I just didn’t want to lose these.

Mad Magazine and Johnny Carson supplied my irreverent laughs in those late grammar school and early high school years. In the modern time of Kindles and digital newspapers, it’s a charming memory to recall riding my bicycle with Spencer Hayman to the venerable New Orleans drug store, Katz&Besthoff, on Tuesdays, to purchase, I think for 12 cents, the latest edition of Sgt. Rock and Superman comics. How we would pore over each page. Oddly, I was never attracted to the offers of drawing lessons or Charles Atlas muscle building programs in the back of each issue. It’s a pleasant and comforting trip to the past to learn that Mad retains its singular, clever point of view even when its siblings such as The Onion appear faster and more hip.

At first, I thought that my connection to Ms. Earhart was my recollection of Apple’s Think Different advertising campaign of the late 90s. Much is expected of those to whom much is given; as well, I suppose, from those who achieve much. I think that the Mapgate furor is alot about a little, yet so seldom does Apple seem to stumble, stumble it does.

Now that I think about it, I do have tangential connection to Amelia Earhart. The proud ship, Joseph Strauss, DDG-16, anchored in Saipan in 1978 with yours truly as the navigating officer. In preparing for this visit, I became acquainted with a young lieutenant who commanded our Coast Guard station on this former battlefield of an island. His hobby was searching for and often finding artifacts of World War 2 including complete underground hospitals, rusted tanks and cases of 45 caliber pistols still coated in Cosmoline, MIL-C-11796C Class 3 for those in the market. He even established a decent sized museum for these artifacts all about the Loran Station’s grounds. One evening, as I asked for details about his discoveries – “I never go into the jungle without finding something,” he said- he offered that a persistent rumor about the island is that the Japanese kept Amelia Earhart prisoner here at the local jail. Of course, You Tube substantiates this supposition.

Having seen where 25,000 Japanese civilians committed suicide rather than surrender to our Marines, I can believe nearly any story about that island at that time.

Quite the achievement to have begun prior to the First World War remaining a well established brand in Barack Obama’s presidency. I believe that IBM is among our national treasures if not for its potential and if only for its heroic contributions to our country over the past ten decades. As with all champions, within its strength lies the seeds of its demise as it wrestles with the unsettling premonitions of the prevailing global economy. There is certainly much to admire in its people as there is much reason for concern as its own customers struggle mightily in adapting to and adopting the changes wrought by technology, particularly the speed at which markets gather information and make their own decisions. In my own professional lifetime, the corporation journeyed from market advantage by virtue of its access to business machines of various sizes and designs, typewriters to computers, office buildings and medical benefits, to the present where its seems that the average business enterprise struggles to understand the popular tools readily accessed by its customers, and even, employees, which are often superior to those provided at work.

The luncheon on the 100th recalled my first encounter with IBM. I was a customer in the Material Control Department of Bath Iron Works, circa 1984. We successfully upgraded our mainframe, from DOS to MVS as I recall, and implemented a suite of packaged software that was the rage of consultants at the time, MRPII. My role within the Department expanded to include traveling around talking to clients and partners, especially the Navy and Littons Industries, our construction partner, about the lessons-learned of our project. After a while, I thought that maybe I had a chance to apply for a position with IBM as wearing a nice suit seemed preferable to work boots and winters in the shipyard. I arranged for an interview with the Branch Manager in Portland, Maine (Branch Offices and their Managers were the fiefdoms and lords of its marketplace empire in those days. Today, nearly 50% of the 425,000 international employees work from home). I dressed-up, drove to Portland after hours. I remember the time of day because every single desk in the Branch was cleared and locked with numerous signs reminding employees to clear their desks and to lock the contents. Entered Wally’s office; we met a couple of times before. Look on his face told me that this was a courtesy interview and not an inspection of my potential contribution to his company. We chatted politely and briefly, very briefly. He began with the opener as I recall, ‘so it seems that you’re interested in working for IBM.’ ‘Yes!’ I nearly exclaimed as I seized the chance to describe how my MRPII experience might suit me well for a role in sales or systems engineering. He nodded and related a personal story of how competitive was the prevailing computer marketplace where customers sought the low-cost provider more than the very best solution. Loooong pause with head nodding; eye contact; staring; me nodding; me staring. ‘You know,” he continued, ‘I have a friend who makes $150,000.00 selling shoes to department stores around New England. There are lots of ways to make money.’ Me nodding, me staring in absolute bewilderment at that remark. Wally rose, offered a handshake and thanked me for coming over. ‘See you around the shipyard,’ he said.

I guess that is really the tale of how I ended-up in North Carolina and spent most of fifteen years in software start-ups of one type or another. Not finding a sales job in Maine gave my wife a chance to study landscape architecture in North Carolina where the move south suited us both.

As I looked around the cafeteria on Thursday’s Centennial after the multitudes side-stepped through the bbq chow-line, I wondered how many of those present, especially the 600+ retirees, sat in a Branch Office. Many, I surmised. Even though we were connected by the path of IBM’s 100 year journey, I recognized that in some curious and necessary way, IBM probably has changed more since 1984 than I have. At any rate, despite the very casual attire for the occasion, out of respect for the moment and my amazement at my inclusion (when I really think about it), I wore my best suit with my best pair of shoes, Wally.

A new friend and I discovered that we’re both Catholics. She asked, insightfully, “are you a practicing Catholic?” I smiled as I shook my head. Occassionally attended mass at Saint Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter when I was younger. My sisters and I liked to go because of the Cafe’ du Monde coffee and beignets afterwards. Pint of chocolate milk and 3 powdered sugar, deep-fried, French pasteries for twenty five cents. LeRoy was our favorite waiter. He talked about the track alot.

From the pulpit back in the 1960s, a visiting pastor classified most Catholics as coming to church on but three occasions: to be hatched, to be matched and to be dispatched. I guess that I’m now part of that club or majority. Should this be an identifier at Linked-In? Never gave-up much for Lent. We did follow the no-meat on Fridays rule. No problem, seafood was always the better dish in New Orleans anyway. Think about NOLA (New Orleans, LA) frequently of late. Hurricane Katrina and our absence of preparation, fumbling by the government agencies that our tax dollars funded to mind such matters and the resultant expectation that somehow the same government would make it all fine after the fact has, of course, a disappointing parallel to how one might characterize the Wall Street and Banking mess that we’re in. Who woulda thought?!

If you’re a practicing and / or good Catholic and keeping score at home, Easter is but 26 days away. I just learned from WikiAnswers that Lent is a 40 day season over a 47 day period because Sundays do not count?! So, we’re about half of the distance from Mardi Gras and another 1/2 to Easter.
At any rate, I just wanted a reason to show you this woman’s body-paint costume. I didn’t have the courage to show it alone. Having received the Octo-mom costume photo yesterday provides a good excuse. In addition to sharing its too often self-destructive habits and behavior, maybe the rest of us can also cultivate the New Orleans sense of humor and its fondness for the human condition and its packaging.

We all awoke at 3:30 EST to watch the finals of the Australian Open. Entertaining and agonizing from the first game until the last. Deflated all day when reliving the tears of Roger; pleased when recalling the grit and achievement of Raphael. I think that we all know that the torch has indeed been passed to a new champion.
Such an exhibition of talent and generous competitiveness! I recommend that Roger find a coach to change his thinking about how to play with Nadal, mainly because I want to see many more matches between them of this caliber.

I’ve seen my share of Super Bowls, namely all of them! First one was shown on both NBC and CBS. No one thought that the AFL was for real. Then Joe Namath and the Jets showed them; followed by the Chiefs knocking-out the Vikings. My highlights:
- biggest disappointment: Jets defeating my Colts. Why didn’t Moral throw that flea flicker to Orr?!
- most fun: all of the 49er victories
- most lopsided: da Bears over New England. Much worse than the score.
- most startling: my flower power ‘I’ll go for you’ date in Hawaii in 1977 who fell in love with the game when she won the 4th quarter and final score pools, c.$250 in cash. She may still be rooting for the Raiders.
- most unusual location for me: in Guam watching the game on Monday morning with Carmen Cruz who cheered on every play never having seen a game before.
- best play: the pass by Garo Yepremian nearly costing Miami the game and its perfect season. He was the place-kicker btw.
- most memorable moment: I worked as an usher at #4, Chiefs & Vikings. After taking tickets in the first half, I was stationed behind Viking bench to keep the fans off the field
(135 lbs in an ill-fitting uniform!)
I still recall the crash of the tackles, the bleeding ear of the fullback, Bill Brown, and the smelling salts provided to Joe Kapp as he wobbled around the bench after a car-wreck of a tackle. Today’s running backs are the size of those tackles. Ugh. The pain! At any rate, I’m for Warner.

I was stationed in Pearl Harbor reporting aboard DDG-16 in December of 1975. Having finally established myself in San Francisco (apartment, girlfriend, roommate), I transferred with 2 weeks notice and 2 weeks for weapons school in San Diego. Being the newest junior officer, I had the weekend duty on Sunday December 7th, the day that President Gerald Ford visited the USS Arizona Memorial.

We were tied-up across the harbor and in full view of Ford’s Island where lies the sunken USS Arizona with its splendid memorial. Across this small island, really a battleship parking lot, lies the sunken USS Utah with hardly a visitor (she wasn’t much of a warship when sunk; the Arizona was then the flagship of Admiral Kidd who was lost in the attack). The Arizona has an aura befitting its sacrifice and representation; oil still bleeds from its tanks into Pearl Harbor.

When I think of Pearl Harbor, I recall the USS Nevada. Also moored on Ford’s Island, she managed to raise steam and to get underway even though torpedoed and bombed prior to doing so. On a ship stocked with senior officers, not aboard on this Sunday morning, the Nevada got underway under the command of a lieutenant, a lieutenant commander and a chief quartermaster. Winding her way through the lengthy channel of the harbor, she became a high priority target for Japanese fighter-bombers.
As she approached the mouth of the channel and now aware of the Japanese intent to sink her there to block the harbor, the Nevada drove itself ashore at Hospital Point.

Over the next two years, our own ship came in and out of Pearl on numerous occasions. For one year I served as navigator of our ship, the USS Joseph Strauss. Every time, in day or night, entering or leaving, that we passed this actual landmark, I thought of the young and brave men who sailed the same channel under incredible duress and marveled at their bravery, leadership and presence of mind.

Lieutenant Commander Francis Thomas, a naval reservist, was an engineering officer and the senior officer aboard at the time of the attack. He got Nevada underway and ordered her beached. He passed on in 2005 at the age of 100. He commented that “he was the only man in the Navy ever to receive a medal (Navy Cross) for running his ship aground.”