Ace Wisdom

No Grasshoppers, “Bubbles” is not an old flame from college or a stripper from a racey night-club. It refers to the mega-economic bubbles that rule our lives. Don’t get caught when the economic bubble pops.
I know. I know. What the hell is he talking about? My best example is the “technology” bubble that existing in the 1990’s. Any company was involved in computers, software, telephones or digital products was part of the “tech” bubble. The rationale was that tech-stock was visionary and could only go up. An example would be Cisco Systems which makes expensive switching and storage products for computers. I bought one share of Cisco in 1998 for the equivalent of $12/share. There was some logic in buying the stock. Quality. Strategic Products. But the financial guidelines stunk. The price/earnings ratio was awful. Growth of 50-60% per year could not be sustained. The key indicator that a financial bubble existed was that financial logic was ignored and there was a buying frenzy among the yuppie crowd. I sold my one share of Cisco for $125/share in January, 2000. One year later, Cisco was at $10/share. I was fortunate to sell before the bubble burst. Today, 5 years later, Cisco is selling at $13/share. Imagine the number for years it is going to take for Cisco to get back to $125/share! Decades I’m sure.
You could argue that the technology bubble of the 1990’s was an aberration, not to be repeated. I’d argue that there are lots of bubbles out there and you should beware of getting caught in the “pop”.
This blog entry is meant to be short and crisp. I don’t have enough space to talk about all the bubbles but let me mention a few.
The real-estate bubble. Low interest rates have encouraged people to finance bigger houses carrying debt up to their eyeballs. As interest rates rise (and they are rising), lots of people are going to experience problems with their debt repayment and lose their homes. The real-estate bubble will pop.
The energy bubble. Gas prices are over $3.00 per gallon. Home heating bills are expected to soar 40-50% this winter. Any investment in energy seems like a winner. As China slows its growth. As people buy smaller cars. As people stop spending as much money at the pumps, gas prices will drop. There will be a pop.
The social security program is a bubble. It can’t possible handle all future retirees.
Pensions unfunded by big corporations is a bubble. Wait until General Motors and Ford have their pension liability pop.
Healthcare costs are a bubble. I don’t know if they will pop, but something has to change.
Consumer debt is bubble. Totally consumer debt I believe is $8,000 for every man, woman and child in America.
Federal debt is unbelieveably high and we are borrowing from the rest of the world. I don’t know if you’d call that a bubble, just insanity.
And the list goes on. It means you have to live smartly. When an economic bubble bursts, you want to get out of the way. Bubbles are part of the world we live in.
Love,
Dad

Growing up as a kid, there was an alternative to “weeding beets for the Stokely Canning Company”. The Krier Canning company from Kewaskum, Wisconsin would offer to pick up kids in Plymouth with old school buses (I mean old) and transport the kids to fields of beans. You would pick long string beans off the plants of each row, place them in a large “gunny sack” and when full, they would weigh the beans and give you credit for each pound.
There were usually two or three young “hunks” with each bus to drive and supervise the effort. Interestingly enough, most of the bean pickers were female. How about that! Hunks supervising females.
I decided to give bean picking a try because maybe I could earn more money than weeding beets. Besides, being with a bus load full of girls couldn’t be all bad. So I tried.
I learned the nature of discrimination early. Any row of beans that were being picked by guys were examined closely by the hunks to see if any beans were missed. If they found any, a verbal reprimand took place. If the hunks examined the rows picked by girls and found missed beans, they would pick the beans and then place them in the girl’s bag and say nothing. Talk about unfair.
And then, there were a few young ladies who were rather “loose”. They would disappear from the field with one of the hunks and not be seen for hours. Somehow the young ladies got credited for as much or more beans as everyone else. I could never figure out where the hunk and young lady went but I knew it wasn’t fair (actually I knew exactly where they were). I guess you could call the loose ladies “super-puckered super pickers”.
I know there is a theory that women have more dexterity with their hands and fingers meaning they would make better bean pickers. Perhaps that is true buy the dynamics were bigger than dexterity.
So I went back to my male dominated job of weeding beets where I could earn some big money and things were fair.
I guess my lesson grasshoppers is that things are not always fair. So you have to adjust. The bean pickers earned money their way. I earned my money my way.
Love,
Dad

Believe it or not, the Sheboygan County Fair was held at the Plymouth Fair Grounds when I was growing up. It was always over Labor Day. It signaled the end of summer and beginning of fall and school(yuk).
I remember most the early 1950’s. I would have been between 10-16 years of age. The fair always started on Friday and ran through Monday but unofficially the “rides” were open on Thursday. My mom would always encourage me to get my butt up to the fairgrounds and earn some money helping to set up rides and concessions. I did that. It gave me spending money for the fair.
From the City Club I would walk to the east end of Mill Street, over the bridge on the dam over the Mullet River and then along the river on a path in the backyards of homeowners on Fairview Drive. Yes, the path cut across property now owned by Bob and Mary. It took minutes.
The “carny guys” were always heavily muscled, lots of tatoos and chain-smokers. Amazingly, they treated kids who helped out very well and they were the source of free rides during the fair. The carny guys always operated the rides and were constantly flirting with the pretty young girls. Late at night after the rides were ready to close, you could always find some young gal who had fallen for the false sales pitch of the carny smooching at the beer tent.
I remember the barns with livestock, the endless line of buildings with displays of everything from handmade quilts to woodcarvings. I know the Steger’s had a ritual of going to the fair to get a 15% discount on an annual subscription to the Plymouth Review. The also got a free gift! Wow. And then there was cotton candy, brats, corn-on-cob, and endless selections of beverages.
The one game that captured my imagination was at the Penny Arcade. You would put 5 cents into a machine and then turn a crank that released a long file of sequencial pictures of a burlesque dancer. She was topless but you had to flip well into the pack of pictures to get to the good part. Then it went past fast. So you put in another nickel and tried again intent on stopping at the part a young guy would be interested in. Somehow the machine would never stop where you wanted and, yup, another nickel. It was a rip-off but lots of nickels went into that machine. Saturday night was Stock Car races.
My mom and dad would come “up” to the fair one day. We kids loved that because the money flowed. Lots of rides. Essentially they would try to get rid of us by giving us cash. It worked.
I remember walking home from the fair one afternoon. Someone told me the Milwaukee Braves were winning their game in Milwaukee and that Joe Adcock had hit 4 homeruns. The game wasn’t over and when I got home I learned he had hit a fifth ball off the top of the center field wall. He got a total of 18 bases off his hits which set a record that stood for years.
Rides were 25 cents, occassionaly 35 cents. Now they are $2-3 per ride. I guess inflation hit the fair also.
It was a fun time. Good memories.
Love,
Dad

I was driving home late this morning from playing golf in Oshkosh. I had almost made my second hole-in-one and was enjoying the 75 degree weather. I had my radio on and was listening to “talk radio”. Almost every station was discussing the disaster of hurricane Katrina. I couldn’t help thinking “what is wrong with this picture”? My life was pretty good and less than 1000 miles away, people were stuggling to stay alive.
My cell phone rang and it was my favorite son Christopher. He is the leader of our investment club at Calnin-Goss and he wanted to know if it would be all right to take this week’s contribution to the club and make a donation to the American Red Cross for “Katrina relief”. How great is that! People taking time out from the pursuit of investment gains to give something back. Of course I agreed!
Down deep, Christopher is one of the good guys. He cares about people. Sometimes people take advantage of him but he risks that as he extends a helping hand.
This is the guy who drove all the way to Texas to bring back the love of his life.
This is the guy who twice drove to Madison to pick up Kelly who was in an abusive boyfriend relationship.
This is the guy who knowingly drove into a dangerous situation in Milwaukee to bring Debs and Dano back to Sheboygan. Hindsight says that no-one knew how dangerous it really was.
This is the guy who was there for Deb’s when she needed to be moved into a new home.
This is the guy who shows up at Paul’s door when he is moving from a rental situation in Sheboygan to his present home.
You see, Chris is one of the good guys. He knows how other people feel and he responds accordingly. There is no other way.
So today my thanks go out to Chris for waking me up from my privledged funk and reminding me that there were people out there needing our help. Of course making a “club” contribution is what we should do!
Good guys don’t always get the accolades that they deserve. Here is one kudo from a proud dad.
Love
Dad

There have been several special sports events that family members have been fortunate to witness. I’ve mentioned the Ron Dayne Badger Football game in November of 1999. The game was attended by John Hollander, Paul and myself. Dayne set the NCAA record for career rushing yardage and the Badgers beat Iowa to win the Big 10 Championship 41-7 on their way to a second straight Rose Bowl victory.
The baseball moment that sticks out in my mind is attending a Milwaukee Brewers playoff game in 1982. The Brewers were playing the California Angels and needed to win 3 games to move on in the playoffs. The first two games had been in California and the Angels had won both games. The series moved to Milwaukee County Stadium and things didn’t look too good for the Brewers.
I was working at Vollrath at the time and our lawyer at Foley and Lardner in Milwaukee offered me 4 tickets to the first playoff game in Milwaukee. The tickets were in the first row boxes of the Mezzanine right behind home plate. The Mezzanine had it’s own refreshment stand and private restrooms. How good does it get? Your mom and I attended along with my brother Jerry Lee and son Paul. Paul again? He seems to pop up at all the memorable events.
It was an afternoon game, I think played on a Thursday. The Brewer pitcher was ageng Don Sutton, a L.A. Dodger cast-off. It was late September and the temperature was low 70’s.
Off course there were hot dogs and soda and beer. If we ran short, we would just mosey down a short hallway and replenish.
If the Brewers lost, their season ended. This was definitely a “do or die” game. As it played out, the game was very close most of the way. I remember Cecil Cooper getting a few hits and the supporting cast was Robin Yount (a hall of famer), Paul Molitor (another hall of famer), and Gorman Thomas (a “bubba” home run hitter) playing key roles. I don’t remember the ebb and flow of the game but the Brewers prevailed 5-3. They were still alive.
I remember it was a joyous ride home. We knew we had seen something special.
The Brewers went on to win the next two games against California and moved on in the playoffs.
The Brewers made it to the world series and they played the St.Louis Cardinals in the World Series. The cardinals prevailed in a 7 game series so the Brewers fell just short of the ultimate goal.
In reflecting back, we got to witness the Brewers first play-off game ever and it was the prelude to the only time the Brewers were ever in a World Series.
You never know when those special moments are going to come along. Even better is getting to share the time with family and friends.
Love,
Dad

I have been steadily invited to soccer games and tournaments locally as Nevin, Keely (until recently) and Collin displayed their skills. They all are really pretty good and limited only buy how much effort they want to put into the sport.
Kids grow in summer. I don’t know if it is sunshine, fresh-air, or just lots of exercise. Collin is approaching the height of his father and I hope he continues to stretch out and leave his dad in the dust.
Collin enters high school this fall and decided to “try out” for the Appleton North High School Freshman Soccer team. I don’t know if they call that “junior varsity” or not but making the team is a big deal. Last week he needed to report to high school at eight o’clock each morning to compete for the open positions (classes don’t actually start for several weeks).
Collin is better at soccer skills that he might know. He can do clever tricks with the ball using his feet. He knows “where the goal line is” and his dad has schooled him on soccer rules. He can kick with either foot. Last Wednesday was the decision day. It was the moment that all eager candidates for the freshman soccer team would learn their fate. Would Collin make it or not?
Well wouldn’t you know, Collin is now a member of the Appleton High Freshman team and his emphasis will be playing forward. Ain’t that something special.
There was one “mountain” to climb. Nevin played when he was a freshman and I know that he had a few disagreements with the coach. Nevin can be “colorful” at times so I know the coach remembered that Andrews’ kid. When Collin reported for soccer try-outs, I’m sure he dealt with the Andrews legacy. If you’ve been around Collin you would not have been concerned because his charismatic personally usually wins out.
Collin has already won. He took a chance. He tried out for something he really loves and he made the team. He will be good at what he does.
That entitles Collin to be a BMOC which as most of you know is Big Man on Campus. His classmates will know he plays soccer for the school and he has the official jerseys and jackets to prove it. Girls will be swooning at his feet.
So to Collin: congratulations! Don’t stop now. Be the best that you can be.
Love,
Grandpa Chuck

My dad was always a child at heart. Baseball defined him. When the dream of being a major league baseball player faded, he turned to playing for Plymouth’s “City” team and coached Chuck and Jack in organized baseball for kids. I don’t remember having a choice about playing baseball. It consumed our free time. Baseball was as important as breathing.
The baseball group of kids that were my age were special. We had a lot of talented athletes and won everything in sight. We won pee-wee league championships, we won American legion championships, and we won high school championships.
There was one magical time when my classmates were all 14 years old and just about to enter high school. We had just finished the summer baseball season. At the same time, my dad was coaching the Plymouth American Legion team and Jack was a catcher for that team. Bucky approached my classmates and talked them into playing a Sheboygan tournament sponsored by the American Legion. All players had to be age 14 or under. I know how Bucky’s mind worked and he figured that we could load up his team with talent and surprise everyone. He was anxious to showcase younger Jack with the older kids. The Sheboygan Legion entry also had a great team with a pitcher named Ayers that made front page news with several no-hitters. It would be power against power.
Here is the “dad” part of the story. Bucky as coach could play his two sons in a very special game and he could put them any place in the starting line-up that he wanted. Bucky had been grooming Jack to be a catcher and he dreamt that Jack could play with guys 3 years older. Hey a coach can do anything. So my dad (assisted by Art Mueller, Bill’s dad) entered our talented team in the tournament.
Bucky had Chuckie leading off, followed by Hoffschild and anchored by brother Jack in the third position. Jack did not deserve to be in the number 3 slot but a father can dream. What the hell, Bucky was coach and for this one game, he could play it out anyway he wanted. Jack would hit in the power position.
I remember getting a fluke single off of Ayers in the first inning and it was the only team hit until about the fifth inning. Both teams were scoreless. I came to bat again against Ayers and hit a triple. I was on third base with nobody out. Our coaching brain trust decided to “squeeze” in a run with a bunt. On the squeeze play, the batter missed the ball and I ran into the catcher for an easy out. Still no score.
It was about the sixth inning that the Sheboygan team started the on-slaught. I think the final score was Sheboygan 12, Plymouth 1. We got blasted.
So much for the dream tournament. Chuckie had 2 hits out of 5 total team hits. Jack went 0-4 and I think he struck out 3 times.
You’d think that Bucky would have been devastated but you have to put the game in perspective. My dad got to coach a special tournament game, manage his two sons exactly as he wanted and dream about what might have been. How special was that! You could observe that Bucky was trying to live life through his kids. Don’t we all? It is part of the fun of being a dad.
If you get a chance to live out your dreams through your kids, do it. More important is that your kids live out their dreams. Make it fun for them.
Love,
Dad

My Grandpa Jiggs and Grandma Helen moved to northern Wisconsin in the mid 1940’s. Jiggs sold his soda pop business (Plymouth Spring Bottling) just after World War II because he was disgusted with shortages. They didn’t have diet sodas yet and without abundant amounts of sugar, production of soda was limited.
Jiggs liked hunting and fishing. He bought “Wildwood Lodge” located on lake Namakagon near Cable and Hayward Wisconsin. There was a central lodge and 4-5 cabins that were rented out during the summer and fall hunting season. Money came from rentals and Jiggs would guide wealthy Chicago fisherman on “muskie expeditions”. His son “Big Jerry” grew up with Jiggs and was part of the woodsy lifestyle.
Hayward, Wisconsin was the Muskie (formally called Muskelunge) Capital of the World. When we went to Hayward, there was a big ugly statue of a huge muskie jumping from the water chasing an airborne lure. I think the biggest muskie ever caught at that time was 73 inches long. I’m sure the record is longer now.
Now to Louie. Jiggs would fish a lot on Lake Namakagon. One day he was fishing on the far side of the lake opposite Wildwood Lodge along the shoreline into heavy weeds and dead logs. As the story goes, he thought he had hooked a log and after working the line for a while, the log under the water began to be drawn to the boat. If it was a log, Jiggs could draw it close to the boat and maybe save his lure. As he drew the log closer he became aware that it was a huge muskie fish. As the muskie got closer to the surface, he “came alive” and jumped from the water trying to shake the lure. He didn’t. The battle between man and beast lasted for 30-40 minutes and finally Jiggs was able to begin reeling the tired muskie towards the boat. Allegedly, the fish got along side the boat and was docile from exhaustion. Jiggs grabbed the large gaff hook from the boat and was about to jam it into the lower jaw of the fish and then pull him into the boat. As he reached the gaff hook into the water, the muskie made one last lunge into the air, he threw the lure and was gone. Exhausted by the battle, Jiggs could only lament about the one that got away.
Jiggs named the muskie “Louie” and began a life long quest to catch Louie. Jiggs would describe the size of Louie and I think in his own mind, Louie was close to the size of the worlds greatest muskie registered in Hayward, Wisconsin.
I don’t know if Louie really existed. Sometimes I thought it was a story to get a kid’s imagination going. Then there are times I believed that Jiggs really thought if he could again hook Louie, he might just gain some special place in the the “Fishermans Hall of Fame”. What Louie’s story did do was make every fishing trip exciting because there was always the prospect of something very special happening.
I know muskies live a long time and get very long and large as they age. For all I know, Louie is still in Lake Namakagon and if you ventured to that lake, you too might have a shot at fame.
Dreams can be special things. If you have a “Louie” in you life, never give up on him. You may catch him someday. It is the fun part of living.
Love,
Dad

As a kid, Myrna (Grandma) would take me along to this funny sounding town in southeast Wisconsin called Mukwonago. Strangers have a tough time pronouncing the town correctly. Myrna’s Mother and Dad had an 80 acre farm near Mukwonago. I remember driving through a field on a road with two ruts for the tires with grass between the ruts to get the farm house. I was probably 10-11 at the time so it was early 1950’s. The farm house was old and needed repair and there was a “farm smell” that permeated the house. To a city kid, the smell was “yuk”. Cooking was on an old wood stove. There was a porch on the front, a porch on the back and a porch on the side of the house.
Myrna had an older brother Bill residing near Mukwonago with his own farm and at the time, pretty successful. Myrna had a younger brother living with her Mother and Dad named Everitt. He was slightly younger than Myrna and had a degenerative disease.
Everitt was born December 16, 1903 in Mukwonago. His full name was John Everitt Roberts and he had a normal childhood living on the farm. I don’t know when Everitt died, but it had to be in the 1950’s. According to Myrna, when Everitt was around 19 years old, he began to experience hand tremors and some slurred speech. It got progressively worse and was diagnosed as Parkinsons disease. There is no cure! I think movie star Michael J. Fox has Parkinson’s.
By the time I was introduced to Everitt, his arm and head shook steadily as the result of the constant tremors and he lost muscle control. He slurred words and was hard to understand. Because I was 10 years old, Everitt was scary to be around because I didn’t understand the disease. He always wore a short front brimmed hat.
Myrna as she got older, had a little palsy in her hands. In fact, she didn’t have to mix sugar and milk in her coffee because her shaking hands would do it for her as she carried it to the table. There was always this question about some heredity to Parkinson’s but the medical experts say there is no link. Myrna’s shakes were not tremors, just a loss of some motors skill.
So I went to the medical periodicals and found the greatest reassurance of all time, “genetics doesn’t appear to play a major role in Parkinson’s although it tends to occur in some families”. What the hell does that mean? Talk about “double-speak”.
I wish I could go back and visit Everitt today knowing what I have learned over time. I would treat him warmly and respect what was happening to him. He would no longer be “scary”.
So Grasshoppers, if your body begins to tremble out of control, maybe something exciting is happening or maybe you should pay heed. There is some family history of similar occurance.
My purpose with this blog is to benchmark family medical history not to scare anyone.
May your days be healthy and rewarding.
Love,
Dad

Your mom and I spent several years living with Grandpa George and Nana. I’m sure there were many tense moments but somehow everybody survived and everything turned out okay.
Grandpa George got to spend Sunday afternoons putting up with me and the Green Bay Packers. One uneventful afternoon we decided to go bowling and I’m sure I told him I’d whip his butt. He wasn’t used to such banter, but it didn’t take long before he was going to teach his bragging son-in-law a lesson.
Grandpa was strong with large hands. He threw a straight ball that sometimes backed up on the alley. Needless to say, he was inconsistent and I did whip his butt. He saw the hook ball that I threw and how it blew pins out if I got near the pocket. He began to ask questions about how to bend the bowling ball. I showed him how to pick a spot on the alley and lift the ball as his hand came out of the drilled holes. It was amazing because he picked up the lifting idea really fast and when he began to hit the right spot on the alley, it would blast the ten pins back into the pit. With his strength, speed and lift it was exciting to watch. Eventually he started throwing consecutive strikes and 200 games were common.
George had never been a big fan of bowling but now it became fun. Plymouth Sheet and Metal began sponsoring a team in a league at Casey Jones Lanes in Plymouth and for 5-6 years they had a hard throwing, beer drinking team of bowlers. I know they won several championships and celebrated with year end parties. George talked most about stringing lots of strikes together. I don’t remember his average per game but there were lots of 200’s in league.
Bowling gave George and I a common ground and it was a source of constant banter. For a little while, a few special years, George could bowl against anyone.
I do remember George’s first few “hooking strikes”. At first he was amazed at being able to power the pins out. Later he began to expect it. I remember thinking to myself “by golly, I think he’s got it”.
Christopher knows how to throw a hook and blast pins and son Collin is working on it. They bowl Saturdays in a father-son league.
So the magic continues. For Grandpa, it was never to late to learn a new technique. For Christopher, it was learning technique early. For Collin, he will beat his Dad someday.
And for me, on any day, any place I can or could whip all their asses!
My lesson for today would be that sometimes the most precious things in life cost very little. It is amazing what a hooking bowling ball can do.
Love,
Dad