The Point After!

Like many of you I have had my brief, well actually exceedingly brief, encounters with people who have achieved celebrity status, fame, wealth, and power. The following is a recap of those encounters that were most memorable to me. Some folks may be famous or prominent only to me but as the author that is my prerogative. My apologies to some of the people I left off the list. In the end you just weren’t famous enough.

Entertainers:

Randy Quaid: I think Randy Quaid is one of the most versatile actors ever. From Cousin Eddie in the Vacation movies to the trail boss in Brokeback Mountain, ( Yes I watched Brokeback Mountain and yes I felt sorry for Ennis after Jack died), Quaid is a consummate pro. I was standing in line at a K&B drugstore in New Orleans and he was right behind me. I turned, looked at him, and blurted out “What are you doing here?”  At the time he was a regular on Saturday Night Live. He could not have been nicer. He said he was in town to visit his brother Dennis who was shooting the Big Easy.

Peter Weller: I was in a group of people getting ready to walk , not run, in the Corporate Cup Road Race in New Orleans. I looked over my shoulder and standing over to the right of me was Robocop himself. I almost said something to him and then remembered that he also made The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension. Robocop was good, Buckaroo was awful. So awful that the promised sequel Buckaroo Banzai Versus the World Crime League never got made. I decided to not say hello. Hey I have my standards.

Jerry Seinfeld: I was in the bar at the Hilton Hotel in Lafayette, Louisiana for the Louisiana Young Bankers covention when I saw Jerry Seinfeld walk in. I am a hardcore Seinfeld fan. I know almost all of the episodes by heart. He later came back in the bar with his group and pulled out a cigar. Sitting with him was a comedian I recognized who had appeared in the episode where everyone got caught in a traffic jam for a Puerto Rican festival. He was the guy that had the famous Jackass exchange with Jerry. In the most incredible act of cowardice I have ever experienced I went up and spoke to him instead of Jerry. To paraphrase George Costanza, “I am Wautlet. Lord of the Idiots.”

Tom Brokaw: The Republican National Convention was in New Orleans. I was taking the streetcar to work when I saw NBC anchorman Tom Brokaw jogging down the St. Charles Avenue neutral ground. I leaned out the window and waved at him. He waved back. Tom Brokaw is a nice guy.

Phylicia Ayers-Allen and Philip Michael Tubbs: I didn’t exactly meet Mrs. Huxtable or Tubbs from Miami Vice but I was in a movie with them. It was called False Witness. In our scene together I walk past them arm in arm with a woman. If you look real fast you can see my back. That is if you can even find this movie anywhere. I also saw Ahmad Rashad hanging around the set. You know the former Minnesota Viking and television sports analyst? Ahh never mind.

Aaron Neville: Actually I know his son Ivan, as we were grammer school classmates. He was a local muscian at the time who had yet to record his duet with Linda Ronstadt. The Neville Brothers actually performed at our school for us. My mother and he met in the Principal’s office after Ivan and I had gotten into a fight. I’m pretty sure she didn’t ask for his autograph and I’m equally sure he didn’t offer it. 

Bob Barker: You know him as the long time host of “The Price is Right” but before that he hosted a show called “Truth or Consequences” that pitted contestants in funny competitions for prizes. He took that premise on the road and called it “Bob Barker’s Fun and Games Show.” When he came to Shreveport his advance team selected college kids to assist with the acts. I was chosen and made $50.00. I also met Bob, his wife, and the dogs they traveled with.

Dendy McCollam: Dendy dated a high school classmate of mine and her family was close friends with my in-laws. Dendy played a prostitute who got killed by Tom Cruise in Interview with a Vampire. Ok she’s not famous but she did get bit on the neck by Cruise.

Politics:

Oliver North: I was at a fundraiser for Louisiana Governor Mike Foster. There were actually two groups. Some tables were just there to eat and hear Foster speak. Others got to have their picture taken with Oliver North. I was told by my host that my table fell in the first category. When I went to check in I told the young lady registering guests who I was and who my host was. I was then directed to get in a line. At the end of the line was Oliver North. Halfway through I saw my host and waived at him. He looked at me like ‘What are you doing in that line?” I couldn’t recall exactly what Oliver North had done to achieve celebrity but I did remember he had a beautiful assistant named Fawn Hall. I called my wife while in line and told her that I was in fact going to meet Oliver North. She asked if I even knew what he was famous for? I muttered something about Fawn Hall and my wife started yelling at me “The Iran-Contra Affair, The Iran Contra Affair!” I’m pretty sure at least three people in front of me and behind me heard her.

Louisiana Governors Edwards, Treen, Foster, Blanco, and Jindal: I shook hands with Edwards at the opening of a new multi-purpose facility in St. Tammany Parish. I was surprised at how small he was. Treen lived in the same community I did north of New Orleans so I saw him at a lot of civic functions. Foster, Blanco, and Jindal I met at various Chamber of Commerce functions, including one at the Governor’s Mansion. I also have met various Senators and Congressmen but if you live long enough everyone will meet politicians, whether you want to or not.

Sports:

Elgin Baylor: Elgin Baylor was Michael Jordan before there was his Airness. He was a year in and year out All Pro for the Los Angeles Lakers. Only chronically bad knees kept this 6’5″ basketball magician from setting even higher standards of greatness. He scored 71 points in a game before the three point shot! I was in the New Orleans Airport when I saw him. He was retired and was coaching the NBA New Orleans Jazz. My mother was dropping me off and must have seen me staring with my mouth wide open. When I explained to her who it was she promptly went over and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to meet me. Despite the distress in his eyes and my stuttering apology he was nice enough to shake my hand.

Robert Parish: While in college I was the sports editor of my college newspaper. Robert Parish, who later went on to everlasting fame as a Boston Celtic, was about to enter his second season as a Golden State Warrior. I, along with more established journalists, got to interview him. The next day I read both Shreveport newspapers and lo and behold most of the quotes they used were from my questions. It was a defining moment for me and sent me heading away from the Fourth Estate and into finance.

Hal Sutton: Hal was a year ahead of me in college and and an All-American golfer. He later had a distinguished pro career and was a Ryder Cup Captain. I actually wrote a letter to Sports Illustrated about Hal after they had done a story on him and it was printed. I did play pick up basketball against him and the other golfers and if I may say so it was no contest. I was totally dominant! Of course afterwards he got in his BMW and went home and I walked back to the KA house.

Tony Dorsett: While I was coaching at Southfield School in Shreveport Pat Tilley, a Shreveport native and St. Louis Cardinal football player, would use our facility for his football camp. He got some big names for the time, Roger Carr of the Baltimore Colts, Ezra Johnson of the Green Bay Packers, the late Joe Delaney of the Kansas City Chiefs, and Tony Hill of the Dallas Cowboys. However the biggest name was Heisman Trophy winner and All Pro Tony Dorsett, also of the Cowboys. I had to drive to the airport and pick him up. I remember that he was a lot bigger in person and that he told me his high school coach would let him and others drink beer at his house. I guess even in high school Tony D was in charge.

Eli Manning: I was at a New Orleans Hornets game in a suite compliments of a local film producer. Because it was a “Hollywood” event I wore a black turtle neck with black slacks. After the game I ran into an old friend who was also Cooper Manning’s brother-in-law. He invited me to Maximo’s to have a drink. Once I arrived I saw that not only was Cooper there but also Eli. I shook Eli’s hand dressed like Dieter from an episode of Saturday Night Live’s Sprockets. I didn’t feel like a little girl but I did feel like a damn fool without my normal preppy clothes on. Two years later he was a Super Bowl MVP.

Archie Manning: if you were a kid growing up in the seventies in New Orleans there was only one football God and his name was Archie. As a high school junior I was standing on the corner of Seventh St. and St. Charles Avenue watching a Mardi Gras parade. I turn around and see Mr. John Wenzel. Mr Wenzel, also known as Big, had three sons who attended Country Day school with me, all of whom went on to play college football at Tulane. Mr. Wenzel introduced me to Archie. I think I said something inaudible and then just stared at him. In my home office is an autographed photo of Archie and an Archie action figure. The Saints now have Drew Brees but before him was Archie! 

Drew Brees: The bank I work for holds a conference every summer. This past summer the keynote speaker was Super Bowl MVP Drew Brees. We all got to have our picture taken with him. As a then 51 year old it is little embarrassing to say that I was excited about the picture but it is what it is.

Deion Sanders: I was at a Saints game in a suite when Prime Time and his wife came and sat by me. He was nothing like his on air personality. He was quiet and reserved, even while people were sticking phones in his face and imitating his end zone dances. He did point out Michael Irvin to me across the stadium. Other than that he didn’t say much. He also wouldn’t predict the outcome of the game although he did tell me why he was the only one who could return a kick off up the middle of the field.

Allan Iverson: The consummate NBA bad boy was drinking in a Southfield, Michigan hotel bar that I happened to be staying at for a Final 4 trip. Emboldened by liquid courage I walked over to his table, sized up the large men he had sitting with him, told him that I saw him play in New Orleans when he was a Philadelphia 76er, that I thought he was amazing, and I hoped he recovered from his injury soon. He thanked me. I stuck out my hand, he stuck out his fist. I made a fist, he opened his hand. Awkwaaard.

Sean Tuohy: I played middle and high school basketball against Sean and was also friends with his older brother and sister. He was an all state point guard who later became an all SEC point guard at Ole Miss. However you know him as the legal guardian of Michael Oher from the Blind Side. By the way he looks nothing like Tim McGraw.

Ron Swoboda: Ron Swoboda was a local New Orleans sportscaster and also the voice of the Triple AAA New Orleans Zephyrs baseball team. I actually got to to throw out the first pitch at a Zephyrs game, one of the most treasured traditions we Americans have. You might ask why he is on the list? Ron was a member of the 1969 New York Miracle Mets. Every time that team is mentioned they show an outfielder leaping sideways into the air making a circus catch. The player in that iconic moment was none other than Ron Swoboda!

Kathy Johnson: Kathy was a college classmate of mine. She was  number one ranked female gymnast in the nation and went on to Olympic fame in 1984 when she won a silver and bronze medal. We had freshman english together, at least we did the times I showed up to class.

Near Misses

Harry Connick Jr: When my wife and I were dating I took her to Snug Harbor located in the Faubourg Marigny section of New Orleans. We passed a part of the bar that a had a guy playing piano, with no cover charge. The doorman said it was a good show. I said something along the lines of ” The District Attorney’s son? You gotta be kidding me!” A few months later the soundtrack for When Harry Met Sally came out. Remember I’m still Lord of the Idiots.

John Grisham: After our oldest son was born my wife and I moved to a new apartment further Uptown in New Orleans. We were one block off of Magazine Street, which had a lot of shops and coffee houses. I used to stroll our son around there daily. One day I passed a bookstore called Beaucoups Books. They advertised that an author would be doing a book signing later that afternoon. I thought it might be neat to have a signed book by an author and then I figured he would probably not amount to much and it would be a waste of time. The book was The Firm.

Of course I think my list is great but if you ask any kid my wife has me beat by a mile, a Miracle Mile. She was a consultant on the Lifetime film of the same name. It told the story of a woman, played by Mary Louise Parker, who raised two boys with autism. One of the boys that my wife worked with in that movie is a little bit famous now. His name? Zac Efron.

I have always been very active as a volunteer. In fact since I began my professional life upon graduation from college in 1981 I can’t recall a time when I wasn’t part of some civic or charitable organization. But today I read something that gave me pause and it has caused me to reflect.

Today is Ash Wednesday. For Catholics it respresents the start of Lent. As sinners we use this time to perform acts of kindness for those less fortunate either through monetary donation or physical gestures, and we are supposed to pray and fast as well. While I was at mass this morning receiving my ashes I picked up a book that offered daily reflections for Lent. The first devotional quoted Matthew 6:1. “Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them; otherwise you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father.”

I have to confess those words hit me like a sledgehammer! Through thirty years of service had I in fact given my time and talent for the right reasons? When I took on these causes was I doing it because I believed in the mission, or was a part of me thinking what that work could mean for my professional advancement and social standing?

I do enjoy helping people and I derive satisfaction from those acts, but I also realized that I enjoyed being singled out and praised for that work. I took great pride in all of the honors I accumulated over the years and enjoyed the attention it brought me. The words I read this morning have made me think about issues that I had preferred not to deal with such as vanity, pride, ego, and pehaps even a lack of confidence.

Strangely enough I was arriving at those conclusions anyway, as I had been purposely trying to avoid high profile causes of late and instead have been trying to serve in a more intimate fashion. In fact one of my goals this year was to try and do at least one nice or helpful thing for somebody on a daily basis. Despite that those words I read this morning still hit home pretty hard.

I think as humans we can’t be faulted for enjoying recognition and I also think it gives others some satisfaction to acknowledge unselfish and giving behaviors in others. But if we do things with the hope we will be recognized then in my mind that would demean the quality of the effort.

It goes to show you that there is temptation even in the execution of good deeds, something I wasn’t as mindful of as I should have been. The good news is I have forty days to work on it.

The Joyce Machine was my mother, Joyce Cuccia Wautlet. My friends called her the Joyce Machine because her motor was always revving. The woman was colorful, complicated, and tough.

She was born in 1923 in New Orleans, the second of six children. Her mother was an orphan of French and German descent who had a former Louisiana Governor as an ancestor. Her father was the son of Sicilian immigrants. He was a commercial painter, house painter, bar room owner, checker champion, and possibly a loan shark. She grew up during the depression in the Irish Channel.

I’m not sure exactly when my mother quit formally attending school but I heard she left St. Theresa’s after the fourth grade for disciplinary reasons. Apparently a classmate had a nickel pickle and she made the mistake of taunting my mother over it. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape and you don’t taunt the Machine. When mom was punished for separating the girl from her pickle the end result was an inkwell being thrown at a nun.

I know Mom went to the local public school for at least a year but after that she entered the work force. It was the Depression so all had to chip in. When she was thirteen she lied about her age and got a job driving a truck for the Light House for the Blind. She promptly wrecked the truck, which was full of brooms, by hitting a public service bus. Riding with her was her blind supervisor.

My mother was married three times, all to midwestern men. Maybe the New Orleans men she knew were afraid of her, her three brothers, or a combination there of. The first husband was a war time romance. It wasn’t uncommon for bonds to form quickly during World War II. That marriage ended the day it began in South Bend, Indiana. Instead of tending to his spousal duties later that evening husband number one went into the corn field and started killing Nazis. When the Machine called home for rescue her father said you got yourself up there so you get yourself back. My mother then found work in a local bowling alley until she could save enough for bus fare home.

Husband number two was a law student from Detroit. He apparently was too close to his mother. The Machine wasn’t one to share and she wasn’t one to coddle. He lasted a couple of years.

Husband number three was my father. My dad was a merchant seamen originally from Appleton, Wisconsin. He was living in New Orleans in an apartment above a bar in the French Quarter. He fell down some stairs and crushed an old metal Singer sewing machine. He looked up, saw my mother standing over him, and remarked that he must be dead because he was looking at an angel. That was all it took for the Machine. My dad never had a chance. He was an interesting man in his own right. He left home at age seventeen and joined the Merchant Marines. He had the pleasure of being sunk not once, but twice, by U-Boats. He also was world traveled,having visited ports such as Rotterdam and Shanghai.

They were married ten years before I was born. My dad had since gone to work for Kaiser Aluminum. No way was my mother going to let him go to sea for months at a time. He was transferred to Ravenswood, West Virginia and I was born across the river in Gallipolis, Ohio. I am extremely proud of that birth certificate. It says place of residence… trailer park! We moved back to New Orleans shortly before my second birthday. And yes we moved into another yet another trailer.

In 1970 my father was transferred to Duesseldorf, West Germany. At age forty-five my dad was in poor health. Cigarette smoking combined with the toxic air he had been breathing in the pot rooms at Kaiser had given him emphysema. My mother was against the move. She had let him go to India without us a few years earlier, but this time with me lobbying to go as well she gave in. I was eleven. Four months later my dad died suddenly. My mother was now a forty-seven year old widow with no real job skills or formal education. She also had to take care of me.

With a modest amount of insurance money we returned to New Orleans. Prior to my father’s death my mom had worked at various jobs before with little success. The Machine didn’t care for authority too much. Invariably she would quit  a job before she got fired, to the relief of her employers. No one liked confronting the Machine. She instead bought a run down apartment house on Prytania St. in Uptown New Orleans and commenced to renovating it. We would live in one apartment and rent the others out. We would survive on the rents and our social security check. She could then be her own boss and a stay at home mother.

The Machine never made me party to her struggles. Many nights I went to sleep with her sitting at the dining room table in front of  a stack of bills. She would often go to garage sales, buy things , and then flip them for a profit. If we needed carpet or furniture she would look for hotel liquidations. She battled everyday.

While not formally schooled she knew the importance of an education. Our conversations never included the phrase if I went to college but rather when I went to college. 

There were hard times. Having lost my dad the Machine focused on me a lot. She followed me around in the car, got involved in my playground disputes, and generally was making a kid grieving for his dad miserable. At one football practice as an eighth grader I had gotten into a fight with a sophomore. I had come to the rescue of  fellow eighth grader and now I was getting the worst of it. That is until I felt my opponent being lifted off of me. However it wasn’t a coach who saved me. It was the Machine, now proceeding to beat this kid senseless. I soon switched to basketball because our practices were closed.

I remember climbing onto the roof of St. Stephen’s Church. We would hide a kid in the confessional and then he would let us in. We would climb the stairs to the bell tower and then go out on the roof. Once up there we would watch my mom’s car circle the neighborhood looking for me. The constant surveillance became unbearable. In addition I was struggling in school. So I decided to leave home.

I enrolled in a seminary called St. Vincent De Paul. It was in Beaumont, Texas. The Machine agreed reluctantly to let me go but she she was determined to get me back home. In the mean time one of my grade school class mates had enrolled in a school called Metairie Park Country Day. It was one of the finest college preparatory schools in Lousiana, if not the country. After my friend approached my mother about me going there too The Machine went into action. She read about the school and visited with the Headmaster. She had decided I was going to go to school there, even if the school adminstration and myself still had to be convinced.

Country Day was and is exclusive but somehow I was accepted and I found myself coming home after being away almost three months. I played varsity basketball for three years and she missed a total of two games. My senior year we won the state championship and she cried like a baby. When it came time for me to pick a college she said that I was to go where ever I wanted and to let her worry about how we would pay for it. After I graduated from college I moved home and she promptly gave up our biggest apartment for me to live in rent free. I stayed there for six years. By the time I left I was married and had a son.

The Machine was always at her best during a crisis. When Hurricane Betsy destroyed our home,( yes we finally got a real house), in 1965 she was one of the first to go back in. Alone in a pirogue, passing looters in better equipped boats, she dove again and again into the filthy water retrieving items that were precious to her. The ordeal made her ill to the point wher she had to be hospitalized.When the water receded she was back at the house tearing out rotted sheetrock and pulling up carpet. We ended up being the first family on our block back in our house. Remember there was no flood insurance and no FEMA. She got it done, as my father was not strong enough to help much.

Her driving skills, or lack there of are legendary. One time in Naperville, Illinois we hit an embankment and went airborn. She had been trying to beat another car to a light. Other wrecks included plowing into the foot of the Greater New Orleans Bridge and getting spun around twice from a collision with a cab. She would tout that she was an “excellent driver” but I always had my hands over my eyes when I rode with her. She drove fast, always with a lit cigarette, and gave all forms of salutes to those who shared the road with her and got in her way.

The Machine’s interpersonal skills were a combination of sugar and cement. She was always bringing food to the 2nd District police station, our assessors office, and our city councilman. But she also had an acid tongue and quick fists.

One day as a young child I was riding in the back seat of our car. We were going down Decatur St. in downtown New Orleans heading towards Canal St. My grandmother was in the front seat. A car in front of us was driving slowly and pausing at every intersection even though there was no stop signs. My mother rolled down the window and leaned her head out the car. First came the sugar. “Darlin this is a thru street. You don’t have to stop at every corner.” The driver in front responded with a hand gesture that said my mother was Number One. Yeah he gave her the finger. Big mistake.

The Machine roared up behind the driver while his car was still paused at the corner. She jumped out the car and ran up to his window. Unfortunately for him his window was down. He turned his head and got a punch square in the face! You don’t like the sugar you get the cement! He hit the gas and peeled off! My mom then turned around and walked back to our car, which now had several vehicles lined up behind us. She stared back at them and not one car honked a horn. Upon getting in she began spewing numerous expletive deleteds about how no sorry so and so was going to give her the finger in front of her mother. I concluded that swearing must be confined to those you love.

One night years later I was playing cards with some friends in mom’s apartment. She enjoyed the company of  my friends and was always showing off and making jokes. On this night she decided to walk down to the convenience store two blocks away and get some milk. Now it was well after ten o’clock and we all offered to go for her but she would have none of it. 

A short time later she returned holding her plastic milk jug. It was empty and had a gash at the bottom. She informed us that at the corner on our block a mugger had confronted her. She said she kicked him in the groin and began beating him with the milk. Once he was down she then lectured him on why a young boy should not rob or steal.

We promptly flew from our seats and ran to the corner. Milk was everywhere but the mugger was gone. Getting beat up by a lady in her sixties was probably a bit much for him and we all concluded that he either gave up crime or committed suicide. The Machine wasn’t done. She came up behind us. She told us that she was going to make the convenience store replace her milk. And they did.

As tough as she was the Machine was very feminine and vain. Her voice bacame raspy over the years from cigarettes, age, and a lot of yelling. As such she was often mistaken for a man over the phone. When this happened, with as much dignity as she could muster I would hear her say ” Last time I looked in the mirror darlin I was a lady!”

The Machine was an incredible dancer. For years she would go to the Jefferson Orleans ballroom in Metairie and dance in their various contests. She swept all the big competitions and our little apartment was decorated with awards. However her favorite trophy was one given to her by my classmate and basketball teammate Mark Haynes. He worked at Security Sporting Goods and was so impressed with her dedication in attending our games that he had a trophy made declaring her Mother of the Year and presented it to her at our athletics banquet. 

The Machine and I had our differences. She was loud,harsh, and physical at times, but I never doubted her love. She could wield guilt like a sword and was very successful at scaring the hell out of many possible female relationships I might have been cultivating. But in the end she did what she was supposed to do. She sheltered her child, provided for him, and raised him to be ethical and moral.

She died in July of 2001. She had a heart attack a year or so earlier, having walked six blocks to the Touro Infirmary emergency room in one hundred degree heat once she started feeling chest pains. Two years later a nagging cough was diagnosed as lung cancer. But she went out fighting.

While in the hospital she blocked the door and started calling 911. The hospital called me and asked if I would intervene. I told them I would do my best. When I got on the phone she asked that I bring her home. When I explained I could not she told me where to go as only the Machine could. But she did unlock the door.

When she passed away she was one month shy of her seventy-eighth birthday. Her belongings in the end were modest. No heirlooms, no antique furniture, no expensive jewelry. I pulled her credit report to see if there were any debts that needed to be addressed. Her beacon score was 797. That is damn near perfect! This woman had survived on her own almost her entire life and not shirked one creditor, even while battling cancer. But she wasn’t done.

The Machine was very close to my oldest son. Both of my children are autistic but my oldest had a special bond with his Maw Maw. It was the first words he ever said and he loved going to her apartment, riding the streetcar, and visiting Audubon Park. Maw Maw always had treats for him, but given that he had a propensity for over eating she would hide them and parcel them out carefully to him.

My wife and I knew at some point we would have to bring M.C. to the apartment and explain as best we could that Maw Maw was gone. Upon arriving there it started badly. He went throught the entire apartment looking for her and once he could not find her he began calling her name. Then he began to cry. My wife and I were in agony ourselves, trying in vain to stop his tears. Then it happened!

He suddenly stopped crying and his head was cocked as if he was listening to something. In an instant a smile appeared on his face. He turned, went to a cabinet in the dining room, opened it, and began groping behind some jars stored in there. He suddenly produced a bag of tootsie roll pops! He pulled one out, unwrapped it, popped in his mouth, and put the bag back in the cabinet. From that point on we were able to come and go from the apartment with no problem.

Now you have to understand that my wife and I had gone through every nook and cranny of that apartment after she had passed, paricularly the cabinets and drawers,  and never found any candy. In addition my mother always hid sweets from M.C. , so he never knew where they came from when she did give them to him. But then I realized that nobody could tell the Machine what to do. With her grandson in distress apparently even the Creator decided it was best to let my mother have her way.

I loved comic books as a young boy. One of my favorites was The Challengers of the Unknown. It was about four men who survived a plane crash, decided they were living on borrowed time, and they partnered together to explore unknown phenomena and basically protect mankind. Their uniforms even had small hourglasses on them to remind them that their time on earth was finite. The Challengers, Ace, Red, Prof, and Rocky, had many adventures together but always with a sense of urgency.

For many of us thinking that our time on earth is limited is hard to grasp. We always feel like we have tomorrow. But I have come to embrace the perspective of the Challengers, if for no other reason than I have been given not only a second chance, but a third one as well.

In prior blogs I wrote about my recent health problems. Five years ago I was diagnosed with a benign tumor called a schwannoma that was in my spinal column and was well on the way to parlyzing me, with death to eventually follow, if not removed. Ten months ago I had another benign tumor called a cardiac myxoma that was in the left ventricle of my heart and was impeding my blood flow to the point that I was dying as they wheeled me into surgery. Both tumors were large. The schwannoma was so big that you could not see my spinal column and was only able to be partially removed. I had to have radiation to kill the rest. The myxoma was described as being the size of a baseball and my heart had enlarged to accomodate it.

Both tumors are considered to be rare and to be afflicted with both would certainly qualify as being unlucky. But conversely to have tolerated both of them for as long as I did and have both successfully removed is a stroke of good fortune. In essence I was given a second and third chance on this earth.

At age 51 I know that statisticlly I have less time. In reality as a result of my two brushes with death I know that my number could come up at any time. I used to say that before but now when I say it it truly reasonates. But unlike Ace, Red, Rocky, or Prof I have no intentions of going off to face the realm of the supernatural or extraterrestial. I just have the benefit of looking at things with a different set of eyes.

My wife’s voice sounds a little sweeter. The time spent with my friends and family is more valuable. My children’s smiles and hugs are more precious, and I find that my ego is a little more restrained. The corporate ladder isn’t nearly as important as being able to climb a regular ladder. Maturity and age tend to accomplish these same things but knowing that I still have a chance to live a normal life span and be productive, to have that perspective is a remarkable gift.

I wake each morning determined that before the sun sets I will have done something positive with the day I was given. It might be to call a friend or relative that I haven’t spoken with for awhile, read a book that could aid in my being a better person, making sure I exercise not only to be a healthier person but to be less of a burden to others. I always prayed but now I try to pray more sincerely, and most importantly I try to be as tolerant as any error prone human can be.

So I am ready to face my own challenges that are unknown. Regardless of what lies around the next turn I have no intentions of wasting the second and third chances I was given.

Marriage. It is the union of two people who profess their love for one another so profoundly that they want to legally and spritually bond via a ceremony. That is the fun part. The work begins once the Honeymoon is over and all the gifts have been unwrapped.

I don’t know any husband, myself included, who was really prepared to live with his new wife. He wants to live with her, needs to live with her, but probably isn’t ready to live with her.  As such I have come up with a Top Ten that should be prove helpful to any man who has signed on for duty as a husband. These immutable truths are based on almost 23 years of research.

1 ) There is no correct answer to the question,”Do I look fat in this?” If she asks that question she already thinks she looks fat. If you say no she will accuse you of being untruthful. If you say yes you are a dead man. The only escape is to begin to cough excessively and lock yourself in a bathroom until she gets tired of waiting for you and changes outfits.

2 ) You cannot watch TV and talk to your wife at the same time. It’s like Icarus flying too close to the sun. You may try it once but you will regret it if you do.

3 ) Whatever you do wrong your first year of marriage, and every year thereafter, will be committed to memory and brought back to your attention when you least expect it. There is no avoiding this.

4 ) Your concept of fiscal responsibility will be different than your wife’s.If she gets a $500.00 dress for $250.00 she saved you $250.00. I made the observation once that she spent $250.00 as opposed to zero and was shown the error of my ways, despite my long and distinguished career in finance.

5 ) If she is moving into your house or apartment take a picture of your furnishings and decor now. In all probability within  a year all of your furniture will be gone and your decor totally changed. You may even be in a new house or apartment by then.

6 ) If you have the space get your own bathroom. Even if it’s the smallest one in the house. It will become your sanctuary and you will need sanctuary from time to time.

7 ) You will be asked your opinion on furnishings, decor, etc. Your opinion doesn’t matter but you need to offer it anyway. If  you don’t you will be perceived as uncaring. Rest assured she will pick what she wants but at least you cared.

8 ) If you enter a room and your wife and mother-in-law are talking, and upon your entering they stop talking and stare at you, leave immediately and find a florist. You may not be aware of what you did, but you definitely did something, and the quicker you atone the better off you will be.

9 ) Never, never, never, remark about how attractive any of her friends are. The word “hot” is absolutely verboten.

10 ) If you are arguing and she starts to cry you lose. Game over. Fat lady is singing. Turn out the lights the party’s over. Tears are the atom bomb of marital disagreements and men can’t use them.

I’m from New Orleans and we have a thing called lagniappe, which means something extra. So in that spirit I will offer you an additional bit of information.

11 ) You will amazingly become irresistable to your wife when she decides that it is time to have children. Furthermore you will become equally resistable once she decides that you both have enough children.

Having said all of this marriage is a special and wonderful time in a man’s life.  A wife completes a man and makes him whole. If you don’t understand or believe that just ask your wife and she will explain it to you.

In 2010 I wrote a blog that endorsed the need to embrace technology or risk losing relevance in today’s economic landscape. One aspect of technology that people far and wide have gotten on board with is social networking. The facebook phenomena is so compelling that Hollywood already made a movie about it. But does facebook, and other sites like it, have a broader application? I believe that they do.

One of my tech gurus is a young man named Richard Kaufmann. He and I worked together at a community bank in Louisiana and he later went to work with a major company that has world wide interests. One of his pet peeves is that social networking sites like facebook are often blocked, or have restricted access, on work related personal computers. He believes strongly that limiting access to sites like those is leaving money on the table, and I agree with him. Now don’t get me wrong the threat of viruses and lost productivity in the work place is very real if you open that door, but I believe that granting access to select employees with clear guidelines can make sites such as facebook a fantastic business development tool.

I am by profession a banker. When I first broke into the business in the early 1980’s my company was headquartered in a large building in downtown New Orleans. It was the largest bank by assets in Louisiana but was still a community bank. Our downtown location put us in proximity to our larger clients and our branch network cultivated our retail and business banking efforts. The key to our success is that we dealt with people we knew, and felt very comfortable with our credit decisions as a result of that.  

Once that industry began to expand the challenge was how do you conduct business safely,securely, and fairly with a client base that you were not familiar with? You could acquire banks that had an existing client base, and hire bankers that had a loan portfolio, but now you were dependent on the wisdom of those hires and moves. Additionally you had to be consistent in how you extended credit, which forced banks to rely more on math, and less on relationships, when the previous model gave a lot of weight to both.

Currently the banking industry is troubled by market saturations, overzealous lending fueled by performance related goals, and a customer base that feels challenged and maybe even beaten down. You also have small towns losing people, which in turn forces those smaller banks to either look beyond their traditional trade areas or modify their business model to better accomodate the population that is left to serve.

Lets go back and look at the old dynamic. Banks headquartered in central business districts with branches to reach clients in outlying areas. To me that model is becoming obsolete.

My bank of the future could be based anywhere. The main office would have some teller windows and a drive up lane so we would be accessible to local clients but our focus would be delievering services via the best technology available. Open an account with the Wautlet Bank and you get a smart phone with apps to view your accounts, transfer money, and deposit checks via imaging. If you were a business you would also get an image data capture machine for your deposits or the bank could receive them directly with a lock box. You would receive your statements online and could meet with your banker using a video phone link on your smart phone or computer. If you prefer a face to face meeting your banker will come to you via plane, train, or automobile. Even loan closings could be done remotely using technology and auto signature software.

Instead of branches we would have some strategically placed ATM’s that could receive cash and check deposits. We also would refund any charges you incurred using someone else’s ATM, so every ATM is yours to use. With no branch system or expensive downtown location the Wautlet Bank keeps overhead low and spends its money on technology and personnel.

Our trade area would be the United States. Basically my bankers would be encouraged to use technology to bank their friends and family regardless of where they lived. We would have a facebook page, a LinkedIn page, and all of my bankers would have individual pages, all linked to the company web site. Twitter would be used as well. Bankers would be hired based on prior experience with bank management but also based on personality tests and other mechanisms used to define work ethic and compatibility with the corporate mission.

You are now doing business with people you know and trust from the efforts of people you know and trust, which was the goal of the original community bank model. Except the community consists of the individual relationships fostered by the employees. By the way all of  the employees would have opportunities created over time to be owners of the Wautlet Bank to insure stability and fealty.

You are being fair and consistent in your credit decisions because you are bringing in the best client base available regardless of their location. Your business model is nimble because it brings the service directly to the client on their terms and schedule, not the other way around. And you get qualified referrals from the best possible source, your client base.

None of these ideas are new, in fact many companies are already phasing these concepts in. If a banker has 500 facebook friends, and successfully banks 100 of them, that is 100 clients that could refer an additional 100 people. Your growth becomes a product of your success, not an advertising campaign or teaser offer. Your overhead consists of technology upgrades, not huge amounts of bricks and mortar. in fact your sales force could be deployed from their homes. All they would need is a lap top and a smart phone. Loan meetings and other necessary gatherings could be done via video conference and using shared software to track customer calls and identify cross sell opportunities. You no longer rely on area demographics, marketing surveys, or peer group competition. You are cherry picking your clients based on who you know and subsequently who they know.

Smart entrepeneurs are already doing this. Some of my favorite restaurants have facebook pages and many of my professional colleagues in other industries are setting up company pages on FB whether they are in real estate, insurance, you name it.  I did all my Christmas shopping this year online. I saved on gas, time, and stress.

I have a great job and have no interest in starting a bank like the one I described, but I am sure anxious to see who does.

My wife and I are the parents of two wonderful boys, both of whom are profoundly autistic. Being far from typical we still did our best to try and function like any normal family during the holiday season. The only problem was the boys didn’t get any of it. They had no interest or apparent understanding of the meaning of Thanksgiving or Christmas. Halloween was fairly easy, except I had to convince my oldest,M.C., that he could not go inside of every house, he shouldn’t eat his candy the minute he got it, and that he wasn’t allowed to go back to those houses to get candy the next night. Andrew was another story. I took him into a haunted house. Once inside a ghoul or some such leapt at him at let out a hideous shriek. Andrew responded by giving  him a long hard stare in return. The guy inside the costume just recoiled. When we came out my wife asked if he got scared and I had to inform her that only person scaring people in that attraction was our son.

We finally quit trying to fit the norm and decided we would forge our own holiday tradition. We would journey to the happiest place on earth and create our own Christmas memories by going to Disney World every year. Of course given our circumstances those trips were memorable for reasons that other families might not appreciate. I first wrote about this on my Facebook page under the notes section but thought I would go ahead and offer it to a wider audience. The following are some of the more memorable experiences my wife and I had with our sons during our Christmas trips to see Mickey.

Andrew does a contortionist back bend at MGM Studios. When he finishes we notice that a large crowd had gathered to watch.

We had just left the Country Bear Jamboree and we were both struggling to get Andrew into his stroller. When we look up M.C. is gone. A Disney Cast Member brings him back out of the same show. Apparently he was trying to get on stage.

I lose Andrew in a Magic Kingdom gift shop while I was trying a shirt on M.C. I find him one room over trying to shoplift ten bags of candy.

Mom buys all of us sweat shirts as it was cold one morning. It warmed up later in the day. Andrew insisted on going back to the same gift shop we had been at earlier that morning. Once inside he took off his sweat shirt and dropped it on the floor.

During one stay at the Dolphin Andrew emptied out the servi-bar all four nights.

We stop at a KFC in the Florida panhandle one night to get a quick dinner. M.C. was agitated and forced everyone to eat quickly. Once back in the van he stared at me and said “Mi Mi Mouse!” He then repeated it over and over again for the next three hours. I had to say yes every time or he would squeeze my face with his hands until I did.

Andrew tries to walk head first into everyone in the park. Every park. Every year. Every time.

M.C. uncrosses the legs of two different women. One on the monorail and the other on the ferry boat.

On one trip Andrew existed for four days on a diet of eggs, grits, french fries, and coke.

Everytime either boy got wet from a water ride they tried to strip off their clothes immediately. We eventually solved this by packing lots of ponchos but in the early years we spent a lot of money on clothes at the resorts.

One year we had my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law with us. We bought tickets to the Hoop De Doo Review. During the show M.C. got sick and threw up on everything and everyone. As we snuck out a side door I threw a $100 bill on the table as I knew someone was going to quit their job that night.

Three years later we return to the same Hoop De Doo Review. This time we are seated next to the stage. Unlike my oldest son, Andrew is no fan of country music. During the show he sits with his arms folded across his chest and a look of contempt on his face. Finally he stands abruptly and throws his napkin forecfully onto the table. All the dancers are performing now with distressed looks on their faces.

Andrew insists that I ride It’s a Small World with him approximately ten times in a row. Unles you have ridden it once no words can describe the mental torture I endured that evening.

While on the Carousel of Progress Andrew gets upset. While trying to calm him he head butts me in my face. As we are leaving a young couple tells me that I’m bleeding. I tell them the Carousel of Progress is a rough ride.

Andrew is noise sensitive but loves the Mummy’s Tomb ride. He holds his hands over his ears and I brace him with my right arm. On one occasion an attendant asks him if he is scared. I tell her he is autistic, non-verbal, noise senstive, but he loves the ride, and that he dragged me in here. Apparently that wasn’t good enough for her so she continues to ask him if he is afraid. Finally he jutted his lower jaw out. If you know Andrew that means it’s about to get nasty.  At that point diplomacy failed me and I uttered something along these lines. ” HE IS NOT SCARED! HE LOVES THIS @%$&*#@ RIDE AND IF YOU DON’T START IT SOON HE IS GOING TO GET PISSED AND EVERYONE IN HERE WILL WISH THEY WERE SOMEWHERE ELSE! Magically the ride started.

During all those trips we never saw a parade from beginning to end, only saw a few of the shows in their entirety, or had a leisurely dining experience. There were behaviors, late night card rides, struggles to feed them nutritiously, and constant fatigue. But we were together and we always said the next trip would be better because we would learn what we could and could not do.

The boys are older now, and so are we. At ages 20 and 18 even though they are still child like Disney is no longer a big deal to them. So this year we didn’t go. Instead we had Christmas at their Group Home and went to Mass with them at their chapel. I’m not sure what future holidays will bring but I know that for me being with them makes anyplace we are the happiest place on earth!

All of us have regrets and ponder things we would do differently if we could go back in time and get a second chance. For me one regret stands out first and foremost. I wish I had served my country.

I grew up during Viet Nam and the war was winding down while I was still in high school. The sentiment around the country was to avoid military service. My mother was particularly adamant. She did not want me put in harm’s way for any reason. Being young and immature I was more than content to go to college and for years I never gave it a second thought. But as I got older I began to question that decision and wondered if in fact I had not only done a disservice to my country but myself as well?

I have always been patriotic and grateful to our service men and women who defended us in previous wars. World War II was still fresh in America’s collective conscience in the sixties and seventies and those that I met that had served seemed different to me. Even as a youngster I could sense something about those people that made them unlike others I met.

Military service requires discipline, loyalty, unselfishness, and even love. Love of country, love of your comrades in arms, and love of freedom. You learn to handle adversity, face fear, and be responsible for yourself and others. Military training techniques have been used for years to rehabilitate corrupt or lazy youth with tremendous success and with our armed forces it has molded men and women unlike any others in the world.

An America where everyone has served would be a different place than what we have today.  Your elected officials would behave differently, your businesses would have codes of conduct and ethics that were based on honor and duty, your college students would be more focused and responsible as it relates to their studies, and citizenship would be earned, not just bestowed.

As for Don’t Ask Don’t Tell I say good riddance. Love of country has nothing to do with a person’s sexual orientation anymore than ethnicity or religion do. They say there are no atheists in a fox hole and I would hazard a guess that soldiers in combat are concerned only about fulfilling their mission and coming home safely.

Is there risk associated with military service? That goes without saying but at least our troops are trained to deal with and manage it. The fact is there are all kinds of risks that claim the lives of young people, often from bad decisions as a result of immaturity, poor parenting, etc. Drunk driving, binge drinking, drug use, are just a few of the hazards. There are also non-lethal concerns, such as poor performance once in school, or a lack of focus once out of school, and the inability to handle adversity.

At age 51 it is too late for me so now I do my best to show gratitude and humility when I meet those that were willing to stand a post and be accountable. The freedom I enjoy is due to their willingness to make sacrifices I was unwilling to do. And I don’t care what race, religion, or sexual orientation they are.

God bless America but most importantly God Bless those that serve, for they are the ones that truly represent what is good and honorable about our country!

When I was growing up and became self aware about sports the one thing I noticed was the sheer joy athletes experienced when they accomplished something significant. What I also saw was that most athletes were very matter of fact about their performances under normal circumstances. A touchdown scored usually resulted in the football being tossed to the referee, a basket made was accompanied by a non-chalant saunter down the court. These guys acted like they had been there before.

I got a crash course in this from my own basketball coach when I was in high school. I picked up the game relatively late in life. I played three games in seventh grade before quitting the team because of a disagreement with my coach, I played eighth grade ball as a back up, and my ninth grade year I transferred to new school and was ineligible. But during that time I worked hard at becoming better. I played everyday and I kept growing. As a tenth grader I was a more proficient player and had sprouted to a healthy six feet and two inches.

Our first scrimmage was against a rival high school and I was put in the game in the second quarter. I then proceeded to have one of those moments that athletes dream of. I was literally in the zone. On defense I was stealing the ball, blocking shots, and getting rebounds. On offense I was flying down the court, raining in jump shots or slashing to the basket. As I became caught up in my success I became giddy and soon after every shot, steal, or block I was roaring down the floor fist pumping. Then all of  a sudden I was pulled out of the game. I sprinted to the bench expecting to hear words of praise from my coach. What I got was an icy stare. He then said in a clear and firm voice the following. ” We don’t act like that here.”

At first I was shocked but then it dawned on me. I had behaved like an ass clown. It was a scrimmage against a mediocre team and I was jumping around out there like we had won a championship. I had disrespected my opponent but also had embarrassed myself and my teammates.

I see athletes today do the most arrogant things and the most glaring are the pros. I remember in the early seventies Green Bay running back Dave Hampton was on his way to a touchdown and he spiked the ball on the one yard line. There was Leon Lett of the Dallas Cowboys showboating on his way to an apparent touchdown against the Buffalo Bills in the Super Bowl only to be stripped from behind by Don Beebe. Just last week Leon Washington was returning a punt for atouchdown when he felt the irresistable urge to raise his index finger in the air, thus slowing down enough so the punter could trip him up from behind. Basketball players hanging on the rim after dunks and earning technical fouls in the process. Bill Gramatica of the Cardinals jumping in the air after making a field goal only to land awkwardly and injure his leg and Gus Frerotte of the Redskins celebrating a touchdown by head butting a wall and hurting his neck.

It seems like everything requires an over the top gesture. Every Tony Romo touchdown pass requires that he leap in the air and be caught by one of his offensive linemen. Brett Favre apparently has to carry a player off the field on his shoulders.  The butt wiggling, leg shaking, hand gesturing, it is all getting out of hand. I feel like sports has become a parody of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Seven quarterbacks a jumping,  eight basketball players a leaping, nine hockey players group hugging, etc.

I yearn for the days when athletes acted professional and mature. That they saved celebrating for a meaningful accomplishment. That they worked hard, played hard, and were as professional as any other person would be in a different occupation earning the kind of money that they do. For now I will have to suffer and watch as these self absorbed fops preen and posture themselves to garner attention.

I feel better now. I think I will go out and celebrate.

Many of you out there probably don’t know who Karnell Hatcher is. He is a college student at LSU. A junior he also happens to play safety on the LSU football team. I became aware of Karnell Hatcher by watching LSU play football on television. More to the point I became aware because I was critical of his play.

Now I have never played high school or college football, but as a fan , like others, I exercise my right to pass judgment and offer opinions on how Karnell Hatcher and other college players perform. In my opinion Hatcher, over the past few weeks, had been beaten for too many long pass plays and against Arkansas made an error when instead of tackling a receiver he turned himself into a guided missile and tried to blow his guy up. Unfortunately he missed and ended up taking out a teammate instead. This allowed Arkansas to score a touchdown from deep in their own territory with only six seconds to go in the half, and those points ended up being the difference in the game.

I was mad! The guys I texted with back and forth during the game were mad! This Hatcher guy was hurting the team! His error cost LSU a chance at a Bowl Championship Series game! But afterwards I began to reflect, and my reflections gave me pause.

Karnell Hatcher is a kid. My oldest son is twenty years old and he is my child. Karnell Hatcher has to play in front of thousands of people every week, and possibly millions more on television. He plays on a team that is responsible for generating millions of dollars for the school and the state. His coaches are either millionaires or firmly entrenched in the upper tax bracket of the nation. He endures scrutiny from his coaches, peers, fans, and the media. For this he gets a college education, with a caveat.

Karnell Hatcher’s foremost obligation is to the football team. His scholarship is year to year. He needs to stay eligible so he can play but he has to attend meetings, practices, and off season conditioning. The schools state they want a high graduation rate. But as long as players stay eligible, even if they don’t have enough hours to graduate once their careers are over, no one is overly concerned. The fault lies with the players.

These kids are all at risk to get severely injured everytime they step on the field and that fame is fleeting. If a college team plays twelve games a year, and each game lasts three hours, that is one hundred and forty four hours of football or six days. Since no player in today’s world play both ways that means that three full days of their life are actually used playing football in a game, yet hundreds of hours and days are devoted to preparing for that short span.Big time universities depend on the millions of dollars generated by the efforts of these kids, but the players themselves see very little of that money , even while they bear the burden of performing. Most of these players won’t make it to the National Football League, and those that do won’t last long, in that the average NFL career for most players is less than five years.

To me I have no right to criticize Karnell Hatcher. I ought to be grateful that this young man loves his sport enough to play it for what amounts to be chump change. Yes a college education is priceless but many kids go to school for free through a variety of programs. Once enrolled their focus is on their academics, so that they can maintain a grade point average sufficient to keep their awards.

Now if the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) were to approve a stipend, or perhaps call it work study because it is work, and allow these young men to earn a modest income from their efforts, then the playing field is leveled.

Right now a young collegiate football player, with a high probability of being from a low to moderate income family, is being asked to risk his health in return for a college education. His efforts will generate millions of dollars that will not only cover the cost of his education but thousands of typical students as well. To me there is something wrong with that picture. All sports carry the risk of injury, but no sport is as dangerous as football is. Today’s elite football player is bigger, faster, and stronger than his counterpart of a decade ago. Equipment is lighter and collisions, often violent, are what drive today’s game. And no sport generates as much revenue for its school like big time college football.

The professionals are extremely well compensated for their risk but their college counterparts are not. The type of scandal that enveloped Reggie Bush at USC and threatens to undo Cam Newton at Auburn, ( both of these scenarios involve receiving money),could have been avoided if schools were allowed to pay athletes a modest salary for their efforts. Better yet, put it in a trust fund that allows them to receive the money upon graduation. This protects the non-NFL players and encourages kids to get their degrees. If a student athlete were paid $25,000 a year they would have $100,000 to start their life with after a football. That is a down payment on a house, the ability to acquire reliable transportation, and buy furniture.

The next time Karnell Hatcher makes a good play I will cheer him and the next time he makes a bad play I will encourage him, even if he can’t hear me. He deserves nothing less.