Friends without Facebook

As it would work out, I sent a letter to my friend Norm – he, the ultimate arbiter of words – and how does he respond?

By email.

At least he has the sensibility to put Friends without Facebook in his subject line.  I don’t perceive Norm as much of a Facebook or social media guy.  All his working life he was a journalist or a behind-the-scenes journalist, so you’d think e-things would be anathema to him.

Norm’s name probably doesn’t ring a bell for you.  But his work influences what you read in print and online every day.  He was, for a long, long time, the man behind the Associated Press Stylebook.  The Stylebook is the bible of the sport for newspapers, magazines, and virtually any other entity that puts words in front of you in any form.  If or how a word entered official use by journalists, bloggers and writers – Quran vs Koran (“Quran: The preferred spelling for the Muslim holy book”), e-commerce, nano, JPEG, etc. – that was Norm’s decision.

And he was my editor when I wrote my national housing columns for the Associated Press.  He gave me not only a chance, but he let me follow stories on my own.  He rarely, if ever, interfered let alone second guessed me.  He had confidence and trusted me and that meant everything to my writing career and style.

I am glad to call Norm my friend.

—————

December 9, 2011

Norm: My New Year resolution to stay in touch with you has come a few days early but I suppose the new Post Office dictum to take first class snail-mail to new levels of slowness means this could still arrive after January 1.  Hopefully not.

Actually, there’s not a hell of a lot new down here in North Carolina besides our even farther right than usual right-wing politics. But it is in the 50s here today so at least the weather validates my move.  Nearing six years as a Southerner, so the next time I visit NYC (which is overdue) let me know if I’ve acquired any of the local intonation.

I think you’re onto something with the retirement thing.  The idea of non-work is beginning to dawn on me and I’m thinking of pulling the plug on work in the next year.  Age 63, or at least the 40-some years before it, seem about the right number of years in the salt mines.  I don’t know how you’ve kept yourself busy but I wouldn’t mind finding out how that works.

My daughter is expecting so any advice you have on the grandpa thing would be more than welcome.  Ellen is in St. Paul, MN and likes it very much, although the single digit temps they’ve had the last couple of days may temper her enthusiasm.

Not doing a hell of a lot with my free time except walking and growing older.  I keep threatening to write a book but the inspiration continues to escape me.  That’s probably just as well for the reading public.  There are enough bad books out there.

So what are you up to?  Still freelancing?  I’d love to hear what you’ve been doing.  And Jeanette?  I don’t keep up with the AP much these days.  I see their ‘contact us’ web page still has e-mail with a hyphen even though they issued some decree earlier this year that email would henceforth be one word.  That’s why they still need you in the shop to at least run the Stylebook.  My son Reid still has your signed copy.

Still living alone although I have a steady girlfriend who has quickly moved up to significant-other status.  There is still the very real threat that we could visit New York and you’d have a chance to meet her and give her the third degree: “Felicia, why are you with this guy…?”

Hopefully, you’ll find out sooner than later.  Really, let me know how and what you’re doing.  I don’t need to know the why.  I hope things are well…

Finally, an e-mailed letter…

For the first time in a long, long time a letter was attached to an e-mail and sent to one of the kids.  The only other times I recall caving to e-mail “attachments” were when our pair were overseas for their obligatory “semesters abroad.”

The reason for this most recent break in tradition had to do with a legitimate need for speed: Reid got his acceptance letter to The New School in New York yesterday, which is a few scant days after accepted his new job at a big Chicago digital agency.  He has earned his shining day with his persistence and never-say-never enthusiasm.

Now he faces a decision that on one hand must be well thought through yet he can’t dawdle either.  He has to decide – soon.  An advice letter with fatherly thoughts and hearty congratulations sent by snail mail would arrive well after he would have probably made up his mind.   The letter was written perhaps too quickly; Ellen and I talked a couple of times on Wednesday, and I wish now those conversations had been earlier because she brought up multiple good points that went over her old man’s head.

Rest assured, though, I still sent the letter by mail (in part to not break the string) which also included his $25 bonus for guessing my recent medical costs.  Anything to keep the streak alive.

—————-

March 16, 2011

Reid: So much for hearing about the New School at the end of the month.  Last time I checked, this is mid-month.  But to their credit they didn’t waste time and accepted you with all speed.  Here’s your $25; you can apply it toward their down payment or a celebratory cold one.  I’d go with the cold one.

This is incredibly good news.  By the time you get this your decision will probably be already made.  Man, these are two incredible positives.

The one thing I’d emphasize is to keep the emotion factor out of this if at all possible.  That is much harder said than done, and coming from me it’s the equivalent of do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do.  Here’s a laundry list of how you might process all the information that’s rushed into your brain:

• Is your decision to apply to the New School borne of frustration with your situation at your old agency?  If it is, to simply escape your current environment is not the best reason to go to school.

• If your decision to apply to the New School was borne out of a legitimate interest in furthering yourself in the digital world, then more power to you.

• What will happen once you graduate?  What degree will you have and what value will it bring to you in the marketplace?  What does the New School tell graduates about job placement or job prospects?  You might talk to Andy and Tim about that since they’ve been down this road.

• Do you have the pockets to pay the fees and all the costs at the New School and still be able to afford the high life in New York City?  Your mom and I likely won’t be in much position to help you, and I don’t want you to be needlessly in hock for the foreseeable future.

That said, there is a hell of a lot worse things than the honest pursuit of a higher education.  In today’s world an advanced degree is a good thing.  Speaking of that, what degree will you have?  Master’s?  Doctorate?  Other?

But I am very proud of you for seeing this process through all the way to the end.  You will singlehandedly raise the educational profile of the Bradleys far beyond what your grandfather, your uncle, and your BA degree-only father.  A final thought is that I have rued my decision to ditch my Masters in journalism after completing 20+ hours.  Years later that inability to finish it off continues to bother me.  Perhaps this is your best chance to pursue educational, and personal, greatness.  Either way, kid, you will come out smelling like a rose.

Singe the bridge, don’t burn it…

A stand-alone letter was sent today to Reid.  He has been offered a new job after another digital agency pursued him.  He’s on cloud 9 but the offer, along with a nice boost in pay, means he would start at his new employer precisely the same week he should hear about his graduate school application.  He can’t really go wrong either way (although his parents strongly encourage him to take the bird in the hand).  But he’s his own man now and the choices are up to him.  I’m just trying to put a little context into his possible new job environment vis a vis graduate school.

Don’t worry that he will see today’s letter in advance.  Reid is a rare visitor to this space.

——————-

March 3, 2011

Reid: Here’s your $25 for guessing the tab for my hospital stay.  Don’t spend this all in one place.  What’s it good for in Chicago, a couple of hot dogs and a cold beer?

Good things come to those who wait, and that apparently applies in your case.  This is thrilling news for you.  It’s nice to feel wanted (and to get a nice bump in the wallet), and I will be all ears to hear the reaction from your current shop.  This will catch them a bit off guard, don’t you think?  By the time you get this we will both have our answers.

You’ve got a few weeks before you start your new situation.  That will be a nice lull in the action.  Things have really gone pretty well at ________, your frustrations aside.  Although you’re breathing a sigh of relief, I just want you to be ready for the next round at your new place.  Without question you will work with those ready climb over and around you, who won’t get the gist of some of your ideas (or don’t want to listen), or will be just all-around oafs.   None of that will change with your new job.  It will just be a change of address.  That’s just the way it is in business, and I suppose the onus on you is to continue to work hard and look for ways you can adapt to all the variances of the new employer and bring value to your equation.  Nothing much in that equation changes from job to job.  Be able to navigate the waters which will sometimes be turbulent.  You’ve picked up bits and pieces of that as you’ve gone along.  It’s hard to imagine you’re only 25 and have had the experiences you’ve already had.  Just keep playing your cards right and unlike those who don’t want to listen, you should do precisely that.

I don’t know what to think about the New School.  Talk about two golden opportunities occurring at exactly the same time.  Wow.  __________ was the bird in the hand and you couldn’t go wrong with that.  To say “no” to a new work opportunity might seem tempting but what if the New School turned you down?  Then you’d be up a creek although you wouldn’t be out of a job.  No doubt ___________ has some sort of tuition reimbursement program so your dream of grad school might not be totally kaput if your application doesn’t get off the ground in New York.  In fact, if you opt for classes elsewhere in Chicago your new handlers might take a liking to that since they want a highly educated, and motivated, work force.  It’s not like you’re a codger like me.  You’ve still got a long way ahead of you and that’s good.  Burnishing your resume a little more won’t hurt your cause either.  It could be, too, that _________ will open your eyes even further toward digital possibilities. 

But if the New School does give you the green light, then you have a tough decision.  If that is your dream, then go after it.  You would need to go to _________ with your tail between your legs but it’s not like you’re jumping ship to another agency.  You’d be going to school, and that will make it somewhat more tolerable for them.  You will find more doors open after graduate school, and who knows, you could always try their waters again.  They will always want that highly educated, and motivated work force.  Maybe you can just singe the bridge and not burn it.  But we’re proud of you kid; better to have strong options than none at all.

My friend Mort…

My friend Mort and I go way back.  Way back.  Back as in college days.  Mort lives but a stones throw away in Atlanta and I’ve scratched my head wondering why it took so long to write him. 

But in the spirit of better late than never, Mort indeed got his first letter from me last week.  He is an incredibly creative writer who loves Nebraska’s Sand Hills even more than me (read chapters of  Ghost Dance at http://churnhead.blogspot.com).  He works hard at a craft the rest of us can dabble with at best.

———————

January 6, 2011

Mort: How is it that we have both ended up in the southland, you for more years than me but in roughly the same place and stage of our “careers”?   I still pinch myself – a form of self-abuse, I guess – many days wondering how the hell this has all come to pass.

I’m not one to overly beef about it, but as a recent convert to the “it is what it is” way of thinking, I can’t help but think of the daily reminder that is chief, but not the only factor, that keeps me here: the weather map.  It is just a hell of a lot nicer down here, on balance, than we might be experiencing back in the heartland.  I keep reminding Ellen and Reid that – rubbing it in, really – when it is 60F here it is likely -10F there.  You said the other day my blood must be getting thinner, but is there a way to make that happen to the rest of me, too?

There has to be a way to get you and Mike back down here.  Hill has to be going nuts, and taking Leann with him, as he twiddles his thumbs up there.  What would it take him to get to ATL?  A strong day and a half, max, to reach you?  Then it’s the short jaunt over here.  On my oath, I swear you would have separate rooms with clean sheets.  This is the sort of pilgrimage the two of you ought to make.  That, or I save you the gas – petrol and/or Mike’s gas – by jaunting over your way.  You make the call.  I can go either way.

I’m glad you liked the reference to the Sandhills.  The pioneers were probably smart to set up shop all those years ago near a source of water, the Platte, but if they’d only plunked Grand Island on the map a bit further to the north than that would’ve met my needs all that much better.  Pretty short-sighted on their part.  Must be the wind-swept appeal of those hills.  Kind of like New York; not sure I want to live there but I sure like to visit although a spot up that way could be fairly palatable if you had the right amenities like running water and Wi-fi.  A golf course within hailing distance would be a plus, too.  That round up by Chadron was one of the more memorable I’ve had although I can do without bunking at Ft. Robinson.  Have you read John Janovy’s book Keith County Journal?  Or was that you that turned me on to it?  Either way, it’s a good descriptor of that portion of the country.

On that score, I think you should plow ahead at flank speed with your book.  That you started it at all is sort of Lao-tzu – a journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step.  It’s just a matter of finishing.  I’ve been following that writer’s group you got me onto enough to know that the self-help stuff a lot of them promote is okay but hardly up to your standards.  There’s always room for a good oater.  Besides, you’ve come this far and there are lots of self-publishing situations that can help you bring it to fruition.  It’s all going online and e-book anyway.  I would volunteer as the necessary second set of eyes, and no doubt Hill would too, if he’s not already.

As for me, I’ll be content to trundle into the office every day and get done what needs to get done.  The last few months have been an epiphany on the work scene.  Some days I wonder about the long-term but then I look in the mirror and realize it’s me that needs to adapt and change.  I’ll keep the blog up and going since it is one of the few creative outlets at my disposal.  Readership is picking up bit by bit and that’s good enough for me.

Well, as Walkin and Mayeux used to say, it’s time to sign off.  Really, you and Mike butt heads and see what you can muster in terms of you coming here or me going there.  Either way, it is high time I got a chance to see you ruffians and to hear your old yarns.  Emphasis on the old.

A cabbie named Mohammed…

Mohammed injected some common sense to an electric topic for most of us. Where others see strife, he sees freedom.

Taped to the wall of the shop of Lannie, my former barber in Des Moines, is a quote from the late comedian George Burns: “Too bad all the people who know how to run this country are busy running taxicabs or cutting hair.”  I looked at that quote almost every visit (for the five or so minutes it took to clip my thinning locks).

I mention this because of the highlights of my December trip to the Midwest, a close third (behind seeing my mother and brother and walks on country roads) was the hurried trip to my father’s grave with a taxi driver, Mohammed.

A couple of decades of taxi rides in New York will cure you of conversations with cabbies.  That wisdom came to mind moments after my whining about Omaha’s snow and cold.  Yet the subsequent two-sided conversation with Mohammed was anything but New Yorkish.  He made me think.  It was another teaching moment for me, and for Ellen and Reid.

——————

January 12, 2011

Ellen/Reid: This note is a couple of days late owing to the snow/ice barrage down here and the fact that I needed a workable printer.  Not that you were wringing your hands waiting by the mail box.  I had to chop a path through the ice on the pathway behind the house if I had any hopes of making it to the office.  My place will never see a snow plow.  The office today is a ghost town.

Ellen, given that you teach African and Asian immigrant children, here’s a side story from my Christmas trip that might strike a chord with you.  The cab driver who shuttled me to your grandfather’s grave was a guy named Mohammed, who had fled Somalia with his family about 10 years ago.  He, too, was a teacher but had been trying to gain his footing in the U.S.  I’m normally loathe to strike up conversations with cabbies, but he seemed genial enough.  I made some offhand comment about the lousy weather and that seemed to break the ice.

We got to the cemetery in pretty quick order without a ton of conversation beyond he was from Somalia and the weather didn’t inordinately bother him as much as it did me.  He waited while I went through the snow up the hill and searched plot by plot in the effort to find the right marker.  It was when I got back into the cab that our conversation changed during the 20 or so minutes back to the airport.  He was respectful of your grandfather and although I’m not sure how, we began to talk about his Muslim faith and how he feels accepted in the Midwest.

He denigrated the zealots who miscast his religion beyond what he reads in the Quran.  He wondered where are the moderates among Muslims, and he followed that up by saying most were afraid to speak out because of what can happen to those with moderate views.  Mohammed wasn’t one of these cabdrivers who just simply spout things loud and long.  He was very considered in what he said.  I asked and he responded.  He happily found the U.S. and Omaha to his liking because his kids are getting a good education, he and his wife have jobs and the opportunities are there for anyone to be anything they want to be in the U.S.  He thought freedom was a great thing that Americans sometimes overlook or take for granted.  I agreed.  I suppose living in the hellhole that is Somalia would shape a person’s outlook on life.

We got back to the airport and I shook his hand as we parted ways.  I’ve thought a lot about that 45 minute encounter.  Mohammed was positively glowing about the potential for his family, and it was incredible to me that his I’m-glad-to-be-here attitude had yet to be infected by others who have a far more jaded view on the Mohammeds (or any of the other immigrants) among us.  Mohammed painted Muslims with a different brush than I’d been exposed to, and I learned more about tolerance in that short period than I have in a long, long time.

There’s an object lesson in there somewhere.  I try to keep that in mind in the face of immigrant news and the views so prevalent down here and elsewhere.  I find myself slipping, though, in my resolve to take judgments about people one person at a time.  My friend John at Caldwell has a hand in continuing to shape my perspective and resoluteness, too.  I guess I can only be in control of how I act and react, one person at a time.

Well, I’d better go.  I navigated the slick roads this morning to reach Uptown.  No doubt you two laugh at a 5” storm bringing Charlotte to a screeching halt for days at a time.  I stocked up on bread and milk like the other panicked locals, most of it has not been consumed.  So much for a winter apocalypse.