Pickup Tailgates and "Disco Sucks" Bumper Stickers

The tailgate of my sweet ’76 Chevy Luv pickup and the tailgate of countless other of my buddies trucks, were an ode to the 70’s. Growing up in suburban southeast Texas, many an evening was spent telling lies, hoping the girl in English class would pay attention to me, sippin’ a cold Lone Star and most important of all, tryin’ to be cool.

Growing up in Baytown, TX in the 1970’s, trucks or muscle cars like Camaro’s and Mustang’s, were the desired mode of travel for most testosterone fueled teens of my day. Unfortunately, I was relegated to a 4-cylinder Chevy Luv pickup, which is actually a mini-truck, but still a truck. It was painted calf-shit green (from the factory no less), had mag wheels and mud tires. The radio, speakers, tires and wheels were probably worth more than the truck. Not what you would call a chick magnet. Pretty lame now that I think about it, but it was mine, and it had a tailgate.

The crowd I ran with, The Country Club Hoodlums or CCH, were all from the same neighborhood for the most part. I can’t remember who tagged us with the name, but we wore it with a badge of honor. We hung out on the Baker Road bridge after school or parked out in front of someone’s house on afternoons after school let out. Most of us had known each other since elementary school and we had stuck together through thick and thin.  We didn’t hang out with the “in crowd, but I can recall when the “in” crowd wanted to hang with us. We even chose a girl to be CCH “sweetheart”, kind of like what the social clubs at school did.  I kind of doubt the girl cared much for that title or for that matter, even knew about it.

Hanging out, sitting on the tailgate of a pickup was the social epicenter of our formative years. We would park in front of someone’s house, or better yet, sit in the parking lot of McDonald’s or one of the unsuspecting businesses along Texas Avenue in Baytown, Texas and spend the time, talking about what we wished we were doing or who we wished we were doing it to.  We dipped snuff and spit into a puddle of tobacco juice that was as big as a hubcap, slowly growing in size as the night went on. Gee, I wonder why most of us never really had steady girlfriends?

Conversations were generally about cars, girls, and music and not necessarily in that order. We could never understand why “that” girl would want to go out with “that” guy. We would laugh at the guys who were 18 or 19 years old and still hanging out on Texas Avenue. We said that if we were that old, we would be in Houston at a nightclub or bar and we damn sure wouldn’t be hanging out on the main drag. Famous last words; many a night at age 19 & 20 were spent sittin’ on a tailgate.  We were so preoccupied with our trucks and our world that we were barely aware that Iran had taken some Americans hostage or other current events of that era. Except for the now famous Mickey Mouse, “Hey Iran!” poster, which had Mickey’s middle finger extended in that most offensive way, we would have never know there was a conflict in Iran. We would talk about what concert was coming up or what kind of tires we were saving to buy, and that generally held precedent over a history test, the Berlin Wall or what Walter Cronkite had told the nation that night.

Unfortunately during my high school days, disco music had gained a foothold and even at our young age, we knew this low point in American music could not prevail. To show my allegiance to the cause, I put a “Disco Sucks” bumper sticker on my truck. Of course my mom told me I couldn’t park it in the driveway with that displayed. Cultural anarchists never get a break.  I could not begin to count the number of 8-track tapes of Montrose, Van Halen,  Journey, The Marshall Tucker Band, Led Zepplin and Willie Nelson were played to their demise those nights. Didn’t it suck when the songs bled over each other on 8 track tapes? Or how about when the song would fade away right in the middle of the cool guitar solo, only to pick up where it left off when the tape changed tracks. Brutal. Radio stations KLOL 101 rocked and KIKK was country cool. All the righteous cars had FM 101 bumper stickers and the best pickups carried the “Proud to be a KIKK’er” stickers. They just don’t make bumper stickers like they used to. I had a “Lone Star Longnecks and Aggies; No Place But Texas” bumper sticker that I was the most proudest of. My “Onward Thru The Fog” sticker came in a close second along with the “Holley Equipped” sticker even though my little green truck was far from a racetruck and only carried a little 2-barrel carburetor.

Going to the Decker Drive In was required activity if you had a truck and a tailgate. The “Decker” was a drive in movie that played 2^nd run movies and when we were really lucky, soft-core porn. We would crowd 3 in the front seat and another 3 or more in the bed of the truck, and along with a couple of six packs, we were kings.  With lawnchairs as thrones, we passed many a summer night paying money that was extending some B-movie star’s career a few months longer. I don’t remember many of the movies we paid to see, mainly because beers and left-handed cigarettes were consumed in mass quantities. Don’t worry Mom, more beer than anything.

Muddin’ was a great pastime in those years. Southeast Texas is notorious for its “gumbo mud” and with the amount of rain we received, we never had much problem finding mud holes. Since you had a pickup, you were required to have mud tires and hence, you were supposed to drive through the mud at any time the moment arose. A few of us had 4-wheel drive and Brook had a “heavily equipped recreational vehicle” (“Stripes” reference with Bill Murray) that had big tires, a bumper guard and best of all, a winch. Brook generally was the one who pulled you out of the mud when you got stuck. I bet his folks got tired of phone calls in the middle of the night that generally went like this: “Brook. I’m stuck. Yes, again. Come pull me out. “ Brook was a gamer and never turned anyone down.

The highlight of the year was the last day of school campout in May of each year. Somehow we convinced our parents that we would be camping out in the woods and eating hot dogs. We always managed to get someone’s big brother to buy us beer, wine and whiskey and thank goodness we hiked to the campsite and didn’t drive.   Once again, mass quantities (“Conehead” reference. Remember Dan Akroyd on SNL?) were consumed and brain cells were slain. One year we were introduced to “The Peace Pipe”. I shouldn’t have to explain that one, but Cheech & Chong would have been proud. Oh the stupid shit we got ourselves into. Dink’s older brother and his friends raided the campsite and scared us into thinking the cops were after us. Richard went stumbling through the woods looking for Irving, his pet firefly.  You had to be there.  One time Barry took it upon himself to sober everyone up. He soaked a towel in an ice chest full of freezing water and would sneak up on people and wrap the towel around their heads. Imagine being in a drunken slumber and some dumb-ass wraps an ice-cold towel around your head. Barry had done this to a few people and was feeling pretty good about himself when he set his sights on Greg. Hulk, as Greg was nicknamed, threw his head up and backwards as the cold water engulfed him. Since Barry was standing behind Greg, he caught the full force of Greg’s head against his chin and was just about knocked out cold. We all laughed until it hurt and Barry sat around the fire with a bag of ice on his jaw. Good times…

Over the years we have all gone to living our own lives and going our own ways. I moved from Baytown in 1984 and have only been back a few occasions. I think quite a few of the old CCH are still living close to our old homestead. I talk to a few of them from time to time and see a few of them face to face every now and again. With the advent of Facebook, we have been able to re-connect and it’s a good feeling when you see a “Friend Request” from one of the old gang. I miss the days of having relatively few worries. Saving for retirement and trying to get your presentation completed on time has taken the place of having to wake up early enough so that you could go duck hunting or having enough money to buy Foghat tickets. When you’re biggest concern was whether or not Becky from 3^rd period English class would go out with you, life could be a lot tougher.

My kingdom for a time machine…

Note To Tiger

Mark Twain never said it better; “The reports of my death has been greatly exaggerated.” Tiger, it’s about time you stepped it up a notch and spanked the field again. I was getting tired of the rumors of your demise.

Now the question is, “Can you keep this momentum going?” Staying healthy is obviously one part of the puzzle. Withdrawing a few weeks ago with the tightness in your achille’s showed me you finally realized you’re not superhuman. Funny, you don’t look as pumped up and beefy as you have looked in the past. Wonder if that might have caused the knee issues? Hmmm…. Anyway, don’t change your regimen (at least most of it) anytime soon. Your work ethic that leaves the rest of the field scratching its collective head needs to be regenerated. Nothing beats practice. Just ask Ben Hogan.

You look like you have set the past firmly behind you now. As much as you can, let bygones be bygones and don’t look back. Who needs a black Escalade with the windows smashed out anyway? You don’t have to be a “playa” anymore to impress us. Face it, we could give a rat’s ass how many “accomplishments” you have anyway. Spend time with your kids and be a dad to them. You’re just going to get one chance to be there for them.

The time has come to be your self. Now, I’m not talking about fist pumping, over-cussing Tiger. We all have grown extremely weary of old Tiger, with the “in your face” attitude and short fuse. That was cute in it’s day and we all got a giggle out of it when you would rant and perform the oh-so dramatic uppercut to the chin. Please. Golf is still trying to be a gentleman’s game and visibly standing on the neck of your opponent and spitting on them is a little tired. That belongs in the NFL along with Sean Peyton’s and Greg William’s bounty list. Be the focused Tiger. Be the steely eyed Tiger. Let your golf speak for itself. We are never short of good role models in golf. I know, I know, Tom Watson can come across a little pompous, but you have to admit that he could win with class.

One thing I am pleased at, for the most part, is your fairly genuine refusal to bow to the fashion divas of the golf world. I am a little disappointed that you shrunk to the level of a white belt from time to time, but at least you have not fallen to Ricky Fowler status. He looks like Walt Disney threw up on him. Good golfer or not, his handlers must be castrated. He looks like the love child of Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga. John Daly can wear some crazy pants, but we all know he’s doing it for the paycheck he so desperately needs.  Just dress your age Tiger, not your putter length and you’ll be fine. Clothes don’t make the player, just ask Greg Norman.

Tiger, this is your re-birth.  The swagger is back. You have every pro golfer in the world looking nervously over their sponsor-laden shoulder.  The “Oh shit. I’m paired with Tiger.”, thought is now back in the fore-front of their minds. You are in the head of everyone who tee’s it up from now on. You have got it goin’ again.

Make us proud Tiger. Give mom a hug for me.

EW

Joe and Bill-A Texas Twosome

Sometimes it takes that weird twist of fate for two people to meet. They usually come from different backgrounds and seemingly have nothing whatsoever in common.  Joe and Bill were those two people.

Joe Hoosier worked with my wife Susie at Callahan’s General Store in Austin, Texas. Susie was the buyer and the animal health department head and Joe was her semi-retired, assistant. Joe was an old retired truck driver who couldn’t stand to sit still and needed something to pass the time until real-retirement set in. He had cowboyed some in Oklahoma and other areas and knew horses and cattle like the back of his hand. In other ways he was a quasi-renaissance man who wrote poetry and was a bit of a philosopher in his own way.  He never met a stranger and I can’t imagine that Joe ever had an enemy.

Callahan’s General Store is an Austin, Texas institution that has been around since the 70’s.  Susie told me that local and national celebrities alike frequented the store for boots, hats and other western gear. I called on the store for a short time when I was a Coastal Ag rep and once missed Lady Bird Johnson by 30 minutes one day. She came into the store, complete with her Secret Service detail and shopped for Buffalo Grass seed. Rick Perry, governor of Texas, filmed an election advertisement at the store.

From time to time Austin business people, politicians and other types would have social events that took advantage of the western heritage that Austin and Callahan’s offered. They would treat the guests to a barbeque and western themed party and also outfit the guests in western attire. Callahan’s would get a call to come out and fit the guests in boots, hats and other cowboy gear. Joe would usually be one of the employee’s that helped out. His personality and gift of gab was all that the guests needed to feel at home. Joe would take the guest’s hat and boot sizes and have them looking like John Wayne or Barbara Stanwyck in short order.

One time Joe told me that they were asked by Dell Computers to provide this service for some Dell guests and their spouses. Joe packed up dozens of boots and hats of various styles and went out to where the party was staged and began turning city slickers into cowhands in a manner of minutes. There were a about 10 or 20 people from the tech industry at the party waiting their turn to be duded up. One by one they would sit down with Joe and get themselves outfitted with hats and to quote Gary P. Nunn, the great Texas singer/songwriter who wrote “London Homesick Blues”, a pair of “manly footwear”.

One guest seemed out of place more than the rest and he hung out toward the back of the group. He was the last one to sit down with Joe and get sized. Joe asked the man his name and he meekly said, “Bill”. With the loud and gravely voice Joe was known for, he said, “ Alright then Billy boy, lets get you cowboyed up fer this here party.” Joe found Billy a slick pair of boots and a sweet hat and slowly he began to loosen up. He started laughing at Joe’s jokes and Texas witticism’s and the two quickly became friends.

At the end of the evening, Joe was packing up the extra boots and hats and Bill walked up to him and thanked him for his help and hospitality. Joe told him, “Billy, it has been my pleasure. If you ever get down this way again, give me a ring and we’ll go chase some cows”. Bill smiled, thanked Joe and left for the night.

As they were packing up to leave, Joe commented to the other Callahan employees, “That was one fine gentleman. A little squirrelly lookin’, but still a really friendly fella’ once he eased up.” They all looked at Joe with dazed looks and asked Joe, “You didn’t know who that was?” With the wit that only Joe had, he said “Well don’t leave me hangin’. Who was he?” They all looked at each other, laughed and in unison sounded off together, “That was Bill Gates!” Unfazed and serious as the day is long, Joe asked, “What the hell is a Bill Gates?”

I’ll bet next time Billy boy won’t have to ask who Joe Hoosier is.

Fun With Customers Part 3

Everybody has heard a fisherman's fish story where they tell you how big the fish was. You know the one where they hold their hands apart to show the size of the fish? It really is a great way to show size, but your audience needs to be on the same page as you.

Tony Foster is the owner of Valhoma Industries, a nylon tack manufacturer. Tony, along with my current boss Bo Brown, are two of the best sales reps I have ever worked with. They have the gift to make a customer feel like they are the only ones in the room. They are both excellent detailers and make customers feel at ease and not threatened whatsoever. I haven't worked with Tony in several years, but he tells a story that is simply a classic. I heard this story about 20 years ago, so I hope I do it justice.

Robert Boley and I worked together at Coastal Ag back in the early 90's. Robert was a great rep who traveled the east Texas piney woods and probably had more "characters" in his territory than anyone I have ever worked with. I was able to meet a lot of them when I filled in for Robert when he was on vacation or when I was selling tack for Coastal Ag. These store owners were as "folksy" and salt of the earth as they come and once you met them, you had a friend for life. Tony was riding with Robert while he was expanding his territory and was making a few cold calls at the end of the day. The two of them walked into a store, introduced themselves and told the stores employees about the products they represented. Robert asked if he could walk the shelves to see if they were out of any product and the owner obliged him. After he had checked the stores inventory, Robert and Tony sat down with the owner and began to go over Robert's list.

A few years back, several companies manufactured and sold a dog wormer pill that contained Dichlorophene and Toluene. They were usually purple in color and there were various sizes for different weights of dogs. 1 lb., 5 lb., 10 lb., 25 lb. and 40 lb. were the weight that the pills medicated and you gave a dog the pills that added up to the dogs weight. The largest of the pills were about the size of a pecan or peanut and the smallest were the size of peas. A sixty pound dog would take 1- 40 lb. and 2-10 lb. pills in order to be wormed. These wormer pills were normal stock items for just about every feed store in the state and I remember taking orders for them at literally every account I called on in a normal work day. 


When Robert was almost to the end of the pet section of the list, he told the buyer, "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. You're just about out of 40 lb. dog wormer pills. Should I send you some of those?". The owner looked at Robert with a quizzical look on his face and said "Say that again?". Robert gave a half confused glance at Tony and then told the man again, "You're out of 40 lb. dog wormer pills. Should I send you some?" The owners expression was that of dire confusion. Robert had really stumped him on this one. He squinted his eyes and repeated "What?" By now Robert and Tony knew something was amiss in deep east Texas. Robert once more repeated slowly, "40 lb. Dog pills. You're out." 


By now the store owner was as confused as a T-sip at a Mensa convention. (Did I just say that? I did). He unfolded his hands and held them out in front like he was trying to show how big a fish he caught. He held his hands about shoulder width apart and with the most perplexed look ever, questioned once again, "40 lb. dog pills?". By now Robert and Tony knew what had confounded the man. The store owner literally thought they meant a 40 lb. pill. Robert looked down at the table, slowly closed his order pad and said, "Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch." 


Robert and Tony walked back to the truck knowing they could now tell their grandchildren, without a shadow of a doubt, that they had now heard and seen it all. 

When A Horse Talks, You Better Listen

My wife hates it when I equate everything in life that happens to me to the equine world. I can't help it; horses and horsemen are great teachers and they don't even try to be.

I got into the horse industry after my interest in rodeo painfully wained out. I was starting to realize that I was never going to make much of a bull rider. I put a lot of money into rodeo and never got a dime out of it. Somewhere out there are a group of age 50-something, ex-bullriders that have a buckle, saddle or trailer that my entry fees helped pay for.  Interesting when you bring it in to perspective.

I started watching the calf ropers and team ropers and think to myself, "How do they ride and swing a rope at the same time?"It really intrigued me and thus, the first steps of my career path began the slow meandering path to where I am now. I started working for an Arabian horse owner cleaning stalls and turning out horses in their runs, but never got a chance to ride. I eventually applied to an Arabian farm in Tucson, AZ and moved there in 1983 or 84. I learned a lot of basic horsemanship skills and was exposed to cutting horses. The trainer I worked for, Joe Staheli, taught me one very important perspective. "If you're going to do it, do it right."was what he always said to us. Pretty simple, but for a young kid like me at the time, it had a lasting effect. I stayed in Arizona about a year and then left for Oklahoma to work for what was going to become the hardest and the best person I ever worked for.

Joe Heim was one of a group of 4 or 5 of the best cutting horse trainers at the time. He had just come off a record year by winning about a jillion dollars in about 9 months with Docs Okie Quixote. I wanted to learn more about cutters and I picked up a copy of the Cuttin Hoss Chatter, the industry monthly periodical, and started calling trainers. I was so green and naive to who I was calling (Buster Welch, Tom Lyons and Leon Harrell to name a few) and what I was asking for (a riding job) that I just picked up the phone and let my fingers do the walking. Joe told me to come on up to Thackerville, OK and I packed my truck and drove up the next day. I thought I had the job, but Joe wanted to watch me for a few days before he committed to anything. After about two days he asked me if I was staying or not. I was a little caught off guard at first. Shoot, I thought if he asked me to come all the way up to Oklahoma, he was giving me a job. He told me he would pay $600.00/month. I about wet myself. In Arizona I was making $300/month and working for Joe was a whole lot better than my old job. At least I thought so.

Joe was a one-dimensional person. By this I mean that he did one thing, train cutting horses, and he did it very well. His life revolved around the horse and he seemed to have little interest in anything else. I started off doing a good job for him in my opinion. I did what he told me to do and did it with a smile on my face. Hell, I was livin' the life. Riding horses and gettin' paid for it. It don't get no better. Even with all the good times and perceived glamour of my new lifestyle, I still would get a little frustrated from time to time. The other people I worked with had sat on quite a few more horses than I had. More like a hell of a lot more horses. I didn't know as much as they did and I didn't want anyone to realize this. I would make mistakes and Joe would let me know in his special way. I felt about two foot tall at times and wanted to dig me a hole and hide. I would try to explain to Joe why I had done what I did and he wouldn't have any part of it. He would say to me,"Tim. Just do what I say!" I would sull up and ride away like a whupped puppy dog. I would ask my roommate Rick Edney (who has turned out to make a damn good hand in his own right) what I was doing wrong and he would say, "That's the way Joe is and he ain't changin'. Just do what he tells you to do." Rick had worked for Joe for several years in California and in Texas. He came back to work for Joe because as he put it, "I thought I knew all I needed to know. Found out I was way wrong."

Finally, I think Joe had it up to here with me and my "attitude". I was hanging my head, feeling sorry for myself and Joe rode up next to me. "Tim, you're going to have to get a thicker skin if you want to stay in this business." he quietly told me. "When I ask you to do something, don't argue with me. Just do it."was all he had to say to me. He could have made millions if he had called up Phil Knight and told him to use that line in his Nike ads. I felt a real kinship with Joe at that moment, but that didn't last long because about 10 minutes later the SOB yelled at me, "Move that damn cow now!" Talk about the needle being scratched across a record.  Seriously, I think I changed from that moment on. From that point forward to this day, when my superiors tell me to do something, I do it. Maybe I would have made a good career military man.

My new attitude blew up in my face a short time after my conversation with Joe. We had about 20 or so mares in a pasture across the highway from the main stable and arena area. One of the guys I worked with   told me to drive over with one of our workers and take down the "wing" that was in the pasture. I didn't want Dan to know that I was not totally sure what a wing was, so I guessed at it and we had taken down about 100 feet of fence by the time he came over to inspect my work. He ranted and raved and called me all the names in the book that a God-fearing cowboy could (Dan was very holy) and sent me home. You guessed it, I sulled up and wouldn't even look him in the eye for a whole day. He came by my trailer that evening and apologized for yelling at me. I think he might have had the same "thick skin" conversation with Joe, because he literally said it verbatim back to me.

Joe would try to show me that I needed to think like a calf. He would say that every calf, animal or human for that matter, has their own bubble around them. Some bubbles are bigger than others. You never want to crowd them too much, because you can cause their bubble to burst. Pretty heady stuff, huh. I  apply that now to my business. You need to figure out very quickly in the business of sales, how much you can press people. Push too hard and their bubble will burst. Don't press enough and they will float away. Training a horse uses the same theories. You want to challenge them and reward them for their efforts, just like you treat people. Or should treat people.

Sometimes while working for Joe, I never really knew where I sat with him. He had a very dry sense of humor and was actually quite the practical joker. I was walking through the barn one day when Joe hollered that he had something for me. He pulled a new shirt out of a bag and told me that his wife Joice had bought it for me. I thanked him and asked him to also thank Joice. I had walked a few steps when Joe called out to me,"Hey. Are you messin' around with my wife?" Of course the thought had never even crossed my mind, but he had a serious look on his face and I thought to myself "Crap. He's really serious." I gulped and said "No! Why would you think that?" Joe just stared at me and turned away and walked across the paddock area and back to his house. I swear I heard him snickering. The SOB. Funny, the one thing I didn't learn from Joe was his sense of humor.

I eventually quit working for Joe and went back to college. I finally figured out that not only could I not ride bulls, but I was not going to make much of a horse trainer. I wanted to make a living with horses still, but I knew it would be with both feet planted on the ground. Mare physiology and reproductive behavior further instilled my current theory that everything that happens to you in life, goes back to horses and livestock. I learned to judge where on a horses leg they were injured by how they carried the leg. Same thing with people. Pretty useless when you come to think about it, but I still like to drive my wife Susie bonkers with the phrase, "Horses do that too" or "I remember the time when this horse tore up his leg."

I haven't sat on a horse since 1992, but I still hang on to the past a much as I can. I only recently sold my saddle that I have owned since I was in college. I still have my bull rope and gear bag. You never know when you'll need to ride a bull. One thing for sure is that when I talk with that customer next week about their need for buying Vetericyn instead of iodine spray, I'll make sure I don't press too hard. It's all about the bubble.

Pass The Hand Sanitizer Please

I don't know what it is about the animal health industry, but the characters within it are priceless. Maybe it's the wit of salespeople in general, (present source definetely not included) or perhaps it's the multitude of people we are around that lends to the funny bone. One of the best characters and most genuine people I have ever known is Jack Rudnay. Jack owns Stone Manufacturing in Kansas City, MO, a veterinary instrument company.

I met Jack for the first time at The Armadillo Classic, a vendor/distributor golf tournament that unfortunately lasted only a few years. Distributor and manufacture reps got together for a few days of golf and letting their hair down. Kelly Wilkie and I had recently gone to work for SunWest and this long weekend was highly deserved after about 5 or 6 months of trying to establish ourselves in new territories. Jack was one of the first people we were introduced to. I remember he was sitting down on a couch in the hospitality room and when he stood up, I was a little intimidated to say the least. Jack was about 6' 4", bearded and had a loud booming voice. I came to find out he played football for the Kansas City Chiefs back in the 70's. The intimidation factor soon wore off and I found out what a hoot this guy was. After the blue jokes and wisecracks were over, Jack was a great guy who really wanted to get to know the people he did business with. I was about 6 months from getting married and he sincerely asked about Susie and wanted to know more about the two of us. I think the last time I saw him, he asked with that big voice of his, "How's that bride of yours doing?" He's never met Susie in his life. And if I have anything to do with it, he will never meet her. Just kidding Jack.

Jack told us a hilarious story about playing for the Chiefs. At the time, Hank Stram was the head coach at Kansas City and Jack was an All-Pro center.  From my recollection, I remember Jack telling us that Coach Stram observed practices from an elevated platform about 50-100 feet above the practice field. He would watch the scrimmages and voice his thoughts and opinions through a bull horn down to the players. Jack said there was a young, hot shot rookie quarterback that had become a bit of a pain in the ass to the veteran players. Jack told us he got a little tired of the rookie showing his ass and thought up a way to bring him back down to size. Jack cut away his football pants so that there was an opening when he bent over to hike the ball. While Jack was standing, it was unnoticeable, but when he bent over to hike the football, the opening was just large enough for the quarterback to slip his unsuspecting hand into Jack's nether-regions.

Coach Stram hollered from above to run a particular play. The whole offensive line was in on the joke and they all bit their lips at what was about to happen. The offense broke huddle and jogged to the line. Jack bent over to hike the ball and as the egotistical QB reached down the back of Jack's legs to take the hike, his hands felt something that he wasn't expecting. You guessed it, the hot shot QB was introduced to beans and franks. The rookie pulled his hands back in a hurry and jumped back several feet. Coach Stram picked up his bull horn and hollered down at the team, "What the hells going on down there? Get back in there and run the play!" Jack stood up and looked back at his unknowing accomplice, shrugged his shoulders and shouted up at the coach,"I don't know what the problem is coach. The kid won't take the snap." It wouldn't surprise me if that was the day the shotgun formation was invented.

Mr. Miller Wins The Lottery

While I was working my South Texas territory in the mid 90's, people at two different feed stores in San Antonio won the Texas Lottery. Damn my bad luck!!!!

The didn't know the first guy personally, but he worked at a feed mill I called on in San Antonio. He worked delivering feed to various farm stores in south and central Texas. Never really heard much about him or how things turned out for him, although he ended up settling in or around Seguin, Texas, which was where Susie and I lived after we were first married.  I hear he plays a lot of golf. Poor guy...

The second person was the father of Windy Miller, one of my feed store customers. Windy and his business partner Dale, were two San Antonio policemen that owned a feed store called Vet Services, which was near down town San Antonio. It was a stones throw from the San Antonio Stockyards and at one time was probably a good account with all the cattle that were traded in San Antonio. But times changed and the stockyards closed in the mid 90's. The livestock products they sold soon turned to dog food, mouse bait and fire ant killer.

If you were a bad guy, you probably didn't want to cross Windy and Dale. Don't get me wrong, they were two of the most honest and fair guys I ever called on, but they had been cops for a few years and I think the feed store was an outlet for them to de-compress. Seems like they served in just about every facet of police work from patrol duty to SWAT. I think Dale told me once he had been shot during an altercation while on duty.

One day I walked in the store and an older man was behind the counter. I asked for Windy and he said that he was making a delivery and would be back shortly. We visited for a bit and eventually I figured out he was Windy's dad. I think he had retired from the power company in San Antonio and he was helping Windy out to have a little extra income. He was a great guy and was a real pleasure to visit with when I made my sales calls. A real down to earth person who also happened to be a rooster fighter. Kind of weird when I  found out that was what he did in his spare time, especially since I had never met someone that dabbled in that kind of entertainment. More on that later....

When the Texas Lottery was first introduced to Texas, I think I bought one ticket, didn't get a single number, and immediately started looking for other ways to get rich quick.. A few of the stores I called on sold scratch off tickets and even the pick 6 type of tickets, but I never paid much attention to it. One day while I was working in San Antonio, a customer told me that the recent lottery winner was someone in San Antonio. In one ear and out the other. When I got home that evening, I started coding and pricing my orders at the kitchen table like I always do. The 6 o'clock news came on and they were interviewing the man that won the lottery. Still, I paid little attention to it until I heard the winner speak. The voice sounded very familiar and I poked my head around the corner and looked at the television. Holy crap!! The lottery winner being interviewed was Mr. Miller.

It took about 2 or 3 weeks for me to finally run into Mr Miller at the store. I visited with Windy a bit while his dad visited with a customer. Windy grinned and said to me, "Look at what's in dad's pocket". I looked over at Mr. Miller and saw a checkbook poking up out of his shirt pocket and I said to Windy, "A checkbook. Whats the big deal?". Windy laughed and said, "Dad's never carried anything but cash his whole life and that never amounted to more than 10 or 20 dollars!" After Mr Miller was through visiting with the customer he walked over with a big smile on his face and said "What's new Tim?" I laughed and asked him, "I know you've been asked this a million times since you won, but what are you going to do with all that money?". He got real serious-like and told me, "You know that me and the boys like to fight roosters, right? Well, I got to thinkin' that every time we go to out of town to the cock fights we have to spend a bunch of money on motel rooms and eaten' out for dinner. I think I'm going to go buy me a motor home. That way, we can all stay in the motor home and not have to spend all that money on motel rooms and food. The whole crew will eat and sleep in the motor home. It'll save us a fortune" This coming from a guy who had just won 15 million dollars, but wanted to save a few hundred.  I kind of stared dumbfounded at him and told him that I thought that was a good idea. I knew right then that money was not going to change Mr Miller.

Windy kept the store for a few more years and Mr Miller left pretty soon after he won the lottery. Windy and I were talking one day and he told me how the money had changed his dad. Mr Miller got into the cow business and when he tried to do some cow trading or buy a tractor or even buy medicine for his cattle, most people's eyes got real big and saw a big payday coming. He couldn't even buy a good deal and literally had to go to the next county to buy anything. Retailers, tractor salesmen or cow traders knew who he was and tried at every chance to hang it in him and break it off. I think what happened was Mr. Miller didn't change, but everyone around him did. Windy told me that his dad had offered to pay for his grandson's college at Texas A&M, but he turned him down. I asked Windy if he had been drinkin' when he told his dad no, but Windy said something like, "I don't need my dad taking care of me. I'm a grown man." Pretty ballsy statement, but I respected Windy for it.

I haven't seen Mr. Miller in 10 or 12 years and I don't know how he's doing, good or bad. I saw Windy a few years ago at a feed store in Central Texas. He had retired from the police force and was selling feed for a local mill.  I asked him how his dad was doing and he said he was doing fine. Mr Miller had received quite an education in finance and accounting over the years, but was finally settling in. He could actually buy a pickup at the Ford dealer like everyone else nowadays. We were about to part ways and head out to our next accounts and I stopped and hollered over at Windy, "Hey Windy! Did you ever change your mind and let your dad pay for your son's college?" Windy looked down at the ground, kicked the dust and said,"Hell yeah I did. What do you think I am? Crazy?"