Alice And Vulcan Incorporated - Only In America

Vulcan Incorporated President and Chief Executive Officer at Vulcan's Christmas party, 1988. I proposed to Alice that evening after the party, five weeks after we met.

Belatedly following the advice of my buddy, Sam, I joined the Gualala Rotary several years ago. As with new members, they quickly scheduled me to do a presentation, presumably about myself, at our lunchtime Friday meeting at St. Orres. Without spending much time thinking about what I would say, I chose to talk about Alice and her company, Vulcan Incorporated, plus how we met through Great Expectations, a video dating service. Many Rotarians have since remarked that they were surprised, and pleased, that I chose to talk about Alice instead of myself. It’s not that they’re not interested in my All-American Boy story; it’s just that Alice’s story is much more interesting and compelling.

First things first, Alice and I met through Great Expectations in 1988, the year that my first wife, Marilynn, died of breast cancer at the tender age of 43 less than two months after our 25th anniversary. When we met, Alice already had a very successful small business, Vulcan Incorporated.

Over a decade before we met, Alice divorced her first husband and went back to college while raising her two daughters and working as a waitress in Dublin, the town where they lived in northern California about thirty miles east of San Francisco.

After she completed her degree in Political Science at Cal State-Hayward, her first job was as a Pre-Trainee at Mervyns, with the goal of becoming a Buyer. She soon found each day on the job was a miserable experience, because she had to stand for long periods on her very flat feet. The pain in her feet hurt her concentration and performance, and soon Mervyns informed her that she was not management material.

For her future success, being fired by Mervyns was one of the best things that happened to her.

While a divorcee she had several boyfriends, none of whom were serious marriage material. One boyfriend introduced her to selling, primarily of industrial products like welding rod. She soon realized that she was better at selling and was a much harder worker than the boyfriend. He did make one valuable contribution to her future in sales, when he introduced her to such principles or clichés of selling as: “Find a need and fill it.”

As Alice worked hard, much harder than the boyfriend, she took “find a need and fill it” as her gospel of selling, and one day while visiting Karl, the plant manager for a major boxboard manufacturer, she asked him if there was something the company had difficulty buying.

He was an Italian-American, a flirtatious but fatherly figure, and looking at the leggy young blonde, who was looking back at him with an intense and serious expression, he replied: “Honey, baling wire. Even the farmers are having a hard time buying baling wire.”

“Karl, stop joking, be serious,” she told him, but he just said “follow me,” and showed her the automatic baler that was fed cardboard box scrap through a pneumatic system that gathered scrap from wherever box board was trimmed throughout the plant. She watched as wire was dispensed from hundred-pound spools, threaded around the baled cardboard, and automatically tied when the bale was formed.

The reason baling wire was in short supply was that our government, in October 1974, under the “big government” tendencies and inept leadership of President Ford, was in the throes of one of its usual mindless schemes to do something it had no business doing. In this case it was attempting to control inflation through voluntary and mandatory actions, such as price controls. Do you remember “WIN”? “Whip Inflation Now”?

As is the usual result of unwarranted government meddling, WIN just made matters worse. In the case of baling wire, the price controls on steel production penalized producing low-margin products like baling wire, and favored diverting production to high-margin products. Very quickly baling wire was in short supply, and Alice was unknowingly knocking on the door of opportunity.

She seized the moment, and told Karl she would get him the wire he needed. Soon she found some wire, bought it with a check on funds she knew she didn’t have in her account, and had her boyfriend drive the truck to deliver it. She also prevailed on Karl’s company to pay her immediately, instead of paying through the usual accounts payable cycle, so she was able to get the funds in her account before the check from her supplier hit.

Unfortunately, her wire did not work properly in the automatic baler. Fortunately, Karl did not request a refund and gave her another chance. The second batch of wire worked, but it wasn’t on spools. The third batch was the charm, because Alice worked very hard researching and phoning to get spooled wire. Thus was Alice’s industrial baler wire distribution business launched.

During the Vulcan start up period, her office was her guest bedroom (she replaced the bed with a cheap used desk) in her Dublin home. Before hiring any employees, Alice didn’t want Vulcan to appear to be the little “shoestring” company it was, so she employed a telephone answering service to take calls and transfer them to her home. A sixteen-year old local bakery girl was soon lured away from her cakes to become a part-time employee. The business quickly progressed from purchasing wire directly from suppliers for delivery, to renting warehouse space and services.

While still in her home office, Alice had to worry about cash flow because one of Vulcan’s customers was always slow in paying their account. Alice called the owner, and he promised they would have a $5,000 check for her after work. Alice went to the company’s office to get her money and was told it wasn’t ready. She then demanded to see the owner and was told that was impossible because he was in an important meeting. That was the wrong thing to say to Alice and she immediately walked past the receptionist, banging doors open, then went up the stairs, barged through a door into the meeting, and demanded: “Who is Bob Sherman?”

“I am,” a slight man at the head of the table answered. “What do you mean by this?”

“I came for the check you promised.”

“Then was then, and now is now, and now we don’t have the money.”

“I’m not leaving without my money,” Alice shouted, then threw her portfolio briefcase at Sherman, narrowly missing him as it curved in flight like a boomerang. “Pick it up!” she shouted after the near miss.

“You pick it up!” Sherman shouted back.

One of the bystanders picked it up and rearmed Alice.

“Get out now,” Mr. Sherman demanded, “or I’ll call the police.”

“Give me the phone,” Alice replied, “and I’ll call them myself.”

"Not on my dime!" Sherman roared, and ordered his men to: “Get her out of here!”

Two big men picked up the chair with Alice in it and carried her out the door to the top of the stairs, but didn’t know what to do next. Then Sherman came to their rescue, pulled Alice out of the chair, and started to carry her down the stairs. Although Alice only weighed 135 pounds, she was bigger than Sherman, and he only carried her down two steps before he dropped her.

Alice bounced down the steep stairs on her shapely rear, her slick polyester dress speeding her descent, and landed at the bottom with aplomb and without physical damage, with her papers and briefcase still clutched in her arms. She stood up, glared at Sherman, and shouted through clenched teeth: “See you in court!”

She then grabbed the door to slam it on her way out, but the pneumatic door closer dampened the drama of her exit.

When she returned to her home office, her receptionist said Sherman’s company had called and said they were mailing a check, but that they wouldn’t be doing any more business with Vulcan. “I told them there must be some misunderstanding,” she told Alice, “and that I'm sure Alice will straighten it out.”

Alice thought Vulcan would be finished when word got out about her confrontation with Bob Sherman, but it was the opposite. The Bay Area refuse collection and recycling industry was abuzz with the story of the “little lady with balls.” In fact, Alice was soon invited to join the California Can Carriers Association, made up of former garbage men who had worked their way up to management and sometimes even ownership of their garbage companies. Alice didn't have to seek out contacts. Due to her new notoriety, men came to her and introduced themselves. Vulcan's sales then increased rapidly.

As sales rapidly increased, a second and then a third employee was added, and then all began tripping over the waste baskets and bumping into the desks. The former guest bedroom no longer sufficed, so Alice rented an office nearby. It was an attic space over a regular office, and was not air conditioned. During the summer the heat was unbearable, and Alice quickly relocated Vulcan before her employees left her. She moved Vulcan to a recently abandoned Red Carpet Realty office, which still had the red carpet.

While there, a competitor sent an employee to intimidate Alice into selling her business to him cheap. The first of many competitors learned that Alice can’t be intimidated.

Although Alice’s father, George, at the time had never had a computer of his own, he came up from his home in southern California and helped install Vulcan’s first computer system. At the time the business was growing so fast that George asked Alice to tell the newly hired salesperson to slow down because the computer couldn’t keep up. His request fell on deaf ears, and eventually the computer caught up.

In the course of the fourteen years that passed before we met in 1988, Alice moved Vulcan into increasingly nicer office space. When I met Alice on October 30, 1988, Vulcan was an all-female company located in a very nice office in Pleasanton. The office space was so desirable, Vulcan sublet space to an attorney and to a medical supply sales representative.

"Laissez les bons temps rouler!"
1992, Santa Catalina, Alice and I celebrate mass 50th birthdays with her Reseda High classmates, with Vulcan on a roll. Casino (with Avalon Ballroom on top) behind us.

However, in the early 1990’s Vulcan lost their biggest customer, which had reorganized its purchasing and warehousing in northern California and started purchasing wire directly from the manufacturer. Alice gave herself and everyone in Vulcan a pay cut, and soon rented a combination office and warehouse in the industrial part of Hayward, bought a forklift, and added a warehouse man/forklift driver.

Alice also learned computer spreadsheet formulas, and worked many hours on the computer in our Livermore home designing a spreadsheet that her employees could use to predict when and how much of what type of wire a customer could be expected to need soon. Alice’s customer order prediction spreadsheet replaced a manual system she had developed years before. Alice was inspired to create the spreadsheet system when she and her office manager tired of teaching new employees simple algebra. She had only been able to hire one employee who didn’t need training in simple algebra, an elderly gentleman already drawing social security.

Alice copyrighted her spreadsheet, which made it much easier for Vulcan to bring on new employees to handle routine customer reorders. It also gave Vulcan a very good tool for managing its inventories of various lengths, widths, and types of wire in order to meet customer requirements on a timely basis.

During the “lean” period that led to the move to Hayward, I was laid off in 1994 after ten years at Lockheed. As we say in Defense Contracting, “Peace is Hell,” and Lockheed was losing one direct contract after another as I labored in an overhead position as an Environmental Protection Auditor. While drawing unemployment pay, I started working in small business brokerage at Business Team in Walnut Creek, quickly listing seven businesses, but couldn’t find any buyers. Luckily for me, I soon found a position as Accounting Manager with a small defense contractor in Sunnyvale. Alice volunteered to take over my listings, and began working at Business Team but soon tired of the mind-numbing paper shuffling she had to do without any clerical assistance.

The Business Team office manager soon noticed that Alice was not enthusiastic about the work, and suggested it would be best for all concerned if Alice moved on to other things. Alice was glad to be asked to leave, and as she packed up her things, she told another agent she had been fired. That upset the other agent, but Alice reassured her she was happy it happened. At that point the agent told Alice that she was the type of owner small business brokerages hate. When Alice asked why, the agent explained that good businesses like Vulcan, with a healthy owner, no divorce or family squabbles, and not suffering any other major afflictions or catastrophes, would not go on the market at a sacrificial price, and therefore would be very hard or even impossible to sell. Buyers are looking for businesses in distress to buy at bargain-basement prices. No one wants to pay what a successful business is worth.

Working at Business Team and gleaning this piece of information was another of the best things that happened to Alice. Up to that point, she had often and seriously thought of selling Vulcan, but now she realized that she couldn’t get good value for Vulcan by selling it to a buyer. This inspired Alice to creatively find another way to “sell” Vulcan, and she began investigating “sweat equity” schemes.

By far the most significant change Alice brought to Vulcan was “sweat equity” ownership for her key employees. One of her competitors had been hurting the sales of all the other wire manufacturers and distributors, including Vulcan, by aggressive price cutting. Unfortunately for the competitor, he cut prices too aggressively and didn’t fully cover his selling costs, which landed him in bankruptcy. Suddenly, Alice had an opportunity to hire Mike, the competitor’s best salesman, who had done such a good job of selling that he had almost destroyed Vulcan.

Alice couldn’t immediately offer Mike, who still lives and does most of his work in southern California, the kind of money he had been making at his bankrupt former employer, but she thought of a better deal. She would offer Mike the opportunity to earn shares of Vulcan each year, and to one day become the majority shareholder. In exchange for giving up her shares, Alice accepted a salary with annual inflation adjustments, good until age 110.

Alice also extended the offer of Vulcan ownership to other key employees: her loyal and reliable office manager, Pat; and Theresa, her personable salesperson for the northern California territory. The sweat equity system Alice established enabled her to keep her “Big Three” running Vulcan with expertise and stability rarely seen in a small business. Mike soon led an expansion of Vulcan into manufacturing, followed by the purchase of a 14,000 square-foot building in Hayward to combine office functions, manufacturing, and warehousing. Later a 7,000 square-foot building was added to serve as office space and extra warehousing. During Mike’s tenure at Vulcan, gross sales have increased from roughly a million dollars a year to approximately $10 million.

Vulcan is prospering well into its fifth decade, and is the industry leader in California for sales of industrial baler wire.

Alice and Vulcan Incorporated are truly an “only in America” story. She saw an opportunity and went after it holding nothing back. Along the way she found she had abilities that even surprised herself. She started a business in a historically all-male industry, and succeeded when other larger, more experienced competitors found it easy to fail.

Along the way she showed a remarkable ability to turn setbacks into successes:

She may not have been Mervyns management material, but she’s a great manager when she’s the boss.

When she was thrown out of Sherman’s meeting, she landed on her feet and gained a big reputation and instant respect in a tough, all-male industry.

When she lost her biggest customer, she started doing her own warehousing.

When she couldn’t hire employees who understood simple math, she developed a computer spread sheet for predicting sales that has kept Vulcan far ahead of competitors’ systems.

When a competitor tried to destroy her, the competitor went bankrupt, which enabled her to hire the top salesman of her dreams.

When she was fired from Business Team, she developed a way to “sell” Vulcan to its employees, and receive a generous salary.

It seems each setback Alice faced resulted in her doing better than she would have done otherwise. “When life gives you a lemon, make lemonade.” “When things look darkest, that’s your chance to shine.” “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

Each of these describes Alice, but the one that fits best is the one she earned from a real tough audience many years ago. She’s the “little lady with balls.”

And her memoir, The Lady With Balls, provides all the details and drama.

Our 2008 Christmas Letter

Alice and I were walking Buddy to Cook’s Beach, about 15 minutes away, and I realized I hadn’t started our Christmas letter. What to write about? Travel! Of course! Question: “Alice, besides the two weeks in Guatemala, can you remember anything else?”

After about half a minute of silent walking: “We visited Carol on Maui in January, and then we went to Peleliu for a week. Remember when we were leaving and you asked who won the Super Bowl, and a woman said the New England Patriots? Two days later you learned it was the Giants.”

“That’s right. New York. New England. Very confusing. Then what?”

“We went to Istanbul for a week, then over a week in Budapest for your four teeth implants. It’s a shame that one fell out a month later. On the way back we stopped in New York for ‘Wicked,’ ‘Phantom,’ ‘Chicago,’ Sunday services at the Abyssinian Baptist Church of Harlem, and a day in the American Museum.”

“The Baptist church choir, ’Phantom’ and ‘Chicago’ were great. It’s a pity ‘Wicked’ wasn’t. I hope that implant can be fixed without a third trip to Budapest. Anything else?”

“Well, in early July went to Temecula for your oldest son Bruce’s and Lisa’s marriage.”

“Of course I remember,” I said, realizing I’d forgotten until Alice reminded me. I congratulated myself that at least I remembered that we went to Guatemala City, Antigua, and the Mayan ruins at Tikal for two weeks in early September. While in Antigua, we hiked several miles up and down an active volcano, periodically in driving rain, with a group of a dozen Israeli students, all much younger than our children. Guatemalan cowboys followed us for most of the hike up. “Taxi?” they kept asking us, waiting for us to wear out and rent their horses. We didn’t, and we kept up with the youngsters.

“Anything else happen?” I asked.

“Well, you know, the President thing,” Alice replied.

“Of course, how could I forget?” Actually, I hadn’t. With all the hours we put in, there’s no way I would forget that Alice is now her Book Club president, and that I’m the president of Gualala Rotary.

2009 will be a bit quieter. We plan a driving tour to Yellowstone and Mount Rushmore in May. Then in November, when I should be writing our Christmas letter and mailing the cards on time, we’ll be in India for three weeks. Needless to say, I’ll be in the usual last minute panic to get our cards out, the same as always.

It’s a family tradition.

Alice, Michael, and Buddy

The Spirit of Nick

Alice and I toured China for three weeks, and Nick was one of our several Chinese guides. After we toured a Buddhist pagoda, we got on the bus and Nick answered questions, some of which touched on Buddhism. Nick volunteered: “I celebrate all religious observances – Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Muslim – I celebrate them all”

Muslims and Christians restoring the cross to the top of St. John's Church in Baghdad.
Nick went on to explain that he not only celebrates each of their holy days, he gets a special feeling of happiness and joy from each.

Then today this ecumenical moment photographed by Michael Yon popped up on several of my favorite blogs, e.g. Captain's Quarters.

To me it's "the spirit of Nick."

After all the years of Communism, Nick came up with a concept that is much richer and joyful than the one you get from any one religion.

In Baghdad, the feeling is the same.

Thanks, Nick.

In the spirit of ecumenicalism, the following is my photographic contribution, "China Dolls." Alice and her grandkids just look joyful.

Index of Posts Except Political

(Please mouse click on the red, underlined link titles to be magically transported to the articles described. I'll be glad you did. How you will feel about the process may be something else entirely, but go ahead, take a chance!)

Link to Political Posts - Politics is funny, especially when Liberals get serious.

The Galapagos Island cruise and Ecuador trip, January 2006

It's the Family After All - That is no stranger hanging on the cross.
Finding Real Beauty in the Galapagos Islands - A human mind can be beautiful too.

Point Arena Stories, 1949-1960

Big and Smart - Mom, Pop, the Runt and I
Eight-Man Football at Point Arena High - The more you goof off and take things easy, the longer you get to do them.
Jesus Saves, and the Little Red Truck - A thoughtful message from a friend I never met.
Point Arena Apprentice Poker Players - One day we thought we would be the big boys.
The Great Point Arena Fire of 1954 - Everyone likes to help
After the Summer of 1954 - You can't do a "kiss and tell," if you didn't do the kiss.
Pete Bjornavik, a Point Arena character - Fun to be around
Gopher Capital of the World? - There's a bit of larceny in all of us
1960 NCAA Basketball Championships - Thanks, "Chub" Ohleyer - A very generous man
Sweethearts Dance 1960 - Bad weather makes a special memory
Number, Please? - Personal connections before the dial telephone
Puddles the Pup - A big part of the best childhood in the whole world
You Gotta Ring Them Bells - Some wedding nights you don't forget, but you try!
After The Summer of 1954 - 7th and 8th grade, 60 students, one great teacher
The House We Built - Brother Ron and I dug the basement in 1954, with help from "Prince"
The Old High School - When we came to Pt. Arena in 1949, we lived in one big room of an abandoned high school building.
A Capsule Summary of My Life - So far, so good.
Humboldt State Lumberjack Reporter - The beginning of a nine-year, seven-college odyssey.

The Air Force Years, 1962 to 1984

You're in the Air Force Now - A very tiny thing can change a life.
It's a Gig - Sometimes the hard times are the best.
Sober Reflections on Memorial Day - Trying to find my place in Memorial Day.
They Also Served - Marilynn and our three sons were in the front lines.
England, 1970 to 1975 - My best job at my best base.
Traveling with a Water Bed - It's not often your guests bring their own.
Why Planes Break Down in Christchurch - Not just mechanical parts can delay a mission!
The Pineapple Express - Jimmuh and me have something in common.

Life in Gualala, 1998 to present

Our 2006 Christmas Letter - A Christmas letter is like a box of chocolates.
Europe Bicycle Trip of a Lifetime - When you haven't biked much, a four-month trip on bikes through Europe is a natural choice to celebrate retirement.
We Arrive in Europe - Our bike hike, continued.
Klein Gumpen, Here We Come! - Our bike hike, continued.
Uncle Jack - You're never to old to teach or to learn.
The Dublin to Tralee Train, and how Alice stopped it!
Running - Now Buddy keeps me going.
Same Time Next Year - Finding out how the other half live.
Excitement in Anchor Bay - Big doin's in a one potty town.
Mixed Company - When Alice and I stepped in, the company became mixed.

Tales of Alice

Feliz Ano Nuevo! - Wish your friends a new one! Just don't tell them what "it" is!
Alice and Vulcan Incorporated - Only in America
"Heartless" Capitalism is the Most Compassionate - Alice succeeds while France fails.
Alice's Project Complete! - It is worth it
Great Expectations - The tale of our whirlwind "story book" romance, featuring me picking Alice from a book.
The Dublin to Tralee Train, and how Alice stopped it!
Alice, the California Can Carrier - I think the Italian men liked the way she carried her can.
A Burning Desire - How lust landed me on the ski slopes
Murder by Wasabi - Was watching Monday Night Football a capital offense?
The Strong Woman Myth - In conclusion, a tribute to Alice and her daughters
Christmas Letter, 2005 - Alice had a busy year
A Fool Such As I - In a letter to the editor of our local paper, someone called me a fool. Alice didn't like that, and replied.

Some Observations

Almost Fetch With Buddy - It's a great game
Science Fiction - Where's the Science? - UFO's don't exist, and won't ever show up here. Why would they?
Really Dumb Football Players - NFL players are getting bigger, stronger, faster, and a whole lot dumber!
Garcia vs. Owens - Class Against No-Class - Jeff Garcia has class and the courage, Terrell Owens has neither
My Ancestors Owned Slaves - And I haven't.
Country and Western, Telling Life's Stories - Songs for adults.
Making the Army of Reconquista - There's more than one way to build an army of conquest!
Pardo's Push - Bravery, ingenuity, loyalty. It was an honor to serve with guys like these.
The Devil Made Me Do It - When you mess up, you have to blame someone.
Revolutionary Jesus - Seeking Truth at Christmas - It’s time for weak-kneed agnostics to stand up and be counted!
Free Will or Preordination? - Amen
Of Mensa and Me - No excuse for doing dumb things.
For Veterans Today, And Tomorrow - "For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!" But it's "Saviour of 'is country," when the guns begin to shoot"
The Deadly Bigotry of Low Expectations - It's easy to live down to expectations
If I Received a Love Poem - An expanded view of love.
Greatest Baseball Player of All - Willie and the Babe, forever number one.
Fight to get Your Virginity Back! - Once you lose it, abstinence won't get it back.
Cargo Cults, Reparations, and Casinos - The dreams are alive!
Review of Global Warming, What You Need to Know - I was happy to be chosen to review Tom Brokaw's special.
Keep it Simple, Simplifiers - There are two types of people in the world, simplifiers and complicators, and you know who you are.

The Global Warming Suite (Global Warming is science, not politics, according to Liberals, so it can go in this index)

Al Gore and his Merry Band of Global Warming Deniers - In denial that global warming is natural.
Preacher Al Gore and the Global Warming Fundies - "Brothers, let me hear you say 'Hot!' Sisters, let me hear you say 'Real Hot!' What have we got!? "A lot a' hot brothers and sisters! Turn on the air conditioning!"
Global Warming Consensus is not Science - At one time scientific consensus was the earth was flat; now it's global warming is man-made.
We have to get rid of the Medieval Warm Period! - If Al Gore can't get rid of it, his "science" is toast
Harvard Study Disproves Unprecedented Global Warming - And Harvard is not a right-wing stronghold
Global Warming - A Stroll Through the European Countryside - Liberals should be very careful as they stroll, since they can't look down and see signs of the Medieval Warm Period. With any luck they'll fall off the "man-made global warming" cliff.
A Sign of the Coming of the Global Warming Plagues - The Gospel according to Preacher Al Gore
Science Opposed to Global Warming Theory - An Index - If you still believe in Preacher Al Gore's Global Warming after you read these articles, you really got the faith!
Ain't No Big Thing - My advice to Al concerning rising sea levels.
Chilling Out Global Warming Hype - A pre-review of Tom Brokaw's Global Warming, What You Need to Know
Review of Global Warming, What You Need to Know - Presenting the other side.
Bring On Global Warming! - Please! Before we freeze!
The Four Whorsemen Of Global Warming - There are more than four now. Maybe I can add a few by having them ride double.
Hypocrisy of New York Times and Liberals - The champions of personal liberty and freedom of the press look the other way when the Left is doing the violating.

Please click on the labels below to see all my articles on each topic.

Soaking Wet, Wearing a Big Smile

Celebrities have iconic images, a look that is clearly stamped in the public eye and is readily associated with them. Back in the good old days, when we had few TV channels and everyone watched the same shows, an impersonator didn’t have to say a word to conjure up images of Ed Sullivan, Jack Benny, or Jackie Gleason. The way an arm was held, an eyebrow raised, a pained expression, and we all knew who the subject was.

Today, with the proliferation of celebrity status, it’s much more difficult. A woman on her knees barfing could be Paris Hilton, but it could be Halle Berry or one of our many celebrityettes. It’s the modern measure of celebrity: name recognition today, rehab tomorrow.

For those of us who are not celebrities, we may have as many iconic images as we have lasting associations with others. My image of Alice is soaking wet (fully clothed) with a big smile. Usually a bicycle is also in the picture.

After Marilynn died, and I joined Great Expectations, I noticed most of the young ladies wrote they loved outdoor activities and exercise. However, when I dated them, I discovered that a “love of outdoor activities and exercise” was very elastic. It seems that to many a walk through an uncovered shopping center satisfied both the outdoor and the exercise components.

This then brings me to Alice and her description of herself. If anything, she understated her love of outdoor activity, exercise, and of particular significance, adventure.

Unlike all the others, who said they loved the wind and the rain, but didn’t want to mess up their hair, Alice loves the wind and the rain and never gives a thought to her hair.

While I was auditing hazardous material and waste management at Lockheed in Sunnyvale, California in the early 1990’s, Alice accompanied me on all my audit travel projects, one of which started at Cape Canaveral, then up coast to Kings Bay Naval Base near St. Marys, Georgia, and finished at the Naval Base at Charleston, South Carolina. At Kings Bay we rented a bungalow on Amelia Island and while I worked, Alice explored the island on her rented bicycle.

We had already learned from previous travel on Lockheed business to Cape Canaveral that just about every day in the Atlantic Coast South includes a short but heavy thunderstorm. A particularly powerful one hit one afternoon after work just as I was driving back to our bungalow. When I got to the place we were staying, Alice and her bicycle were gone. Just as I was hoping that she hadn’t been caught out in the storm on her bike, I heard her on the front porch.

When I saw her, I had to laugh. I had never seen a person wearing clothes who looked so wet in my life. And I had never seen such a big smile anytime, anywhere. Alice had been totally thrilled and energized by her experience pedaling through the storm. Instead of being a discomfort and a bother, to Alice it was a great adventure. I could tell by her expression and energy that she was eagerly anticipating biking through the next thunderstorm to come along.

In the years since, we have experienced several memorable soakings. Once was in 1998 biking back to Rothenberg ob der Tauber from Wurzburg, and another was in Scotland in 2002 pedaling to Stirling on our way south to Edinburgh.

Now we live on the beautiful Northern California coast, and except for the few periods when health problems make her take it easy, Alice and Buddy take several walks every day. The morning and evening walks are usually along our road and through the woods, but their afternoon walks are to the beach, regardless of weather. Since she’s not on her bike, the combination of umbrella, rain gear, and raincoat usually keep Alice fairly dry. However, Buddy comes back looking like a happy drowned rat, and it usually takes me at least two towels to dry him. Needless to say, Alice and Buddy both love their walks, rain or shine, and Buddy loves the attention and towel rubdown, and his milk-bone reward.

My special reward is looking at their happy faces, and hearing Alice say “God, I love this beautiful place.”

Please click on the label below to see all my articles on this topic.

Our 2006 Christmas Letter

May the gifts of joy and peace be yours this Christmas season and throughout the New Year

        A Christmas letter is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to put in it. Now there’s a scary thought for you chocolate lovers.

        Actually, I know what I’m putting in this one. The same things I always do. Travels, family, friends, medical reports, blog report, plans for next year. As usual, I will avoid politics and religion, high among the most interesting subjects of life. Why is it the things we care most about are the things we’re not supposed to talk/write about? Maybe that’s why blogs were created, so we can spend time writing about things no one else wants to know. Click on the following highlighted link to go to an INDEX of some of the 300 posts I wrote this past year.

        Click HERE and HERE for posts about our Ecuador and The Galapagos Islands vacation in January. We had a very active ten-day Lindblad Explorer Galapagos cruise on a small ship (50 passengers). We hiked, kayaked, took Zodiac rides, snorkeled, had fabulous meals, were guided by unbelievably friendly and knowledgeable naturalists, and observed birds, seals and sea lions, iguanas, and tortoises at arm’s length (and sometimes closer). All were totally fearless in our company. Before the cruise we enjoyed a few days in Guayaquil, and after the cruise went to Quito, and then to Papallacta Hot Springs Resort high in the Andes at just over 11,000 feet.

        Alice loves her book club, and I’m sure she is its most diligent member. As she reads each assigned book, she marks passages with colored stickers denoting key concepts, curious items, strange words, and the like. Then she reviews or researches them all. She reads proposed books to render an opinion on their suitability for members, and scouts for opinions on books to add to the list. Finally, she publicizes meeting dates and locations in our local newspaper, and schedules members to host meetings. I don’t think I have ever seen a happier club member than Alice in her (all female) book club.

        I’m kept busy with membership in the Gualala chapters of Rotary and Lions, and the Native Sons. My objectives as a member of each is to have a fun social life. The objectives of Rotary and Lions center around getting lots of work out of me. I guess it’s the Protestant ethic that it’s wasteful to get together just to have fun, so you do good deeds to compensate. The Native Sons (and Daughters) just get together to talk. Great bunch. Some of them I’ve known since 1949.

        Next year should be very busy for our travels. Alice and her beautiful teeth will escort me to Hungary where dentistry is king, possibly in April, where I will have several teeth implanted, a bridge or two, maybe a couple of caps, and the few faithful teeth remaining that have stuck with me through 10,000 cups of coffee will get whitened. This is a two-parter. I’ll have to go back in four to six months to complete the implants.

        Then in September we will go to China with Alice’s father, George, and his friend Susan for three weeks. We will start our tour in Beijing, where we will dine on Peking Duck (or is it Beijing Duck now?). If I told you all we plan to do, then next year’s Christmas letter would be anti-climatic. Suffice to say we will see the Forbidden City, Great Wall, & Etc., travel a week seeing sights until we get to Shanghai, board a river cruise ship and travel the Yangtze River & Etc. for almost two weeks, and finish up in Hong Kong.

        Michael’s medical report: I have teeth issues, as mentioned already. Also, I sometimes have anxiety attacks when I go to sleep after drinking four or five cups of coffee, then worry why it takes me three or four minutes to fall sound asleep.

        Alice writes: My medical situation is as follows:

        I must undergo one more test on 12/22/06 before I have my final consultation on January 9th & then get scheduled for surgery in late January or early February. It is still unknown whether or not in addition to my fundoplication (stomach wrapping of the esophagus) I will have a pyloroplasty (enlarging the pylorous which is the connection between the stomach & the small intestine) in order for my food to pass through more quickly. In addition to that consultation, I must have another surgery consultation with the anesthesiologist at an unknown date & then finally the operation at another unknown date. Now I think the 17th of Jan would be the earliest date possible for the operation & the 5th of February probably the latest date. After my consultation on 1/9/07 I should know the exact date of my anesthesiologist consultation as well as my surgery date. Also, I found out that when I check out of the hospital between 2 and 6 days after the operation I will not be authorized to drive a car.

        I found out three days ago that most people who have fundoplications have a composite score of 50 or 60, and my composite score is 121.7 with normal being less than 14.7. I interpret that to mean I should have had this operation some years ago. The problem is now worse than last summer. I no longer can drink orange juice without problems, and fresh fruit and vegetables exact a price of discomfort from me. I no longer touch pineapple or melons except on wild impulse and then I pay an enormous price. Therefore, I am very much looking forward to my operation mostly so I can with ease eat juicy chunks of pineapple and melons and other delicious foods, and secondly so I don't have to gauge my swimming and bicycling to when I am almost famished (meaning as empty a stomach as possible).

        I should be as good as I will get 6-8 weeks after the operation, so by April Fool's Day at latest I shouldn't be asking for any more special considerations.

We wish you all a Merry Christmas, and a Happy Chanukah too.

Michael, Alice, and sweet little Buddy

Please click on the label below to see all my articles on this topic.

Mixed Company

About sixteen years ago, in the heyday of Gay, Alice and I thought it would be delightful to spend a few days in Guerneville, on the Russian River in Northern California. Guerneville was the place to be if you were gaying, graying, and dying or dating someone who was.

Alice and I practice what we stereotype. It was (and is) our firm conviction that Gays are the best proprietors of Bed & Breakfasts, so we made reservations at a B&B, with dinner option, just across from downtown Guerneville.

We put in a fun and energetic day hiking in the Armstrong Redwood Grove, and then went to our B&B for a delightful dinner. We were not disappointed in our stereotypes. After dinner we wondered about what we might do for evening entertainment, so we asked our proprietors for suggestions. We hinted that we really liked to dance, and one of our hosts said: “There’s a nice place for dancing just over the bridge and only about a block further, called the Ziggurat. However, before you go, I must tell you that you will be in “mixed company.”

We thanked him for his suggestion, and soon took leave to walk to the Ziggurat. Upon entering we made our host’s statement true, because then the Ziggurat suddenly became "mixed." Paraphrasing Dorothy I said: “Alice, I don’t think we’re in Livermore anymore.”

Just inside, on the right-hand side of the lobby, sat a wooden rowboat upside down on two sawhorses. The bottom of the boat was completely covered with condoms. Alice and I walked past the boat onto the dance floor, and found a table. We then turned our attention to the band. The band was on a raised platform, remarkably higher than the dance floor. The band members playing instruments were only dimly lit, and I couldn’t see them very well. However, the two female singers were covered by a spotlight, and little else. They wore gauzy, diaphanous gowns, and would have driven a crowd of straight guys wild. I wondered if there had been a scheduling mixup, and at some topless bar somewhere a bunch of guys were watching Village People impersonators.

At about this point in my mental meanderings, the girls launched into a sweet rendition of “Johnny Angel.” Alice and I rarely slow dance, but we cuddled together on the dance floor for a “tummy rub” just like we were back in high school. As we danced I took in the scene, and was not surprised to discover that Alice and the singers were the only females in the dance hall. I then became interested in our fellow dancers, and was surprised at what I observed.

The first thing that struck me was how little communication there seemed to be amongst the dancers. One would imperceptibly signal another, and the couple would walk onto the floor together, not touching, and then not have anything to do with each other for the duration of the song. The dancers didn’t look at their partners, or at any other dancers while they did their partnered dance solos. No hand holding, lips brushing cheek, butt patting, or any other of the kinds of contact on the dance floor that used to earn me a stern look from the teachers monitoring our deportment at high school dances.

Passionate, sexy behavior on the dance floor was only engaged in by Alice and me. A high school teacher monitoring behavior in the Ziggurat would have been bored to tears. The “Gay” lifestyle, at least from what we observed on the dance floor that night, seemed “somehow sadly gay.” I didn’t hear the accustomed roar resulting from lively chatter at the tables, a sound which has always characterized my impressions of evenings out dancing. Instead there was quiet, each person studying the others with an air of studied indifference. At the end of about two hours on the dance floor, I became aware that most of the dancers had silently melted away, leaving only a lonely few. Alice and I decided to call it a night.

As we walked from the dance floor and through the lobby towards the exit, we glanced at the upside-down boat. Its bottom was bare.

Apparently Alice and I had missed a lot of communicating that night.

Murder by Wasabi

We hadn’t been married a year before Alice tried to poison me. Alice’s favorite food is sushi, and one evening she made sushi at home for us. When you’re not a highly trained and experienced Japanese sushi cook, sushi is very time consuming to prepare. So time consuming that it was an hour past our normal (late) dinnertime, and Alice was still preparing sushi. She had made enough for one person, as long as that person was very small with a tiny appetite. At the same time, we had prepared to eat our sushi dinner in the family room, because it was Monday Night Football, which I never willingly missed. Realizing she still needed more time to prepare enough sushi for two, Alice told me to begin without her. I dutifully sat down in front of the TV and cleaned my plate, although after a few bites the thought did enter my head that I hoped from now on we would go out for sushi.

Quite a while after I finished, Alice sat down to her dinner. She took one bite and spit it out. “This is awful!” she shouted. “How could you eat this stuff?”

I admitted that I thought it tasted bad, particularly the wasabi, which didn’t look right after I mixed it with soy sauce.

“Oh my God!” Alice exclaimed, “The wasabi was old, I don’t think I kept it refrigerated, and it will make you really sick! I can’t believe you could eat it without throwing up.”

Actually, I wasn’t surprised. Pop had taught me that, no matter what, you always eat what the cook prepares, then compliment the cook. No matter what.

Pop’s training came in handy many times. As I traveled in strange lands, and ate strange foods in strange places, I never failed to eat hearty, and the food never made me sick. This gave me a real advantage over many of my fellow Yanks. Some of them got sick just looking at the food, which meant a bigger share for me. “How can you eat that stuff?” they asked weakly, as I wolfed down my share and theirs too.

“Tastes OK to me,” I’d say, and take another bite as they turned their faces away.

“Oh Honey,” cried Alice, “I’m afraid I’ve poisoned you.”

Perhaps she had poisoned me, but I felt fine. By then Monday Night Football was over. In those days I had to wake up at 5 AM to get to work on time at Lockheed in Sunnyvale, 45 miles from Livermore over commuter-clogged freeways, so I excused myself to go to sleep. Alice was afraid that if I went to sleep, I wouldn’t wake up. At first she wanted to keep me awake, but as always, I fell asleep when my head hit the pillow.

Alice watched me sleep for awhile, and then started to doze off herself. As time passed she became more worried that I would die in my sleep, so she finally called the Emergency Desk at Kaiser Permanente. Alice explained to the Emergency Nurse that I had eaten my whole meal before she ate a bite, and that the wasabi was so bad she had to spit it out.

“What should I do?” Alice asked. “Should I take my husband to the hospital? Is there some medicine he could take? Should he try to vomit it up before it poisons him?”

The nurse tried to calm Alice, and told her that all she needed to do was observe me and see if I had stomach distress, such as cramps or nausea. She assured Alice that, if the wasabi made me sick, I would wake up and vomit, not die in my sleep.

Alice thanked the nurse for her patience and reassurance, and hung up the phone.

Then she stayed awake most of the night watching me sleep peacefully.

Same Time Next Year

During the last half of the 1950’s, I went on many Point Arena High School trips to other schools in our northern California area – Mendocino, Fort Bragg, Laytonville, Anderson Valley (Booneville), Leggett Valley, Hopland, Willits, and others – and we often went up Highway 1 past the Heritage House south of Mendocino. For some reason, I started noticing the Heritage House each time we drove by. I noticed the guests there seemed to dress very nicely. Their cars looked expensive. In fact, they looked, and I imagined, talked and acted differently than my family, friends, and the people I knew. This cognition of things I knew nothing about was probably a result of movie watching. Anything and everything I knew about rich people I learned at the movies. I never met any of them, or at least never knew it if I did.

One thing I was sure of, and ignorance can lead a person to be sure of many things, is that they lived and acted differently than we ordinary folk. As our bus passed, and passed, and passed the Heritage House many times over my four-year high school adventure, I tried to imagine myself staying at the Heritage House. My first reaction was fear – what does it cost? And where am I going to get that kind of money? My next reaction was also of fear. How do I act, what do I say, to people who are so different? I bet they would know I’m a phony before I even open my mouth and prove it. But then after the waves of fear passed, I would think – “I bet I would really enjoy it. What an adventure! To find so much new almost right in my back yard. It’s like living next to a foreign country!” My curiosity and sense of adventure would overcome my fear of penury and social awkwardness.

Years later, after Alice and I met and married, I started to be more relaxed around wealthy people, because I slowly came to the realization that Alice and I were actually able to live very comfortably on our combined incomes. We were kind of, sort of, well off ourselves. That still didn’t make me feel “to the manor born,” but I became relaxed about confronting dinner checks for over $100 for just the two of us, and hotel bills for a one-night stay that I used to think would buy a full week.

However, I confessed my latent uneasiness to Alice, and as an example, how I used to feel like the kid at the candy store window when I passed the Heritage House and wondered how the other half lived. Actually, how the other five percent lived.

Alice’s gift for my 57th birthday, July 18, 1999, was a two-night stay at the Heritage House in the room named “Same Time.” It shared a cabin with another room named “Next Year.” In 1978 the cabin had been featured in “Same Time Next Year,” a movie starring Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn.

Of all the wonderful (and expensive) cabins at the Heritage House, “Same Time” and “Next Year” were the closest to the ocean in the most beautiful setting. Alice had heard the longing from my youth, and had arranged for me not only to see how the other half lived, but to experience it in the premier spot on the premises.

Almost as an afterthought, an anticlimax, I realized that I still didn’t feel like I belonged, but I did feel comfortable and did feel a true sense of adventure and enjoyment. And then I also realized that I was probably enjoying the Heritage House more than any other guests, because I was the one feeling the strongest emotions just by being there. The kid who never thought he would be inside the Heritage House was inside and experiencing a special feeling that possibly no other visitor felt; a feeling of happiness, maybe of accomplishment, but still experiencing the strangeness of it. I knew then that I would never feel like I belonged in the Heritage Houses of the world, but I knew Alice and I would be going to many of them and that I would enjoy being a “stranger in a strange land.” I would never be one of the jaded and blasé, never asking: “Is that all there is?”

Alice's Project Completed!

(These photos show the beams of the sunroom being placed by a huge crane extended over our house, Alice and her daughters and grandkids on the deck, and in the pool in the sunroom.)

For almost a year, Alice worked tirelessly to add the new deck and sunroom with swim-in-place pool to our house.

The deck was designed by Ralph Matheson, engineered by Kurt Menning, and the iron work by Kentucky John.

The sunroom was provided by Dave and Darla Paoli of Fort Bragg, Lindal Cedar Sunrooms, and the pool by Endless Pool.

Alice served as the master contractor, hiring Greg Chamberlin, Joseph Arthurs, and Jose Luna for construction, Mike Nelson for the electrical, Dave Hall for the plumbing, Charles Hunnicutt for the tile work, Home Depot the indoor-outdoor carpeting, and Darren Maahs for the painting.

The deck was completed first, with Greg, Joe, and Jose doing most of the work, Bobby Baker the excavation, Scott Ignacio and the Spa Guys installing the hot tub, concrete from Bed Rock, and crane work by Leighton Nelsen.

Alice's daughters and their families were here for Mothers' Day, and thoroughly enjoyed the pool and hot tub - plus beach walks and kite flying. Buddy's little sister, Duchess, ran into the sunroom and jumped on the bubble cover, apparently thinking it was a solid floor, and had the honor of the first doggy swim in the pool. Buddy doesn't seem interested in diving in, just like he avoids getting wet in the ocean. He and I haven't been in the pool yet. We're happy with our morning two to three mile jogs.

Next project, adding stone facing to the driveway retaining wall.

Plus Alice is anxiously waiting for me to design and install one of the most prodigious drip systems ever seen, second only to the ones I put in on our ranch in Livermore fifteen years ago.
The most fun part of the project will be putting a drip system in the sunroom itself, where Alice and her landscaper, Kathy Bienhof, have already planted a jungle in pots.

Liberals Squemish About Patriot Days

Under the category, It's Never Too Late, I belatedly ran across a blog post from almost a year ago that included a letter Alice wrote that SactoDan Blog featured.

He wrote: "Thankfully, there is some common sense in the area. Alice Combs of Gualala writes: "As I was walking between the marvelous Patriot Days exhibits I came upon a lady holding a sign that stated ''Make Peace- Not War''. I asked her if that meant she thought we should have made peace and allowed the Brits to rule us. She didn't answer the question and said that we took the Indian's land. I responded that some of the Indians were assisting the Brits, and again I asked her if she thought we should have made peace and allowed the Brits to rule us. She still wouldn't answer the question and said ''you figure it out''.

SactoDan concluded: "I figured it out. Peace and Love are great things, but sometimes you have to fight. Alice's question to the lady with the sign and her lack of an answer is a metaphor for the fact that there is nothing behind the sign."

The Dublin To Tralee Train

(Alice’s oldest daughter married a fellow from Keady, County Armagh, Northern Ireland, U.K. We visited his family for a couple of days, then continued our trip, this time in the Republic of Ireland.)

We pedaled in a southeasterly direction from Keady into the Republic of Ireland. After a couple of hours we arrived at a train station, and bought tickets to Dublin. Unfortunately, we arrived in Dublin the afternoon of September 13, 1998, as the town was full of madmen and madwomen celebrating or mourning (in Ireland it's hard to tell the difference) the result of the All-Ireland Senior Hurling Championship contested earlier that very day in Dublin. Screaming, yelling, possibly even inebriated supporters drove in celebratory fashion through Dublin streets broad and narrow, probably searching for the hotel room they had booked and a pretty fish monger to share it. We hadn’t reserved a room, and quickly decided that Dublin was much too exciting for us on our bicycles, so we pedaled on to another train station and boarded the train to Tralee.

Soon we were on our way, listening to the sounds of revelry fading away behind, while being charmed by an off-duty conductor singing “No Matter What,” from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Whistle Down The Wind.” We had heard “No Matter What” being played all over England and Ireland that summer – it was a monster hit for a group called Boyzone that I had never heard of before, or for that matter, since. And the conductor had a beautiful voice.

It reminded me of a scene from one of my personal top five best movies of all time, “The Quiet Man.” John Wayne as Sean “Trooper” Thornton, running away from his violent boxing past in America and towards his romantic memories of life as a young boy in Ireland, joins some locals in the village pub. Soon, as he did in many of his movies, the director John Ford had the men gathered at the bar break into song, “The Wild Colonial Boy.”

There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Duggan was his name
He was born and raised in Ireland in a place called Castlemaine
He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy
And dearly did his parents love the wild colonial boy

(For the lyrics of "Wild Colonial Boy." When the page opens, click on "Melody" at the upper left for the tune.)

So as we rolled along into the darkening evening, the off-duty conductor sang:

No matter what they tell us
No matter what they do
No matter what they teach us
What we believe is true

And I will keep you safe and strong
And sheltered from the storm
No matter where it's barren
A dream is being born

No matter who they follow
No matter where they lead
No matter how they judge us
I'll be everyone you need

No matter if the sun don't shine
Or if the skies are blue
No matter what the end is
My life began with you

(Go here for the lyrics of "No Matter What")

However, we weren’t allowed to relax and enjoy the singing very long before we heard an announcement that a train on the tracks ahead of us had mechanical problems that would delay our arrival at Tralee approximately three hours, which would put it after midnight. Alice and I became concerned about arriving so late without reservations at a hotel or bed & breakfast. We decided that while the train was waiting at the station in Limerick for the track to clear, I would telephone ahead and get us a room.

As soon as we stopped, I got off the train and started the long walk back on the platform towards the station building. It was a relatively long walk since we were in the third car from the front of the train; we wanted to stay close to our bicycles and bags in their special car second from the front. Just as I got to the station and the bank of telephones, I heard another announcement; the train ahead of us was fixed, was on its way, the track was clear, and we would be leaving immediately. Rather than rushing back up the platform to our car, I decided to get back on the train and walk back through the cars to Alice. I hadn’t passed through many cars before the train lurched into motion, and I congratulated myself on being on the train and not left on the platform. I was still congratulating myself, even as I slowly worked my way through the crush of bodies in the bar car, when the train came to a shuddering stop. Something in me somehow knew that I was connected to the sudden stop. I pressed on with renewed energy and foreboding, and in a few minutes came to the car where I had left Alice.

As I came through the door into the car, a woman looked at me and announced, “Your wife stopped the bloody train, you know.” At the same time, I saw Alice, and as soon as she saw me her grief-stricken look changed to a smile. She and others soon filled me in on what happened after the announcement that the train would be departing immediately. Alice had become very concerned that I would be left at the station, and that we wouldn’t be able to contact each other for eight hours or more until the morning train picked me up and carried me to her waiting in Tralee. When the realization hit her that we might become separated and out of contact, Alice did what she always does in such circumstances – she screamed. Truthfully, I have never known anyone who has a faster linkage between perception of danger and letting loose a scream than Alice. Nor have I known anyone with a louder scream.

The singing off-duty conductor took action immediately, and pulled the emergency stop cord. He then opened the train car door and was peering outside back towards the platform when I returned. I thought my fellow passengers would be quite annoyed, but soon found the Irish are the nicest, friendliest people, at least if you’re a Yank, you would ever want to meet. Two of the passengers loaned us their cell phones. We thanked them profusely, and called several numbers, but couldn’t find a vacancy.

We decided to just take our chances when we got to Tralee. When we arrived, we got our bikes and packs, and had just started to leave the station and head towards downtown Tralee, when a woman in an automobile called to us and asked if we had a room. As luck would have it, she owned a bed & breakfast that she only operated during the busy tourist season. She had just closed for the year, but offered to put us up if we needed a place. We happily took her up on her generous offer, and followed her car as she led us to her home.

During our month in Ireland, we always found someone eager to help us on our journey. We had a wonderful time in Tralee at Margaret’s Bed & Breakfast, and it put us in a great frame of mind to start off around “The Ring Of Kerry.”

And another Irish legend was born. They probably still tell tales of the lovely Yank "colleen" whose scream stopped the Dublin to Tralee train!

I can hear them now.

"You know, a scream like that, she could teach the banshee to scream, she could."

"That's right. They say to this very day, when the train is pulling out of Limerick, you can still hear her scream echoing in the hills."

"Aye, I've heard that said too, but then again others say it's just the sound of the amorous Limerick alley cats."

Alice was a California Can Carrier

Alice was a California Can Carrier, or at least used to be a member of an organization by that name. She joined the California Can Carriers because her company, Vulcan Incorporated, primarily sold its baling wire to recyclers, and many of them were in the trash or garbage collection business.

When I met Alice in 1988, most trash collection was still being done by family owned businesses. In the San Francisco Bay Area, most of these families were Italian, and most of the owners and their family members had started in the business as can carriers themselves. Now they were prosperous, and looked the part.

Before we were married in 1989, I accompanied Alice to a couple of California Can Carrier Conventions. One was in Reno, and another in Monterey. My first impressions came when we were parking our car. Our car was by far the cheapest in the parking lot. The next impressions were that everyone at the convention spent a lot more on their clothes than I did. And then I saw the California Can Carrier lapel pin.

The California Can Carrier lapel pin was basically a big solid chunk of gold fashioned into a garbage can. The garbage can was dented, and was twisted to the side with its lid askew. Out of the can dripped “garbage,” consisting of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, etc., not a cubic zirconium in the lot.

I thought the symbolism was pretty clear. In California, the 49'ers shouted, "There's gold in them thar hills!" The California Can Carriers lapel pins shouted, “There are fortunes in all that garbage!” Alice would agree.

To prove that point, in a few short years all the families were bought out by big national companies like Waste Management Inc., and as far as I know, California Can Carriers is no more.

Has anyone seen one of their lapel pins anywhere? E-Bay?

A Burning Desire

“Great Expectations” ended with Alice accepting my proposal at her business, Vulcan, Incorporated, Christmas party five weeks after we met. So Christmas 1988 is upon us, and to many in the San Francisco Bay Area, that means skiing. I had never skied. Had never tried. Alice was a member of the Bota Baggers Singles Ski Club of Dublin and Pleasanton. They skied. They drank. They tried to hop in beds with other members, invariably of the opposite sex. Alice skied, loved to dance, didn’t drink, and frustrated a lot of club members of the opposite sex.

During our first week as an engaged couple – no ring yet, another story there – Alice asked if I had ever been skiing. I replied, “No, but I have a burning desire.”

Fast forward to the week before Christmas, and Alice came to my Walnut Creek house and placed numerous strange looking packages under my Christmas Tree. On Christmas Morning she joined my youngest son, Jeffrey, as we unwrapped our presents. My first package contained a pair of skies, the next ski poles, the third ski pants with bib, the fourth ski boots, the fifth – do you see a pattern here? – ski goggles, then a cap, then gloves, then …. Even I started to notice a theme in the presents Alice gave me. No ties. No cologne. Only ski gear.

So I said/asked: “I don’t ski. Does this mean skiing is in my future?”

Alice replied: “You said you have a burning desire.”

I replied: “Yes, I do, but not for skiing.”

Alice satisfied my burning desire, and about a month later I started skiing too.

Who is the Fool?

(I love to mix it up, in letters to editors, anyway. But it is a great feeling when someone covers your back, and stands up for you when the invectives start flying hot and heavy. It's nice not to have to try to tell a bunch of liberals, "I am not a fool." Since Slick Willy stood up and declaimed that "I didn't have sex with that woman," people are a lot more sceptical about that sort of thing.

Of course, Alice hasn't seen the Great Expectations post yet - things could change, fast!

UPDATE: She's seen it! And I'm still alive - so far so good! Now to write the follow-up story while she's softened up.)

Editor

I, Michael Combs’ wife, am responding to Margot Bullock’s unsubstantiated, emotional, nonintellectual, hateful name calling letter referring to Michael’s words as “unconscious of thoughtful intent:”

Ms. Bullock, Michael is a powerhouse of knowledge. Not only is he amazingly versed on U.S. and world history, but he is always investigating the current politics by regularly reading Time, U.S. News & World Report, Newsweek and several other periodicals. He keeps up with the internet news, including The Drudge Report.

You are probably painfully aware that Michael has documentation to back up every assertion he makes in the ICO. You are so upset that Michael’s assertions clash with your agenda, that since you cannot refute him with logic, you lash out like a naughty child, calling him a “fool.”

More about Michael: He graduated summa cum laude from the University of Arizona with a double major in accounting and Russian, earned a Masters from Michigan State University and later passed his Certified Public Accounting test on the first try. He is also a qualified Mensan.

Michael is also a great community member: For over the last five years he has been in charge of the Lions’ quarterly group effort of cleaning over three miles along your Highway 1. For two years he was in charge of the Lions’ biannual community fund raising breakfasts. For the past seven years he has assisted me with tutoring several children. Last December he completed four years of serving on the local school board, and he was very instrumental in many of its achievements.

What, Ms. Bullock, do you think makes you so qualified to pass your acerbic judgment on Michael Combs? I suggest, Ms. Bullock, you look in the mirror and then tell me, “Who is the fool?”

Alice Combs

This is the letter Alice was responding to:

Hey folks -- it's no use reacting to Michael Combs' diatribes to The Editor. It's like picking up litter on the beach; it comes back mindless and unconscious of thoughtful intent.

So let him litter
Don't be bitter
Let sanity rule
And don't play with this fool!

Great Expectations

Shortly after my wife Marilynn died, I received a Great Expectations bulk mailer. After 25 years as a married man, I realized I would need a lot of help getting back in the dating pool. So I paid my $2,000, filled out the forms, provided pictures, and they shot a video of me. The video probably repelled many potential dates – I was so earnest, so solemn, not at all the sort of happy fun-loving guy that San Francisco Bay Area babes would be attracted to. Also, my military and defense contractor background was bound to be a turn off

But I launched my campaign like a good soldier. I went in, looked at the stacks of books arranged alphabetically by the first letter of the young lady’s first name – no last names, addresses, or phone numbers given at this stage, of course – and adopted a course of action. I decided to start with the “A” book, and work my way all the way to “Z” no matter how long it took. I didn’t want to take a chance of overlooking a prize pick.

Not far into the A’s I came upon a picture of a leggy blonde beauty in white shorts sitting fetchingly on the lawn in front of the Great Expectations building. I didn’t have to see or read any more. One click, Alice became my first pick! I was limited to ten picks each day, so I soon filled my limit and went home to await developments. Nothing happened, so each day I dutifully returned and made my ten-pick limit.

After about a week of this, I was about halfway through the books, when I got a note from Alice delivered through the Great Expectations system. Alice thanked me for choosing her, but declined my offer, saying that she had a serious boyfriend, but maybe, if her situation with the boyfriend changed, who knows?

Shortly after her turndown, I finished “Z” without much reward for my efforts. I dated a lot, but the ladies who chose me did not interest me, and the ones I chose were similarly disinterested. What to do? I entered my “international” phase.

A gorgeous 21-year old swim suit model from Christ Church, New Zealand visited. She had a lot in common with my youngest son, Jeffrey, -- he really “digged the chick” -- nothing with me. Then I spent some time in Mexico City with a 29 year-old receptionist at Televisa, only 5’ 2” but also very pretty. Her family, including her invalid brother, liked me too. I think they saw in me their financial salvation. I decided to become active in Great Expectations again.

About six months after my initial unpromising contact with Alice, I got two Great Expectations notes from her on the same day, dated over a two-month period. First, she had dumped the boyfriend. He seemed more interested in her house than her, and was very upset to find she had refinanced her mortgage to pay for remodeling it, leaving not much equity. She had noticed I was back in the active group, and like she said in her first note, who knows how these things will work out? Then she was upset I hadn’t replied to her notes. Was I upset because of the initial turn down?

Actually, no. As a result of Great Expectations clerical incompetence, I hadn’t received the notes. Apparently when Alice sent the second note, someone noticed the first in my folder and then sent them both together.

The day I received the notes, I had a dilemma. I had invited one of my brothers-in-law to go to a San Francisco Forty Niners football game with me the next day, and he had cancelled because his grossly overweight condition caused him to suffer the gout. In one hand I had Alice’s letters, in the other the soon to be wasted ticket. Did I just hear a blast of Heavenly trumpets? Was someone trying to tell me something? I picked up the phone and dialed Alice’s number. She accepted. I picked her up in the Jag XJ6, a memento of my long service in England that Alice would later dislike with a strong passion reserved for unreliable mechanical devices.

We went to the game. The Niners were behind late in the game, Joe Montana wasn't playing because of injury. Steve Young made the winning play, one which is still shown on football highlight collections these many years later. Rolling left to pass at midfield, he tucked the ball in and began an Odyssey through the entire Minnesota Vikings team, eluding some of the defenders twice along the way. At the end of his run, just a couple of yards from the goal line, he stumbled, probably exhausted, but made it into the end zone. Everyone in Candlestick not a Vikings fan was in a state of high football-induced delirium, save one. While we were all watching the play on the field, Alice was watching us. She was delighted by our euphoria. She didn’t understand a thing about football.

I drove her home, walked her to her door, started to say good-night (I was too unsophisticated in dating to know that I had obligated myself to also take her out to dinner after the game), and she asked me if I wanted to have some left-over spaghetti. I gladly accepted her offer. Alice later told me that I earned points with her when she served the spaghetti only slightly warm and I quietly heated it in her microwave oven. 

A few days later Alice invited me to a singles ski club dinner/dance - she was a member of the Bota Baggers Pleasanton ski club. We had a wonderful time, doing almost all of the fast dances and sitting out and chatting during the slow ones. 

To make a long story short, and set the stage for later story telling, I proposed five weeks after we met.

I don't know what took me so long!

The Strong Woman Myth

For many years now conservatives have been stereotyped as in opposition to "strong" women. I think it is a product of the ceaseless search by many Americans for identity in a minority group - black, female, gay, left-handed, disabled, Muslim, fat, bald, short, and for real status, a combination of some or perhaps for the very lucky, all of the above - and then to claim victim status because of discrimination against that minority. Lucky is the person who can claim they are a victim, because then society, and not themselves, is responsible for their problems and failures.

What strong women are we afraid of? We loved Margaret Thatcher, the Iron Lady, the good friend and confidante of our most highly esteemed leader, President Reagan. Condoleezza Rice? She already has the complete trust of President Bush, and will easily go down in history as the strongest and most influential Secretary of State of all time. She is already the favorite for President in 2008 in conservative website polls. While Bill Clinton talked diversity for the sake of diversity, President Bush practices diversity for the sake of excellence.

I think liberals confuse our antipathy to Hillary as fear of a strong woman. Actually, we hold Hillary in contempt, and even pity her. I felt very sorry for her as the sordid details of Bill's escapades were made public, and she tried to blame the vast right-wing conspiracy. (G-d I wish we had one of those! But first, to get one we would have to find a way to get rid of Senators Chaffee, Snowe, Specter, and some other RINO's [Republicans In Name Only], our 5th Column. We're working on it.)

Many other strong women come to mind that we conservatives admire - I especially appreciate that we are blessed with beauty and brains in the persons of Ann Coulter, Laura Ingraham, and Pamela of Atlas Shrugs. Add Katherine Harris to this list, who still scares the Democrats so spitless that they lose control of themselves about her makeup.

Karen Hughes worked with President Bush since around 1990, and has been called the most powerful woman to ever work in the White House (before Condi became Secretary of State). That was not said of any of Bill Clinton's hires or appointees, although Monica Lewinsky got very close to the seat of power.

We get all the spunky, assertive ones, and the liberals get all the whiners and victims of male oppression.

My favorite in the whiners category was Joycelyn Elders, who wore out her welcome with Bill Clinton in only fifteen months of stumbling and bumbling. Madeleine Albright was another, who always seemed to be photographed fawning over a Chinese, North Korean, or whatever other despot was available. Among the victims, Hillary leads the pack. The problems she and Bill had - the Hillary-care fiasco that gave us Republican majorities in both houses in 1994 comes to mind - she blamed on opposition to her being a woman rather than her dumb health care reform plan.

I am not just stuck on admiring Republicans. Golda Meir was a socialist, and though I can't find a good thing to say about socialism, I have to admire her as a leader. She helped defend and move Israel forward, while all the time having to deal with the fractious factions in the Labor party. It was like having the Republicans and Democrats in the same party, so they could fight more amongst themselves than outsiders. A tough job at any time, but try to do it when you are surrounded by hostile neighbors, each several times your size, that desire nothing less than your annihilation.

This post was inspired by watching "Pride and Prejudice" last night. I saw what I consider one of the best movies of all time, and there were no warships or violence, and no unbelievable special effects. A young woman masterfully carried the story about her sisters, parents, and suitors. It was a guilty pleasure to be totally engrossed in a "girl" movie. No looming physical danger or threats, and no violence, although some characters got skewered and carved up verbally - but very genteelly, without profanity or crudeness.

The young leading lady, Elizabeth, reminded me of the young ladies I am so fortunate to have in my life, my wife and her two daughters. They are intelligent, energetic, athletic, and of course, pretty. I salute them for what they have already accomplished, and frequently have a sense of awe at their energy and bright futures.