About Me

A person’s life is no more than remembrances of himself and impressions made upon others. That in turn is reduced to remembrances. If the person made something, created something, then a hard object can represent his life.

At six, my father whipped my running naked butt with a belt all the way from the tank on the farm to the house, “I told you not to swim in the tank, you could drown.”

At twelve, I shot my dad’s prize birddog, D. A., through the head when he ran in front of my .22 rifle while target practicing. I wrecked my bicycle that day going to bury the dog and dislocated my right thumb. It never healed. I never liked dogs thereafter.

At eighteen, I shot myself with my .22 pistol practicing ‘quick-draw.’ I still have the bullet the doctor cut out of my leg.

I ‘got out’ of college with a chemical engineering degree, a wife, three boys, a home built car with two Harley engines and a trailer load of junk furniture that would have made a good fire.

My wife took the Bible literally, “Go forth and pro-create!” She delivered five boys and two girls that we could cram into a seven-passenger station-wagon. I dreamed of having a car other than a station-wagon.

Good fortune delivered unto me a 1951 XK-120 Jaguar roadster for $100, but it was in a box. I made it run and look like a car in progress. It sold for $500 which I turned into a metal lathe, the beginnings of my machine shop. I wish I had that Jag now.

The family and I grew up together, always a kid. I believed the statement, “Grown-ups take life too seriously, let’s have fun.” The boys and I fought in the house and the front yard learning how to be aggressive and belligerent. Several sheet-rock walls had to be repaired.

A continuous procession of cars moved through my life. Buy it three years old and ‘fix it up’ for running until the next came along.

The chemical industry and chemical plants provided an opportunity to be creative, problem solve. Identify, scope, recommend a solution; being somewhat articulate verbally and on paper helped sell ideas. Jobs in engineering, maintenance, construction, management, accounting, marketing, research, sales, distribution and trucking gave opportunities to see the ‘Big Ball Of Wax.’ Obviously selling your own ideas is an ego trip, but the greatest was helping others attain their confidence levels.

It was so simple: Establish goals and objectives, provide tools, provide training to use tools to reach goals and continuous follow-up for changes. Yet this simple management process is lost on most businesses. My greatest satisfaction was asking a person, “How are you doing?” They could tell me because they knew their job with written guidelines. “The casual office atmosphere” coupled with the “Job book” gave everyone the confidence to succeed in their job.

Looking back at the job is amusing now, but at the time, I couldn’t see it. My boss told me, “Once you solve the problem, you become the problem. You must move on to other problems. ” I retired at 55, with regrets, but they were short lived.

The next life began at the “Double Nickel,” a very small ranch in the country. Further gathering of tools enabled a machine shop business, a golf club business and cars. Golf came and went; I shot my age, had a hole-in-one and won tournaments.

Cars moved to the forefront again when 1967 Jag parts offered a base for building a car from a photograph. I’m near finishing it after three years but I have to admire Detroit’s engineering. They are good. ‘Course, there’s more than one engineer.

In the midst of all this, dreams of ‘what if’ crowded early morning wakefulness. Short stories, jokes, crazy ideas, a little philosophy crept into writing. From that came ‘the book.’ My first critic said, “This is the poorest writing I have seen, you need to go to school. Good plot though.” Three years later, my second critic said, “You have too many commas, can’t find the plot.”

I don’t believe I’m on the same wavelength of critics who harp on proper sentence structure and conjugated verbs. For that, I need a ghost writer.

So, the first book is written and published for the world to judge. It is one of a trilogy taking the Enhancers through a series of challenges to death’s door. The second is to be published soon. The third is 60% written and evolving. I don’t outline the book ahead as is suggested.

Have I made my mark on life, this life, this spot on earth? Have I left something ‘hard’ to be remembered by? I guess a few people will remember me for something. But they will die off and the entity will drift off in the wind.

But there’s one area where I can remain in existence. My seven children delivered 16 grandchildren to me, so they can carry ‘ol Paw Paw forward. And, I have a car, a whole lot of junk iron and a book, hard objects to acknowledge my presence. I must mark them with my sign!