Ace Wisdom

“Aunt Martha” was a relative that lived outside Plymouth. She was my Mother’s aunt and owned two farms. She was a tough but sweet lady. When I knew her, she was in her 60’s. She never had any children and managing two farms was difficult.
My dad Bucky decided to talk to Martha about using some spare farm land. He was going to make a fortune in strawberries. I think he had a “seed catalog” and figured he could procure strawberry plants for almost nothing and then nuture them to produce full, ripe, scrumptions strawberries. He had calculated the yield off each plant and I really don’t know how big the forture would have been but I sure we would have been filthy rich.
Bucky bought the plants.
Aunt Martha plowed up 2-3 acres of land.
Chuck and brother Jack raked all the plowed land to prepare for the planting.
Chuck and Jack planted each and every strawberry seedling plant.
Chuck and Jack nutured the plants by watering them initially to take root.
And then, as with many of the hair brained schemes concocted within our household, we waited to reap the harvest.
During the meantime, baseball season was starting and Chuck and Jack along with Coach Bucky got very busy with practices and games. The strawberries were never forgotten but it was tough to check on them because it meant a trip out to Aunt Martha’s farm.
Well the weeds started to grow. Chuck and Jack did some weeding. It was a dry Spring and some of the plants got heat stroke because they weren’t watered. Slowly, very slowly the strawberry plants lost their promise. There was a panic in June to salvage as many plants as possible. Water sprays. Weeding. Loving care.
We picked a some. We ate a lot. We picked some. We ate a lot.
I’m not sure we sold any strawberries for profit. Poof! Another great idea gone awry.
My Dad had the idea. He put the plan into action. He got cheap slave labor (Jack and myself). He lacked commitment and execution.
The lesson Grasshoppers is that a great idea needs to be followed by hard work. A little luck helps. We had a fortune in our grasp and just let it slip away. Alas, the story of my life! Don’t let your ideas die for lack of commitment.
Love,
Dad

In a moment of weakness, I bought one share of Green Bay Packers stock. It was Nov. 24, 1997. The Packers were trying to raise money for their stadium improvement project and I could become a Packer owner for $200.
I am reminded of my investment because I get an annual invitation to attend a stockholders meeting at Lambeau in late July. It is held outdoors so there is a chance I could get rained on. The information I get from the Packers is zero. They read the results of their business at the annual meeting and I guess you can take notes. If I want financial information, I can read the Milwaukee Sentinel and get more detail.
But hey, I can hang the stock certificate for one share of the Green Bay Packers on my wall. I can proudly say that I am one of 112,000 owners.
I get invited to Lambeau once per year. It comes with an invitation to tour part of the new facilities. Last year, they opened up the team locker rooms.
The Packers do not pay a cash dividend to their stockholders. So I get 0 financial return. Favre gets over $11 million per year. What’s wrong with this picture?
If I wanted to sell my stock, I’m not sure how I’d go about it. It would involve a complex change of ownership maneuvers. I don’t think “ebay” would do the job.
I have bragging rights that I am an owner of one of the oldest NFL franchises. That makes me part of the fabled tradition.
Why did I invest in the Packers? I had a one time shot at becoming an owner and maybe being included in long term financial decisions. My investment is right up there with my red brick (with my name on it) in the walkway just outside of Camp Randall in Madison. The difference is that the brick was a gift (not my money) from Grasshopper No. 2 many years ago.
So as the Green Bay Packers approach training camp with full pads on July 28, we can look forward to another season of quiet desperation and mediocrity. I’ll light up my cigar and throw out my chest. I own part of the Green Bay Packers. I am a big time investor.
The lesson Grasshoppers is that we all have made lousy investments. I got caught up in the moment and decided that being a Green Bay Packers stockholder would be cool. Maybe I’ll plaster my bathroom walls with the stock certificate. I can’t help but wonder how many Dairy Queens I could have purchased with the $200.
Love,
Dad

According to a recent study, firstborn men are more intelligent by a couple IQ points than their siblings. 71% of Nobel Peace Prize winners are first born men. The same type of phenomenon is noticed among National Merit Scholarship winners.
Hot damn! I always knew that I was special. My being the oldest male sibling in my family turns out to be a birth right with genetic advantage.
So who can rejoice with this news. Well Grasshopper No. 1 is married to the first male offspring in his family. Chris qualifies as first male in our family (that makes everything perfectly clear) and the future rests with superior male grandchildren such as Grant and Dominic.
Where does that leave the rest of you. It means you will lead a quiet life of desperation being dominated by first born male siblings and ending up with lots of hang-ups. To which, we first born say “get over it”. Male children born second and third in the family hierarchy apparently enter into states of denial more readily than first born.
It would be interesting to see how many U.S. Presidents were first born children. Based on the recent records, my guess would be there isn’t a first born among them.
Remember this a Norwegian study using Norwegian tax dollars. Norwegians have nothing else to do in the winter except eat fish, drive snow sleds and do useless studies.
Actually the study indicated that it wasn’t genetics causing Norwegian men to be smarter but more likely the way their parents treat them. They get responsibility and leadership heaped upon them along with higher expectations. In rising to the occasion, first born get smarter than the younger siblings they torment —- uh, nurture. The rest of the study falls into analyzing the many environment and societal factors which are rather in inconclusive.
So if you are the first born male in a family, you can rejoice. Your birth order gives you an advantage which you already knew. I always knew it. Now it is confirmed (although remember, it is a Norwegian study).
The lesson grasshoppers is that there is a lot of useless information floating around and you can develop statistical data that supports almost any conclusion. I know a lot of first born men that are complete embarrassments to the study. You know them too. No, I’m not one of them.
Of course there is the possibility that the study is “right on”.
Love,
Dad

Ralph F. Stayer died yesterday. He was responsible for starting a “meat market” in Johnsonville, Wisconsin that evolved into The Johnsonville Sausage Co. The focal point of the Johnsonville line became that “bratwurst” that you all know and love. I think the year was 1945.
During my lifetime, the sausages and the Stayer family have been inextricably woven into my journey.
When I was 5-6 years old, my grandpa Chalk would load me in the black Buick and drive from Plymouth out to Johnsonville. There was a meat market in the middle of Johnsonville (don’t blink or you’d miss the community). The City Club featured Johnsonville hamburgers and steaks for years.
After Chalk died, the City Club switched to Schwallers in Little Elkhart for it’s meat supply but Johnsonville meats opened a meat counter in Bob’s IGA directly across the street in Plymouth. The meat business flourished and was the reason Bob’s IGA stayed in business.
During my high school years, Johnsonville meats switched to a section of the local Red Owl and started to pre-package their products. There was a point in time where brats became the feature because of their spicy formula. The rest is history.
The Johnsonville saga doesn’t end there. While attending Plymouth High, Launa Stayer (the older daughter) was in our graduating class. She was always full of energy and mischief. I think your mom attended some slumber parties with Launa.
Brother Jack was in the high school class of Ralph Jr. (known as RC). He was also mischievous.
I know that my Uncle Bob and Aunt Helene traveled in the same social circles as the elderly Stayers. When my Uncle Bob moved to Florida, he missed the traditional brats so he asked Ralph Sr. for the formula so that he could have a local Florida butcher make the same product. I don’t know if Bob got the exact formula, but he got some semblence of a “meat and spice” combination that approached the original brat taste.
Fast forward to the 1970’s. I remember having lunch with Ralph Jr. at River Wildlife one noon to talk about common business issues. It was amazing how similar our management problems were. We were both frustrated with getting a company to operate efficiently. Well Ralph decided to turn the company over to the “indians”. He literally turned the production issues over the the employees because they knew their issues the best and he gave them the power to solve their problems. I think they are now called “members” of the team, not employees. The strategic move was genius and changed Johnsonville forever.
Then in the 1990’s when I was at the cookie factory, we hired Ralph Jr. to consult with us in an effort to harness the creativeness of our employees. Ralph gave us the “road map” to meaningful employee involvement. We partially succeeded but our Union blocked almost every move because they feared losing their jobs. The Union made a big mistake.
And now you can go any place in the country and you will find Johnsonville products in the meat counter. I understand they do business in 40 countries.
So you see Grasshoppers, to me the Johnsonville products and the Stayer family have always been around. It is a great American success story. I will never understand how two kids (Ralph and myself) grow up in middle America and one becomes fabulously wealthy at a young age and the other is relegated to mixing cookie dough in Ripon. Ah, such is life.
Love,
Dad

June 20, 1940 was a day of infamy. It was Plymouth. It was the longest day of the year. It was the first day of summer. Daughter No. 2 to George and Lyla appeared on the scene.
Fast forward to June 20, 2007. The birthday girl’s wish was to trundle on up to Door county to spend a day with her favorite sister and brother-in-law. It meant bonding (non-stop exchanging of stories), shopping, dining and of course for me, golf. Say it isn’t true! A day vacationing in door county with all those demands. Oh, well.
Honey’s first gift of the day was an Apple I-Pod already programmed with 125 nifty ’50’s, ’60’s, and 70’s tunes. The purchase was mine but the programming was Grasshopper No. 1. Now the trick will be to learn how to load in new tunes and delete old. It generated smile No. 1. I am absolutely certain that the recording/player device will get lots of usage.
Smile No. 2 came when she saw me disappear with Bill to the golf course and she was able to visit special shops in Bailey’s Harbor with Jo-Jo. Hiding in a corner of a furniture store waiting to be discovered was a round, rose-decorated, bronze “shield”. You know! A concave bowl with riveted reinforcing that a “knight of the Round Table” might have used to defend himself from ememy swords. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. I think it is headed for above the fireplace. Remember, it produced a smile.
Smile No. 3 was a decorative candlestick holder from her sister.
Smile No. 4 was dinner at a restaurant part owned by Bill’s son Andy called Don’s Glidden Restaurant south of Bailey’s Harbor. We had a table over-looking Lake Michigan. The food was good. Lots of reminiscing! Maybe some exaggeration.
Then it was over-night at Bill and JoAnn’s Lodge and Restaurant.
The weather was spectacular.
The next day after the birthday, we had to get back to reality. We headed home. It was back to hot dogs. Soup. “Left-Overs”.
Complimenting the birthday effort were birthday cards from children, friends and family. Some beautiful roses showed up on our doorstep. The sender is a mystery but I think she lives in Minneapolis. More smiles.
So to all who helped make birthday No. 39 (plus another year or two) a resounding memory. a sincere thank you. I still can’t wipe the smile off her face.
The lesson Grasshoppers is that sometimes wishes can be granted. Wishes can come true. It was a memorable 24 hours. By the way, my golf game sucked but somebody had to play in 75 degree sunshine on a perfectly manicured course. Oh what I do to make a birthday wish come true. Actually I found myself smiling too.
Love,
Dad

Several months ago before my birthday, I suggested to the love of my life that I could really use some knit golf shirts. I had two old frayed white golf shirts that are ready for the “rag pile”. So magically on my birthday, four new golf shirts showed up. They were bright colors. They were light weight. One was a red Nike special shirt that “breathes”, feels good and fits like something off the rack at Ralph Lauen (you know a “Polo” brand shirt). Bring on the 2007 golf season.
Well I only had the chance to wear the Nike shirt because my golf exploits have been limited. For Fathers Day I hinted that if Honey ever found another shirt just like the Nike, that would again make a great present. So for Fathers Day I got two more golf shirts. One was a Nike but it was a size to large and the other shirt was an “off brand”. When I indicated that the original Nike shirt was special because it fit so well, Honey decided to return the two Fathers Day shirts to the store plus return all the new shirts from my birthday. I guess her assumption was that I would never wear my “non-Nike” shirts.
By my calculation, I am back to two frayed shirts and a red Nike. You guessed it, all the golf shirts from both special occasions are now back on the rack at the respective stores. The quest for more similar Nike shirts is still being made but in the meantime I am “shirtless in the Fox Valley”.
The good news is that we don’t have to pay for the 5-6 new golf shirts. The bad news is I’m going to have to wear a flannel shirt or possibly a dress shirt with tie when I play golf. Do you know how that looks?
The intent was good. I got to try on lots of shirts. But alas, the the process took a turn and now I am back to “tattered and torn”. Actually the tattered and torn still feels good and maybe it was meant for me to wear them until the material actually disintegrates. Kind of like a kid hanging on to an old blanket or wearing a jacket that looks like it belongs in another century.
The lesson grasshoppers is not all things are as they seem. Sometimes the fantasy disappears right before your eyes. Being shirtless? Brrrrr!
Love,
Dad

There are times that things happen that seem to be more than coincidence. For example, when Grasshopper No. 4 attends Wisconsin Badger football games, the team always seems to win. Even when the Badgers are major underdogs, No. 4 has witnessed special times. Could it be that his presence brings luck to the team. Or is it dumb luck.
Well it happened again when I went to a Milwaukee Brewers game several weeks ago. Grandson Dominic had never seen a game. He knew all the players by name. He knew the Brewers would win even when trailing 4-1 in the fifth inning. Sure enough, the Brewers did win. Could it be that Dominic brought luck to the Brewers. Or was it dumb luck.
Well now it is my turn. I have been attending most of Grandson Collin’s soccer games. When I attend the games, Collin’s team wins and he scores at least one goal. He has had a “two goal” game. He has scored by emerging from a chaotic stuggle in front of the net. He has scored using his left foot (which is difficult by the way). He has scored using his head (I think they call it a “header”). The one game that I did not attend because of another commitment, the team still won but Collin did not score a goal. Not scoring a goal might have been because I wasn’t in the crowd.
Then this last weekend, Collin’s team played in a soccer tournament lasting two days (I think they call it the Nutmeg). I attended the first of three games and of course Collin’s team won and he scored a goal. The second game I missed because of Keely’s graduation party. You guessed it. Collin did not score a goal and worse, his team tied 0-0. Then I watched the 3rd game on Sunday. Collin had a goal and the team won 2-0. Because I did not attend game number two, Collin of course had not scored and his team lost a chance at the championship round by one point.
The bottom line is that Collin needs me. If he wants to score more points I need to be at the games. It is a symbiotic relationship. He needs me for luck. Ha, finally! Somebody needs me.
It dawns on me that I could turn this into a financail bonanza. I think Collin should reward me for his continued success. If Collin doesn’t succumb to my demands, I just might not show up. Maybe a new BMW in my driveway would persuade me.
Sometimes things happen by coincidence. Sometimes phenomena occurs that just seems strange. Sometimes there is an occasional transference of energy. Or it could be that maybe sh– just happens. You know, dumb luck.
So to all you Fathers out there that will enjoying activities of their choice on Sunday, I’m hope you will be appreciated for the special influence you have on your kids. Think about it. The more you are around kids lives, the luckier they get. I can’t explain it. I am sure that it is not dumb luck.
Happy Fathers Day.
Love,
Dad

It seems to me that there is an obsession with credit scores. If your score at any one of the three major “rating agencies” is under 700, you will be sentenced to damnation forever more. Apparently 700 is magic as far as qualifying for preferred loan rates and being looked at as a “good risk”.
Because there is an obsession with the credit scores, companies use it as leverage to scare you. You know, if you don’t make the payment, they will report it to the rating agencies and your score will be affected. It is the ultimate tattletale. “We will tell on you”.
Where this whole issue gets a little “dicey” is when you deal with a company and you have a legitimate customer complaint. If you withhold payment (even if you are right), the company threatens to report you to the credit agency for non-payment. Normally you’d like to say “screw you, go ahead and report me”. Then your brain kicks in and says “wait a moment”. If I get reported, my credit score might go under 700 and it will affect all my other financial dealings. So you make a payment even though you feel it is wrong.
Grasshopper No. 1 got a bill from a direct satellite provider. It was a service she and Tom had in Wausau. The service had been cancelled when they moved to Sheboygan. She had a $3 credit coming. She never received the $3 because they never issue a check for less than $5. They did spend the money to keep sending her notice of credit. Then 9 months after cancelling the service, Grasshopper No. 1 got a bill for one month of service for $30-$40. Huh. They don’t even live in Wausau anymore. How could they get a bill? I don’t know all the details but it has something to do with a signed contract and agreement to automatically re-activate the service after 9 months. Talk about bullshit trickery.
So No. 1 called the direct TV service. After several calls and persistant arguments, Direct TV agreed to settle the whole deal for $10. After applying the credit of $3, No. 1 could make the whole deal go away for $7.
So now the decision comes down to “standing up for what is fair and right” or pay the lousy $7 to make the situation go away. The answer would be pretty simple except if you don’t pay the $7, Direct TV will report you to the rating services and your credit score could be affected. In that case if your score falls below 700, it could affect all your other financial dealings. They will tell on you.
I don’t know what No. 1 did. My guess is that she paid the $7. It ain’t right. I guess it is a sign of the times.
Retribution would be to tell every person you can about the negative encounter and hope that it affects Direct TV’s future business. It is called free speech. It is the consumer version of “I will tell on you”. Maybe you even put it in your blog. How about that?
Love,
Dad

Every now and then, tremendous potential meets ideal conditions and the result is something very memorable. Last night Keely was supposed to officially graduate from North High School. But it was apparent that a huge storm was gathering from the west and would meet a warm front sweeping up from the south. Volah! Potentially strong winds, rain and hail. At the last moment, graduation ceremonies were canceled and rescheduled for tonight. The benefit to all will be cool conditions at the rescheduled ceremony rather than a sweltering 90 degrees. Keely’s graduation will be forever remembered. It was affected by a “perfect storm”.
The significance is that Keely represents tremendous potential of her own as she enters a challenging world and could create a perfect storm of her own.
Keely has charisma with a winning smile. She can win people over.
She can get straight A’s in the classroom. Only a personality clash or boring subject could prevent an A.
She works hard outside the school environment. Dunn Bros. Coffee (the equivalent of Starbucks Coffee) is lucky to have her. It means many mornings getting up between 4:00 AM and 5:00 AM to open for the early morning customers.
She knows how to manage money. When you look up the definition of “tight” in the dictionary, there is a picture of Keely.
And most important, she has desire. She can make a difference. The business world is her target. Look out Bill Gates (Mircrosoft fame).
So Keely’s chance to create a perfect storm exists as she brings all this potential into a world where conditions have never been better to take advantage of opportunity. Globalization of the business community along with all the opportunity it represents means Keely has the chance unleash her potential. A memorable entrance to a new stage of her life.
So mark it down. One day after a storm that caused graduation to be rescheduled , a second perfect storm takes place. June 8, 2007, Keely moves on to a new stage of her life..
There is a good feeling about Keely’s future. Call it Grandparent pride!
So as the official graduation ceremony approaches tonight, we wish Keely every success and happiness. She has the ability to create her own perfect storm. Just be herself and everything else will take care of itself.
Love,
Dad (and proud Grandparent)

Grasshopper No. 1 endured the heart “procedure” in Milwaukee and now (other than being tired), she is back at work. The hell you say! I am not a doctor but returning to work 4 days after a heart operation is pushing the envelope a little. I saw computer drawings that showed the number of “zaps” they made to parts of the heart. Each zap is one electric cauterization. I stopped counting as the number approached 100. But she is moving on.
Grasshopper No. 3’s daughter Keely is graduating from high school this Thursday. She is not the valedictorian. She is not giving one of the speeches at the graduating ceremony (which I understand you have to audition for). They don’t however, measure “balance” and character. She has had a steady job for the last 2 years. She has volunteered at the credit union located on the high school site. She has learned survival skills in a treacherous world. So when she graduates, in my mind she is the top person in the class. She is the one with the most potential. After all she is my grand-daughter. She will be successful in whatever endeavor she chooses. Rumor has it she has designs on a business career. She is moving on.
Grasshopper No. 4 is pursuing a flurry of job possibilities. I’m not sure what the result will be but even if the search activity has to continue, soon he will be moving on.
Grasshopper No. 3 has sold his first home. He is out from under two mortgages. He is moving on! Whew.
Moving on means that your life is changing. It should be. The world is changing and each person needs to adjust. Embrace the change.
The lesson Grasshoppers is that change is ever present. It can present many opportunities. It is a good thing that I am quick to change.
Love,
Dad