The Large Man Chronicles

On the road where the night is black

On the road where you don’t look back

There’s a white line in the distance, where it’s going nobody knows

If it’s anywhere you’ll find it

On the road… (Enter kick ass slide guitar) – Leroy Parnell’s On the Road from 1993

I like the song, even though I’m not a big country music fan. I guess I just like the idea of the song. People looking for answers, the secrets to life’s mysteries, and some contentment…if it’s anywhere you’ll find it, on the road. For whatever it’s worth, I’m always on the road, and the answers ain’t there. But there is something to be said for the search. I love the road.

I am currently a little road weary, but it doesn’t change how I feel when I get behind the wheel of my beloved Buick Le Sabre. The leather seats, the cobbled together stereo system, the 29 miles to the gallon 6 banger, the slow leak in one tire, the hand prints on the rear window from my double-jointed son, the foot prints on the front windshield from my dis-jointed daughter. My car smells like a mixture of Old Bay seasoning, cherry air freshener, and feet; none are able to win the battle for aromatic dominance, so they just kind of fold around each other and stake out an equal presence. It’s nice. I love my car mostly because it gets me home safely to my family week in and week out.  This ice blue grandpa car has helped me generate revenue for 3 years and over 120,000 miles. It’s a great car.

It usually takes about 100 miles to adjust to the fact that I’m leaving home again. For another 3 or 4 nights I’m going to be away from the only people who truly love me. That first 100 miles are the worst; I make any excuse I can to call home. I know this drives my wife crazy, she’s not much for phone chatter anyway, and…I just left.

“Honey, could you get me a new toothbrush when you go the store?”

“Hey Baby, I’m gonna be getting some golf knickers from UPS tomorrow or Thursday, keep an eye out for them, would ya?”

“Could you check and see if I left the iron on?”

 I come up with the most ridiculously, stupid stuff to ask her about, or to remind her of. I just need to hear that voice one more time. I need to hear that impatient tone that she uses when the caller ID shows that it’s her man – her man who just left 20 minutes ago, the man who is perfectly self-sufficient under the most difficult of circumstances, but seems to be playing the “needy” game 20 minutes after he walks out the door.  I don’t really know why I do it, but I do it every trip. I think maybe I do it because deep down in the depths of my drama queen soul, I want to call and catch her crying because she misses me so much. That’s not likely to happen. She knows I’ll be home Thursday, and she has stuff to do. But a boy can dream.

So after the first 100 miles pass, I’m either close to an airport, or still 2 or 3 hundred miles away from my destination. If I’m flying, I’m excited about how I’m gonna feel when I get on the plane. I’ll take my seat, I’ll look out the window, and I’ll say a little prayer asking God to get me home safe to my family, and to keep me from having to use that little bathroom, and then I’ll smile with absolute amazement that someone is willing to pay me to get on a plane and go somewhere and tell the world about the things my company makes. I feel exactly the same every time I fly…it is a fantastic feeling.

But if I’m driving, after that first 100 miles, I’m getting excited about what the day will hold – who I’m going to meet, where I’m going to stay, what will I eat, and what I’m going to see or do. Maybe there will even be beer! I’ve done a lot of great stuff; the coolest stuff was never planned.

I have sung on stage at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge in Nashville – on my 50^th birthday. A couple of weeks ago I went on a helicopter ride over the city of Detroit.  I’ve played golf on PGA courses, I’ve caught a shark, I’ve been to Little Big Horn, I’ve been to at least 15 major league baseball parks, and I’ve seen the mansions of Newport Rhode Island. I have watched waves crash on the rocky Maine coast, I’ve piloted a tug boat, I’ve stumbled across an alligator, and I’ve seen soldiers run full speed into the arms of someone who has waited for their safe return. I once watched a Marine meet his 18 month old son for the first time.  Also, because of my job and the places that I travel to, I’ve been able to connect with friends that I haven’t seen in years. I’ve laughed so hard that beer has spilled through my nose, and I’ve been reduced (or enhanced, depending on how you feel about such things) to tears talking with people about things that move them.

You see the ugly stuff too…the poverty just 4 or 5 blocks down the street from the Newport mansions always makes me sad, and even a little angry; such contradictions shouldn’t be so close together. I had to rescue a puppy one time in Iowa when a big corn-fed idiot threw him out of the window of his big red truck. That sucked. I’ve watched towers burn after airplanes crashed into them. That sucked too. I’ve watched people treat each other poorly. That always sucks. But actually, the ugly is quite rare; in my experience, ugly is the exception.

Singing on-stage at Tootsie’s and the helicopter ride have to go down as the coolest, unplanned “adventures”. Watching someone in uniform come home to a loved one is probably the most heartwarming thing I’ve ever seen.  Hugging a friend that I haven’t seen in years is probably my second favorite thing I ever get to do. I love the road.

In the last two weeks I’ve returned to the scene of two different Large Man tales. Last week I was at Rocky’s Italian Grill in Louisville (see The People You Meet…The Large Man Chronicles, Feb. 2010) and my favorite bartender was there, Vashta – she now manages the place, so I was being served by a strapping young man named Adam. I listened to live music by a talented dude named Josh, and I sipped on an American I.P.A. by Schafly Brewing out of St. Louis, and I was just happy. I was recognized, even though I hadn’t been there in over 18 months. I thought at first that it was because I’m just so attractive that even a girl half my age couldn’t get me out of her head, but as it turns out, it had nothing to do with my looks.

Back in February of 2010, I was putting together a little cash vacation fund, and I was collecting $100.00 bills,  a few of these bills were in my wallet along with my travelin’ cash. Vashta was leaving the next day for a trip to PA, and I thought it would be nice to leave an extra $20.00 in her tip for her trip. I even left her a note saying, “Let the Large Man buy your first tank of gas”, or something stupid like that. Well as it turns out, I didn’t leave a twenty, I left a C-note from my stash (I may have been slightly impaired). I realized what I had done after I got back to my room, but it’s not like I was going to walk back to the restaurant and ask for change.  It was funny, but also a little troubling…

Two points need to be made here:

1. A 50-year-old man leaving a $100.00 “extra” tip on a $30 dinner bill for a girl in her twenties that is not a friend or family member, while generous, is a little creepy…thank goodness Vashta didn’t see creepy, she just saw generous.
2. While I do okay in my day job, I don’t make the kind of money that I can afford to leave $100.00 creepy old man tips for 20 something year old girls who are not friends or family.

But…I survived, I made payroll (kid’s allowances) that week, and Vashta didn’t take it the wrong way. When the new bartender, Adam, heard the story, he assured me that he and I actually were friends, and were quite possibly related too. To which I replied, “Nice try bud – bring me a Dogfishead and shut up!” He brought the beer, and then continued his bartending tasks. I like this kid, he’s gonna go far in this business.

It’s very nice to have someone recognize or remember you, no matter the circumstances. I travel all over the country, and parts of Louisiana as well, and there are only two places that I have to visit when I’m in the area…Rocky’s is one of those places. The food is great, the staff is always friendly, there is an eclectic collection of beer choices, and it makes me feel like I’m not so far away from home. I love Rocky’s.

Another “must visit when I’m in town” place is Perky’s in Alta Vista, VA. (See Perky’s…The Large Man Chronicles, July 2010). The biggest difference between Rocky’s and Perky’s is that when you’re in Louisville KY you have lots of choices – but you still choose Rocky’s. When you’re in Alta Vista, VA, well…you have Perky’s. But that’s okay, because you would choose it anyway. Nobody at Perky’s recognized me (I’ve never left a $100 creepy old man tip though), but all the same faces (and if I’m being honest, all the same tight jeans) were still there. Perky’s is a place that has a vibe. I ate there tonight, I drank a Tallgrass Brewing Company I.P.A., I had a steak, and I talked to 3 people who I didn’t know, and a 2-year-old little girl from the table behind me wanted a sip of my beer. My facilitator for the evening was Melanie, and she made me feel like I was the most important person in the joint. When she checked in on me, she would put a hand on my shoulder or on my forearm as she asked, “Is everything to your liking. How’s that beer? You like that?” Again, I don’t feel so far from home when I’m with people like Melanie. It’s a great restaurant filled with good county people. If I am close, I must go.

It’s all out there people, On the Road. I love it. I’m sure in some ways it takes its toll on our family, but this life on the road also allows Mrs. Large Man to be a stay at home Mom, that’s a pretty good trade. It also allows this Large Man to be content, fulfilled, and continually challenged in the most positive of ways. I have been around people who hate their jobs. They meet the day with dread, and at the end of that worthless day, they meet their pillow with resentment. That is no way to live. As I said in the beginning of this rambling, I don’t think the “answers” are out there, but the road is a good place to clear your head from clutter or fill your head with possibilities… answers come from within.

 As much as I love the feel of my Buick’s leather seats under my large ass, the anticipation of a new destination, or the comfort that comes with visiting an old friend or a familiar bar, the best part of the road, and my favorite part, is the great big squeeze from the little the arms that are thrown around me when I get home. You know you’re living right when you absolutely love the journey, but still the best part of the trip is coming home. I’m living right.

I’ll be home on Thursday.

“The kisses that I live for, the love that lights my way…”  That’s another country song, John Denver did that one. I like the idea of this one too, even though I’m not a big country music fan.

Thanks for reading.

I got behind the wheel of my beautiful blue Buick today, and I headed west on I-90, bound for the great state of Michigan. Michigan is great for many reasons, but for me the greatness is because it’s the home of Bell’s Brewery, and Elderly Instruments.

Bell’s Brewery is the brewer of the very best seasonal beer ever made – Hopslam IPA. Hopslam is loaded with bitter citrus hops, sweet hints of honey, and a pineapple finish that is unlike any other potion on this earth. All these amazing flavors hover around every sip of this brew, it’s as complex to your taste buds as a three-ring circus is to your eyes…but you never forget that you are drinking a beer. It’s a very hoppy, very grown up, craft made beer, but in the end…it’s just a beer. It’s only available in the late winter months, and sells out immediately everywhere it goes. Every year, when I open the last bottle from my personal inventory, I put some in an atomizer and make my wife wear it as perfume for the entire month of March. I don’t really obsess over it though; like I said, it’s just a beer.

Elderly Instruments is a music store, not really that different from other music stores. But I guess what Hopslam is to the taste buds, Elderly is to the ears (and eyes). There are hundreds of guitars of every make, model, and vintage. You can walk in there and put your hands on guitars that were made when every single piece was carved and shaped by hand, but you can also plug-in a brand new “mass produced” Fender Stratocaster. This place shows you the entire spectrum of what a guitar can be, and everything is under one roof. It’s great…it’s amazing. It’s one of the few music stores that I’ve visited that feels more like a museum than a store.

Beer and guitars – I think I’m beginning to feel like my old self again. I need to visit a strip club to be completely sure, but I think I’m on my way.

I’ve spent the last few months working with muscles that I am not accustomed to using – emotional muscles that cover the entire human experience. I’ve experienced some of the worst sadness that I could have ever imagined. The meaning of the words, “I’m sorry for your loss” will be forever changed for me. The muscle of deep sorrow hurts to the depths of your soul when it is exercised.

You will almost always find me wading into the deep end of the pool of reflection and personal inventory when I face adversity, or loss. This time in my life has been no exception. As I reflect, I have some regret. I think about the way I have treated people who I care about and I wish I had done things differently. The “regret” muscle is heavy. Regret may be the heaviest load one’s soul can carry.

When I take that “personal inventory”, I realize how much I am still a work in progress. The personal growth muscle is kind of tricky; it gets sore from very little use. It gets sore because it’s simply easier to not make changes, and just stay who you are.

The other muscle group that seems to have me a little bent is the “Day Job, Sales Guy, Revenue Generator” group…this is the most boring of the muscle groups, so we won’t over analyze here,  but I (just like most of you) need to find some balance. For the first time in years, I am tired and sore from the stress and strains of the day job. This never happens to me. The love of what I do is always the heavier part of that scale. But lately, revenue generation has required more heavy lifting than I’m used to. I have always fancied myself a maximum pay for minimal effort kinda guy – what I have done lately actually feels like work. The work muscles are really starting to ache.

I feel like I am beat up. I need a large hot tub, and a handful of emotional ibuprofen.

But, we can stretch these muscles the other way too.

As I shared in the last few Chronicles, I joined a team that did a little fundraising…so I have some charitable muscles that have been worked – trust me here, this was not a muscle that I even knew I had. This group did a good job raising funds, so I have some pride muscles working too. 

I watched my brother get married last Friday. He married a wonderful woman, from a really cool family, in one of the nicest weddings I’ve ever been to; so the joy muscles just hit the gym.

My nephew just became a Dad for the first time. Mom and baby are healthy and well, and I think my sister’s kid is going to be a good Dad, and a good man… so relief, joy, pride, happiness, and hope are  getting put through their paces.

New muscles, unused muscles, emotional muscles…it’s been a workout! But that’s life, isn’t it? Life is a workout.

All this (or that) being said; as I head down the highway today, things seem to be getting back to normal. (Whatever “normal” is) I’m traveling; going to see some customers that are really more like friends…I’m by myself, in my car, listening to my radio stations. I might get to try a new beer. If time allows, I’ll get to visit an awesome music store, and I can make time allow if I so choose. I have choices and options, and I am aware of all of my possibilities. This is a great feeling.

Early on in today’s journey, a guy with New York tags was following way to close for the speed we were traveling, and as stiff as I was with all this “emotional  soreness” , I summoned the strength to flip him off.  As I raised my middle finger and pushed it out the window, something seemed to snap inside of me.  It felt like the warm embrace of an old friend. It felt so good. I felt like me for the first time in months. It seems like ages since I have given someone the finger. I missed that a lot.

Fresh off of the great feeling from the morning road rage, and after a delicious Chipotle lunch, I was completely boxed out of a lane change in very heavy traffic, just outside of Detroit. I had my signal on in plenty of time; just the slightest bit of courtesy from any one of several scores of drivers would have gotten me into the lane I was seeking. But no, there was no room for me, or my beautiful, ice blue, Le Sabre. I missed the exit and had to go on about a fifteen minute detour. I imagined myself choking the motorists who were so thoughtless. That was a nice feeling too.

I’ve been so caught up in sorrow, personal growth, regret, pride, hope, and overall emotional exhaustion; I’ve forgotten who I am. I am The Large Man. I am sarcastic, I rally against the buttheads of the world, I like wings, beers, guitars, my Buick, lost causes, coolers full of ice, beers, new-born babies, women, my kids, generating revenue, good books, my wife, funny stupid movies, being a smartass, strippers (but only the responsible ones – just the strippers who are working their way through medical school), old pictures of good friends, a fire pit in the middle of a gathering of my neighbors, long slow wet kisses, the smudge of newspaper ink on my fingers, and beers…that’s who I am. I am The Large Man.

I have no idea for sure what tomorrow will bring, but today, and for the first time in months, I felt like The Large Man again. Today, I was thinking it might be funny to write a Chronicle making fun of men who wear black socks with sandals. Ridiculing people who I don’t know, and who are different from me seems like a good “new beginning”.

I’m back baby!!

To be continued…

Numbers were never my bag. I’m sure I came close to putting a few algebra teachers in the State Mental Hospital back in high school. Not because I wanted to; I just frustrated these people to the point of insanity. They worked with me one on one, provided peer tutors, they put in lots of overtime but I never got it. I never found the value of x. But that’s because I’m a “people person”.

But this episode of The Large Man Chronicles is about numbers (that probably means that it will be shorter than usual) I want to share the numbers as related to this Relay for Life gig that I’ve been talking about.

1: 100

One out of every 100 Americans participates in Relay for Life. Cool.

1: 5

One out of every 5 of my Facebook friends participated in Relay for Life. Very Cool.

116

There are 116 subscribers to The Large Man Chronicles.

1: 4.6

One out of every 4.6 Large Man subscribers participated in Relay for Life.

74

13 Betts employees walked the track at Relay. 24 additional family members of Betts employees (spouses, children, 1 boyfriend & 1 girlfriend) walked with, or for a Betts teammate. That comes to 74 feet on the Betts team walking the track of hope.

5

It takes about 5 minutes to complete one lap (walking) around the track, so our team took approximately 288 laps in the 24 hour Relay event. When you add the laps that were taken by multiple Betts team members simultaneously, to the best of my calculating abilities, we took over 1,100 laps

5

It took me 5 minutes to set up a personal web page that would accept donations for the American Cancer Society. I set an original goal of $500.00. I posted a link to this site on my Facebook page.

< 5

After posting this site on my Facebook page, it took less than 5 minutes to get the first 3 donations. The friggin cyber ink was not even dry…the friggin 1s and 0s were not even fully arranged when friends (and fundraisers in their own right) Bridget Rose, Julie Michalenko, and Rhonda (Sissy) Clement had dropped some start-up money on the website.

< 5

In less than 5 hours, the website had exceeded the original goal by $70.00

5

The dollar goal on the website  increased 5 different times, because we were meeting the goals so quickly. This is where the magic started to occur.

>5

This is a sensitive line, because respecting someone’s desire for privacy is a must. But more than 5 of the people who donated either on the web page, or by other means, asked that their donation be kept anonymous. It’s actually much more than 5, but I have a “5” thing going here, and it’s still numerically correct…the amount is greater than 5.

73

I sent out 73 “shout outs” over 16 days to friends that donated to this cause…that may have been the most enjoyable writing experience of my life. Honoring friends and family is easy work.

 >6

The Betts team raised over $6,000.00…all of us with very little understanding of how to raise funds. The 13 employees that played this year will be better next year. We are excited about this team.

>90,000

With more than $90,000.00 raised, the 2011 Warren County Relay for Life fundraising event was a success – by any measurement.

But because I’m not a numbers guy, I don’t know what all these numbers really mean, and I don’t know what all these numbers add up to. I have been told that numbers don’t lie. I have been told, “Just look at the numbers” when evaluating any kind of strategy. Numbers are simple emotionless facts.

This is what I do know… when you look at these numbers, they mean something more. Every one of these numbers is attached to a person. All these numbers are attached to someone’s heart and soul…that’s the good stuff.  All these numbers are attached to hope, or concern, or honor. We donate because we believe this can create hope for someone who is suffering. We walk a track at 2:00 AM, in the mud and the rain because we want to honor someone we have lost, someone who is fighting for their life, or someone who has won a battle with cancer. We do these things because we are people who are concerned about other people. That’s what these numbers add up to, and numbers don’t lie.

 The people who walked the track, and represented the over $6,000 dollars donated to the Betts team…Gomez and Wednesday Adams, Big Bad Bob, Jerry The Hammer, Jerry’s Kids, The Mighty Coursons, The Plundering Pillaging Lunds, Bobbie and the Mohneys, Mike The Iceman, Ryan’s Hope, Special K and her Wicked Spawn, APB and The Shrimp Shak Shooters, Wica Wica Wica, King Henry plus 3, and yours truly…were not thinking of themselves when they made this commitment. They certainly were not thinking of themselves when they honored their commitment.

It was cold, it rained, the wind blew, and some people didn’t sleep for about 40 consecutive hours. We had teammates who walked laps in the rain, all alone at 1:00 AM or 3:00 AM, to very little cheering or encouragement. We had a pregnant woman with her two-year old in a stroller, and when the rain fell, and the wind blew, she simply covered up the kid, picked up an umbrella, grabbed her husband’s hand, and kept on walking. I saw a lot of discomfort, but I didn’t see any quitters.

I didn’t see any quitters because every person that came, just like every person that donated, did it for hope, concern, and honor.

And that’s the truth, because numbers don’t lie.

Thank you to every person that made a donation. Thank you to every person who couldn’t make a donation this year, but encouraged this team along our journey. Thank you to the amazing Betts team for showing some real heart. You all make me want to be a better person.

Thank you for reading, and giving me a voice.

The Large Man