see…Birgit. She saw me from a distance, walking with my friend, and almost turned and walked away. When I saw her I was overcome; disbelief. It turns out meeting her boyfriend in Fiji did not go over well at all. After a few days all she wanted was to be with me. I guess I had mentioned to her what day I would be returning from NZ, so she returned to Sydney from Fiji earlier than planned, and waited out at the airport watching people disembark from each plane arriving from New Zealand. It’s amazing; like a movie.

We talked; Birgit still had a few weeks left of her vacation (her now ex-boyfriend had already flown back to Germany), and could add a flight to Los Angeles, essentially changing her route home from flying west to flying east. That became the plan; she would spend a few weeks with me in December in CA, before returning home.

Before leaving Australia I returned to my friend in Sydney to get the things I had left with him; he too had left the civil service, and was working for a company named Cisco Systems. I was familiar with Cisco, since I had spent some time in Europe deploying Cisco AGS routers all over Germany and Italy. He said he could arrange an interview for me in San Jose; I thought that was great, although to be honest I was thinking more about Birgit than the fact that I was unemployed, running out of money, with no plan in place.

I flew back to CA before Birgit. I met up with Rich and Kel for a night out, and that next day I drove down to LA to pick up Birgit. We returned on Hwy 1; I was trying hard to impress Birgit (although, truth be told, I had essentially left CA when I was 19 – over 10 years ago – so it was arguable that I didn’t really know the state that well, anyway). While in Napa I took her on a hot balloon ride, my first; we went to Lake Tahoe for a few days, too.

We talked about what to do. Birgit was strong and independent and her job as a publisher was important to her; it was difficult to envision just giving that up, without any idea of what her life would be like in the USA. I was pretty clear; I had just spent 3 years in Germany, and I didn’t really have a desire to return. I had essentially never lived in CA as an adult, and so the near future was exciting to me. When Birgit left to return to Germany, unlike in Australia, we were a couple now, committed to each other, waiting to see what might happen.

Jan 1993 – April 1993 – I move in with my Dad, who is living in a house in Martinez, still working at Alhambra Electric. My Mom had remarried in 1988, to Steve Boettcher, and they were still in Napa. Steve lent me a truck to drive, so I was mobile. Thanks to Scott in Sydney I interviewed with Cisco in the middle of January; the interview went great, and I was completely expecting a job offer that next day. 2 weeks went by without word from Cisco, so I started to go to the library, looking at employment data to try and get a job. For no reason at all I was not nervous, although I should have been (again: casual, ambivalent, laissez faire). I was nearly completely broke, nearly 30 years old; I had registered for unemployment benefits, but did not qualify since I had quit the government, versus having been fired. So what did I do? I went to Germany for a week to see Birgit.

Upon my return I finally heard from Cisco with a job offer; I was ecstatic. I drove down to the South Bay with Rich (he was unemployed at the time and had nothing but time on his hands), to look for an apartment; I drove him crazy listening to a mix tape of REM (“Hey Baby, are we having fun?”). I found a room available in Mountain View with two other guys who I didn’t know; but it was only 5 minutes from work, and that’s all I needed at the moment.

I was ready to work; I certainly needed the money. After not having heard from Cisco for a few weeks, and getting a better taste of the employment market, I lost some of my confidence. When it was time to negotiate my pay, I told them I was payed $42,000 at my last job. While this was true it wasn’t completely accurate, and to bolster my position I should have erred on the upside. While in Germany I was also payed a stipend, for housing and utility costs; my (auto) gas bills were subsidized as well. This totaled around $10,000 a year; I should have leveraged that with Cisco, but didn’t; I wanted the job too badly.

I started working March 13th at Cisco’s Mountain View office; I was employee number 1503. I was working as a Customer Engineer in the Customer Advocacy department; essentially, on the phone, taking calls from customers, resolving their issues.

By the following month, my 30th birthday, I was entirely smitten and immersed in Cisco; I loved the company, I was extremely attracted to this new non-government work experience; and I quickly figured out that my success depended only on my ambition and work ethic. I was ready to kick some ass and take names.

Luck – it’s who you know, not what you know – in my 20’s:

Albert Rivera – With no job offer after graduation, Albert – a friend from college who had graduated a year earlier – offers to help me get a job with the US Army as a Civil Servant at Ft. Huachuca, working for the Information Systems Engineering Command (ISEC). Huge.

Dennis Robbins – My manager at ISEC; a great manager. After applying for a transfer to Germany, it was not going anywhere; a transfer was not likely going to be approved. Then Dennis decided (for his own reasons) to also transfer, going to Germany with his wife and 3 step-daughters. He insisted to the ISEC folks in Germany that I come along. Huge.

Scott Smith – I met him in Germany, but didn’t know him that well. Prior to my leaving Germany, he had already left and gone to Australia (his wife was an Aussie) to work for Cisco. After traveling through Australia (Aug – Dec ’92), I visited Scott before returning broke and unemployed to CA. He said he could get me a job at Cisco, and he spoke with Joe Pinto. Huge.

If Albert doesn’t help me get a job out of college, I don’t go to Germany, which means I don’t go to Australia, which means I don’t work for Cisco. The thread of random luck…

First, for historical perspective.

As of September 2015, Niki and Britta had slept every night of their lives together in one room.

In a whirlwind move that was poorly managed by me, an introductory conversation on a Friday night (September 4th 2015) about moving my office out of the house resulted in my doing just that 2 days later. The goal, purpose, and result was to give Niki and Britta their own space, their own bedroom, their own sanctuary.

Which was only partially successful; they still slept together each night in Britta’s bedroom, which is still where all their clothes were.

Fast forward to November 2016, and Niki is taking more of an interest in her bedroom, which had been mostly disregarded for the past 14 months. She decides she wants to sleep in her own bed, which is sporting a new mattress from IKEA.

Sunday, November 20th, 2016: Niki climbs in her own bed, Britta in her own bed, lights go out, and Niki jumps out and runs into bed with Britta, both girls giggling.

Monday, November 21st, 2016: Niki climbs in bed with Britta, lights go out.

Niki: Britta, is it OK if I sleep in my bed?
Britta: (tired, and slightly sick) Yes.

Niki jumps out of Britta’s bed, runs to her bedroom and hops in bed. Lights out. It’s quiet.

Niki: Britta are you sad?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) No.
Niki: Britta are you lonely?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) No.
Niki: Britta are you scared?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) No.
Niki: Britta are you tired?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) Yes.

It’s quiet.

Niki: Britta are you sad?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) No.
Niki: Britta are you lonely?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) No.
Niki: Britta are you scared?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) No.
Niki: Britta are you tired?
Britta: (Tired, but responds immediately) Yes.

I tell a story about a flower and they fall asleep.

Of course, in the morning I awake to find both girls in our bed, but a milestone has been reached. A little funny to watch it play out, but a little melancholy to see it happen. The girls will turn 9 in less than 3 weeks.