Alphabet Story

Alabama was a terrible state to travel through in the 1950’s. The homes were all gray-black and one could see through most of them. Traveling in a 1946 Plymouth without air conditioning was miserable. The heat was as hot as being on the Bayou.

Bayou fun is sitting on a porch smoking a brier pipe. Work is crawdad gathering. The accents are only understandable upon the third hearing. The only thing cool about the language is the word Cajun.

Cajun food is the most terrible food I have every tasted. That stale muggy taste makes me want to vomit. If I never have another taste of that food, it will be too soon. Between Cajun food and myself I want a long distance.

Distance, a very long distance, I must travel to go from Cajun Land to British Columbia. British Columbia is just a little British. If a Cajun Land person and a British Columbian sit in a room, you can sure tell the difference in the language. This is an understatement. The difference between accents is as dramatic as that between Cajun and Chinese foods. There is a long distance between Cajun Land and British Columbia. Languages can change in just a few hundred miles. Languages can change in a few feet. The language can be very different. You can walk a couple of hundred feet across a bridge from El Paso to Ciudad Juarez.

El Paso’s language is Spanish. I studied it for two years in graduate school. Barely made it through the class with a passing grade. I still can’t speak it worth a dang. Masculine and feminine words were really confusing. One needs an ear for a language and my ears are sort of elf shaped. Elves have never spoken Spanish well. Of course Dwarfs speak Spanish well and they are Elves’ friends.

Friends talk to me in Spanish or maybe they talk to me in Dwarf. I understand maybe thirty percent of what they say. I formed a business relationship with a Spanish friend, Jose Arroyo, in Puerto Rico. He became a very good friend. We traveled throughout Puerto Rico selling MOM (Municipal Operations Manager) software to government agencies. The Puerto Rican people are great.

“Great family traditions,” my wife Teri said as we watched the families play together on the mile long pier in Ponce. Young children, teenagers, adults and the elderly all intermingling and yet allowing each to have their own space. It was wonderful watching from a restaurant-bar outdoor patio. We had never seen this at home.

Home is where the heart is. Teri and I have traveled the entire USA and we came back to our home, California. We always laughed that as soon as we crossed the border, the traffic increased by 300%. I think the prices are also 300% higher compared to the rest of the country. There is nothing cheap about California. You have to pay thrice for everything, even insurance.

Insurance chews you up. I bought insurance for the house. Did it cover the entire house? No, it only covered parts of the house. It did not cover contents, earthquake or flood. We finally decided to add earthquake insurance. Life Insurance is one of those funny paradoxes. Your betting you’ll die and they’re betting you’ll live. They used to have insurance machines next to every airline counter. I do not remember seeing an insurance machine the last time I was in the airport. I will look for one next time I get on a jet.

Jets and myself have been close since I was twenty-two. I had never flown on a plane till I flew on a jet going to flight training. When I finished college, I went down to the recruiter to see the alternatives to the draft. Went to NAS Minneapolis and asked what the Navy had to offer. They said I could take a test to be a pilot. I took it, passed and two months later I was off to Pensacola, Florida. I actually got airsick on my first flight. The flight was very turbulent and I was very nervous. That was the first time I learned about barf bags. On many mornings during heavy flying maneuvers, after a party at the Officers Club the previous night, the barf bag and myself were great friends. It was all in the job, and taking off in afterburner was a kick.

Kicking off from the dock on my fourteen-foot aluminum speed boat with a forty horse Johnson engine was a nice reprieve from flying at 60,000 feet. We would go flying down the inland costal waterways from Pensacola to Tallahassee. I remember my Ensign friend and I wore our Ensign hats so the gold braid would turn green. We knew it would make us look like old salts. Several weeks later and 6,000 miles the braid was stale green. The Squadron Commander seeing me did not take it lightly.

Lightly and swiftly I hurried to the Commissary to buy new gold braid. It was my first cruise and the USS America’s shipboard commissary was a very interesting place. I remember when we were just coming back from the Mediterranean and the Commissary decided to give everyone 50% discount on all goods. When we asked why it was so inexpensive, we were told something about “clearing excess inventory.” I used all my funds on “goodies.” The buyers were fortunate, the Head of the Commissary wasn’t. He was not very sharp and lost around 30,000.00 dollars of the store’s money. Well, at least for this type of problem, they didn’t use manacles.

Manacles were also not the order of the day when we were apprehended for fishing out of season and hauled off to jail at Park Rapids, Wisconsin. Four friends on Easter vacation, from college, going up to one friend’s cabin. We had a couple cases of beer and were having fun. Went in the back the cabin and fished for Northern Pike coming up the river. Well, someone saw us and reported us to the game warden. Spent all of my Easter vacation in the Hubbard County Jail. Jail was not that bad, as we spent most of the time outside playing baseball. Five pretty local girls came to visit those ‘bad boys’ who made headlines. Did this mean my life was leading to nowhere?

Nowhere is defined as an insignificant place. Looking at it from a Galactic point of view, maybe I was going nowhere. Deep inside I always knew every act, no matter how small, could start the forces in motion to create a significantly different universe. I like to think about every act I do as that significant act. With that kind of ego I should have realized, when young, that in my life, I had many things to overcome.

Overcome is maybe not the proper word. Maybe ‘struggle through’ is more appropriate for my life. I feel sometimes like the Forest Gump from Minnesota. I have stumbled on or into so many interesting things in life. A new memory comes every time I turn a corner in my mind. I also have a lot of clichés like “turn a corner in my mind”. Sometimes only a well-used cliché is appropriate. Of course, in class, if you have a tendency to be flamboyant most teachers take it wrong. A good grade happens more often to the pious.

Pious behavior and following the rules with little or no humor has not been one of my life’s tenants. I remember a college class in public speaking. The teacher asked us to talk on a subject that disgusted us. The “goody-two-shoes” students spoke on subjects like not using the correct tie or wearing the wrong colors. I heard them all before it was my turn. My last name starts with W and I was last to talk. I should have picked up on what subjects the teacher wished to hear from the other students. But I blundered on with my standard flair. With my sense of humor, of course, I chose picking noses. I proceeded with showing different techniques of picking noses; blatant ones and the hidden ones, dainty baby fingers and large thumbs. Well, what I though was really funny went over like a “lead balloon”. The D- grade received in class was academia’s message that I should conform. Undeterred I continue to approach life with a little different skew and ‘lead balloon’ cliché’s. Then again, when you are writing in an English class, maybe it is best to keep some opinions quiet.

Quiet is a word I have heard so many times by friend and foe alike. I have always had a voice that could be heard across two counties. I give myself permission to talk loudly. I might as well give myself permission, as I do it anyway. Now singing is not yelling and I love to sing, even if I am emphatically told, “DO NOT SING. Please DO NOT SING!” My singing, I am told, makes the whole family’s ears ring.

Ring around the Rosy, pocket full of Posies. Funny little song and they won’t even let me sing it without bitching at me. I know I am Caruso and my voice is like an angel in heaven. The family says it’s like a band of renegade angels with laryngitis. They just don’t appreciate good singing.

Singing in the Rain is just one more great song by this fabulous virtuoso. My singing over the intercom, while flying a phantom jet, was called by many “pure torture”. Of course I was always very aware of my surroundings when flying for business. One is very aware when his life depends on it. To state a flyer’s cliché “flying jets is hours of boredom with moments of sheer terror.” To that cliché I can attest.

Testing is one of my life’s major activities. I am always testing to see how far I can go. I test how much teasing someone can take. I test how much pushing is needed to get results. I test the programs I complete. Testing is another way of just doing. You must continually do things. In doing them you are also testing. It is an integrated part of every activity. It is a something that is undeniable.

Undeniable activity I characterize as that which comes next. Just doing the next activity sounds a little trite. It is how I look at life. Maybe the next activity will be to accept the invitation to go to India to work with our staff there. There are eight East Indian programmers who are currently working with me. Julie McClure, one of my top programmers, has MS. I watched her go from walking to a wheelchair. She coordinates our India activity. Julie handles life with a toughness I marvel at. As with all activities in life, some aspects are tough and some virtuous.

Virtuous behavior gives me a high. It raises my ego daily. It gives a reason to live. It really feels good. There are a lot of other things that feel good also and I don’t think any of them are worth my worship.

Worshiping any God is the pacifier of the masses. This is a really worn out cliché. I know there is something there, because there is too much design in everything around us. Appreciating it, yes! Being thankful for it, yes! Worshiping! Uhh! I have passed through the worshiping phase of my life, looking at this and that religion, doing incense, studying dogmas, learning chants, memorizing prayers, staring at candles, doing mantras, contemplating my navel and any other item that was of interest. A mental trip is always fun and sometimes, actual mental growth is a nice addition. I do know personal growth has enhanced my life and created Roland magic. It would really be nice to be able to take all my memories and experiences (Roland magic) and just make a Xerox.

Xerox my personal growth and pass out feeling worksheets would be fun. Our office Xerox is actually a Cannon, but I have always called it “making a Xerox” and not a copy. Anyway, it takes 5 minutes to warm up before you can make a copy. It is a pain in the ass to do just one copy. It is nice if you have 20 copies and have the machine staple them together. Well, it’s better then not having a copier. I had to do everything manual when I was young.

Young is one of the things I won’t be again in this life. One always thinks that being young is great. Being young was much less fun than my life now. I am very, very happy. Young Roland’s frustrations were continually driving him to find “the answer”. This drive always left a feeling of incompleteness. Now I have the answers. It’s a shame I forgot the questions. The one thing that has followed like me a puppy dog through life is zest.

Zest is an interesting word; it means vigorous and enthusiastic enjoyment. I like it a lot. I’m going to put it in my new book somewhere. It is the goal and the journey for yourempowerment.com.

Roland James March 2001