Honors

Today is my mother's 74th Birthday. And, while this blog is about my memories of Dad - I just wanted to give a shout out to Mom - Happy Birthday! - You've made the Internet! Mom, Jackie(aunt), Norma (sister), and Donna (cousin) have a "girls lunch out" for Mom's Birthday. My Uncle John and my cousin John(ny) are staying with Dad. Have Fun!

Now - on to the blog.

Dad has received many honors and recognition over his lifetime. This week members of the Wyoming State Board of Education presented him with the Governor's Proclamation of November 16, 2007, honoring Dad's "life work."

http://governor.wy.gov/proclamations/duane-edmonds.html

I want to point out a couple of items of note. While my father has spent many hours related to "education" and "helping young people" this was not his life's work. I have thought about this a lot. His career was as an engineer, manager, executive. His life's work was helping people.

This shows through in the Proclamation, but I wanted to express it directly. Dad willing helps everyone and anyone.

As I stated earlier Dad has received many honors, awards, and recognition of thanks or a job well-done. Many are stacked or stored, and some may have been discarded for all I know.

I have never seen his high school or college diplomas. While they are important - and Dad is a strong believer in education - one award my Dad is proud of and he kept it for many many years. While it is not displayed on a wall, it is one he took the time to scan into his computer - to digitally capture for posterity. It is his Future Farmers of America "Degree of American Farmer" awarded on October 9, 1951.


One award I believe however is Dad's favorite. While I cannot remember exactly when he received it - he kept it for many many years also. The engraved plaque is proudly displayed on the wall of the atrium and is textually redisplayed here:

"World's Greatest Dad"

Craig          Gregory

April 3, 1957     October 14, 1959

- Craig

'73 Ford F250

Last week while I was at Dad's, he wanted Mom and I to drop the pickup off to be repaired. He hit a deer on July 3rd and while the grill was damaged pretty good, the bumper was only slightly bent. There was no other body damage.

However - as we prepared to leave, the truck wouldn't start. No click, no slow turn - nada. Dad taught me a lot about cars. This would be easy. The truck had been sitting for weeks - at least since before he went to Phoenix for treatments. The battery was dead.

I popped the hood. Sure enough, the battery was corroded, the negative cable was smashed and coming through the insulation. I tried to jump it, but nothing. The battery was more than dead.

I ran to the hardware store (Linton's Big R) and picked up a new battery. $71 with tax.

Nada.

It had to be the negative cable - probably shorting out. I took it off and headed the auto parts store - I needed weather stripping and Big R didn't have what I wanted. $15.

Nada.

The positive cable was trashed as well, but this time I got smart and bypassed the cable jumping directly to the solenoid. It didn't work either. The solenoid was shot. Back to the auto parts store. Cable $9. Solenoid $19. I have now spent $114.

Nada.

Call the towing company and billed the insurance. We towed it to the dealership and told them what I had tried. On Friday after Thanksgiving they called and said it was fixed.

It needed a new battery and battery cables - total with labor - $168. "What? I already replaced those!" "Oh yeah," said the dealership, "the ones you replaced were for the trailer towing package back to the camper - not the starter. It is on the other side of the engine compartment."

Sorry Dad - a new battery costs 71 bucks - but this truck is gonna be like new since I spent nearly $300!

- Craig

It Happened Again!!!

Today is Wednesday November 21st. I have been in Wyoming for a few days visiting Dad (and Mom) and have brought the whole family. It has been cold the last couple of days and we had snow in the flatlands. I imagine my Aunt Myrna has had snow "measured in feet" up in the mountains.

Monday however was a beautiful day. It was in the forties meaning it was perfect for working outside. Dad wanted some gnarly log rounds split and stacked for firewood (reference: "Cutting Wood," posted August 26, 2007). We rented a power log splitter - something I don't ever remember having as a kid. I used one once when Julie and I lived in Kent... If I cut my own wood I would own one of these - so much easier than a splitting maul and wedge!

Chad, Julie, and Mom all helped while Amanda made lunch for everyone. At one point a particularly tough log won the battle, snapping a pin on the hydraulic cylinder. I ran into Linton's Big R and got a tractor pin to replace it. Yea! We were back to work.

But the pin snapped again. This time it did not shear cleanly so it did not fall out. I had purchased one a little longer than the original. I rummaged in the garage for a metal chisel and a big hammer. I hit the chisel several times and the pin started to bend. Then it happened. I hit my hand – actually my thumb knuckle closest to the hand – full force. I threw the hammer and proceeded to dance around using choice words from my extended vocabulary (reference: “Hammers and Nails,” posted November 15, 2007).

Dad said “I’ll bet that hurt.” No kidding.

- Craig

Hammers and Nails

Dad taught me to nail. Nailing the old fashion way – with a hammer – as opposed to those fancy air-compression nail guns – a person learns the hard way. You bend nails. Nails shoot out of the board – sometimes they hit you – some times it is inconvenient. You might have to climb down the ladder, or out from under a deck to get another nail. Sometimes you hit a thumb. Actually that occurs more than once. I hit the side of my hand once. That hurt too.

Dad taught me to hold the nails in my mouth. He didn’t specifically say to hold extra nails in your mouth, but when I was young I didn’t have a carpenter’s belt. Reaching into your jeans to pull out nails became problematic.

After a while you get pretty good. I couldn’t make a living nailing like a good roofer or a framer but I don’t bend many in the overall scheme of things – maybe one in 50. I can drive a ten-penny in 3 or 4 hits including the starter tap. Toe-nailing is easy after the first few hundred tries.

Dad was patient. He was frustrated, but he watched, he coached, he demonstrated and he let me learn – the hard way – as a slave.

I worked on the cabin from the foundation to the roof. I helped expand the deck, build a roof over the top. I helped build the shed and I roofed – 3 tab after 3 tab.

By the time I was 12 or 14, I was fairly independent with a hammer and nails. Dad helped me build the 3 decks at my current home, our shed, and the tower and swing set for Amanda and Chad. He helped me take it apart as well – and now my niece Amber and her friends enjoy it.

One time I cut a hole in the wall of our house – framed it for French doors, and installed them. When Julie saw the hole in the wall she asked if I had ever done this before. I said "nope." But, I learned this from my dad. Thanks for the gift Dad!

- Craig

Sick Leave

Many companies provide a benefit called “Sick Leave.” Sometimes it is combined with another benefit labeled “Vacation” creating the newly termed benefit “Personal Days.” Mathematically, Sick Leave + Vacation > Personal Days. Companies which recombine the benefits in themselves have created a benefit for the company.

There was a time when Sick Leave accrued forever. Now companies limit the accrual to 10 days after which accrual stops until an employee takes a sick day.

When Dad and I worked at Boeing, the benefit was unlimited. Accrual never stopped. You received 10 days per year, and if you did not take a “Sick Day” it rolled over into following years. Rolled over Sick Leave was divided into two categories – reserved and unreserved. When you left the company – regardless of circumstance you were given your reserved Sick Leave and if you retired you also received a portion of your unreserved sick time. I don’t think this benefit exists any more – but it was nice when we had it.

Some times I take a “mental illness” day and charge it to Sick Leave. Mental Illness is a confirmed sickness so I think this is okay. However, if a person calls in and says “I am not feeling well” I don’t interpret that as being sick. Am I wrong about that? There are lots of days I come to work “not feeling well.”

One philosophy of managers is to say “if you are not feeling well, stay home – we don’t want you to get everyone sick.” I think, if you are sick, stay home – if you are not feeling well – come in – 4 hours of productivity is better than none… If someone gets sick because of that – they will stay home… Maybe it is not a good philosophy on my part, but I have noted over the many years of management many of the same people “don’t feel well” until their Sick Leave is used up – then they seem to “feel fine” or come into work “sick.” I have also seen many people who never get sick – and generally that in itself is a sickness so I make them take a mental illness day.

My Dad claims he only took one day of Sick Leave in 30 years at Boeing. He had a big “unreserved” and “reserved” check to show for it. Mom, Greg and I all know though that Dad actually took two days of Sick Leave. It had almost no impact on the checks he received upon retirement. This means he went to work “Sick” if for no other reason than being “Mentally Ill” for not taking Sick Leave.

I wonder how many people he infected going to work sick. How do you spell Bubonic Plague?

- Craig

Playing “Army”

Dad watched several “war” shows when I was a kid. “Combat!” was probably his favorite. Years later I watched “The Rat Patrol.”

Greg got an “army” outfit when he was three or four. It consisted of a plastic World War II style helmet, a rubber knife and a green plastic canteen and belt. He wore the helmet cocked to one side like one of the characters on the show. Greg wouldn’t go anywhere without his helmet and canteen – including to the Bon Marche shopping with Mom. I am sure he embarrassed the hell out of Mom, but when push comes to shove a mother sometimes lives with the embarrassment of her children.

Our backyard was mostly grass, but as with any good farmer, he carved out a nice sunny area for a vegetable garden. I mostly only remember the rectangular shape and the location, but I also remember we grew a lot of different things.

Our “army” adventures traversed the neighborhood. As with most boys when we didn’t have a toy gun we used a stick. Rocks made great grenades when pine cones were not available – plus there was little doubt when the grenade struck the target – usually with crying and running home as the key indicator. Greg showed promise as a baseball player when he skillfully placed one grenade between Randy B’s eyes and the blood poured from his nose.

As often happens with boys, we did not keep good track of “our stuff.” Moms know that even adult “boys” can’t find what they are looking for – half or more of the time. Our army gear was frequently scattered about the yard.

One day Leo Montague, my dad’s friend and boss at Boeing at the time, was looking for a new International pickup. Dad dragged his two young boys with Leo to car dealers looking for the right deal.

That summer day was particularly hot. Cars generally did not come with air conditioning beyond a good crank window and the hot air blowing on our faces was little relief from the trudging from dealership to dealership.

Fortunately early that Saturday morning, Greg had thought to grab his canteen. While I don’t recall the exact search tactics he used – a crisscross grid pattern or “where were you when you last had it?” (Also known as the Mother Shortcut – Moms usually know where you left something because they’ve bugged you to pick it up). But Greg found his green plastic canteen lying in our vegetable garden, quickly filling it up with the outdoor faucet before we left on our adventure.

The kid was obviously smarter than he looked because the canteen of water was a lifesaver that day. We strolled the hot parking lots of cars, all four of us drinking sips, quenching our parched throats. We toughed out the desert heat of North Africa – rationing our water supply to the last drop – until the small banana slug made it to the canteen opening. We looked at each other with shock, knowing full well we all had consumed from the canteen. I don’t recall who won the prize that day, I am sure my brother does.

- Craig

Crossing the Bar

My brother reminded me of (via a comment to August 21, 2007 posting: Birthdays) a special event I remember as “Crossing the Bar.” While I have gone to great pains to carefully title this posting, some people may believe it is related to “21st” birthdays. This simply is not so. Such a posting would have been titled “Waking Up Under the Bar,” or “The Birthday I Can’t Remember.” This story does contain “puking” as Greg aptly stated – however it does not include “porcelain gods,” bathtubs, cold showers or bathroom floors – all of which relate to the “other” stories.

For my twelfth birthday I wanted to go salmon fishing. My dad would leave on an adventure and return with huge fish. In western Washington, the trout we caught would be considered bait for the salmon. On a side note, the minimum “keeper” size for salmon is about the size of a good-size trout in Wyoming. Some times you need to stretch the salmon to meet the 20 inch minimum. This is accomplished with a small wooden club to flatten the salmon, gaining that extra quarter to one-half inch. (Dad taught me that I think!)

The big day arrived in 1969 when I got my gift – to fish for the big one. This particular day my dad, Chuck W., Gail B., and I went to Illwaco. West Port where we generally left for salmon was solidly booked. Illwaco is much further south, on the north shore of the mouth of the Columbia River. The confluence of a river and an ocean creates a maelstrom of water (big words even for me!). The pushing of two bodies of water can create huge swells. This occurs at the “bar” – the point where silt from the river is deposited into the ocean, creating a shallow area and turbulent waters – particularly at high tide.

The day was gloomy but not raining. The four of us and two others, plus the captain and deck hand filled out the forty foot fishing boat. While I had been fishing for many years (about ten by this time) I was a little unprepared for this day.

My dad taught me to bet on fishing – first, most, and biggest… We bet a quarter on each – 75 cents were at risk! I had to perform!

Salmon fishing is a circle – least that day was. Watch the deck hand bait the hook, let the line out, puke, sleep, reel in a fish, watch the deck hand bait the hook, let the line out, puke…

Fishing was particularly bad that day. Only four fish were caught on the entire boat. I netted $2.25. Every fish landed – were landed by me. I overcame severe seasickness, 7-UP, beer, sleep, huge swells, WD-40 and anise on the bait… everything, and we never crossed the bar.

- Craig