Jack D. Deal Business Consulting, Santa Cruz, CA

Elma died last Friday and today we went to the funeral.   There were a good number of people in the church but most of them in their eighties.  Elma had a lot of friends.  There were some tears and some sniffling but mostly there were smiles and warm greetings.  Elma left little in terms of material possessions but she left a full story and lived a meaningful life.  Elma was 97 when she died.

For over 20 years Elma was our neighbor down the street.  In the last years when she used a walker and couldn't get out much the wife would visit once or twice a week.  I didn't stay long as they liked to talk lady chit chat but Elma would always want me to sit down and have some ice cream or cake.   Elma was a big woman that loved to eat her own home cooked food. 

Elma was born in Montana on a dairy ranch in 1910.  She had eight brothers and sisters and she was the last to pass away.  Growing up on the ranch she had to get up at 4:00 in the morning and either milk or fix the food.  Her job was baking bread and with a dozen ranch hands that required a lot of bread.  

I always kidded her about the Montana winters and she said she would never go back in winter; she went back several times in the summer.   She said back in the old days they had to wrap their legs with cloth to keep them from becoming frostbitten and she said she would never do that again.  And she didn't. 

Elma was smart and had she been born in another era she would have gone to college.  She was also smart enough to want to leave the farm for a better life.  After finishing high school she moved to Butte against her father's wishes where she worked as secretary in a doctor's office.   One day she met a nice young man, she married him and they moved to California to seek a new future.  

As Elma was taking her last trip in her casket to the cemetery I remembered that although she believed devoutly in God she was not the biggest fan of the church.   Somehow God wasn't the problem; man was.  She often complained that her relatives were too religious...maybe that came from growing up way out on a ranch.   

She lived through the depression and two World Wars.   Unlike her neighbor Helen, she came through the Depression a bit wary and shaken but without a broken spirit.   Helen on the other hand was obsessed with each nickel and dime though she had more money than she needed...Helen was afraid the Depression was going to return and she wanted to make certain she would not go hungry this time.   Her greed possessed her.

Elma wasn't worried about any Depression.  Elma worried about Helen coming over to mooch food, even when Elma was in her wheelchair.   Helen would stop by every evening at dinner time to 'check in' on her dear friend Elma.   Funny.  Helen's family couldn't stand her and they didn't even have a service for her when she died; greed is its own reward or something like that. 

What Elma couldn't get used to was the continuing rise in the cost of living and the changing social norms of the day.   Elma wasn't a prude by any means but she just could not see how some of the modern relationships worked and why people would ever live their lives that way; she thought the California mix and match mates style was simply foolish.  Back in Montana folks just didn't do things that way; no need to.

For one thing, the Montana folks worked very hard and Elma liked working and staying busy.  For many years she worked down the street at the soda fountain at Fred's Mission Pharmacy.  It's a guitar store now.  Elma loved people and she loved being out amongst them.   The only thing that slowed her down in later life was her wheelchair. 

Elma also had an edge; always friendly but with an edge.   She would get upset and show it; always containing her temper but readily expressing her disapproval.   She and the wife would play Crazy Eights and Elma would invite me to play but I usually declined.  Elma seemed to understand.  She always thanked me for allowing the wife to spend time with her as if it were an imposition on her part.    

But funerals are for the living, not the dead.   Elma left us but life continues and Elma's grandson Mark and his wife are expecting.  Elma's certainly smiling over that.

There were a few sniffles but no real sobbing tears.  Elma lived a meaningful life of 97 years and died surrounded by the people she loved which is about all any of us can expect out of life.   All that matters is what comes between birth and death. 

As the saying goes, do not take life too seriously because you will never get out of it alive.  

Good-bye Elma, rest in peace.

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 02:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

To say the USA is in a health care crisis is an understatement.   The United States is the only First World nation without some sort of universal health care coverage.   The reason that countries like Britain and Canada and Germany have universal coverage is that it is the right thing to do.   Beyond that as we are finding out in the United States, it also makes great business sense.  

In the 1990's Bill and Hillary Clinton spoke about health care reform but did little.  Since being elected in 2000, George Bush has been an outspoken critic of universal care and a major supporter of the high margin health care industry.   Under the guise of quality of care, the Republicans have steadfastly maintained that any universal care would result in reduced quality of care.  

Although John McCain has yet to specifically spell out his policies on health care reform, it is doubtful that it will contain a universal coverage component.   Unless McCain can somehow manage to fool folks like the Bush administration has done, he will lose on this issue.  And if he loses on this issue, he will lose the November election. 

The health care system is broken and everyone knows it except the Republicans.  A system that tries to deny coverage as standard business procedure and rates physician productivity by dollars billed simply cannot be tweaked.  It must be replaced. 

The dichotomy of America and the two political parties have created this gridlock.   The Republicans focus on big corporations and the affluent or upwardly affluent.  The Democrats focus on the disenfranchised, poor and compassionate.   The problem with this political model is that it leaves out the fat middle and in this case the fat voting middle.  

Both parties have clearly abandoned the working person and the small business owner.    The one issue that is killing incentive and discouraging small business is the escalating cost of health care and the decline in coverage.   Neither employer nor employee is winning this battle and ultimately society at large will lose by not realizing this huge economic potential.   The current health care system is draining the United States dry.   

What both parties fail to acknowledge is that government does not create jobs; all government can do is help develop the optimal conditions for business to develop and generate employment.   When too many obstacles and barriers are forced in the way, potential businesses never develop.

Employee wage and contract increases are offset by employee health care insurance "contributions".   When workers see little room for advancement and improvement they become less interested and productive.  Employers see a tenuous future if they see a future at all. 

In our house we have two Democrats and one Republican.  All of us are somewhat centrist not tending toward any extreme.  Sometimes the two Democrats vote with the Republican though not usually vice versa.  

In the California primary we had two votes for Obama and one for McCain.  As it turns out we did pretty well and it looks like our respective candidates will become the nominees.   It is important to mention that California has closed primaries so you can only vote for your registered party.   In the general election there are no restrictions.  

Fast forward to November, 2008.   Obama beats McCain by a narrow margin largely by picking up middle class white votes.   The exit polls show universal health care as the reason the middle and working class voted for Obama.   It comes down to the pocketbook and what the Republicans don't seem to understand is just how big a pocketbook issue universal health care is.   

Universal health care is long overdue and America knows it.  There is no credibility left with attempts to reform the current system.  With all due respect Mr. McCain you need to come up with a universal care plan or hope you can pull lots of rabbits out of hats.  

Oh, and by the way, in the new household poll; unless McCain comes up with universal care, it's 3-0 Obama.

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 02:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Can you imagine coaching Kobe Bryant: Are you healthy? Are you rested? Wanna play? That's it. For the rest of the players it's 'feed K the ball'.

The problem is with salary caps you can't give all your money to K because that means the other guys won't get paid very much and it might be hard to attract players that can do things like catch the ball. But there is another way; another strategy.

It's called Nellie ball. Who can forget last spring when the Warriors blew out Dirk and the Mavs? Blow out time! The team and execution coach Don Nelson put on the floor stunned the basketball world and especially delighted the jaded Warriors fans. Of course if you remember, Don had done it before with the Warriors.

Understanding the coach is the team's foundation, GM Chris Mullen knew that Don was the man. During the off season the biggest anxiety was Nellie's return. Without Nellie there is no Nellie Ball. What a relief when they broke the news that the Warriors would be back with Nellie.

And this year is a bit different from last. Nellie could pick his own players and from what it appears Mullen did nothing to interfere. Think of what this means. Few people know basketball like ex-NBA star Chris Mullen yet Chris says Don is the Man. That takes guts and smarts and points for Chris who is in the running with Danny Ainge of the Celtics as the NBA's best GM. Ainge is betting on the superstars; Mullin on Nellie and the Team.

The season opening went flat, partly because catalyst Stephen Jackson was serving out a suspension. It was one loss after another and not a good start. But with Jackson back in the line up the combination was ready to roll again and as they did in Oakland by crushing Shaq and Company in the fourth quarter.

Here they go again was what it looked like in that fourth quarter and you could hear the buzz in the crowd. When they get into their zone the Warriors are capable of putting together strings of runs and demolish opponents.

So what does Nellie do that other coaches don't?

First I remember seeing him play with the Celtics when I was a kid. I always felt players should make the best coaches because players know the game the best. Nellie knows the game and the inside report is that he is a stickler for the fundamentals, which comes directly from being a player.

Also Nellie can look a player in the eye and see if they really want to play. Nellie fills his team with players like that. They come cheaper than Kobe but can be highly productive. They seem to have quirky characters and personalities like Stephen Jackson and Baron Davis. But they come together under Nellie. Boy do they ever.

Mark my words...Nellie is getting ready to pull the big one. His boys are fast, quick, determined and good. They work like a team and play defense like it's half the game. Last night they were down 18 to Dwayne and Shaq and blew them out in the fourth quarter. A couple years back the Heat were champions. Go figure.

The Warriors all scrap and shoot good free throws. They all seem to have a good work ethic and love to play. When they get moving they can steal the ball in so many ways and score in so many ways. If they stay hot with the threes they could be unbeatable.

Unbeatable? Spurs and Celtics? You bet. The team model for the Spurs and Celts is superstars with supporting cast. If one of the superstars gets hurt, a big cog in the wheel goes down. If a Warrior gets hurt, odds are his replacement will be just as good. A solid bench pays off all season and especially during the playoffs. Please spread the money, honey.

What me worry? Nobody worries as much as Nellie. To see him work the sidelines you would think he was getting ready to have a Miminsky and he always is on the verge. If Nellie expects his players' best efforts he is no less demanding of himself. The worry edge goes to Nellie.

Will the recipe work? There are no guarantees in life and even fewer in professional sports. But one thing is for sure, Nellie Ball is here and it is going to stay here and this just might be the year. After all, what does that smarty Chris Mullin know that the rest of us don't?

Hmmm. Maybe something...

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 10:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Fremont Peak State Park in San Benito County, California offers the best view of the Monterey Bay Sanctuary. 1n 1846 Fremont led an expeditionary force into what was then Mexico to survey the current state park area. At 3100 feet Gavilan Peak, or Fremont Peak as it is now called, splits the Bay in two; Santa Cruz at the northern tip and Monterey and Pacific Grove on the southern tip.

On the other side one can see the dirt bike hills of Hollister, the fields of Watsonville and Gilroy. On a clear day you can see the snow capped Sierras.

Why Fremont Peak and what does the name John C. Fremont, 'The Pathfinder', mean to California and U.S. history?

In 1842 Fremont scouted the Rockies and many areas of the West helping produce the first actual map of the Western United States. Through his explorations he became friends with another well known frontiersman, Kit Carson. Carson would later become Fremont's guide on his expeditions throughout the Rockies.

It's hard to say what effect years of wandering in the wilderness can have on a young man's mind. But one thing was for sure; Fremont explorations taught him not to be shy. In fact throughout his career Fremont was often beyond the point of being brash. And in the end his brashness led him to become one of the founders of modern day California.

In 1845 just prior to the Mexican American War, Fremont led a 'surveying' party to what is now Central Coast California. These surveyors were actually a mix of soldiers, mercenaries and bandits and Fremont did not have surveying in mind when he went to what was then Gavilan Peak. Fremont knew the Salinas Valley and the Pajaro Valley were unbelievably rich. As was California. And so far from Mexico City.

With 60 brigands Fremont was going to take California from Mexico or at least foment the rebellion to do it. He courageously, or foolishly, raised the American flag at Gavilan Peak which was essentially an act of war. He picked Gavilan Peak because he could see any 'enemy' soldiers coming from miles away. He might have even imagined Carmel and Pebble Beach but there was no record of such. Even though a dreamer, Fremont was imminently practical.

Soon the U.S. Consul delivered orders for Fremont to leave and he did. He took the Stars and Stripes down with his ego and retreated. One can imagine his pouting as he brings his men down the mountain. His timing was not right and there was nothing he could do about it. Except return, which he eventually did.

In 1846 he was a leader in the Bear Flag Revolt against Mexico. And in 1847 during the Mexican American War Fremont led the California Battalion. Eventually the U.S. won the war but Gen. Kearney censured Fremont for his conduct. Fremont was arrested, court martialed, and convicted of mutiny. Mutiny? Fortunately for Fremont President Polk commuted the sentences.

In 1848 Fremont began a series of five unsuccessful attempts to find a railroad route through the Sierras. One can only imagine what a frustration this must have been for him. To know there had to be a transcontinental railroad route somewhere and that route would literally break out the West. But he never found it...

In 1856 Fremont became the U.S. Senator from California. Such is proof that bad boys can sometimes win if they just hang in there long enough. Also in 1856 Fremont became the first Republican Party candidate for President of the United States. His campaign slogan was "Free Speech, Free Press, Free Soil, Free Men, Fremont and Victory." He lost to James Buchanan 16 states to 11. Fremont was close to becoming President of the United States.

In retrospect it was probably better he wasn't elected. There is something to be said for moderation and voters back then like now were mostly moderates. Though qualified to become President, voters were not certain how he would react under stress and quite probably voters back then saw him as tending a little bit to the extreme...extreme being an understatement. As President no telling where he might have ordered soldiers to raise the flag...

Today we can drive through the East Bay city of Fremont in between Oakland and San Jose. We can be reminded of John C. Fremont; surveyor, frontiersman, scout, soldier, patriot, visionary, military officer, U.S. Senator from California and Governor of Arizona. Also bandit, mercenary, brigand, traitor, mutineer, loose cannon and insubordinate.

That's what it took. That's what made California. It was not the time to be shy and follow the rules. It was a time and place for bold, decisive action. Every time I see Fremont Peak towering over the fog from across the Monterey Bay I think of him.

And I wonder what Fremont would think about his California today...

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Marilyn wasn't my favorite actress growing up.  That heartache went to Grace Kelly.  Good choice.  Grace Kelly married a prince and Marilyn died of an overdose.  Or so it is thought. 

As a collectibles devotee my wife comes across various and sundry pieces of art and frames and such.  This particular picture had a cartoon type cat in it with a nice frame.  The wife didn't especially like the cat and neither did I.  So she goes to replace it and takes out the cardboard backing.   The backing is actually a photo of the full length portrait of a young woman in a somewhat skimpy outfit. 

The wife took out the cat and put the picture in, a good decision I must agree.  Real men are always pushing for progress.  She asks me who is in the picture and I said I don't know.  It was a very shapely and beautiful woman but I did not recognize her. 

"That's Marilyn," she said.  I looked and still didn't see it.   This woman looked to be nineteen or twenty. 

"Look at her mole," said my wife getting frustrated with my apparent lack of perception, "it's Marilyn's mole."

"But the hair is dark brown so this was a photo of her way back before she was a famous Hollywood blonde," I reply. 

All would have been fine and dandy had we left it like that but sometimes wives like to rub it in and then do it some more.  It's their job.  It's what they do.   

Every time we would come across any picture of Marilyn she would point the mole out to me.  Stupid me.  I never before had even noticed Marilyn had a mole.  I guess the truth of the matter was I probably wasn't looking at Marilyn's face.  Subsequently, I have asked a number of men about Marilyn's mole and no one claims to have any such mole knowledge. 

To make matters worse one day the wife points to a picture of Marilyn and glares at me.  I smile back.

"Marilyn," I say pretty sure and proud of myself.  This one was even blonde. 

"Men," she muttered, "the mole, look at the mole.  What do you see?" 

"I see it" I agreed, "there it is."

"Men," she muttered again, "it's on the wrong side of her face." 

I was sure at this point our intellectual conversation was going to cross into the abyss of the utter unknown.  I was speechless.   Marilyn Monroe said nothing.
 
"Okay,' then it must be a beauty mark and she changed it to shift her chakra balance," I reply. 

"That's really stupid.  A beauty mark supposedly would enhance a woman's looks...mostly white women.  Mostly pale white women.   Maybe men considered it beautiful and that's why she did it.  Maybe it was in her contract.  Whatever her reason she switched sides."

I was speechless.  There was nothing I could add to what had already been said.  Sherlock Holmes wins again.   It was if each time the dear wife would have to physically point to the mole for me to actually see it.  Men.  And to eventually verify that yes indeed the mole had jumped from one side of Marilyn's face to the other. 

What to make of it?  Well, my quick and immediate reaction was not much.  It would have to be classified as belonging to that department of totally useless information.  The wife was not pleased and being a sensitive husband, I could tell she was not pleased.  She felt offended that I would not take such a thing as Marilyn's moving mole very seriously.  I was speechless. 

There was no way I could sit there and explain just why Marilyn's mole was insignificant in the total scheme of Marilyn.   I knew that if I would ever attempt to enter that minefield I would for sure face rather harsh consequences.   I was in a marital bind and not looking very good any which way I looked.  Finally, it came to me. 

"It could have been a retouched photo," I offered, "a mole probably isn't such a big deal to switch.  Maybe we should look for more moles," I suggested. 

Silence.  That was a good sign.  It was a good sign in that maybe, just maybe the frustration level would get so high the wife would let it go.  Let go of Marilyn's mole that is.   I'm sure Marilyn is snickering from heaven, and she must be there for sure, at such silly attention to detail.   She would probably let out one of those blondie laughs for which she was famous. 

That laugh and now her famous mysterious moving mole.

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 11:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As a tyke I remember Santa Claus and the big to do at Christmas. Maybe it was more important back then...today the affluence and indifference of our modern angst has probably diminished both Christmas' and Santa's influence.

If marketers in fact invented Santa then they did one heckuva job. From the earliest times I could remember 'what is Santa bringing you this year' or 'did you write Santa a letter yet? 'Have you been a good little boy this year?' My relationship with Mr. Claus was certainly not atypical of my time and space; all the other kids bought into the same argument. I also understood that Santa's gig was unconditional and even if I had done a few naughty things he would most likely overlook them. Ho, Ho, Ho...which if we are to understand, means something totally different now.

As I got a little more world wise and got out and about, especially starting to play with other kids and go into their homes and see whole new families, I began to wonder. Some of the kids said Santa was a fairy tale and others said their parents didn't believe in Santa so they didn't either. Others said it was stupid to write a letter to Santa because parents buy the gifts anyway.

Not believe in Santa? Not write the obligatory wish list? My God! As a four year old it was hard to imagine how anyone could not like the guy...what was there not to like? But there were always those smart aleck kids that would say things like 'we don't have a chimney here in Florida, is Santa going to leave us out?'

Of course not I would reply defending his scruples, Santa didn't leave anybody out. Santa was an equal opportunity distributor. But there was something fishy as the evidence slowly came in that it was in fact ma and pa who went to the store and bought the gifts; not Santa making them up at the North Pole with a bunch of elves and delivering them in an anti-gravity delivery sleigh.

Then, like millions of other baby boomer kiddies, I came to the stark and unbelievably cruel conclusion that Santa did not exist. Upset and shattered, I cried to ma that it looks like my man Santa was a cruel hoax hoisted on me by those that thought it funny to tell little boys lies. Oh, cruel world!

Thank goodness for ma. Had it not been for her I would have lost all faith in humanity for ever right then and there and become a hardened cynic. Creating something like Santa and then taking him back, especially from four year olds, just did not seem like the American thing to do. It wasn't fair play.

It was clear to me back then that little babies came into the world not knowing anything and pretty much everything they know is taught to them by their loving families. Why would these loving families tell them such a lie?

Ma finally confirmed the news that Santa did not come down the heater vent. In fact, Santa did not bring any of my presents. People invented Santa because they needed him and needed to believe in something like Santa. It was a nice story in the old days and we keep telling it today; sort of make believe to make us feel good.

Whew. Thank goodness for ma setting Santa straight for me. I was beginning to wonder if I was wrapped right which is a bit much for a four year old that has just started to get out into the world.

Things changed with my son. By the time he came along everything was hip and cool and Santa was becoming even more popular. But my son never came and asked was Santa real. He knew the answer already.

Sure the concept of Santa has changed over the years. The sheer amount of commercialism has made even Santa a bit trying at times. Santa as a concept sort of faded into the background as I raised a family and traveled the world.

A Santa concept. Hmmm...

The latest brain research lends great credence that concepts created by the mind can in fact become the mind's reality. Hmm... Does that mean that if the concept is accepted by the mind it in fact becomes reality? Depending on which cognitive behavioral expert you ask, the answer is a 'probably so'.

So at this point, Virginia, we can say that Santa probably exists, at least in some people's psyches. That is a big step up from sheer myth and fantasy. If people way back created Santa because they needed him maybe we can do the same. And maybe we need to.

So here Virginia I have evolved full circle from total belief, shocked disbelief, reality assessment, and on to conceptual integration and assimilation. Or something like that.

Maybe it's the crazy idea of some gone cat unconditionally handing out toys to every kid in the whole wide world. Maybe it's the hope that someone like Santa could do such deeds and not have a hidden agenda or secret business plan.

Yes Virginia, Santa exists in the frontal lobes and cerebrum of every child that lets him go there. So don't forget to write your letter to Santa and hang your stocking near the heater vent. And don't feel badly when your insensitive intellectual friends make fun of you for believing in fairy tales.

Just tell them fairy tales are culture and culture is us. Rest assured that our dear friend Santa Claus will always exist as long as we need him to.

Ho, Ho, Ho!

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 07:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"That lady Madalyn O'Hair got murdered because she took prayer out of schools," said the man on the news. I once interviewed Mad Madalyn. I also knew she got murdered because she was cheap and exploited her employees at the Atheist Center in Austin, Texas, not because of prayer in schools.

Mad Madalyn hired and exploited one too many rehabbing felons and paid the price. Madalyn wasn't murdered for prayer in school; just like Jesus (gasp) she was murdered for pieces of gold that she kept in a storage locker. Mad Madalyn didn't even need Judas to betray her and The Grand Jury never got around to indicting God.

But it didn't matter. You can't argue with the faithful anymore than one could argue with Mad Madalyn while she was alive, RIP. She was no more murdered by intelligent design than natural intelligence. She was murdered because she was greedy. Too greedy. And stupid. Stupidly greedy.

Out here in pagan coastal California we have another religion sprouting up: Natural Intelligence. Natural Intelligence asserts that there is an intelligent force behind nature that makes it all work out the way it does. In other words, the final result is due to the dynamics of natural intelligence. This system implies that natural intelligence is also smart and can override anything left up to chance, like the effects of mutations on evolution.

Similarly intelligent design attempts to prove that certain aspects of "creation" are structured so that they had to have popped out completely done and could not have evolved slowly over many millennia.

The problem is that intelligent design and natural intelligence are concepts that can never be empirically tested. Big surprise. That is because both concepts depend totally on faith and belief as opposed to science and reason. In fact one can say that a lack of science and reason have led to the formation of these grandiose concepts themselves.

We humans simply cannot stand a knowledge void. When our caveman ancestors could not understand something they developed whatever explanations they could imagine to 'explain' it. That 's how humans developed myths and religion, of course not including 'your religion' which is special and the Absolute Truth.

Intelligent design attempts to explain how we got here and natural intelligence attempts to explain how things work right now.

One of the last words I heard my grandma say were 'be sure you take that son of yours to Sunday School. Don't want him growing up to be a heathen.' RIP, grandma. (What 's reassuring is if she just googles my name up in heaven, and that is most certainly where she is, she would be pleased to see that I still fondly remember her.)

Intelligent design is the culture I grew up in; Grandma. Natural intelligence is the culture I now live in; The Confused.

While the intelligent design folks call the natural intelligence folks heathens, like my grandma, the natural intelligence folks call the faithful 'the Stupids.' That is simply because all of the natural intelligence folks rebelled against their parents and part of that was rebelling against religious dogma. Anything that smacks of religion is 'mind control' yet natural intelligence is not.

The funny thing is the heathens have unwittingly helped the intelligent design cause. All the intelligent design folks have to say is that natural intelligence equals God or gods. Boy are they sure smart proving that intelligent design exists, no? Find 'God' and Replace with 'Natural Intelligence' and everybody goes home happy.

All the heathens, mostly affluent youth rebelling against their bourgeois parents, strut around so proud that they no longer are bound by the mental chains of religion. The fact that they are now bound by the chains of natural intelligence seems irrelevant.

In fact this is another common attribute held by both: everything that does not support the cause is irrelevant. Like the faithful say, "if it doesn't support what I believe than I don't want to hear it because it does not exist."

In turn, the heathens say that if it doesn't support what I believe than I don't want to hear it because it does not exist.

Ah those rebellious young heathens! They go all out to get away from the restricted thinking of their parents and yet cannot see they are exactly the same. All they have done is swap one premise for another and in fact as we have seen here the premises are exactly the same. It all comes down to a question of faith...

In other words, Junior may sit up in a tree protesting the environment but he is the same as Good Old Dad who protests the progressives protesting. The formulas and equations are the same for both and with Find and Replace they interchange 's eamlessly'.

Well there you have it. Now that you are totally confused congratulations. At the end of the day ours is not to reason why because if we put too much of our reason in, it just won't make any sense at all.

But watch out. If you start thinking intelligent design and natural intelligence were fabricated by cavemen that didn't know better, you are in big trouble amigo.

Beware! You are certainly headed for sure down that disastrous path to a free and inquiring mind...

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 08:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As the year draws to a close, we Democrats must take stock of where we do and don't stand.  2008 is the year that the Bush's leave; thankfully as otherwise we would probably lose again.  Assuming it all means anything and makes any difference, we Democrats have a great chance at winning in November of 2008.  Of course we thought the same in 2000 and 2004 but managed to self destruct. 

Will history repeat itself?  Let's see...

Frontrunner The Clintons are dropping faster than a speeding bullet.  Around Thanksgiving female columnists began blasting Hillary and it was just one in a series of stinging jabs that has left her campaign reeling.  There was the planting questions issue but the key was when female journalists started to turn on her.  With Hillary it's not just a woman thing.  In just two weeks she dropped ten points.  The combination of her gaffs and Obama's turnaround has the race leveling out nicely for the primaries.  Very bad news for The (sagging) Clintons as they will have to re-whiteboard their 'look presidential' strategy.   Just whose idea was it?  And is Obama actually more 'woman' friendly?    

In my view the worst gaff came when asked about whether she preferred diamonds or pearls.  The question was loaded for the flip-floppedyness factor and her answer was surprising; she replied 'both'.  God forbid.  One or the other would have been fine.  But not wanting to offend anyone she straddled the line and shot herself in both proverbial feet.  Time to fire somebody's campaign manager.   

But give credit to Obama.  In foreign affairs he questioned whether Hillary's experience as first lady was any more relevant to his living abroad when he was 10, which she publicly criticized as not being real experience. In one fell swoop he destroyed half her credentials while weakening his resume from ages 10-14. Some trade.   

The other was the smoking pot question.  Obama admitted he had smoked it and inhaled.  In fact, he stated that inhaling was the idea.   This in direct contrast to The Clintons statement that it was smoked but not inhaled.  The problem is this can be juxtaposed with the 'I did not have sex with that woman' statement.   

Two issues have apparently been resolved in the revived Obama campaign.  The first is Obama himself has taken the initiative and it has paid big dividends...and Oprah is going to hit the campaign trail for him.  The other is that his advisors are clearly whupping the Clintons right now and don't be surprised to hear Hillary announce a major campaign housecleaning. 

The analysts observe that as the primaries approach we Demos are pondering whether a third term for The Clintons is advisable.   The dagger survey of the week showed her losing to all the Repubs but both Obama and Edwards winning.   The two stunners are that many voters won't actually cast their vote for her at crunch time and that Edwards is any factor at all.   Go figure.  Democrats.

Edwards in my play book is toast.   His main problem has been his inability to shake his own image.  On his front he wears a sign 'By Day Proletarian' and on his back 'By Night a Trial Injury Lawyer.'   John needs to muss up his hair, put on a dirty T-shirt and go out and shovel manure.   But John will be stuck where he is in 2008 unless he changes his look and feel and he's clearly too in love with himself to do that.

Several side observations.   Hillary's insistence on playing all cards at once, 'I like both diamonds and pearls' is a big negative.   The electorate always wants someone that agrees with them, with us rather, but really does not like someone that doesn't have any opinion or waffles; 'both' or 'I voted for it but really didn't.'   

Another Demo party weakness is our frontrunners have little and poor experience.   All count the U.S. Senate as experience and with public opinion pretty much anti-Congress that might be a liability.   'I would have voted for you but I found out you were a Senator'. 

The two most qualified Democrats, Biden and Richardson, have no chance.   Hopefully whoever wins the nomination picks one of them as VP.  The Repubs are sure to pounce on our candidate's lack of experience, as well as any Senate experience in a dud Congress.  We know it's coming. 

Right now it's Obama's race to win or lose.  Hillary has flubbed and let him back in and it appears he has made his move.  Edwards has not been able to hit a nerve and his campaign has plastic written all over it. 

But mark my words and remember you first heard it here; watch out for a real late surge by Darkhorse Dennis 'Da Man' Kucinich.  Da Man's braintrust is currently working out a Vice Presidential running mate between Pee Wee Herman and Hugo Chavez.  The advantages are swinging toward Chavez with his 'free gas for votes' strategy.   But Pee Wee has the really cool name.   

As for me, I remain unchanged from last month.  Oprah and I are still for Obama...

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 03:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Back in 2001 in the spring and summer I worked a project that took me all over Northern California.  Coming back home for the weekend the wife and I would often stop at the Cattleman's Restaurant in Livermore.  We liked it because the atmosphere was cowboy and the food good and plentiful and there really aren't any steak houses in vegan Santa Cruz.   On this particular August evening we were late getting in and the place had filled up.   We were told it would be a half hour and we could wait at the bar and they would call us. 

The bar was already pretty full and all the TVs were on the Giants game.  I got a beer and the wife a bloody Mary.  A steady stream of folks entered and asked the bartender 'when is he up?' 

The bartender would answer next inning, third up or whatever the situation was.  As Barry went on deck the bar suddenly began to fill and I realized the patrons had left their meals, purses, infants and whatever else and had come in to watch Barry. 

As usual in the sport of baseball there was first a ball and strike and then a very loud crack and we could see the ball sail out of the park.  Everybody jumped up, including me.  We were high fiving and doing all the idiotic sorts of antics baseball fans do when their team hits a home run.   This particular home run was one of a record setting 73 Barry hit that season.  What excitement!  

At that very moment the last thing any of us was thinking was 'golly gee, this home run won't count.' Had I mentioned that thought to anyone in the bar they would have thought I was nuts and not a prophet.  Maybe even thrown a punch.

I have watched baseball for about 50 years but had never seen anything like Barry.  The defensive shift to pull was like no other in the history of baseball.  It was more like four outfielders and three infielders.    During that time I also remember several times remarking that Barry at times looked stiff and almost waddled.  His neck seemed especially stiff.  I didn't know that his shoe size would increase over one whole size too. 

Having read about his extensive training and nutrition program I immediately attributed his increase in bulk to training.   Barry's off-season rigor was well publicized.  I even once remarked that Barry was such a hard trainer he actually grew muscles on his scalp.  Barry shaves his head so when he takes off his helmet he had what looked like muscles.  Later we were to learn that he increased one whole head size. 

But steroids weren't just what made Barry great as any minimally informed baseball fan will know.  Barry hit that many home runs because he seldom swung at bad pitches.  He walked more than any player in history.  What was so incredibly amazing about his 2001 stretch was his average nightly box score would be a home run, a single and three walks. Repeatedly that season Barry was walked in situations that no other player had ever been walked. 

Who can ever forget the home run race between McGuire, Sosa and Bonds?   It had to be one of the most exciting times ever for baseball fans and for that we are thankful.  Ironic how all three have been linked to juice...but not guilty until proven. 

Barry was a competitor despite his unpolished character and arrogant demeanor.   Barry always played to win and for that we thank him for his entertaining show.   So now the greatest man to ever play the game has to wait and watch as he enters a no-win trial.  I hope he gets off.  Barry played to win and he did whatever it took to get that edge.  And he knew other players were doing it.  Barry just couldn't let them have the edge. 

If he's guilty, and he may not be, slap him on the wrist, give him probation and let him age in peace.  Barry has to live with Barry and we have to live with the letdown.   Of course there will be those that want blood and those that want justice for all those records he robbed. 

My guess at least some of Barry's home runs will be disallowed taking him back down below Hank and the Babe.  Quite frankly whatever the commissioner decides is fair and just won't sit well with the fans.   No matter what he does the boo birds will be following him around for some time.  I wonder if he will also disallow the walks as well as home runs.  No one wins here.

Say it ain't so, Barry.  If you have to go down may as well go down in a blaze of glory.  Do whatever it takes to make amends and get back on that field one last time.  Let's not leave it like this...it's too personal. 

And I know there will be a number of us standing and cheering once again when you do.

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

U.S. Congressman Tom Tancredo made the statement today that all of the country of Mexico is a drug cartel.  I wished he would have emailed me before he made that statement and wish also he would lay off the sinsemilla.  It has to be affecting his judgment as evidenced by his making a goofy statement like that. 

Had he only contacted me I would have told him that my mother-in-law and sister-in-law aren't involved with El Chapo, Los Hermanos Arrellano Felix or La Reyna Del Pacifico so at least he would know his declaration was false.  By definition folks involved with these groups are 'narcos' or involved in the drug trade.  Those that aren't, aren't.  Hopefully Rep. Tancredo puts down his bong long enough and lets that simple fact sink in. 

My mother-in-law and sister-in-law belong to an extremist group called Los Testigos de Jehovah or in English, Jehovah's Witnesses.  These radicals are trying their best to get rid of beer and cantinas and mota and everything else the good Congressman does and more.  But that's not the half of it.  Furthermore they are against all fiestas including Cinco de Mayo and Christmas.  Needless to say you can imagine what a hoot it is New Year's Eve at their casa. 

I'm sure if El Chapo himself came up and offered a lucrative drug territory to my relatives they would start telling him about the Mark of the Beast and Armageddon.  El Chapo would not know what to say when they describe the beast rising up out of the ocean and coming on land to take care of business. 

El Chapo could be talking about great big bags of cocaine and they would be quoting Bible verses.  They will wear him out.  And they don't tire.  Once they quote the whole Bible they don't feel the least bit embarrassed about doing it all over again.  Day after day.  Week after week.   They don't do drugs; they quote the Bible.

And then there are my Maya pals.  Yes, Rep. Tancredo, I do have a hut in a Maya village with my Mexican wife of 35 years who didn't know who El Chapo was either until I told her. 

Now my question to the mentally compromised Rep. Tancredo is this: if everyone is involved in the lucrative drug trade, why are all my Maya neighbors so poor?  Not one has a Mercedes, jet, pool, spa, bodyguard or small arms firing range.  Not one has a Swedish trophy wife that lounges around the hut in a bikini.  Not one of their kids is a spring breaker.  Que pasa? 

So much for the facts.  The problem is that irresponsible statements can actually hurt bilateral relations.  The Congressman is portrayed as somewhat brain damaged by all three Mexican parties: the PAN, the PRI and the PRD.  To get these three groups to agree on anything is next to impossible.  But they did all agree to denounce the mental faculties of the good Congressman. 

Santiago Creel and Ruth Green Macias of the Mexican Congress in La Cronica newspaper characterized Congressman's Tancredo's statements as odd since many of Congressman's constituents are drug users.  In fact, they make the point that if the Congressman's constituents stopped consuming drugs, the drug cartels everywhere would just go away.  Reduced demand means reduced supply. 

Is it any less righteous of me to accuse the good senator of snorting a few lines in the Congressional loo then it is for him to accuse my relatives and every other Mexican of being a drug trafficker?

What is truly ironic is that just as the Congressman's accusations were hitting the Mexican websites another story broke about how armed drug cartel assassins killed four police in an ambush.  I'm certain if these police had been members of the drug cartel then the cartel would not have killed them.  In fact, the feeds were saying that two cops were slain as they innocently tried to stop the killers in another town. 

Now, if I'm the mother or father of one of these slain cops and I read what the stoned Rep. Tancredo is saying then I get a bit ticked.  I get angry at Rep. Tancredo and all his drug using constituents that support the cartels that killed my son in the line of duty. 

So, fare Congressman, not all Mexicans are drug dealers.  And I'll even bet not all your constituents are drug users either.  When you accuse a neighbor and friend of something as strong as being a drug dealer you damn better well have proof or somebody is going to call your bluff. 

Because sooner or later that great big sea monster at Armageddon time is going to come up and take care of all those that spread malicious lies and rumors about their good neighbors.  My Jehovah's Witness mother in law would say that if the good Congressman apologizes and promises to mend his ways then we should forgive and forget.  That's what Jesus wants us to do. 

But as for me, I think it's sea monster time.

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 09:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

One of the last remaining operating drive-ins in California will soon become an upper end health clinic. The historic Skyview Flea Market and Drive-In in Santa Cruz,California will close after a 51 year run. Everything has its price and clearly the price for health care has been steadily rising. After all, what are the margins for a drive-in and flea market and why should anyone care?

Obviously not Sutter Medical who bought the property.  The fourteen acres in question is private property, Sutter bought it and end of story. Well, not quite the end of the story. The flea community may soon be dissolved but the people will still continue. These are the small business people, collectors, farmworkers, recyclers, junk men, families, hobbyists, lonely hearts and the mentally borderline who want or need something other than ball games and political TV gossip on the weekends.  Folks that make the world go round.

Folks like Lupe, a 41 year old farmworker mother that sells to make ends meet yet always wants to give us free stuff. And Sam, a 62 year old retiree that dislikes his wife so he spends flea market days flirting with anyone that will pay him attention. And Marvin, a 44 year old mentally disabled man that visits the market to socialize since almost all his time is spent by himself in his room.

And Carl, an antiques dealer who for 20 years has been shopping the flea for antiques and collectibles for his store. Sara, an antiques dealer that started liquidating her inventory ever since the antiques and collectibles market started to slip. Nguyen, a student at San Jose State who sells cheap goods out of a box van to pay his way through college.

Josefina, a Salinas mother of two, sells fruits and vegetables to augment her family's income from the fields and teach her children a strong work ethic.  Jacobo works as a custodian for the flea in the winters when there is no field work. Jake works as a market security guard to support his wife and three children.  Cindy works in the concession stand to pay her way through Cabrillo Junior College.

Laughing John, a reseller of curios and collectibles, drives each Sunday all the way from Fremont. Bartolo, a locker buyer from Castroville who has been dealing junk for over 30 years, will have to find a new line of work. Arn, who visits his ex-students and stops to talk art with those he meets, will no longer be able to regularly see so many of his old friends. Bill, an artist and furniture maker who buys old and damaged furniture, fixes it up and sells it to supplement his social security, will obviously have to find a new source.

Intellectual Pat, one of the most knowledgeable antiques dealers around has been instructing his 'students' at the flea market for decades. No mas. Bob and Julie drive from Turlock to sell almonds from their orchard. Linda the hat lady arrives in her VW rabbit with hats stacked to the roof. Amanda sells cheap LA warehouse surplus so she and her husband can go to Reno and gamble.

David, who sells designer pants and shirts at about the best prices around, drives from Milpitas and has a wife and two kids. Bill from the Westside has been selling tools, music and just about anything else at the flea for over 25 years. Elvy, just about the sweetest lady you will ever meet, buys stuff at garage sales on Saturdays that she resells on Sundays to help pay for clothes and expenses for her three school-aged daughters.

Jack, whose witticisms and art BS often made my day, will have to take his small talk somewhere else. Trevor, an antiques dealer who would fight to the last peso and then some, can't get any more good deals. Dean, an old locker auction buddy who taught me lots about junk, people and how to make the best of a lousy situation, will survive. Like most flea folks, Dean is a survivor.

So is Maria, whose sole source of support is the flea, who will now have to drive to Hollister or San Jose with her box van of goodies. And Joe, whose easy going demeanor and people skills helped him sell truckload after truckload of junk, will have to find another way to finance his kid's music lessons.

And there's Frank, whose mental instability, persecution complex and short temper, have recently made him only a part time vendor as his flashbacks and sense of reality have started to merge in his senior years. No doubt he will show up one Sunday and not realize or remember the flea has closed. I guess maybe Sutter Medical will have to deal with him.

Managers Anna and Carlos will have to find new jobs.  Mike, a daguerreotype photo collector and electronics tinkerer, will have to go elsewhere to buy parts for projects he builds with his sons. Adrian, who sells at the flea when not working at the carwash, sells CDs with Aurora to support their three sons in school. Tom, who makes his living selling flea stuff on EBay, will have to go elsewhere. Juan, a local chef who brings his daughter Daniela to the flea as family entertainment, lets her stay with us when she gets tired. We've watched her grow up.

And of course you, who want to find a place to sell off your stuff, make a few bucks, add to your collections, meet old friends, meet new friends and search for treasures, will now have to drive to another county. So will we. 

These are just a few of us from a community that will be no more. Perhaps, amigos, our paths will cross again and we can recount old times.  Thanks and gracias.  Until then, adios, farewell and good luck dear friends from Skyview!

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 08:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

All of us can't be beautiful. God knows.

Take me for instance. I'm nondescript. You see me in a restaurant and it's as if I'm not there. On the one hand that's good because no one is pointing at me and making faces. I can also spill food on my shirt and no one will pay any attention. Or care, except for a stray comment like "Look John, there's another idiot with food all over his shirt."

Yet on the other hand my modern angsted ego is bruised when no one looks at me and says 'what a handsome guy.' So be it.

Now I know immediately some of you gals are going to be upset and cry sexist pig and start nagging me because I'm only talking about ugly women and not ugly men.

As a writer I write about what I know and I know a lot about ugly women but don't know much about ugly men. Most men for me are non-descript too. I will hear women remarking about how handsome a particular man is but I don't see it. I don't understand the appeal of the rough look.  To me, the rough look is ugly in both men and women.

Be that as it may I do have a much better aptitude for determining what is attractive in women. Like most men, I can readily spot an ugly woman or a pretty woman.

Don't ask me why I know this or how I know this. I just know this. It's a guy thing and has something to do with the hippocampus in the brain. No one is exactly sure why but everything else goes one way or the other through the hippocampus so it is one heck of a good guess.

Besides, we guys know about a woman's look. We may not know much else about her, but we ace the looks category. That's our job. It's what we and our hippocampuses do.

Really pretty women are now getting little tiny, discrete tattoos sometimes on little tiny discrete parts of their pretty bodies. You know, the butterfly in the small of the back type of tattoos. The risk these women run is that the tattoo will detract from their beauty even when put on a particularly discrete part of their anatomy.

Not so with the ugly woman. No way. The ugly woman will get the most bodacious tattoo she can finance covering her arms, head, neck and anything else when possible.  Double King Sized is her order.

The key here is to imagine the viewer's reaction upon seeing this massive tattoo, which is really the only reason anyone gets tattooed in the first place, with the possible exception of those that get large Nazi themed facial tattoos. Those with Nazi themed facial tattoos get them almost exclusively for their own self gratification.

One's first reaction is "man, something's really ugly here so it must be the tattoo." Aha. We are in the hunt now. Our tenacious research has finally led us to the crucial clue as to why ugly women get super grande tattoos.

Like Sherlock Holmes once said it's all right there in front of your nose. Ugly women get large tattoos to hide their ugliness. At least that's the strategy.  The ugliness gets blamed on the tattoo and not well, the underlying ugliness or real cause of the ugly effect. In the process the tattered ego gets a facelift.

In certain urban and suburban areas of California, tattoos and body piercings have gone to the extreme. On many bodies now it's hard to find a place that is not tattooed or pierced, including major and minor body orifices and canals creating a whole new specialty branch in applied medicine.

In this attempt to create a new look the user opts for the total tattoo remake and body pierced mutilations: in short, cover up all that ugly. One of the immediate psychological benefits is a dramatic improvement in self esteem. Beware the devil you don't know does not apply to the permanently very ugly. Any change is an improvement for the desperately ugly. God knows that too.

It really doesn't matter that as these tattooed clowns age they will look like those angry aborigines in New Zealand. They probably won't remember who they are anyway or won't care even if they do remember. At that point even tattoos are secondary.

Quite frankly nobody is going to pay any attention to Granma's wrinkles if she has Hells Angels Bakersfield tattooed in Gothic letters across her forehead. And initial research shows that such tattoos are actually often viewed as attractive by those with senility, dementia and the more common senile dementia. "By golly I think I used to belong to the Bakersfield chapter - you must be my kinda girl! I can almost remember you..."

Keywords are Hells, Angels, Snake Oil, Deception and Bakersfield. You do see the logic behind all this, no?

On some level it must actually work or why in God's name do they keep doing it?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 11:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Grandpa collected a series of 350 or so photos, reprints and postcards from World War I when he was an American soldier.  For some reason he wanted to save all the pictures and they fill almost two albums.  

Maybe it was knowing that one day someone like me would look at the pictures and reflect on the true nature of war.  Who knows.  But whatever his reasons I'm glad he saved them.  The effect of looking at the albums is sobering.

Not much glory there in Grandpa's photo.  He looked like he could have been any young kid from any state.  Or any country for that matter.  It was his soldier's photo album and World War I was the event of his life.  It was like that for many that survived.

The war ended in 1918 and grandpa died in 1960.  Almost everyone that fought in that great war is now dead.  That much I do know.     

The first album is full of soldier buddy shots and shots from towns and cities in Europe, mostly France.   The pictures also include numerous shots of the battlefields at Rheims and Belleau Wood, two of the war's bloodiest battle sites.

The second album is almost entirely battlefield scenes.   

It was a war not fought in the air or sea but on land and in the trenches.  Funny how 'in the trenches' is still with us today.  World War I will be remembered as the last trench warfare or the last war where one could literally see the whites of the enemy's eyes, though maybe a couple of hundred yards away.  

One side charged and would capture the other side's trench.   The other side would make a hasty retreat and leave everything behind, including their dead and wounded.  After a while they would counterattack. Day after day.  Week after week.  Month after month.

The casualty rate was off the charts.   The battlefields were often littered with the dead as they did not have time to bury them.  And it was not safe outside the trenches.

There is a photo of a soldier in a trench behind barbed wire.  The barbed wire was supposed to help stop the other side from charging right into your trench.  He is barely visible behind the tangle of barbed wire.  The constant attacks, the poison gas, the bombardments; it all added up to a trip to hell.  Not much to smile about.  The face is not real clear behind the barbed wire but it's apparent he is not smiling.

The Germans looked so much like us.  How long does it take a corpse to become a bare skeleton?   I imagine somewhere a German is looking at a similar album and remarking how they 'look so much like us -- how long does it take the meat on a head to rot and leave just a skull?'

In between the trenches was 'no man's land' or the area that no one controlled.   There are numerous photos of no man's land and dead soldiers and mostly destroyed countryside.   Aerial shots show it wasn't just no man's land that was leveled, much of the surrounding countryside in a battle was also destroyed.

It was standard military strategy to bombard a trench for days to loosen it up and demoralize the troops before charging.  The intent was to destroy morale but it also destroyed most of the surrounding landscape. Charging was often done by letting out a yell, standing up and running straight for the enemy trenches, just like it had been done for centuries.

Horses were used to pull wagons and artillery.  There is a photo of U.S. troops headed to battle pulling their artillery with horses.    A lot of horses also died.   One photo shows a dead horse that was blown up into a tree. 

Supposedly WWI was the last war that poison gas was allowed.  Oddly enough the countries that used mega bombs and gargantuan artillery felt gas was too deadly so it was outlawed by treaty.  I'm not sure if technically it is more humane to kill by bullet or by gas.  As a result only renegades like Saddam Hussein use poison gas.  

The real problem was poison gas was heavier than air so it would sink into the trenches.   If a gas canister filled your trench the best defense was to get out and of course right into the line of fire from enemy snipers.  That was part of the idea; your choice, whiff of gas or a bullet through the head. 

Potent gases like chlorine gas and mustard gas would either burn the lungs out or instantly destroy the central nervous system.  One whiff and it was over.   

After the war the world was mad so it made Germany pay war reparations and the German economy collapsed.  In the early 1920's inflation wiped out any hopes of an economic recovery and the conditions were set for Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party to take their turn.  And they did.

I felt a bit queasy after viewing all the photographed carnage especially knowing this wasn't a Hollywood set.  No Charlie Chaplin or Tom Mix in these pictures.  Just the boys next door, ma'am.  And the boys next door from another country, too.

Of course WWI did not end all wars and there have been a number of bad ones since.  Or rather it might be more correct to say that there have been no good wars since.  Maybe. 

It all depends on our perspectives and what we learned from Grandpa's war. 

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I was trying to think of the year when this happened and I figured it out because the baby was maybe a year old  then.   We had driven down from El Paso and crossed the Eastern Sierras on some very sketchy roads to spend Christmas or Navidad at our home in central Veracruz on the Gulf Coast. 

For some reason I have always enjoyed Navidad in Mexico; it's definitely not as commercial at least among the limited income people we knew.  We lived on a farm.   Gift giving was usually left for the sixth of January or Day of the Wise Men so there wasn't a lot of gifts anyway...

What I enjoyed were the Posadas or  Rest Stops the Magi took to find baby Jesus.   On each night of the twelve days of Christmas someone would have a party.   These were fun affairs with maybe some tamales and atole or corn drink.   Everyone was in a festive mood and of course there was the ubiquitous pinata; a must for every posada. 

It is perhaps not so easy for foreigners to understand just what a pinata does but very often it is the highlight of the party.   The pinata is strung up by rope on a  pole or tree and the rope is pulled by someone while the blindfolded participant swings wildly with a stick and the crowd jeers.   Everyone likes this merriment and the pinata always draws a large crowd.

On this particular night we were going to an ejido or communal farm for a Posada, the three of us in our VW.   As I approached the center of the ejido I realized this was not the small Posada we thought we were attending; the whole community was out in masse for this one.

I turned off the lights and parked.   We got out and were sitting on the hood watching the fun; there were maybe four hundred people there.   One after the other, adult and child,  took their turn at the pinata while the onlookers hooted.   The mood was festive and the cool Veracruz air made it quite a night...

As we watched two men took the stick and began to walk toward us.   My heart sank, oh my god...and they kept coming walking through the  crowds as the onlookers stepped aside.   They came right up to  me and handed me the stick.  My turn.  My turn to make a fool out of myself and have everyone laugh at me.   

Of course I stood out; I look like a German.   Everyone else around me including my wife was mestizo and Indian.  Time to have some fun with the Gringo...

I knew I had to take it.   It was a matter of being a part of the community; we knew a lot of people there and my wife had some relatives too...so it  was a choice of being a fool or a poor sport.   I knew the poor sport was not in my behavioral repetoire in Mexico so I took it.   They escorted me to pinata, blindfolded me and spun me around several times so I would lose my bearings.   

They would tease me by allowing me to touch the pinata with my stick but they were not  going to let me hit it.     That was OK.  I had to show I was making an effort or the fun would be dampened.   So I swung wildly and floundered and the crowd roared.   Finally it was over and they stopped me and took off the blindfold.   All were laughing and nodding approvingly and I felt the mission was accomplished.   

These are the people that 'adopted' me as a teenager when I drove a motorcycle to Mexico.   They were my friends, family and community.   And if they realize I'm a good sport and they get a few laughs that's fine...I don't mind and I bet my wife was laughing too.   

I accepted the culture and it in turn accepted me.  For that I am eternally grateful...and watch out for the pinatas...

Jack  D. Deal

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 03:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The other week at a collectibles show I  bought a Charlie McCarthy toy puppet and actually confused him with Howdy Doody.  The guy standing beside me thought Charlie McCarthy was Howdy Doody too.   Subsequent viewers of my puppet have also made the same mistake and I didn't find out until I checked him out on Ebay.  Some newer viewers think Charlie is from a recent horror flick that was, as they say, very scary.   One went so far as to say he would not be able to sleep with Charlie McCarthy in the same room.   What's this bizarre world coming too?  Go figure...

Charlie McCarthy was of course the puppet from ventriloquist comic Edgar Bergen;  hence, Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy.   I remember as a very young lad listening to Edgar and Charlie.  Charlie was always a wise donkey and always saying the wrong thing.   Edgar would call Charlie a dummy and Charlie wouldn't like it and make a sarcastic reply. The audience would roar.   Charlie would bicker constantly with Edgar and the dialogue was a bit edgy for back then but somehow Edgar could pull it off by blaming it on the misbehaving puppet.  Edgar would  act upset and embarrassed by Charlie and we all felt badly for poor Edgar.  It was zippy and even my mother laughed.   A few years later my attention changed focus and I fell in love with Candace, Edgar's movie actress daughter, but then again so did every other male adolescent at that time so the competition was pretty stiff...and she eventually married someone else.      

Howdy Doody was partners with Buffalo Bob.   They had a little kiddie show with Howdy doing most of the antics as if he were all wired up on speed...a nervous kind of guy,always jumping around since of course Howdy was a marionette.   Buffalo Bob, a real person, would dress in a buckskin frontier suit...sort of like Daniel Boone without the hat.  Buffalo Bob would always tell the kids in the studio audience 'No comments from the peanut gallery' when they would laugh or heckle.   It's a term I still use today and I wonder how many in my age bracket use the same expression.   The Howdy Doody show was nonsense and all us bright American kids knew it was nonsense but we loved it anyway.   Which was good, because not too many years later we would be faced with life's cold realities where many of us would wish we were back in the peanut gallery with our old pals Howdy Doody and Buffalo Bob.   

Through the years Howdy and Charlie have come and gone.   As time passes we even confuse the two. But somehow we came away with a cultural legacy by growing up with these guys.  They were our heroes, our friends and in a way our first introductions to the outside world.   When Buffalo Bob died a few years back they ran clips of the shows on TV and pictures in the newspaper and somehow I could still identify with it after all those years.   No one can live forever, not even Buffalo Bob or Howdy, but their legacy as culture goes on through all us kiddie fans from years past.         

But of course that's how culture works.   It comes and it goes.  It is the partnering of the ego with society.  And maybe at some point in the future when folks are a lot smarter than we are and can figure things out a lot better, they will analyze what effect Howdy and Charlie had on the development of Modern America.    And kids will catalogue Howdy and Charlie in their cultural icon database.  And watch video clips and write reports on what it might have been like to be sitting in the peanut gallery, no comments and all.    

We all need a sense of belonging, of having a cultural home...and when I saw the clips of Howdy I said 'yep, that's my culture all right.'   That's me.  With Buffalo Bob and the participatory peanut gallery who needs  kings and epics and revolutions and all that sort of heavy tradition?  Howdy and Charlie give me a cultural place to hang my hat...and in some strange way I take comfort in being able to do that.  It must be we all need a place to hang our cultural hats.   It gives us a sense of who we are, even if we still are only the adoring fans of a couple of wooden dummies...      

And really, how can any snob dare say America has produced no culture when we have such cultural icons as Howdy  Doody and  Charlie McCarthy? 

No comments from the peanut gallery?   

Jack D. Deal

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 08:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I recently began work with a new client in the computer industry. As with any new company one of the first steps I take is interview key employees to get their perspective. After several interviews I began to notice a surprising pattern. All of the employees stated they were with the company because the owners were honest. Honesty and integrity were more important than compensation or job descriptions. The fact that some of the employees were "Generation Xer" techies opened my eyes even further. To create a sense of loyalty and belonging among a group notorious for non-loyalty was nothing short of astounding. Despite its faults, many of which were common to most businesses, this company has been able to attract and retain a number of good employees. Needless to say this company has been expanding steadily and is poised for exponential growth.

The concepts of honesty and integrity are not new. The actual application of honesty and integrity in the new business environment is. As results, earnings and growth-at-any-cost have become standard tactics, honesty and integrity have to a certain extent fallen by the wayside. Ownership often sees better short-term margins by micromanaging and delegating more and more to fewer and fewer. In my employee reviews I hear this as a common employee complaint. When conditions deteriorate and ownership sees margins vanish they call someone like me to find out what is wrong.

I point out the problems and they reluctantly go for the painful cure.

Pain is the motivator until conditions improve and they are able to go back to the short-term gains of micromanaging and exploitative delegation.

When employees feel micromanaged and exploited they naturally take it out on the customers. We all experience this on a daily basis. This is often the first sign of terminal business illness. Customers perceive the business to be rude, incompetent, exploitative and micromanaged.

The dynamics are obvious to an outsider like me. In short, the values expressed by ownership filter through the employees to the customers.

The businesses that do nothing eventually die - customers simply take their business elsewhere. Those that give lip service and half-hearted corrective measures may extend the funeral by beginning a cycle of boom-or-bust.

Unfortunately most businesses adopt these strategies and never reach their potential. Owners become bitter, employees become bitter and eventually the customers become bitter. More and more effort and resources are required to keep the business operating.

I hate these kinds of businesses. Sure, I can get improvement but the improvement is temporary and as soon as the cashflow crises are averted a comfort zone is attained and the cycle repeats itself. These kinds of businesses never reach a "superior" status and are always struggling to maintain the status quo. Having worked for a number of superior businesses, I have perspective and see the potential. Owners who have insisted on micromanaged exploitation have little perspective and cannot conceptually grasp any other strategy.

When our political and business leaders lie, cheat, mislead and otherwise manipulate we become hardened and willing to accept less. We almost expect employees to be rude. Our standards are lowered and so are our expectations.

In the business world the results are mediocrity and pettiness. A mediocre, petty business can be many things but being successful is not one of them.

In reality the old values have never left us. Concepts like honesty and integrity have been with us since we evolved socially enough to understand what they mean. In the old days, if you cheated your neighbour you met the wrath of a non-sympathetic community. Today the consequences are often settled by "impartial" courts.

Even though the new business markets have changed that does not mean the cherished values of the past have also changed. The old values can provide a competitive advantage that can send a business to the forefront of a market. The paradox is that deception may be easier in the short-term but much more difficult in the long-term. I know. I may hate these kinds of businesses but I make a good living fixing the consequences!

Jack D. Deal

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 07:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Corporate culture is important but it tends to be elusive, corporate culture is loosely defined as the attitudes, behaviours and personalities that make up a company. In other words, it is how we view our work and ourselves. If we accept this general definition, the next thought is: how does it apply?

Through my consulting, articles, web site and radio show, I have been asked the question, 'Yeah, we know what it is - but what does it do?' Fortunately, and unfortunately, I have been an eyewitness to a fascinating case study. My case study involved two similar businesses, about the same size, and in the same industry. Both were struggling financially. Upon my initial analyses, both businesses had good potential and both retained me to help them grow, create wealth and sustain profitability. Both had very similar problems and both had owners that were ego-driven and hard workers. There was never a question in either company of the willingness to work hard. There was, however, a great deal of difference in the results.

After my analysis and employee interviews, I determined that both owners were holding their businesses back. Both owners acknowledged they were a problem in their own companies. The owner of Company A became convinced he was such a problem that, for his business to grow, he paradoxically had to leave it. He turned his decision-making and management over to me. The owner of Company B also acknowledged he was part of the problem, but decided that by working harder, he could overcome the problems he created.

The first thing I did at company A was to fire some minimal employees and hire some better ones. I then turned the company over to them. The absentee owner of Company A expressed his concern at doing this but accepted it. He understood there was no alternative. I walked the managers through some tough decisions and encouraged them. They made mistakes but I made certain the mistakes were small ones and I encouraged them to learn and move on. After several months, some very interesting developments occurred: (a) a fierce company loyalty developed among all employees; (b) they would not let the absentee owner make any decisions; (c) my intervention became less and less necessary - all employees constantly discussed how to improve productivity and deliver more value to the customer; (d) profitability increased to the point that all employees got raises; (e) morale steadily improved; (f) Company A began to gain market share. Company B took a different route. The owner did not want to fire any minimal employees because he had become a friend and "father-figure" to them. The owner began to work longer and longer hours. He began to distrust his best people.

After several months, some interesting developments occurred: (a) the stress level of all employees went up; (b) several key people quit; (c) Company B was not able to attract good employees; (d) employees began to resent the micromanagement style and looked for ways to get back at the company; (e) more and more intervention was necessary on my part to keep the status quo; (f) profitability decreased and customers were lost. Six months later, the results were not surprising. Company A was growing steadily, morale was high and their employees were the highest paid in the industry. Employees enjoyed coming to work and worked very hard. They constantly were looking for ways to improve and look for new customers and markets. Company B downsized and filed for protected bankruptcy. Employees were discouraged and many began looking elsewhere for work. Customers noticed that Company B was in trouble and took their business elsewhere.

These two examples are extremes and I was most fortunate at having the opportunity to carefully examine both. I think about them both quite often and have resolved to make 'corporate culture' an even higher priority in my work. Since people drive a business, corporate culture has become the vehicle to get to the desired destination.

Jack D. Deal

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 02:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The highway out of Chetumal is under construction and one of those new superhighways that is connecting the major points on the peninsula. I wonder why we can’t build such roads in Veracruz, especially since there is only one route down the Gulf Coast. Campeche, Yucatan and Quintana Roo states are very serious about development and the required infrastructure to do it – maybe that’s the answer.

      We pass through poor Maya towns and it is obvious the countryside remains poor. There is some agriculture but not much. We see a few cane fields and a few cattle ranches but eventually the jungle wins again and it is impenetrable and impossible…

      There are a few rolling hills as we go along and it’s certainly not as flat as the Merida – Can Cun route. It’s green and greener and I imagine in 500 years will be populated with German eco-resort zones and Maya communities. Maybe it will only take a 100 years.

      We zip along and I can see the double tractor trailor beer trucks headed to Cancun and Playa del Carmen. Those Germans must drink as much beer as we Mexicans, ha!

      Angelica says it’s finally time we visit some ruins and we pull over at Xpujil. Sometimes I have to give in and admit she is right. Although we didn’t come for the ruins; we can’t go back without seeing some. Such is life. We park and go through the entrance and she asks the ranger if the ruins are worth seeing – as if he will say no. She sometimes says the strangest things…

      We walk down the path and see some of the same trees we have back in Tierra Blanca, but they are thinner and go straight up before they branch out. Such is the jungle. Everything fights for the sun. We see some mounds that have not been excavated and she takes some pictures of me standing by them…I tell her I am going to tell my gullible California friends these are some ruins I discovered while hiking through the jungle. We goof ball Californians will believe anything, ha!

      The ruins are actually nice and well done…not sure how many more ruins we will visit along the way. Except for Palenque. We climb up some very narrow steps in the narrow temple. The Maya were, and are, certainly a short people – am curious about how we will get down. We do it but have to back down…maybe it’s some sort of sacred ritual.

      The odd thing is these ruins were discovered in the late 1930’s by you guessed it, a German archaelogist. Such is life. How the Maya could live so close by in villages and not know these types sites existed is beyond my simple comprehension. They must have been a very provincial people that were very afraid of getting lost in the jungle. The Germans may be afraid of many things but getting lost in the jungle is not one of them…

      We head back onto the highway which begins to curve through some low lying hills. We can see cutoffs to other ruins and even some eco-tourism resorts…the Germans are already here. I should have known and will have to reassess my development estimate…. The countryside is lush and green and supposedly protected…we get out for a stretch but don’t venture far into the bush – once lost it would be hectic!

      About halfway to Escarcega the highway construction begins and it’s clear this will be a major highway route very soon. It must be a faster route to Can Cun than the Campeche - Merida route. We pass through a string of small towns with names like Xbonil and Conhuas – Maya names. And then El Centenario, La Libertad and my favorite – Justicia Social. I didn’t stop to find out how they got their names but it must be an interesting story and a task for the next trip…

      We stop for a bite to eat in Escarcega and can see the construction all around. Because of its strategic location it is set to boom big time here. It is the crossroads to the peninsula. We