But then I'd Have to Kill You

 The tenets of our faith, worship practices, Christian conduct, the Word of God and many other aspects of our Christian beliefs are the foundation of our church organization at Woodland (Baptist) church. The constitution conjured up faces set in a righteous frown,  longtime members dead-set against having fun. "Yet one unwritten tenet that is freely practiced without any encumbrance "Let's have a potluck."

No prodding or cajoling is necessary in getting a potluck scheduled. The potluck dinner has been absorbed into our skins just as freely as water during immersion baptism. It's a Baptist institution that transforms most faces into smiling faces and the grumpiest faces into at least, neutral faces. Garrison Keillor gave his take in his book, Life among the Lutherans. 

     You have fed me wretched food, vegetables boiled to extinction, fistfuls of sugar, slabs of fat,              mucousy casseroles made with gobs of cream of mushroom until it's amazing my heart still beats.

The cream of mushroom could be blended with other edibles, with a base ingredient that violates my entire sensory spectrum, to wit, mayonnaise. Some potluck contributors surreptitiously include "M" in an innocently-appearing dish that belies the appearance of straight-forward, uncomplicated food. Usually it's the most innocent entrée in the whole buffet and it fools its way through my teeth and past my gums. Then my mastication is stopped by a red alert from my taste buds. I can't spit this out to my plate, causing others to pause their eating and drop their jaws as well. I gagged down the substance, , then I eat the peripheral food on mty plate, the green beans and the buttered roll, wait untill the coast is clear, drop my napkin over my plate and head for the nearest garbage receptacle. My name is George and I'm a ... picky eater!

My Christmas Miracle

For those who are not familiar with the incredible gift of sobriety bestowed upon me by God in September of 1989 I'll brief you. I had already sobered up during the year of 1974 but lacked the maturity to withstand the shocks in life that befell me and I started drinking again in 1983 with a defiance against God for the loss of my employment at the White Pine copper mine and other reverses and subsequent job layoffs from other business interests.

I was mad as hell then because I assumed that I had lived as the Bible prescribed for a Christian life. And this was how God rewarded me! I crawled into a fog of self pity and took my comfort in booze once again and I did not feel guilty. but I loved the quagmire of my self-pity. That's tough if God didn't like it.

God didn't retaliate and He stopped me short of my self-prescribed demise. He let me suffer the abdominal pain which I later discovered was indicative of liver degeneration and He let me have the grand mall seizures that scared the hell out of my wife, Lois. But these seizures marked the 'Big Bang' of my recovery.

I was in rehab the entire month of September of 1989 and my attitude during the detox period was flint-hard. I observed with scorn the cock-eyed optimism and of those patients who were now in treatment, having completed their detox phase as I sat at the table assigned for the detox smokers.  A short unexpected  stint in the Psych Ward. Plumbing issues over the Labor Day weekend necessitated the evacuation of the rehab facility to the hospital proper. Detox patients were ushered, as if under arrest, to the Phych Ward.

That was an epic wake-up call! I saw the scourge of mental illness as the young pretty girl who sat curled up on the couch staring out the window, oblivious to her surroundings. She never engaged with others, just sat and smoked during the entire day. An elderly woman just kept running her finger up and down her leg. A handsome man in his twenties went from patient to patient asking childishly, "What time Bullwinkle?"

As I matriculated for detox to the treatment population I slowly improved. My hands no longer trembled and I was able to sleep in a peaceful, restorative fashion. There was one more thing; the monkey was no longer on my back. I shared this with a counselor who had involuntary twitches from his years of drug use and he debunked my lost desire for the booze. It was real and it has lasted over these past twenty-nine years. I shared this with a doctor after I had left the treatment facility and he rejected my claim of a God-given miracle. He  concluded that my drinking had fried the brain sells that caused my addiction. In other words I cured myself by drinking.

We were celebrating Christmas with family in West bend just over two months after I graduated from rehab and I was suffering with a cold in my head and deep in my chest. After the exchange of gifts Lois and I joined the family at Christmas Eve mass at the historic St. Augustine chapel  in the farm setting  where my wife Lois was reared. After the the Christmas Eve lunch and everyone had retired I lay coughing. I struggled to breathe and begged sleep  to visit me.

I got up and sat alone in the darkened living room and stared at the  Christmas tree silhouetted against the window. The idea hit me that a couple of shots of whiskey would sedate me sufficiently, facilitating my badly-needed rest. There was a variety of open liquor bottles atop the refrigerator and if I just took a little from several bottles to fill a shot glass twice no one would know. After much deliberation I returned to bed without taking any liquor and eventually fell asleep. 

When I got up on Christmas morning the tight chest and the miserable cough dragged me down. Then I remembered last night. If I had taken those drinks I would be excusing myself so to go find a cold remedy - at the nearest liquor store. The suffering would have returned and I would revisit the misery of addiction.

A counselor at Lutheran Social Services had reminded me that autumn that when you climb back on the Booze Train you get on exactly where you got off. "George, never forget how close you came to death late in August. You may have another drunken episode but I seriously doubt if you will have another recovery.."

That was such a close call and I hadn't been sober very long. I was weak and I was rationalizing, justifying a drink that I knew would lead to my demise. God had not only given me the gift of sobriety; He had saved me from myself. A Christmas miracle!

Alms for the Poor?

I was notified by Val at the place I 'retired' from that they had collected a box full of newspapers. Most people pass up the free paper at the hotel in favor of electronic media. I use the newspapers throughout the winter for lighting fires in our wood stove.

I came in bearing three half-bushel baskets and set them on the floor while I talked to my good friend Val. She's a great asset for the company with her sanguine personality. I found my visit to be uplifting and after some catching up the phone rang. That was my cue to go and collect the papers which were in a plastic tote just outside the breakfast room.

Then a mischievous idea entered my head when I noticed the breakfast attendant cleaning the breakfast room. I was disheveled with whiskers, hair sticking out from my baseball cap and my jeans were fashionably full of holes, good for summer wear with the ventilation. I approached the girl and asked "Could you spare a few bucks," as I held out one of the baskets. The girl was aghast, her jaw dropped and incredulity beamed from her eyes. She was speechless!

"Oh, I'm sorry, please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Toivo and I'm soliciting funds for the OAW. Would you care to contribute five dollars?" No response but her face said, 'who is this guy! What the hell is the OAW!'

"You see, I represent the OAW which is the Organization of American Winos."

She was even more shocked and I had to tell her, "just kidding."

You had such a serious look. I thought you were really from the 'OAW.' We both had a good laugh.

When I got home I thought , 'I really looked the part.'

Niemi (partial) Genealogy

Grandpa Axel Niemi was born in Vassan Lanni on the west coast of Finland and he had a brother, Abner Aho, the last name given to him from the farm on which he was born.  I don't know where in Finland Mary Lassi came from. She eventually became Mary Niemi and whether it was in Finland I'll never know.

There is probably a lot of history which never will be known. Axel never talked about his parents or family. It wasn't until I was in my teens that I found out that the skinny bent-over man who wheeled his groceries up the street was his brother. He and his wife lived at the corner of South Range Road and Penokee Road in Ironwood and there is nothing but woods there now. I remember this skinny old man atop his house cleaning his chimney, completely black with soot, except for his eyes.

Grandpa Axel immigrated to Canada where he worked in a lumber camp and eventually settled with Mary in a humble house at 211 South Range Road in Ironwood. They had four kids. An unknown who was stillborn, my mom Irene Marie, Frank, Reino (later Ray), and Emil.

I enjoyed Emil's  effusive personality.  We frequently visited them in Bessemer and were treated to the bubbly personality of Aunt Florence (Margetta). Emil played his accordion and showed us his 8 mm home movies. He was outgoing and happy despite his hunched back and the lift he had to wear on one shoe. He was a polio victim and spent most of his childhood in the hospital at the University of Michigan. Many surgeries corrected severe deformations which made it difficult to breathe or participate in school. He received his primary education in Ann Arbor but he attended Ironwood High School and graduated at age eighteen.

Grandpa noticed that Emil was intelligent so he paid for Emil's tuition at Gogebic Community College which was then on the third floor of Ironwood High School. Emil graduated with a two-year Associate's degree in accounting and spent his working years in the office at the Chrysler dealer in Bessemer. Emil died from complications of pneumonia, a month after my dad in October, 1970.

Ray served in the Air Force during WWII and spent his working years with the Ironwood Daily Globe in the advertising department. I didn't meet  his wife Mary until Dad's funeral in 1970 and I was impressed that she really cared about me during my season of grief. Hadn't met her before because of strange family dynamics. They both perished at their cottage on Little Oxbow Lake (circa) 1983. They were asphyxiated by a propane gas from a defective refrigerator.

Frank was my ideal man's man, tough and rawboned. He worked for a while in the iron mines and then he worked for the local Coca-Cola plant. He drove the truck loaded with cases of fine beverage. Road construction, Highway 2 as I remember was his next livelihood. when I was twelve he was staying at the family cottage in Mercer, Wisconsin. One day he came back from work with his pants torn and bloody. A chainsaw  raked across his thigh, and he had stitches. It was remarkable to me that he didn't consider it a big deal. He still went to work the next day.

Frank's life hit a rough patch, starting with a divorce. He drank heavily in the unkempt saloons in Hurley. He was a brawler and he spent overnight stints in jail. I thought that Frank was so cool! I wanted to be like him, even smoked his brand, Camel, those short coffin nails with no filter.



Frank eventually straightened out. He got sober and married again (Helen) and was a good father to three step-sons and eventually another baby boy.

He helped me with some projects around the house after my parents were gone and helped ease me through the horrible first week after Dad died.

 He was a man with several skills, making their drab house in Hurley into a showplace. He did it all, carpentry, masonry, electrical, plumbing, siding, roofing and he even installed a new furnace. That was the side of Frank that deeply impressed me. He beat the booze and made a new, sober life as a plumber for Schult Mobile Homes in Ironwood. He had ten good, sober years with Helen and the kids until his death at age fifty-five.

Mom was the eldest. In my book I remembered her mercurial disposition and her explosive temper. Eventually we found that her behavior had a physiological cause. When she got the medical care she needed she was a completely different person during the last three months of her life.

Mom kept the house clean and orderly. She got up at 4:30 on Monday to do the washing and also get the fire lit in our coal stove. She handled galvanized steel tubs and worked with a stick-shift wringer washing machine. She cooked on a wood-fired stove, snow for her new steam iron and hung clothes outside so they froze stiff then she hung them in the basement. She died from a stroke at age fifty-one. 

That is a summary of what I know about the maternal side of my family.

The Thief of Life

My concept of God has evolved from the white- bearded old man in robes. He was in a bedroom-sized observation post up in the sky. There were windows all around so God had a 360-degree view. It was like a gondola and it was red. I didn't know the character or temperament of God. Later I saw God as this mighty and vengeful deity that would throw me into hell of I misbehaved. I feared that death would be my portal to fiery and everlasting hell.

The backdrop of my childhood belief was a town of about 10,000 people. Long trains of ore cars would held up traffic now and then. The iron ore mines were still going strong. The downtown was bustling with traffic on Friday night that you never see nowadays. Two traffic cops at the two main intersections.  There were 4 pharmacies, two movie theaters, 3 hotels, 8 franchised auto dealerships, 6 grade schools, 2 high schools, 14 churches, 8 taverns and 2 supermarkets. And it snowed all the time in the winter.

Our family attended St. Paul Lutheran, just around the corner from our house. On any given Sunday the church was full of people in their Sunday best. Dad and I attended services every other week, because of Dad's work schedule. He was a pharmacist at the Walgreen store on Suffolk Street. Mom didn't attend because she thought church had become a fashion show. She would stay home, cooking Sunday dinner, but she listened to the Baptist Hour and the  Lutheran Hour on the radio.

The seeds of my faith, however were in television. Just about every roof was adorned with a TV antenna. I had a great desire for TV so that I wouldn't have to go to Billy's house to watch cartoons.

Our entertainment was a Capehart radio and phonograph in an elegant mahogany cabinet with doors on the front. It was okay but didn't have the electric and dynamic appeal of TV.  Dad always said, "Be patient. I'm shopping around for one and I want the most for my money."

"Are we going to get a TV soon? " The patience of an 8 year-old boy is brief. I just hung onto the faith that Dad was going to have a TV in our living room, but after a few days my faith waned.

Then one gray October day in 1955 as I was coming home after a hard day at school, I saw the antenna on our roof! I broke into a run. Now I could see Popeye, Mickey Mouse and the Three Stooges at home. It was a General Electric 21-inch black and white.

Mom liked to watch American Bandstand with the teens dancing to the just-evolving rock and roll music on channel 3 while my cartoons were on channel 6. I was frustrated, but I soon found out that Mom was too busy to sit down and watch TV for very long, but still, a 20 minute portion of American Bandstand was her coffee break show.

I became acquainted with such personalities as Jackie Gleason,(The Honeymooners), James Arness (U.S. Marshall Matt Dillon of Gunsmoke), Aaron Burr The lawer who always won in Perry Mason), Walter Cronkite(CBS news) and Captain Q (really Jack McKenna the weather man on channel 6.)

On Saturday nights I'd be watching "Gunsmoke" and I'd hear, "You better get busy with your Sunday school homework," Mom yelled from the kitchen. "You could do it any night you want then your Saturday night would be free." It was more sensibility than I could muster so on Saturday nights I opened my Bible along with the workbook. I read the text then hunted for the answers to the questions in the old or new testaments.The Bible was in the ancient King James version and from that I gathered such misunderstandings asPsalm 23 (the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want) meant that God is my shepherd and I don't want Him. There were other misunderstandings but there was a whopper that robbed me of peace and serenity and the joys that a middle school kid should have.

I had several Sunday school teachers and all of us boys liked Margaret. She was a stunning beauty, but she was teaching the junior high school group, so I was in the middle school age and Mrs. Perlberg was the teacher. She was humorless and strict. She was also ancient with deep creases and wrinkles. I imagined they had dust in them. She also wore a floral hat since women wore hats in church.

Mrs. Perlberg expedited us to come prepared. We were to speak when addressed. I thought she was also a public school teacher with her rules. She also told us to sit up straight. The forty-five minutes of class time seemed like half a day.

I wondered why Mom and Dad sent me off to Sunday school. By the end of the fifth grade I thought my chances of going to heaven were slim. I thought 'who can be good all the time.' 'I thought of spanking Miss Kemp, my fifth grade teacher at Central School when she reprimanded me for tardiness. Miss Kemp and Mrs. Perlberg could have been sisters.I asked God for forgiveness for my sinful thoughts but never felt forgiven. The Bible tells us to love our neighbor as yourself. I didn't love Miss Kemp or our neighbors. I liked them but I didn't feel mushy about them, particularly Claude, who was always crabby and never smiled or said hello. Then there was a bully next door to Claude and he bullied me in front of his friends many times. I couldn't find anything about bullies in the Bible.

Mrs. Perlberg's class took a frightening twist when we got to the topic of the unpardonable sin. I wondered how any sin can be unpardonable. The Bible said in 1John 1 "...He is faithful and just to forgive our sins."

But then there was Mark3:28-29, "Verily I say unto you all sins will be forgiven unto the sons of and blasphemies with which they shall blaspheme; but he that blasphemeth against the Holy Spirit hath never forgiveness, but is in danger  of eternal damnation." My innards turned to ice. I was not only going to hell but I would also receive eternal damnation.

My life was ruined! For eternity. When this thing hit me my mind was not there in the classroom.  I was  imagining what hell was like. I didn't hear the pertinent discussion.

Central School was turning into a disaster. I became inattentive, moody and withdrawn. I forgot to do homework assignments. One morning I wore my bedroom slippers under my overshoes. I ran home and put on my shoes and I got the expected lecture from Miss Kemp. I wasn't sleeping well.

Mom reacted to my hang-dog look:

"What are you worrying about now?"

"I've committed the unpardonable sin."

"Who told you that?"

"The Bible."

"For crying out loud get those cobwebs out of your head. You're enough to drive me nuts!"

I consulted Webster for meaning of what the word  : "Showing a lack of reverence for God."

How reverent did I have to be. Maybe there are no degrees of reverance. Maybe it was like the status of a light switch. On or off. Maybe I was irreverent, like when I hung out with guys and we smoked and swore and talked about the birds and the bees. I'd ask God for forgiveness in silent prayer but then I'd do something else.

I crawled into a shell. I had enjoyed playing basketball with the guys at the Memorial Building, or attending Saturday matinees at the Ironwood Theatre. On  spaghetti night I barely ate anything.

"What's going on, son?"  Dad's vertical lines between his eyes became pronounced with care. "You've been unusually quiet the last couple of weeks."

Mom was just about to say what I had told her, but I headed her off. "I'll be OK."

"If there's something you want to talk about just get it out on the table."

"No, it's ok Dad."

"Sure?"

"Yup."

                                       ----------

Next week I was home, ill with a cold so Mom kept me home from Sunday school.  Mom said it was okay to watch TV but I had to rest and stay covered up. I surfed our two channels, finding David Brinkley in a boring political discussion. Channel six had something I hadn't ever seen.

It was the Oral Roberts crusade under a huge tent. There must have been thousands in attendance, men, women and children. The hymns they sang seemed childish to me, having sung more dignified and majestic hymns at St. Paul's.

Roberts preached a  sermon about salvation and he had me dangling over hell-fire. Then he was putting his hand on people who were in the throes of affliction. Some were in wheelchairs, others had cancer, and then there was this tall teen with his mother, who said her boy was eighteen and his doctor had given him six to eight months to live. He had heart failure and his lips were pale and his fingernails were blue.

Roberts asked the boy,"Do you believe that Jesus has the power to heal you?"

"Yes, I do, sir." Oral Roberts put his hand on the boy's forehead and prayed fervently.

"In the name of Jesus cast out this terminal disease and make this young man strong and hearty. Heal him o Lord! Heal him!"

The boy shouted for joy, claiming he was healed and he felt stronger already.

(I obsessed about the color of my fingernails and lips and for months.)

Then came the altar call and Oral Roberts spoke calmly on  behalf of those who came forward. He recited John 3:3,5-7, and 16.  "You are here because the Holy Spirit has convicted you of sin. Pray with me all of you, including those with us by television." I closed my eyes and folded my hands as I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Maybe this was my escape from eternal damnation.

Oral Roberts prayed a line and the audience repeated it.

"Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.  I have done wrong in your sight. I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of the living God. I deserve the horrors of hell but you give grace and salvation. You blot out all our sins and I now ask you into my heart, oh Jesus! Thank you Jesus! Yes thank you that I am now a child of God. Amen.

As Oral Roberts opened his eyes they were flooded with tears and he yelled,"Praise Jesus!"

Others were crying, some rejoicing, even jumping up and down. Jubilant glowing faces bore testament to their salvation. I had prayed that prayer too but I had no tears, no ecstasy. I didn't feel like jumping around. Crestfallen, I assumed that the Sinner's Prayer didn't work for me. I was still going to hell. The winter sun was brilliant and I was going to hell.

Another week passed and Dad asked if I wanted to go for a ride with him and so we drove to Hurley and the target destination which was Fino's Bar on the second block of Silver Street. We entered the back door through a long, dim corridor. It was dark in Fino's. The shoe repair shop in one corner of the bar-room was darker but the pairs of boots and shoes needing repair were still displayed. Buck Owens, a country singer was singing from the jukebox.

I climbed up a bar stool next to Dad. Dad ordered a beer and I took a bottle of Squirt, sitting there, trying to look grown up, but I wasn't tall enough to comfortably rest my elbows on the bar.

"What's got your boxers in an uproar?" Dad asked. It was noisy with the din of conversation and the Wednesday Night Fights on TV, making our conversation  private.

"I'm okay," I replied uneasily.

"I've known you for all your life. I'm your Dad and I can see that something's not right. You've been quiet and withdrawn and you're not hanging out with your buddies. Whatever it is, you can tell me. That's what Dads are for.," He ended his sentence with a kindly smile.

"I think I'm going to hell."

"Why?" Dad took a sip of beer.

"It was in Sunday School a few weeks ago. There was this passage from Mark 3:28-29 about the unpardonable sin."

"What's it say?" Dad was nicely drawing me out of my shell. He also had some familiarity with the Bible.

"The sin of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven."

"Do you think you're guilty of this?"

I nodded.

"Tell you what. let's finish our drinks and go on home?"

Dad led me out of the long, dim corridor back to the car.  It had started snowing and I cleared the snow away from the windows. I liked watching Dad drive the '54 Chevy, the way he effortlessly shifted gears.

"Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit means you have rejected the Holy Spirit. Have you done that?"

"I don't think so."

"Of course you haven't. You prayed the Sinner's Prayer. Mom told me about that. If you rejected the Holy Spirit you wouldn't even watch Oral Roberts or anything that pertains to God. You have nothing to worry about."

"I thought about what it is like to commit blasphemy. I imagined it It seemed like I had really done it.."

"That's all you did, son. Think of Jesus at times like that. He wouldn't want you to be in such pain."

As we walked through the snow in the yard Dad put his arm around my shoulder.

"No more worrying about this?"

"No more worrying," I said with the first smile on my face in a few weeks. I was glad that I had such a great and wise Dad.

"Son, you've just experienced God's grace.

                                                 -------------------

I Guess it was the Lord's Will

Chuck was foursquare. You could count on his word and now the world has one less foursquare person.

I want to remember him in his white work clothes when he did plastering. He and his dad plastered the Woodland Church forty years ago. He drove an old Ford paneled van as he went to his jobs. Never advertised in the paper. His craftsmanship preceded him and he didn't lack for work. He plastered our ceilings and made friends with our (then) dog Teddy. They became buddies as Chuck listened to Christian radio while working. Chuck asked so timidly if he could keep his portable radio on while he worked.

 I wondered how he could listen to sermons all the time. He loved his Lord.

Chuck was the essence of humility, the essence of the chapter in the Bible called the 'love' chapter, (ICorinthians 13.) He was never proud, never uttered harsh words. He looked for the good in people. His love showed in his concern and patience for people.He shared his faith wherever he went, never too shy to tell a total stranger that he needed Jesus Christ. Once I met Chuck at the old Ahonen's Mill. We had each bought a bundle of slab maple wood and we were loading up. A stranger backed his pickup to load wood.

"Hi, I'm Chuck and I wondered if you would accept this (Bible tract) and read it over in you spare time."

The stranger was at a loss for words. Chuck always had tracts in his pocket, concerned that the next person he met needed Jesus as his savior. I marveled at this because I wouldn't have had the boldness to even say 'hi.' The stranger politely accepted the literature.

But that was Chuck. Taciturn and meek on one hand but he had this remarkable boldness to spread the Good News.

None of our Bible studies at Woodland Church was complete without Chuck's sage advice and opinions. His Bible was worn, indicating his devout Christianity.  Once we were befuddled as to a Bible passage. "Chuck, where is that reference about giving to the Lord's work?"

"Chuck replied without hesitation, without turning a page in his Bible,  "Second Corinthians 9:6, he who soweth sparingly shall also reap sparingly."

All of us smiled.  We were delighted at his command of the Scriptures.

Lois and I delighted in having Chuck and Lil for dinner after church during the football season. Although he didn't wear licensed Packer clothing and their car bore no Packer bumper stickers and he didn't talk much about football, a part of him was in the green and gold nation. I never knew Chuck could get so excited! "Touchdown! Hooray for the Packers! Did you see that perfect pass by Brett Favre?"

When they lived in Iron Belt they had us over for dinner occasionally and of course, the Packer game. After a scrumptious dinner we descended the stairs to their completely finished basement. It was a bone-chilling Sunday in December but Chuck made their basement recreation area toasty with a fire in the stove. It was the Packers vs. the Vikings and we were  pumped up for the occasion. It was a pivotal point of the season, a crucial game. Lois and Lil were upstairs and Chuck and I continued to watch the game. Then we took a nap! Right during this  game that had playoff implications! Our full tummies along with the warmth from the wood fire and the comfort of the recliners did us in.

"Are you guys sleeping?" Lil asked as she and Lois returned much later. We had to admit that we couldn't stay awake under such extreme conditions. The Vikings won.

 I was angry, "The Packers had that stupid holding penalty. The replay clearly showed that there was no holding."

Chuck calmly replied with a wistful smile,"I guess it was the Lord's will for the Vikings to win."

Chuck was always concerned to do and accept the Lord's will. We will surely miss him.

To My Friends at the Comfort Inn

Some days are unforgettable. Jamie asked me two weeks beforehand if I would come in on Feb. 12 to clarify some things about the pool, including the paperwork. I obliged and wrote the note on my office calendar.

I recalled my appointment on the appointed day and as I was leaving I told Lois I'd go to the store and get the few things we needed. Strange thing is that  Lois said  not to bother. She would get them. That was okay with me.

When I got inside the lobby Jamie told me that the hotel was in an uproar and that hoards of rug rats had rendered the pool into a state of emergency. 'Whatever it is I've seen worse,' I told myself as I punched in. I was focused on bringing the pool back to a healthy state and then Jamie (oh, that Jamie) said the breakfast room would qualify for disaster relief from FEMA so she entreated me to come and help put the furniture back in order. "Not a problem," I said, wondering how much work would go into the pool maintenance.

The French doors to the breakfast room were papered over and a sign proclaimed that a private party was in progress. Jamie opened the doors and the room was dark. As my eyes adjusted I wondered why the room was full of people sitting in the dark. Someone turned on the lights and a loud and unison yell of "surprise!" unhinged my jaw. Talk about shock and awe! I saw fellow employees as well as former employees and I became aware that I probably looked silly with my jaw down to my knees. The room was packed. And Lois was there!

Sue Spets, the General Manager and I have been with the company since the doors opened on my birthday  in August of 1990. Sue read some of my entries in the operations log and brought to life in vivid color the night that I came to work and an old classmate was in charge behind the counter. His demeanor suggested that maybe he was the CEO of Choice Hotels Int. I hadn't seen Jack since high school.

"Do you have enough confidence to do this?" Jack asked in a patronizing tone. My engine temperature sharply increased but I was careful not to show it. I remembered him from fourth period physics with Mr. Supercynski. Nonetheless he had a point since I didn't have enough confidence to take algebra as a freshman but as a senior  I was doing quite well in math and science. (That's another story in my blog.) "Yeah. I can do this," I replied, remembering to relax my jaw. I lasted long enough to retire, and overcame  many difficult situations so there, Jack. (I'll elaborate on the trials in my book.)

Sue read other entries from the operations log that I had written. Some were angry, some were lighthearted and humorous. Some were incredulous.  She masterfully framed my career at The Comfort Inn. Her cohorts, led by Jamie helped her pull it off. Thanks to Sue and the crew for this soiree. The next morning I asked Lois, "Did that really happen?"

Now it's time to let go of my duties behind the desk, although I'll still work as a consultant for our aquatic recreation facilities. (Could Jack. manage a swimming pool?)

I made a statement in my book that my career at the Comfort Inn wasn't something to brag about at a class reunion, minimizing the importance of fellow employees and management. Working at the desk requires a rare skill set.  There are difficult  and sometimes delicate situations and the desk agent must deal with while making everything work in our complex computer technology. Quick decisions must be made under pressure. There are many judgement calls, tough calls. The general Manager gets the same menu of stress only it is magnified tenfold. I've called her many times in the wee hours for direction. Sue, you have the strong and broad shoulders needed for all of the issues that come your way. Please accept my apology for that statement.

Now I have different challenges: 'where are my reading glasses? ... what do you mean, doctor- I don't need Lipitor....why is the floor down so low when I have to pick something up... who is that person who seems to have known me forever ... did I take my pills? Where are my pills?...that new music drives me crazy! When I was young we had the Beattles, Rolling Stones, Credence Clearwater Revival. Real music!... the gal on the ten o'clock news should get to bed. It's a school night.