Yours truly has just descended from 8,000 feet to 5280 in his snappy new Lesbaru. That politically incorrect appellation for my vehicle of choice is the result of the penchant of women in Colorado who like women for driving an Outback. I also like women so I can’t be far off. Pass the granola while I put on my Birkenstocks.

I was in Vail to visit my crazy nephew and his family. We played golf with a gentleman from Florida. That is the only time “gentleman” has been mentioned in the same sentence with Paul and me. It takes a Flatlander to remind us of just how gorgeous our mountains are. We too often take the vistas for granted. Not today.

I have made the Vail drive hundreds of times and every bend and yaw is second nature. For two hours each way it is just a time to sit back and let a thing called reverie take over. I actually listened to NPR on the way up and as usual I learned plenty from this sick bastion of liberalism! Not! Sorry kids. This is a rarity of tax dollars well spent.

They played a repeat of an interview with Charlie Rose and Sir Ken Robinson. They discussed creativity and the good possibility our educational system is stifling it to death. We have placed a premium on being correct as opposed to taking chances. Testing ad nauseam, we gauge knowledge on percentages and not expanded brainpower. Point being if you don’t experiment you don’t learn.
More fascinating was a comment the guest made about how improbable resumes are. He wanted to be a soccer player in college. As I wended my way through the vast landscapes of the Gore Range I dwelled on who would have thunk this kid from Long Island would be here today. The twists and turns of Cripple Creek were truly a metaphor. Flowing smoothly in spots and hung up on rapids and rock crags in others they aptly describe my curriculum vitae. I hope yours has been as intriguing.

I have had a marvelous few days. I have not read a newspaper or tuned in Fox or CNN. Eavesdropping and Syria have taken a back seat. Saturday I sang in the choir with a might of a man named Kevin. His basso profundo dwarfed my baritone but he was an incredibly gentle man. We talked of fatherhood and simplicity. I am new at this joint sing performance and I make mistakes. But like any other good family they pick me up, dust me off and say hang in there. Good stuff.

Father’s Day started with breakfast shared with my daughter Lindsey where we just spent time together in a world caught up by kids and errands. The food and the commentary were smooth and sweet. Golf with my son soon followed. His once or twice yearly outing to the links yielded a smooth 78 proving once again heredity plays no part in his wonderful skills. A drink with Megan and a family dinner just validated what a lucky person I am.

I have done my “Hi, how are you?” gig today. I chatted with the barristas at Starbucks in Vail. I went beyond a hit and run meeting with a convenience store clerk in Frisco. Turns out he was from Uzbekhistan. Talk about an improbable resume? I just want to take a little time to tell people they are an important part of the world we live in and mine in particular. I counted up all the encounters today and you know it wasted a grand total of 9 minutes of my incredibly valuable time. What the hell was I thinking?

The only negative of my wandering has been an inordinate amount of roadkill. It’s spring and I guess the leaves on the trees mark the time when love is in the air. Why else would a buck or elk take on a 40 foot semi? I guess love is blind. Actually a momma goose was herding her flock across the interstate. By some stroke of luck or timing the cars and Winnebagos slowed down enough to ensure a safe passage. I wonder if that would have happened on the Long Island Expressway?

I have to go. I am spending my afternoon with two of my grandsons. They want Padge to do a cannon ball off the diving board and I may just be mellow enough to do it. Kathy and I are going the Denver Botanical Gardens tonight to watch Tony Bennett in a small outdoor amphitheater. I will raise a glass of red to all of you. You are so good to be close and take a few moments to read my musings. Luck plays such an important part in our lives but let’s hope a little goodness has something to do with it. Pax.

As always
Ted the Great
Factoids:
Sunrises and sunsets in the mountains take place in stages. First there is the wisp of sunlight on distant peaks that gradually broadens as the minutes pass eventually engulfing the entire hillside. Replay that same scenario in reverse in the evening until the last shaft of light hits the top of that hill.

Mountains and rivers actually laugh. They have seen man’s act over thousands of years and are constantly amazed we haven’t learned more in all these millennia.

The winter snow of Vail melts and feeds the Colorado River which in turn feeds millions in Nevada, Utah and California on its trip to Mexico.

According to Department of Labor statistics the average American will totally change careers 4- 5 times but 7 is not out of the question. For once I am above average.

In 1970 Kathy Williamson and Ted Kenny, then engaged stood on a hill in San Francisco the night before we said good bye before my time in Viet Nam. After far too many drinks we sang I Am Coming Home to You San Francisco. We did and sang it again tonight 43 years later.

You’ve heard it hundreds of times. Sometimes from a friend or parent figure. Sometimes from a con man who has some sort of stupid enticing siren call. As a babe you have to trust. As a teen you want to trust or maybe that is the beginning of mistrust. You know anyone over 25 is suspect. As you get older you just shake your head.

I am a trusting soul and more than once it has proven my downfall. I am not by nature paranoid. I think all people are basically good. It is not naivete but rather a way I choose to live my life. I don’t often lock doors. I don’t like looking over my shoulder. Sometimes I just don’t see it coming.

I am wary of government. Not in a Big Brother sort of way but just seeing the comedy of errors or malfeasance that tells me it is too big for anyone to tame. When the Department of Defense says they could have anywhere between 1-5 million subcontractors and not be sure, my eyes roll. When the IRS spends $40 million on meetings during a disastrous few years in our economic history faith goes out the window. Forget about targeting the Tea Party. These people are idiots.Can’t trust them.

But even further we had Clinton who didn’t have sex. Rummy and Cheney swore there were WMD’s and they even knew where they were hidden. PAC man. PAC money. The fact they gave $1mill to my campaign has no bearing whatsoever on my vote. JFK’s morals. Nixon’s tirades. FDR’s IRS targeting. J Edgar Hoover. Need I say more. Can’t trust this crowd either.

Let’s talk money. Dick Dietz was the president of the Chatham Trust back in New Jersey. We played tennis together and he held my mortgage as well as my savings. Now the banks collude to fix the Libor rate. JP Morgan Chase gets nailed and pays a fine for rigging bids. HSBC launders money and says with a straight face when a used car salesman deposits $25 million in sequential travelers checks in a small branch that they had no idea. They almost bankrupted the country but nobody pays with their freedom. Still no trust.

Doctors? They bill Medicare for services unrendered. Watch the HMA on 60 Minutes. Emergency medics are given percentage quotas to hit for admissions, necessary or not. Gotta keep those beds full. Pill mills? Why not. It makes perfect sense to have 25 specialists seeing a 93 year old woman with stage IV cancer. Ugh! Still looking.

There is $80 billion in Medicare fraud annually. Millions in Social Security checks to people already dead and buried. Disability claims are paid after a doc says that person can’t do their old job. Not a new one just the old one. And the game is played by pros and Joe Average Americans alike. The guy next door taking cash or paying it.
All part of the game.

Enough of this I am just going to watch a baseball game or maybe a bicycle race. Lance Armstrong beat cancer and all his competitors. What? You mean he had help. He swore for ten years he had nothing to do with it. Ditto McGwire, Sosa, ARod, Bonds et alia. Scratch the national pastime.

I’ll just pay attention to today’s youth and their schooling. Wait. You mean they graduate from class to class not knowing how to read at grade level? How does that happen? Don’t they leave anybody back? Oh yeah, now I remember the teachers in Atlanta got together over pizza and beer and changed test results. Man I feel better already. Where do I turn?

Now I am sorry but I have a few questions for all of us. As a country and as a world are we seeing the graying of the lines of morality? C’mon TTG don’t be such a party pooper. You know everyone is doing it. You have to in order to remain competitive. What’s a little cash or fooling around between friends. Don’t be so hard on the kids. They are just finding their way in the world in their teens, well maybe twenties. Thirties? Forties? I guess it depends on what the definition of “Is is.”

My main question is do we give passes because it is just easier to wink and look the other way? Or maybe it just makes us feel less guilty of our own transgressions. I know I have enough of my own and a pass here or there is just what the doctor ordered. Or in the long run are we just kidding ourselves?

I get the sneaky suspicion that somewhere along the line we are really going to have to pay the piper. Fess up and pay up. Sooner or later trust erodes to the point where you really don’t know who to place our hopes and dreams in. My apologies to you secularists and atheists but I have a feeling In God We Trust is the only option we may have. Not a bad one after all.

As always
Ted The Great

Factoids:
The government has revoked the ability of 14,663 providers and suppliers to bill Medicare over the past two years focused on providers in areas that have historically high levels of fraud, such as durable medical equipment, home health care and ambulance services.

California resident Rand Washburn was charged by the San Diego County district attorney with cashing in on more than $300,000 in Social Security checks that were sent to his mother for about 15 years after she died. After burying her body in the backyard, he failed to report her death to authorities, according to the DA’s office.

The term white-collar crime was coined in 1939 by Edwin Sutherland, who defined it as a “crime committed by a person of respectability and high social status in the course of his occupation”. White-collar crime is similar to corporate crime as white-collar employees are more likely to commit fraud, bribery, Ponzi schemes, insider trading, embezzlement, cybercrime, copyright infringement, money laundering, identity theft, and forgery.

As of 2010, undergound economy in the United States alone was estimated to account for over $2 trillion US Dollars (USD) per year in unreported cash holdings.That’s right your taking or paying cash is just part of it. It has also been estimated that up to 80% of all US $100 dollar bills printed every year end up overseas within weeks of their circulation. The underground economy supports any number of overseas operations, including covert wars, raw drug production, and human slavery rings. All of these illegal activities require an abundant amount of untraceable cash, preferably from a strong government with a stable legitimate economy. Money laundering? Just our biggest banks filling a void in services.

The number of deaths annually from medical errors could be as high as 100,000. These errors probably cost in excess of $35 billion annually. As many as 50 million prescriptions annually may be improperly filled. I think I am going holistic or was it ballistic?

Trust in me.

Right: noun…“a just claim whether legal, prescriptive or moral.” You know me when I need clarity I go to the dictionary. Definition by itself gives one a sense of understanding and empowerment. I need both. But then lo and behold I have opened Pandora’s Box because you can have a noun, verb, adjective or adverb.

Wait a minute TTG, that’s confusing. Not only that but the word can have so many different meanings. I am caught by the notion that we flip around terms without really knowing the intricacies and subtleties of language. Don’t want the facts to get in the way of a good story.

I have opined before on Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness but as I go through my notes I did not see anywhere that I owed you a good life or a prosperous life. I don’t owe you an education. But as a practical matter we should at least provide people with basics but then they should choose what is right for them.

But the word utilitarian now creeps in. Sure it would be wonderful if everyone had a college degree but who will take care of cars and plumbing and electricity? But then again that guy makes $80 an hour and I have been waiting for three days for him to call me back for a broken pipe. At this point I have to ask what is WRONG with this picture.

Now I also don’t owe you the latest and greatest in healthcare. It’s nice that we have surgeries that can replace most any old body part that failed due to misuse or old age but is that a right? We bring you in after a drinking binge or jumping off a cliff because you thought it was cool. It costs a lot of money to get you right but is that right?

You have the right to an attorney if you rob a bank or blow up a marathon. If you can’t afford one we will pay for it. And for any ensuing discovery or appeals that may go on we will pick up the tab. If you go to jail we will make sure you are comfortable with a TV, three squares and a place to worship no matter who or what that god is. Many people worship the god of material things so I guess we should have a Walmart annex in every jail. It’s their right.

I elect you whether you are right or left. Wait a minute I object to this left business. I am left handed and in tennis my style is called the Sinister Game. Is that right? But I digress. I know some will say the appellation of Republicans as “The Right” is God given but I think then you are downright out of your mind.

If I put you in power I should also have the right to oust you. I usually can wait until the next voting cycle but sometimes I want you out pronto. I can impeach you but that just bogs down the wheels of government more than ever. Besides who is the final arbiter of right and wrong? The Congress? That is downright foolhardy.

Okay before I let your and my head spin out of control let’s cut to the chase. I believe that you are entitled(watch that word) to have a roof over your head in the name of shelter. But it is not mandatory that it be 2000SF plus or that everyone room have a bathroom. I think no one in this country should go to bed or get up hungry. Of course for a lot of us hungry has a wide definition. If we provide these two we have done our institutional part.

That’s it? Look if a town decides it is in the best interest of the evirons to build a school and staff it that is good. If it wants to build a medical center or hospital to care for its citizens it should do so. If it wants to widen a highway or build an interchange for the interstate they should do so. Yes, we need police and fire protection as well as a standing army or navy but we don’t have to inflate those numbers through redundancy and unnecessary staff. We can’t mandate that every story has a happy ending.

The real crux to me is that every right has a responsibility. If you are a parent you need to teach your children well. If you are a boss you can’t take every last nickel for your self and fire with impunity. If you write you must be sure you have your facts straight. If you drive roads, drink water and flush your toilet you must pay for that.

If you are elected to office you must put the best interests of the country before your own career path. If you are trusted as a healer of body or a healer of soul you must safeguard that belief in you. I guess what it comes down to is it really isn’t about my rights but what is right for all of us.

We are all in the same boat and I only hope we have the decency to hold out an oar to a drowning person. A doctor should heal before checking your pay stub. I pray that we really figure out that we should make the pie bigger rather than our own particular piece of it. But if you don’t and choose to feather your own nest then that is also your right however wrong that may seem to me.

The neatest definition of right I found was as a verb “to restore to an orderly healthy state or condition.” No matter how far off course our ship gets we can always change that course to the right direction. If it capsizes it can still be righted. But it does require all hands on deck. Ok. Enough of this righteousness. I’m outta of here and I just hope I make the right decision on what‘s next.

As always
Ted The Great

Factoids:

There are ten articles in the Bill of Rights with seventeen amendments thereafter. They really set the tone of our personality as a country. Freedom.

Synonyms for right: equitable, fair, honest, accurate, integrity, appropriate.
Antonyms…just one. WRONG

Idioms:
Right between the eyes
Your heart is in the right place
Turn out all right
Head screwed on right.

An entitlement is a guarantee of access to benefits based on established rights or by legislation. A “right” is itself an entitlement associated with a moral or social principle, such that an “entitlement” is a provision made in accordance with legal framework of a society. I could spend a couple “Heads” on that note. I’ll spare you for now but do think about it.

Tornadoes in Oklahoma. Reopening Seaside Heights after the rage of Hurricane Sandy. Floods. Volcanoes erupting. Are things terribly out of whack or proceeding normally? Is there rhythm and symmetry in life or are we meant to live in chaos or fear thereof? That’s the subject of much deliberation right now.

Leonardo felt there was a balance to everything and I am not sure he was wrong. I have to go to Mother Nature. What we perceive as upheaval or disaster is to my mind just this big blue marble getting the kinks out. Or maybe it is just trying to rebalance what we geniuses tend to screw up in the name of progress.

There is a food chain which amply provides all living things an adequate source of chow in all forms. Sure the little guy eventually gets eaten by the dominant species but it all evens out. We are the only phylum that eats or kills itself. We call that a higher form of rational being.

As for humans, the evidence of balance is right there from the get go. The baby’s first steps are fraught with grins and a bit of thanks they are so low to the ground after the inevitable crash to earth. We speak of stroke victims who have to learn to walk all over again. Our battered and maimed warriors have to struggle to balance their broken bodies and minds alike.

Which brings me to another aspect. The thing between your ears. When we fly into a rage over being cut off in traffic that is losing balance. We figure that if you are a mass murderer you are unbalanced no matter how intricate your planning. We want you to undergo therapy and take drugs. We have no idea how slim that line in the sand that determines sanity as defined by so called  experts.

Markets are a great example of balance. The law of supply and demand is supposed to even everything out. But you know that is not good enough. We have to tinker. We keep our finger on the scale while weighing. Hoard and hold back for profit. Inject trading systems that react in nanoseconds to the mere mention of a scary word in the blogosphere.

The Walmarts and Costcos say their way of providing product is efficient and fair. And they are probably right. But I think they have also upset a very fragile balance of hometowns and local commerce all over America and the world beyond. I have to ask if Apple sheltering billions overseas is in or out of whack? Oh that’s right everyone else is doing it. Shareholder value you know.

There are warning signs everywhere. An overloaded and oversized truck was out of balance and hit a girder on a bridge across the Skagit River. Everything on that span’s assembly was dependent on the other pieces to stay intact. Interesting thought. An out dated design we say. Yet we pronounce that we should not touch the Federal gas tax that hasn’t changed since 1992 and the coffers for correction are empty.

We have a Defense Department that is so huge and complex former Secretary Gates says there is no way to get to the bottom to try and fix it. Yet we keep funding in the name of national security. We have a healthcare system that will vary charges two to three times the base price for the same procedure. That’s okay. That is just for the uninsured. Medicare and HMO’s get a much better price.

Our Legislative and Executive departments put through a sequestration program that was so heinous that nobody could survive under it. Yet the populace seems to have survived so far. The markets are up and even the annual deficit is falling. They are now spending all their time investigating and holding hearings at the expense of the affairs of state. Please tell me if I am delusional or is this seriously awry?

We overeat and overdrink. We have gone from normal portions to supersizes. That has caused us to recalibrate the size on clothing to XXXXL. We start partying at ten rather than being home by midnight. And then we exercise and diet like maniacs to bring it all back into norms. But what the hell are those standards?

On balance(sorry I couldn’t resist) I think we have lost our equilibrium. We are stressed out at home and at work. We worry about finances. We worry about college and our place in society. Our companies are too big to fail. Our armed forces are spread so thin to the breaking point. Like a machine that is about to burst cylinders from going too far too fast we need some time in the shop.

The good news is that the Ferrari can be rebuilt, tuned up and repainted. Same chassis, just some new parts after some serious and candid diagnostics. That is if we adjust the steering mechanism before it hit’s a wall at 160 mph. Balancing acts are old hat if you are a Wallenda. The rest of us really have to learn and put in some serious practice time. I’ll help man the net.

As always

Ted The Great

Factoids:

Over the course of our lifetimes fully 50% of us will suffer from some sort of mental illness. Depression. Paranoia. Reading this blog. Sorry about that.

Nik Wallenda walked on a tightrope 1800’ spanning Niagara Falls which roared 200’ below. ABC made him wear a tether which he felt hampered him.

Bigmen.com and the Big Men’s/Stout Men’s Shop is the nation’s oldest and premier Big and Tall clothing store. Their waist sizes range from 32 to 88, shirt sizes from Small to 12XBig as well as MediumTall to 12XtraLargeTall, and shoes/sneakers/boots from 8 to 20

A

new report from Transportation for America shows that there are more than 70,000 structurally deficient bridges in the United States, which the federal government defines as needing substantial repair or outright replacement. More than 18,000 of these structurally deficient bridges are concentrated in large metropolitan areas, and account for three-quarters of all bridge crossings on any given day. That’s about 210 million cars crossing damaged bridges in the country’s biggest cities every day. Accidents waiting to happen.

As I look around at our world today we have more than our share of things to be fixed. Do you want to view them as problems or opportunities? Good question. We define ourselves as conservatives or progressives and that is supposed to steer our ship. But I think it goes way beyond that.

Whenever I get knee deep in things complex I always find my way back to Leonardo DaVinci. He was the master of thought and innovation. I have espoused on more than one occasion about his seven thought processes which have been cataloged by Michael Gelb. The two that spring to mind are Curiositae and Sensazione.

We have to take time to solve a problem by defining it in pretty good detail. Leonardo would look at something from three totally different directions. That’s his Curiositae. He didn’t go to the bookcase and whip out Solution#3 which he had learned at Harvard Business School. He laid out statements and parameters of what he was trying to accomplish.

To be successful you have to look beyond barriers and biases. We are not God’s gift to the music world or any other discipline. We have to look around us to be sure. How many times have you heard “This is the way we have always done it” or even worse “That will never work” before the idea is halfway out of your mouth. Negativity has no place in innovation. You have to want to learn from others. Curious ,we must be.

Sensazione is the tuning up of our five senses. People say they can’t visualize a set of plans. Is that because they really can’t or they refuse to open their eyes and press their envelopes? Hearing goes beyond great music but also challenges us to truly hear what is going on around us. We then take it in and study it. Contemplate on it. Not to look for the first opportunity to knock it down but see if it really has legs.

Our sense of taste let’s us try new things or do you dismiss them out of hand? “I would never eat that crap.” “I only drink white wine or red.” Hmm, I guess you are really open to my next thought. The sense of smell gets to our emotions. Garlic. Spices. Beautiful flowers. I don’t know about you but my brain lights up in about nine different directions. I get wound. I guess that is the manic side of my illness. Ha! Ha!

We have made remarkable strides in medicine but we still maintain a reactive rather than proactive stance. We don’t reward good behavior but in a perverse way do so for bad behavior. Go ahead and eat or drink your brains out and we will heal you. We really have to approach this in a different way but can the healthcare industry come kicking and screaming into the 21st century?

Schools, taxes, global warming, entitlements, farm subsidies, the size of government itself. All need breaths of fresh air. Totally new approaches. Ah yes TTG we will once again bring up that thing called compromise. But it all begins with seeing what is possible rather than predicting downfall.

Think back to Bell and Edison. These were true geniuses. Who today do we equate with Einstein? This may sound like a stretch but I think not. Our body politic is a reflection of who we are. We have all gone to our respective corners and will die on our swords. My way or the highway. As a people we are not creative. Innovation is a better vacuum or thinkpad or tablet. Stuff. Right now we need a lot more than a better driver or putter.

We need to address water and energy as resources to be managed. We need to find more food. We have depleted our oceans. Global warming is here whether you like it or not. We have to figure out how the hell we are going to live with one another. We shouldn’t be worrying about how we are going to finance the takeover of Sprint but how can we nurture entrepeneurship and true invention.

I actually feel all our consolidation has been deleterious. We have fewer of everything from banks to airlines. In these vast bureaucracies whether they are business or government the innovators die. Their seniors either feel threatened or deaf. Just want to get through and not create something dynamic.

As fewer and fewer manage greater numbers we become just part of the crowd. We need to see life as an exciting prospect and frontier. Not something to be endured. The old crowd doesn’t want to rock the boat or change their lives. The young look at things cynically and see no point in participation. If they do it is provincial in their town or burgh but not the nation as a whole.

We need Leonardo. He could invent things no one had even thought of before. We need to delve into our wonderful brains and find some pearl that just might make life a whole lot better. We need new approaches and a case of TNT for our staid thinking. We need Curiositae and Sensazione. I’m buying.

As Always
Ted The Great

Factoids:
Michael Gelb…How to Think Like Leonardo DaVinci
The Da Vinci principles are:
Curiosità – An insatiable quest for knowledge and continuous improvement
Dimostrazione – Learning from experience
Sensazione – Sharpening the senses
Sfumato – Managing ambiguity and change
Arte/Scienza – Whole-brain thinking
Corporalità – Body-mind fitness
Connessione – Systems thinking
Some friends taught it as a course in high school

Da Vinci Inventions to name a few…all in the late 1400’s
Scuba Gear
Helicopter
Parachute
Revolving Bridge

Super Freakonomics a fabulous book with tons of innovation and creativity. A totally new way at looking at the simplest of things.
Featured is a company call Intellectual Ventures which dreams up off the wall solutions to everyday problems.

I made my way to San Diego last weekend. The town bleeds Navy and we gave it one more reason to do so. There was the reunion of the Swift Boat Sailors Association. The attendance of some 250 plus was amazing in that over a five year period from 1965-1970 there were only a few thousand who had received the title of Swift Boaters. The few and the proud does not only belong to the Marines.

It was my first time at such festivities. I made sure friends and family had their phones on for my collect call from jail. Nolo Contendere. Most were in bed early. The fact most brought their wives was a testament to advanced years or maybe everyone had gotten used to short leashes. They made up for it in enthusiasm.

A Swift Boat is a 50’ gun boat. It has a ¼ aluminum hull and a lot of firepower. It had a captain and a crew of 5 or 6 depending on how the draft and the rest of the war was going. We made do with extra flak jackets hanging over the rails for a little more protection. Probably a little more psychological than practical.

We were all pretty irreverent which you know is my style. But the overall persona was wrapped tightly in a thing called camaraderie. “I’ve got your back” was standard issue. But there was something far deeper that was somewhere between PT 109 and McHale’s Navy. No pomp. No circumstance. Just get it done.

I love the sea and was proud to be in the Navy. But for so many of those guys it is their day in the sun. It has defined who they are. They were resplendent in jackets, shirts and old river greens festooned with this patch or that. A few were in full dress and there is nothing cooler than Navy Dress Whites. Women beware. Well, it used to be that way.

As I wandered around the pool or hospitality room I could hear them telling of this firefight or that. Scary rivers and canals with nicknames like “Rocket Alley.” They reveled in the earsplitting cacophony of twin 50’s pumping out a gazillion rounds of hot lead per minute. Or at least it seemed that way. Time has a way of embellishing. Some say they should move on. To me it was oral history. A bit of folk lore. Who cares? It was fun to hear.

It was as if I was watching a movie where at least I had been on the set. I didn’t remember the hull numbers or the names of this river or that. I did remember the fellow skippers who I had not seen in some forty odd years. We seemed to bring up high jinks more than anything else and that was good. To each his own.

For most they have weathered the storm nicely. They had gotten married. Some had kids. Some had become famous in their own right. Most had pursued dreams. All were very human. No hot dogs here. Time had taken its toll but not in a bad way.

There were two things that struck me the most. The first was the ease of communication. To not see someone for 40 some odd years and be able to pick up where we left off in a matter of moments is a marvel of human interaction. There were no jaw dropping revelations. Some waxed philosophically about things like war and life. Neat but not gaudy as I like to say.

The second was more material. There are very few Swift Boats in captivity. The association found one. Where else but Malta? It seems we gave it to the Maltese Navy and they were about to give it up for the scrap heap. Somewhat battered and beaten they took her on ocean going freighters and through miles of government red tape to the Maritime Museum in San Diego.

The boys didn’t stop there. The “Dirty Boat Crew” sanded, filled, painted and rebuilt the engines. All retirees. All for free. There was one fellow who completely rewired the boat. He and his wife lived in Yuma AZ but had been living in motels for a month on their own nickel to get the job done in time.

The before and after pictures are a marvel. The boat? Gorgeous. We all took rides but the best part of all was when they started the engines. They were deep and throaty and the vibration on an aluminum hull came right up through your shoes. It was a feeling out of the past and one a Swiftie can never forget. At least this one won’t.

To my Band of Brothers I say thank you for letting me come back. You all looked great as Navy men do. Thanks also for the persistence in keeping the story going. So many of you busted your butts to do so. Go down to the wharf and think of all things good and bad. Savor the memories and forget the bad stuff. Life is good. Fair winds and following seas to you my friends.

As always
Ted The Great

Factoids:

PCF: Patrol Craft Fast. (Swift Boat) Length 51’. beam 13’7”.
Displacing 17.5 tons light. 22.2 tons loaded.
Power: 2 Gray Marine diesel engines.
Top speed 30-35 knots depending on your engineman

Armament: Forward: Twin 50 Caliber machine guns mounted in a gun tub atop of the pilot house.
Aft: Over Under Weapon with a 50 Caliber machine gun atop
an 81 Millimeter mortar. The strongest guy on board manned this one.
Various other weaponry consisting of officially M60 machine guns, grenades and M79 grenade launchers. Unofficially the strangest collection of sidearms, Uzi’s and AK 47‘s you would ever see. Go for it. Whatever made you happy.

We carried mortar rounds and enough ammunition to do considerable damage. The total cost was around $20,000 in 1970. We used to describe emptying out the various ammo lockers as “shooting up a Cadillac,” which was the going rate for a DeVille back then.

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http://www.swiftboats.net

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Hear Ye, Hear Ye….

Let me start by saying you can call off the suicide watches for yours truly. I am doing just great. As a matter of fact even better after all your wonderful responses to “You’ll Never Know” last week. Ted’s Head has never created such a firestorm of sorts and that was beyond interesting.

The ego in me says, “Wow, some of you got it.” Then the arrogance of such a comment brought me back to earth. Who the hell am I to say whether you got it? Guess what? Maybe I didn’t put it very well. For the moment I want to dwell on the process. A thing called communication.

We bombard and are bombarded by various messages all day long. They can be verbal, written, or non verbal such as eye contact or body language. They float somewhere in the spectrum and then are received by one of us. Whether we are genuinely receptive is another story.

We create barriers of some sort or let’s for the moment call them filters. First of all is the source. Whether it is writer or speaker we have something more than ambivalence towards them. We have some sort of gut feeling either positive or negative. For me it’s whether it’s Sandra Bullock or Nancy Pelosi doing the talking? Peyton Manning or Donald Trump? Duh!

Then if you are talking about something I know or believe in you are on the mainline to my brain. If not, I am starting to shut down. Positives get put in the cranial cavity for future reference and cons hit the circular file. I may respond for further clarification and then take appropriate action. Next.

It is actually very cool this happens probably hundreds if not thousands of times a day. Sender, message, recipient. Simple and yet so complex. To me the growing process involves trying to catch as many of these vibes as possible. Sure I will chuck some but I at least want to take a good look to see if they hold some degree of water. That’s probably not the norm.

If I am hard left or right I can’t let anything get past my fire wall of defense. I have worked hard to get to my position of the last thirty years. Don’t want any free thinker screwing up a good thing. I am comfy and don’t need any other noise in my life. I can’t say I blame you. Takes a lot of hard work to buck the tide.

On the other hand I dare any of you to sit down and listen to Rush Limbaugh and Rachel Maddow for a bit. Separately of course. See if there are not two or three things they say in the course that make sense? Abortion? Guns? Economic theory? Not all ideas but at least something where you can say I agree. A starting point. But we don’t want to give even an inch. Can’t show any weakness…except of course in our thought process.

I am so struck by the road ahead and our response to the bends and curves. We have got to rethink so many aspects of our country and our lives. We have to have debates but they should be enlightening not divisive. We have got to utter the word that so many find impossible. COMPROMISE. And that means being able to put our radio on receive as well as transmit.

I work my ass off trying to do it. It ain’t easy. I labor through Charles Krauthammer as well as Maureen Dowd but in the end it is invigorating. The only way I can get my juices going is to think of new things. I have to take a problem and try to dream up some way to fix it. I don’t think I am anything special.

To me one of the greatest triumphs and at the same time failure of our body politic is Simpson Bolles. Here was a bipartisan commission that came up with a blueprint to get us out of our financial morass. It was presented two and a half years ago at the behest of Obama. It was shelved by him and the Congress because they could not stand the thought of giving up sacred cows. Ditto Immigration. Ditto gun control.

If each one of us were to concentrate on the task at hand we could accomplish some scary things. If we could hear disparate views and really try to think them through. If we could taste different foods, different ideas, different genres and just savor them for a moment before spitting them out. The worst sin is not to even taste them at all.

If we would just communicate and throw out the filters, the preconceived notions and prejudice we could make some really sweet music. This is not just a feel good concept. Maybe not my future but my kid’s and grandkid’s is in jeopardy and wasting that well being is not an option to me.

As always,

Ted The Great

Factoids:

Over 25 of you responded to last weeks epistle. I actually had written it a couple of months ago. Some of you were concerned for my well being including my sister and I thank you. Some of you read it a couple of times and couldn’t figure out what I was saying. One of you wrote back and asked if I had cancer. I don’t. Someone said they read it in the morning and after the fourth or fifth paragraph they wanted a drink. Kathy said it was really dark. Some had some deep insights and they caused me to pause. Most of you just read and wondered. I guess that’s what this is all about.

You’ll never know how much I hurt. My muscles, my bones ravaged by an unspeakable pain. It screams when I turn. It sends mind numbing shots even when I breathe. The cancer eats at every part of me with unrelenting vigor. How much longer? How much further? You’ll never know.

You’ll never know the loss of a child. The emptiness. The hopelessness. Dreams unfulfilled. People never met. Such a sweet young thing. So precious. So vulnerable. That bastard that started her down the road to ruin. Hell would be too good for him.

You’ll never know the abuse I endure. I answer your phone. I get your coffee. I smile for clients because I need this job so badly. Only to go home and face the gauntlet. The onslaught of brute strength that I used to crave. The vitriol of his drunken stupor has replaced words of love. You’ll never know.

You’ll never know the ache in my heart as I drive down the street of dreams. That love nest that we worked so hard for. Room to grow. The papering. The painting. The place of joy. Now it is all gone as we look forward to nothing but despair and unknown. You’ll never know.

You’ll never know this stranglehold of depression. The world is so bright on the outside and bleak on the inside. I crave sleep to let this horror go. I just want so bad to be so normal. I want to stop crying. I want to be me again. You’ll never know.

You’ll never know the vise of dependency. The booze. The drugs. The wandering of the streets looking for sex. The refrigerator and pantry that beckon like a siren. You call me weak. You tell me to shape up. You want to step on me when I need so much for you to just hold me. You’ll never know.

You’ll never know how cold it gets. The tricks of the trade. What keeps you warmer. Metal or cardboard. I can sleep with one eye open so I don’t get my last worldly possession ripped off. Alcohol can be found in everything from cough syrup to anti freeze. Tomorrow? Maybe. But if it never comes no one will ever know.

You are so flip. So glib. You have all the answers or so you think. You don’t know how to even ask the right questions. You have grown cold. Aloof. It’s all about you. You are right I need to get a life. My own. But maybe you need one too. You’ll never know .

You couldn’t know because you never look beyond your own world. It’s not about rich. It’s not about poor. No matter your lot in life. You are so brazen to think the world rises and sets on your doorstep. It’s so easy being you. So horrible to be me. You’ll never know.

Life is a spread sheet to you. An algorithm. Solve for X. Prove for Y. There are assets and liabilities. Return on investment and equity. There are no poets or musicians or teachers in your life. Just bottom lines and basis not basses and soulful lines. You think you have so much. You really have so little.

It’s a tough world you say and yes it is. You are quick to convict the murderer unless it’s your own son or daughter doing the crime. You curse the thief but are free to practice white collar crime. You want everyone to get a life but you have none. Pick yourself up by your bootstraps you say, although you know they are worn and frayed. No pity. No compassion. No soul. Just leave it and go to bed. The cleaning lady will be in here in the morning to clean up this mess.

But if I ever find an end, it will taste so good. I will drink from just the simplest of things. A warm bed. A tender touch. A meal so simple yet so exquisite. Maybe it is when God welcomes me home. The pain over. The joy eternal. I tell you of this though I think you will not hear it. You won’t realize that I will pray for you. You are too busy and I understand. You are so smart but then again you’ll never know.

As always
Ted The Great

Factoids:
Estimates are that 3-3.5 million people are homeless every night in our country. There could be up to 1.5 million of those who are children. Home might be a car or a tent but they are homeless.

There are currently 1.5 million homes in foreclosure as of this moment with millions already having been adjudicated. Many overstretched but so many lost their dream due to illness, loss of jobs or broken families.

Addiction definition: noun
The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma. Think hard. You may be addicted to something.

If you have gotten this far you do know. A little empathy could go a long way in this man’s world. I can’t hope to feel your pain but I am going to work on it. Hope you can too.
I have pushed a different envelope with this one. Let me know.

Writers Note: Georgia On My Mind was written about the Masters before the Boston Bombing. I thought we could use a little fun. Even more fun? See the Factoids

We traveled up I 75 somewhere south of Atlanta. It was Saturday and we were heading home to Colorado. A wonderful trip with many friends and family in Sawgrass was in the victory lap and the trees were bursting open and the grass a brilliant shade of green. Just ahead was the turnoff for Augusta and visions of azaleas in bloom danced in my head.

The Masters is like no other. Take all the glitz of the Pro Golf Tour and throw it out the window. This is golf’s temple and you can cheer but rowdy will get you a quick exit. The golfers are more than respectful and you have never heard “sir” uttered more times from so many tour hotshots. They know their place.

We had dinner with a friend who is both a wonderful golfer and gentleman. His 3 handicap earned him no more than a ticket to the practice round but you could see the gleam in his eye as he talked of not a blade of grass out of place. He noted the pitch of the greens and the grade of the hills. Far cry from Florida flatlands and Pebble’s Beaches. A little bit of Heaven.

There’s royalty but on the course it doesn’t matter. An eighth grader from China outshone last years winner. Unknowns poke in and out of the leader board and there is hope for even some old farts in the early going.

Kath and I planned each day’s move to arrive somewhere around 4 PM. Clarksville, Tennessee and Salina, Kansas have TV and that is all that matters. They didn’t even have to leave the light on for us. The wine was opened early and we had a front row seat. I thought of setting up ropes in the room.

The course is magnificent but the toll it takes is even more masterful. Tigers become pussycats and the big hitters shrivel and drop away. Finesse reigns in what has become a brassy world. The putt is the simplest stroke of all. It doesn’t require any amount of strength except in your heart. It brings grown men to tears.

It’s great to see them crack. I cheer when Rae’s Creek sucks up yet one more Pro V. Odd bounces go either way but most of the time “this can’t be good.” Yet it all comes down to the final nine on Sunday. You idiot! You know exactly where the pin is. They have had it in the same place year after year and you still miscalculate. Choking dog? You bet.

You don’t have to be a golf aficionado to enjoy the Masters. It is the greatest metaphor for stress and struggle there is. That is not hyperbole. Millions of people at home lean at every wayward drive. They put body English on every putt and have a sick feeling in their gut as it roars five to six feet by.

You pick your favorite as you would in any horse race. You go to the whip at the far turn and you pray your boy holds on till the finish. And just when you think you have it made that SOB comes from the outside and turns victory into defeat. Nothing like it. So close and yet so far.

This year’s finale was one of the best with two dark horses( Sorry couldn’t resist) showing their mettle at the end. For both warriors to birdie the 18th was something for the movies. The two playoff holes were the best you will ever see. For once, no one lost but one guy won and that was way cool.

Every one said that the old Angel Cabrera couldn’t withstand the pressure but they forgot his background. He quit school to become a caddie for what he thought was the rest of his life. He became a pro but didn’t forget his roots. He had a doctorate in caddie yard putting and chipping. Case closed.

Adam Scott hadn’t been able to find the hole all day with the proverbial two hands and a flashlight. Stevie was his caddie but I thought his last name was Wonder. And yet the Aussie came through for himself but even more for a proud sports nation.

Angel was agonizingly close and in the end beyond a gentleman. He hugged his son and then he did the same to his opponent as if he was his son. There was exhaustion and tears and most of all humility. There was a sense that this sport like so many others with egos and dollar signs had just a little bit of sanity and above all gentility. Wish we could bottle that. Maybe we can.

As always
Ted The Great

Factoids:

Unlike the three other major tournaments that define the golf season, the Masters is not run by a national governing body, either of the game or of its professionals. It is run by a private club, which sets the requirements for qualification. The prize is not a championship title but the club’s green blazer.

The tournament was not played during the years 1943, 1944 and 1945 because of World War II. To help with the war effort, turkey and cattle were raised on the Augusta National Grounds.

No amateur has ever won the Masters.

Sandwiches also still cost under $3 at concession stands at Augusta National

Have a Good Time Full moon over Wellington, NZ…….

Here is something a bit random, but none-the-less astounding. A work mate of mine who is also a photographer captured what is, to me, one of the most remarkable things I have ever seen filmed.

It is a 3 minute video clip of the full moon rising over Wellington. It was shot on Jan. 28, 2013, a calm summer evening, as people gathered on the Mt. Victoria Lookout point to watch the moon rise.

This stunning video is one single real-time shot, with no manipulation whatsoever. The camera was placed on a hillside over 2 kilometres from the Lookout point, and was shot with the equivalent of a 1300mm lens.

The amount of planning, trial and error, and luck that went into this are mind blowing. He has been trying to capture this for over a year with many failed attempts. But 2 nights ago it seems everything was on his side, and it all came together in a way even he couldn’t have hoped.

I honestly can’t say enough good things about this video – from the magnitude of the visuals, to the intimate stories playing out with the people, to the sheer humbling nature of seeing the awe-inspiring reality of this giant rock in the sky that we so often don’t stop to appreciate.

One thing I encourage you to do is watch this on the biggest screen you have – don’t waste it on an iphone screen.

I had to catch myself yesterday. I wanted to cry. At the gym and watching TV on the Stairmaster, I had quickly grown sick of the coverage. A day that had dawned so pure and innocent on the Great Plains was no longer. I didn’t want to see the endless reel of mutilations. I didn’t want to hear the overly emotive speculation of announcers.I shut it off and just climbed and climbed.

I was not trying to escape the harsh realities of life. I was just trying to make sense of it. We watch the TV in the hope that something will turn out differently. Maybe it is a dream or not as bad as we thought? Sorry. The script just doesn’t change.

We had started the day in Salina, Kansas. We had 450 miles to go on our cross country trek to Denver and we decided on Sunday to get a room for the night and watch the Masters. Monday the time zone was in our favor but we still opted to get an early start.

Early morning on the prairie can play tricks on your eyes and your mind. The sheer beauty of looking 100 miles away is something I hope you all will experience some day. Denver was expecting snow but here it was clear and spring like. That happens out here. You can see fronts as if the sky was a weather map. You watch weather change before your eyes.

We saw a Conga Line of lights off in the distance. Hard to tell if it was a convoy of semis or UFO’s. It turned out to be a work train for the Union Pacific and there were a dozen mechanized wonders that were replacing railroad ties. Not a few but hundreds at a time. Quietly but steadily going about their business. Spring cleaning.

I thought to myself. “I wonder what Mother Nature has up her sleeve today?” The beauty of the East Coast is watching the sun come up. The West is watching it go down. I just revel in both sides. As that big orange lollipop jumps up you wonder what the day will bring. If you love life you can’t predict doom. Things have to be good.

In retro I wonder about all those people that were pounding the pavement in Boston on Patriot’s Day. They had trained endlessly for this, The Boston Marathon. It wasn’t a race as much as a cult experience. Known worldwide, it didn’t get any better. Check your gear one last time and get ready to go.

Whether they are 10K’s, marathons, or triathlons these things are anonymous. That’s the cool part of it. Sure you start with a friend or workmate but miles start to separate people and new friendships are born. Runners reach out to help and to be helped. There are the pros and then there are the ordinary Joes and Janes. Those are the ones who come in around 4 hours and 09 minutes.

Those are the ones that draw the crowds. The elites are home and showered. You struggle and wheeze up Heartbreak Hill and know that somewhere ahead is family. Your quads scream and blisters have now taken a turn for the worse but there are two things that drive you. One is your inner reservoir and the other is the sheer joy of your gang sharing the triumph with you.

And then some bastard stole all that. For whatever God forsaken reason he had chosen in his or her sick mind that this was to be the cause celebre. Their way of shouting protest. Of gaining notoriety. Of showing how far off the rails our world has gotten.

So many times we look from afar and say thank you God it wasn’t me. I can’t. Kathy and I met just a few short blocks from Copley Square. She lived on Newberry Street. Dating on an Ensign’s salary wasn’t glamorous and we often just walked right by the Pru or Hotel Lenox. Right by the Finish Line. There was simplicity and innocence. No more.

The young man that was slaughtered by a savage could have been my Jack or Aiden or Anders. He would have been smiling and cheering. Ready to hug me and I him. I would have to carry his broken lifeless body. I can’t imagine the devastation his father feels.

I know there will be more Auroras, Bostons and Sandy Hooks.There will be more useless tragedy. We will keep on. We will survive somehow. It’s the new normal. And yet I wonder, Where Have All the Flower’s Gone? Gone to graveyards every one. When wil we ever learn?

As always,
Ted The Great

Factoids:
Three people were killed and over 180 injured. One of the dead Martin Richard was 8 years old. His sister Jane who is 6, lost her leg. His mom has suffered severe head trauma and is in critical condition after surgery. Enough said.