The “Real Deal” on Worker’s Compensation

Recently I had supper with an attorney buddy of mine.  For some reason I can not now recall, the conversation turned to Workers’ Compensation and my belief homeowners should insist anyone working on their property be covered by Workers’ Compensation insurance including the neighbor’s child pruning hedges.  I still think my conservative bent’s a good one given these litigious times but it’d prob’ly be a good idea to review the thinking of a professional whose opinion I’ve valued for many years.

The points to consider are as follows …

1. Every individual or company which employs 3 or more people at a time (full-time or part-time, adult or child) is required to have a policy of WC insurance.  NOTE THIS ALL-IMPORTANT EXCEPTION THAT APPLIES TO THE TYPICAL HOMEOWNER: No WC insurance is required to cover people whose work is outside the employer’s business.  Point being, the typical homeowner isn’t in the same “business” as workers in and around the home, so the home-owner doesn’t have to carry WC insurance for the worker.

Example:          A doctor hires a construction company to build a new home.  The construction of a home is outside the doctor’s business so the doctor isn’t liable for workers’ injuries and he is not required to provide WC insurance.

However:          The doctor takes time off from his practice to supervise the job.  Now his business becomes homebuilding even if the home is his own and he is responsible for making sure there is WC coverage for all workers on the job provided by himself, his general contractor or his subs.

2. A contractor who uses sub-contractors on a job is liable for coverage on the sub-contractor’s workers unless the sub-contractor has his own WC policy.   NOTE CONFIRMATION OF SUCH A POLICY SHOULD BE SOUGHT FROM THE INSURED’S INSURANCE CARRIER.  ASK THE CARRIER FOR A CERTIFICATE OF WORKERS’ COMPENSATION INSURANCE.  THE CERTIFICATE SHOULD NOT COME DIRECTLY FROM THE INSURED.
   

3. The owner(s) of a company are not counted in determining “3 or more people.”  So a remodeling company owned by Harry and Mable does not need to get a WC insurance policy if there are only two other employees working for them.  But consider the example where Harry and Mable have Guinivere as an employee, Bart as a remodeling sub and a person working for Bart.  Harry and Mable’s company is in the remodeling business.  Bart’s company is in the remodeling business.  Harry and Mable now have three workers: Guinivere, Bart and Bart’s helper.  If Bart has no WC insurance, Harry and Mable have to provide it for him, his helper and Guinivere but NOT for Harry and Mable.  There are now “3 or more” workers who must be insured and 2 partners who do not need to be covered.  Of course, if Bart has his own WC insurance policy, Harry and Mable need not have one.
   

4. Even if you as the employer are not required to have WC insurance, it might be advisable to get the coverage anyway for the benefit of your employees who may or may not have medical insurance.  It’d be a prudent move in my opinion and a nice gesture as well.  There’s nothing wrong with nice. 
   

5. If a company is required to have WC insurance coverage, no employee may decline coverage because the employee may not waive such coverage.
   

6. Mable and Harry are in the business of remodeling.  If they hire a remodeling subcontractor who’s going to have 3 or more workers on the job, the sub must have WC insurance or Mable and Harry must get it for the sub.  If the sub is a “one man band” or has only one helper, Mable and Harry don’t HAVE to provide WC insurance though having it would prudent in my opinion.  NOTE AGAIN, THIS ISSUE WOULD NOT ARISE IN THE CASE OF A TYPICAL HOME-OWNER BECAUSE THE HOMEOWNER ISN’T IN THE REMODELING “BUSINESS.
   

7. The kid injured mowing a lawn can’t recover medical expenses from the typical homeowner because the homeowner isn’t in the lawn moving business.  That being said, check with the child’s parent to be certain he or she has medical coverage.  In my opinion, if a child or adult doesn’t have medical insurance, don’t let them work on your house or yard.  The homeowner is still subject to General Liability principles totally unrelated to WC insurance if some dangerous condition causes injury to the young person mowing the grass – a pit bull, hidden stones or metal sticking up, an exposed electrical hazard, oil discarded on a steep slope in the yard and so forth.

SO WHAT'S A FRIEND LOOK LIKE?

"Friend."  Qualifiers contrive to make the word an expression meaning little beyond the fact that the object of the term is at least a casual acquaintance.

You got your dear friends.  There are your true friends.  Can't leave out good friends and close friends.  See what I'm talkin' about?

Mr. Tatum, a wise and respected executive friend of mine "suggests," before issuing a directive--to be ignored at your peril--that, "It might be a good idea ..."  So, it might be a good idea to reserve "friend" for those precious, rare individuals who are that very thing.

Not accidents of location, heritage, relationship, neighborhood, work, the local watering hole, constant companionship, your bowling league or place of worship.  A friend could be developed through any of these.  But the fact you know someone well by any such contrivance has nothing to do with them being a friend.  Buddy, spouse, fellow traveler, good guy, steady date, golfing or tennis partner, fellow club member, fraternity brother, sorority sister ... have at it.

Friendship eclipses any of these.

Just before I left home in the mountains, Mister Kell Woods instructed me in the nuances of friendship.

"Bob Junior, you're a'gon'na meet all kinds of folks up there" up there being any place but Ashe County.

" an' I believe you got sense not to run far off the road."  Mister Woods fixed me with craggy set eyes nearly colorless save ephemeral hints of blue.  Mountain people don't look at you like that unless they're real serious or ready to fight.  Kell Woods was serious as I'd ever seen.

"If they's any bidy you figure for a friend  ," he instructed, "some time you'd do well to loan'em money and tell'em a private tale you've not told anyone."  Rocking back the legs of his chair he continued, "Don't ask fer the money and don't mention the tale you told to no one."  It was a burdened moment.

"But if you ever hear that tale or you don't get yer money back, that'uns not a friend."  Kell reflected on Phenix Mountain's distant peak.

"Now then, Bob Junior.  If you've got one friend, you're lucky."  His gaze turned from the mountain back to me.

"If you've got two friends, you're bles'sed of God."

Important truths come in a mighty wave.  This one did.

"And, Bob Junior, if you've got three friends you're an idiot."  Mister Woods dispatched a tobacco juice projectile into the yard nailing his point.

Kell sent me home with a poke of green cooking apples.  His candor prob'ly unsettled him as much as it did me.

I've been well served heeding Kell's caution.  However, I've discovered there's more to friendship than encapsulated by Kell's two conditions of a confidence and a loan.  I don't think he meant those admonitions sufficient to mark a friend in any case.  They are absolutely necessary--necessary and sufficient being critical to a reliable hypothesis.

It's that unconditional love thing Kell didn't touch on.  A friend's going to have it.

Excepting rare tragic instances, Mommas are great friends.

She may worry to death while you're engaging the process, whatever it might be.  But your Momma is going to rejoice and applaud your triumphs … be they luminary, be they small … without the first thought of envy, resentment or unkind subscription to it-was-luck-I-deserve-it-just-as-much.

And, when you stumble, Momma's the one rallying to your defense, however indefensible your performance.

Those times you mess up, your Mother's censure is a mighty weight lightened only by her loving friendship.

Point being, you got to treasure a friend.  And you got to meet the measure of unconditional love.  Preserve a confidence.  Take care of the money.

Can't think of anyone who needs a friend more than those Babies.  Some of'em look about grown, by the way.  They aren't hard to find if you don't have one of your own.

Show'em what a friend looks like.  It'll help them almost as much as it'll benefit you.

'Til ne'    'Til next time, boys and girls.

RASCALS CAN'T THINK STRAIGHT!

Taz and I heading back to Atlanta in his van.  Just gotten through taking pictures for Sissy of the falls at Little River Canyon; runnin' out of detailed stories (Taz's capacity for detail far beyond amazing) about his many and varied adventures cum misadventures driving a graduate school sabbatical big rig.  Had knocked off all the fast food we were up to for a while.  Taz cleared his throat and observated, thereby gettin' my mind right with respect to a subject on which I've often puzzled.

We'd been discussing an individual who defies logical comprehension.  It's impossible to achieve productive conversation with this person.  She explores a subject with you, at the end of which one reasonable conclusion alone can be drawn only if it doesn't suit her she denies the validity of that conclusion while refusing to offer an alternative.  When asked, however politely and sincerely, to explain herself, she typically replies, "Because!"

This tendency isn't gender specific, folks.  If you've not run into someone, boy or girl, who's prone to frustrating tactics of this ilk, count yourself truly blessed.  Continue as you have.

But I misspeak using the label "tactics," as Taz kindly brought to my attention.  "They can't help it," he announced.

Taz is good about keeping his eyes on the road, being an ex-big rig operator and all.  You got, therefore, to fill in the blanks from your profile view.  My fill in colored an expression of serious conviction.

"How ya' figure, Taz?"

"Wel-l-l-llll,” Taz draws it out like they do in Fargo, Taz being of substantial Nordic stock, … “people like that are liars who've been doing it so long they've messed up circuits in their brains.  They ignore and twist truth and logic to the point they don't recognize it.  They can't deal with the truth no matter how obvious and logical.  They just know the result of your discussion with'em isn't working out like they want so they pay no attention to what's being said … doesn’t matter to them whether they make sense or not."

Taz on a roll requires no prompting.  My failure to interject a comment was enough to keep him goin' plus, he had summing up to do.  "You get frustrated and mad and say things they use to get away from them usin’ no logic.  They usually say you’re bein’ mean and start crying or wantin’ to fight."

The boy was dead on.

If you ain't hip to what I'm talking about, tune in Judge Mathis, Judge Judy, Judge Joe Brown or any of the other judges on yo' telly … see how the plaintiffs and defendants obfuscate, prevaricate, stretch, distort, contradict, offer windy explanations that address nothing and don't say too much comprehensible about even that … then march righteously out to stand in the hall after they lose and announce they've been mistreated and misunderstood without saying how, much less why.  Take 10 minutes with the tube and you'll know precisely the behavior to which I refer.

Sure, some of'em think they're being willfully, consciously and deliberately slick with the intent of "gettin' over."  Their brains are nonetheless twisted despite them being unlikely to accept such an idea.  The majority, on the other hand, don't know they're acting a fool.  Reason being their synapses, dendrites and relay protocols are miswired from continued misuse fatally prolonged.

We all tell a stretching, ignoring or having-nothing-to-do-with reality story now and then.  That's defensible for entertainment value alone.  But, if you'll climb the proverbial greased pole to tell a lie when the truth would serve you better, you're heading off on a twisted path along which your mind will get bent.

Friends and relates, using RodMan's expression, will look at you out'ta the corner of they eye.  Folks'll say things about you they wouldn't utter to your face.  It'll be difficult to do business; social, financial or otherwise.  Your spouse and cherun will avoid being associated wit' ya to the extent they can without you acting out … maybe even then.  It'll be bad and you'll not know why cause your brain's messed up.

Why risk an abyss fraught with such peril?

Traffic in the truth, say I, a man who's taken license with an overly generous hand more than twice.

Forget the caution that you ought tell the truth so you won't have to remember a lie.

Tell the truth so as not to risk yo' mind.  No small thing in the balance if you ask me.

Tell the truth so those Babies, watchin’ like little hawks, will be impressed with your route bein' the way to go.  Wouldn't hurt to instruct'em about protecting their mind.

Can a lie broken mind be rehab'd?  Don't know.  I’d say it'd definitely be worth some trouble and expense.

'Preciate your e-mails pro and con.  We may not see it the same way but we're talkin'.  That's the route to mutual understanding, if not consensus, so I'm told.

Take care of them Babies and yourselves.  C.J., RodMan and I depend on you guys keepin' us going.  May not be your intention but we’re obligated ... the deal's good from where we’re perched.

DEAL OF A LIFETIME

Playing on greed, fear, loneliness, the need for love and approval, the desire to feel important, the heady reaction a show of respect can elicit when one's the beneficiary of that regard; all tools of the con. Simple but effective stuff that works well enough to support ill intentioned and legitimate players alike be their venue secular or spiritual.

Anyone not an intergalactic traveler touched down yesterday knows this, yet we contrive to fleece ourselves with persistent regularity.  Go figure!!!

Having known at least my share of hustlers and being blessed with good friends smart enough to set the example of how one rebuffs their ploys, I am prepared to codify rules of engagement by which one can instantly recognize the onslaught of a tempting con and, by way of subject recognition, summon reserves with which to lay waste the interloper.

Mind you, the following responses warrant internalization so they become knee jerk autonomic, heat of battle not being the time to reflect and ponder. Action's on the agenda, NOW! When beset by a wily con, throw a couple of jabs, range your target, then fire a hard right cross with bad intentions. Put that scoundrel on the canvas.  Mercy?  Not an option.

You may have heard all this before and when you did you doubtless acknowledged the veracity woven herein. But unless you're that rare individual who simply does the right thing like my sister, Meda, you got to imprint this stuff on yo’ mind if you want to insulate yourself from white heat temptation.

Do me a favor. Mark the following.

If the deal's so good you must act immediately, it's not.  Good deals will be available at least until day after tomorrow.  C.J. taught me years ago, the opportunity of a lifetime walks into or calls our office an average of three times a day. It does yours too. WAB reminded me of this one just recently in the course of a real estate transaction.

If it's too good to be true etc., etc.  Investors with huge amounts of money backed by staffs of financial / investment experts who graduated top of their class lose to the con. The March, 1996 issue of Reader's Digest describes a scam that sucked in the mighty with big dollars in pursuit of returns not to be believed, only they were. Parenthetically, there's an article in the same issue discussing the healing power of prayer. It works. Surprising the forms of prayer required. To me, anyway.

Whoever has the money wins.  Lawyer Kane and I discussed this one just the other day on the courthouse steps.  If you're being asked to give up the dust, be REAL sure you know who you're giving it to. Pore over their track record. Get lots of references. Check'em out.

You never get screwed by someone you don't like.  Sharp dealing rascals are skilled at coming across as likable trustworthy folks, at least on the surface.  The better their con, the harder it’ll be to discern what they really have in mind.  I guess the extension is, listen to what's being said. Pay little, if any, attention to how you feel toward the person offering you a GREAT deal. 

The hair on the back of your neck goes up for a reason.

Don't chase the carrot hanging on that stick barely out of reach.  "If you could just sharpen your pencil and give me a break, I'll set you up with a bunch of my friends." Pass on this one and all variations thereof, boys and girls. The plea for "a break" never ends once you demonstrate your willingness to follow a path promising compensation down the road. That future happy quid never seems to materialize pursuant to your delivering on the pro.

When folks elaborate what they're gon'na do, believe them.  This requires being a good listener. They may be telling you what they did to someone else, or what someone else did to them, or what they heard happened to an unfortunate. Listen. It's you they're talking about. Remember. No one does a number on yo' fine se'f without first telling you line and verse exactly what they have in mind.

Skilled hustlers explain the past then sell the future.  Mark well the difference between hustlers and good guys.  A hustler tells you the future's locked in based on his, or her, twisted analysis, however reaching, of what's gone before. Good guys don't deal from the deck's bottom that'a way.

Now I'm getting into it, I realize this monolith’s barely scratched. My inclination is, therefore, to assert you're spittin' in the wind if your enthusiasm for a deal is founded in lust, greed or taking what looks like the easy way out. Your desire, absent love, is never sated. There're never enough "toys" to quench greed's seductive allure. And the easy way is never easy in the long run.

Chivalry prevails over time. Character will out. Spiritual depth is the surest route to peace and happiness. These instincts, imprinted in us all, are subverted, if not erased, through misdeed and neglect. And when they're gone, we're prime fodder for the con, 'specially ourselves.

Take care of those Babies, everybody. Tell'em there's nothing wrong with doing the right thing. Tell'em there's everything wrong with doing anything else. And tell'em they'll always know the difference if they pay attention. They're designed that way.

WHO’S GOT ME! … WHO’S GOT ME!

Willie the Weasel lives on Hog Mountain, a healthy drive from Atlanta.

He prob’ly stays out of town for the perfectly understandable reason that his welcome is ripped, raveled and decidedly worn down at the heels in the metropolitan area.  Not because he isn’t good at what he does.  He’s the best ever was.  Rather, Willie’s shortchanged so many folks so many times, women and children included, that he’s finally run out of options.  And, by the way, he’s done a few numbers on me, and those close to me, more than once.

Understand, Willie has the stones to face down doggone near any betrayal.  I’ve seen him own up to treachery, lies and deceit; smile; then, often as not, weasel his way back into the good graces of his victim.

Some time ago C.J. and I went to Jasper for a taste of the best garlic salad in the country.  Jasper’s an hour and a half north of Atlanta.  In talking to the owner of the eatery, who’s gotten accustomed to seeing us once in a while, I mentioned that I’d been introduced to his establishment a decade previously by the biggest crook I’d ever known.  Without pause, his expression a wry contortion I’d say barely passes for a grin, he queried, “You know Bill!”  

Such is the stuff of Willie the Weasel.

If Willie has a weakness it's his inclination to paranoia caused, I firmly believe, by him fearing someone will follow his lead and practice the same sort of duplicitous machinating on him that he does others.  Our boy Willie was, and I’m sure still is, ever on guard lest an acquaintance be so reckless as to take him on … I can’t imagine anyone doing such a thing and emerging the engagement any but the worse for the experience.

Not long ago, I had lunch with a buddy of mine who happens to be a caricature artist.  Our discussion meandered toward ol’ Willie and his underhanded ways.  I described Willie: curly blond ringlets; disheveled appearance in the mold of the Linus character with his everpresent dust cloud; and elfin facial structures Willie features that’re an engaging appeal to bouts of mischief.  My friend doodled a page of tablet that never strays far from his hand while we talked.

Our luncheon at an end, my buddy smiled and slid his tablet across the table.  There was Willie — his head mounted on a weasel’s body, stubby teeth clamped firmly on his tail.  The cartoon balloon read, “Who’s got me! … who’s got me!”  

My friend captioned the drawing, “Willie the Weasel.” 

I paid for lunch and went straightaway to get the picture framed. 

I ran into Willie several days later and presented him with the framed caricature.  He inspected it thoroughly, unable to suppress a grin of satisfaction tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Only one thing wrong, Bro.”  He allowed me an expression of interested concern before proceeding.  “It ort’ta say, “Willie the Master Weasel.”

The beautiful thing being, he meant it.

Willie loved that caricature.  He hung it prominently.  Proudly.  But Willie never quite acquitted himself to a label that might mislead one into thinking him a run of the mill weasel … Willie perceived himself to be the BEST!  Without the absent “Master” qualifier, the issue was far too prone to doubt. 

I’ve not seen Willie for a number of years.  I did visit him once after his move to Hog Mountain.  Our visit gave rise to a fist fight that ended in a draw.  Somehow, neither of us managed to achieve serious injury.

What’s the lesson?  Several obtain—

1)  Things are seldom what they seem.

2)  People are always what they seem.

3)  Be careful who you’re dealing with.

4)  Don’t wrestle with pigs.  You’ll get filthy and the pig’ll like it.

I close with the reminder that taking care of those Babies is the real deal.  I doubt Willies of the world get much nurturing care.  Then again, my friend RodMan conjectures most folks have a gene that overwhelms the “Willie instinct.”

In any case, “Willie Babies” need taking care of, too.  I’m not sure I’d want to transact this valley absent the prospect of crossing paths with an occasional Willie.  Teach all the other Babies how to appreciate and deal with a Willie — both parties will spend less time chasing their tails.

YOU'RE GON'NA FEEL BAD EITHER WAY!  

Don't know 'bout you, but I have trouble saying, "No."  

I'm not referring to high pressure sales presentations by professionals who're pedaling a worthwhile product or service that might actually benefit me … no, no.   

I'm talking about hustlers panhandling on the sidewalk cause they're too sorry to get a job.   I'm talking about casual acquaintances asking me to invite friends over so they can be assaulted with the opportunity to buy cookware, or vitamins, or cleaning products or make-up or lingerie guaranteed to wake fading love.  I'm talking about phone solicitations by perfect strangers offering me the chance to make a fortune for a modest investment or soliciting funds for local police who just might get a paltry fraction of what's collected.  You get the idea  'specially if you're prone to this sort of behavior like I am.  

I've read numbers of articles discussing why I'm vulnerable to requests and offerings by vertebrates I've never seen or folks I barely know.  Needing to be liked / loved, fear of rejection, blind faith in one's fellow travelers, the tendency to hope for great rewards with little investment in terms of time and money, the inability to learn that the experience of others as well as your own is the true index of how things are going to turn out, the list is, as they say, endless.  

No one needs to be told when they're screwing up.  This goes for me when I'm playing the role of prey animal in situations of the type we're talking about.  That notwithstanding, I was better than 50 years old and still rolling over at the slightest provocation when I had no business doing so.  Knowing better.  Solely to blame.  No excuse.  Occasionally committing time and money on behalf of others to boot!!!   

Then Ken Jackson presented his bad-d-d-d PhD industrial psychologist self.  We were snacking on salted peanuts in our local Longhorn steak house, waitin’ on the main course when some random synaptic event gave rise to me voicing my regrettable reluctance to say, "No." 

Ken, sitting quietly eating peanuts midst the white noise of Longhorn's buzzing fellowship, got quiet and reflective as he's wont to do, obviously more struck by the importance of my observation than I.  

Ken's got a way of setting his jaw that pulls his lips into a posture of determined focus when he's about to share the fruits of his collected wisdom.  I saw the look and readied myself for the revelation.  

"Ya know, Bob, you're gon'na feel bad either way."  Hit me like a ton of bricks cause I understood instantly what he was talking about and where he was going.  "The point is, you can feel bad with time or money wasted or you can just feel bad.  It's up to you."  

Son!!!  It was a beautiful thing.  Empowering's the word.  I was going to feel bad whether I rolled over or not.  Only if I elected to feel bad not rolling over, I would at least have my time and money intact.  What a DEAL!!!  

Life has been a much simpler proposition since that evening, believe it. I've gotten so good at saying, "No," I usually don't find myself feeling uncomfortable after the fact and, when I do, all I got to remember is the savings of time and money … the situation takes on a rosier hue.  Not to mention the fact that no one looks at me sideways any more wondering what mischief I'm going to foist on THEIR time and money.  

Wish I'd learned the "feel bad either way" response earlier in life.  I'd have done a lot less injury to myself and others.  It's an important concept, y'all.  One from which those Babies would benefit.  Point being, take care of' 'em like you know you ought and saying "no" will prob'ly be a natural thing they don't have to think about like such as me.

STRIVING MAKES UP FOR LOTS OF DEFECTS.

 A close friend and I recently conversated about different folks we know, in the course of which commenting on facets of two of those various personalities that are a challenge for us to deal with from time to time.  Such type conversations are best concluded by the reminder that casting stones is a bad idea.  We were easing in on that proscription when my friend observed that the individuals in question had a common quality.  Each of them was out there getting after it in businesses of their own.  Hanging in the trenches.  Not giving up.  Defying whatever odds needed defiance.  And, by the way, doing pretty dog gone good!!!

My friend and I remarked on the business undertakings of these folks that mightn’t pass muster at Harvard Business School.  We discussed with something approaching scorn the inability of these innocents to manage their employees in manners we thought appropriate.  We viewed, with ignoble glee, the personal eccentricities of each party under discussion that rendered them, in our respective views, undesirable in face-to-face social circumstances lasting more than 15 minutes.  Truth be told, there wudn’t much we’d had to say that you’d term marginally charitable. 

Transported by a fit of inspiration or reality or his innate sense of fairness on which I’ve learned to depend over the years, my friend observed that, despite all their shortcomings, each of these individuals was achieving at a MUCH higher level than either of us and, from all appearances, this state of affairs was destined to continue.

“They strive, don’cha see?” my friend exclaimed. “That’s why you’ve got to admire them and overlook the irritating things they do and say.  They’re Strivers.”

That claim resonated the compelling, clarion call of truth!  Sort of put a damper on our enthusiastic criticism … matter of fact, his insight brought things to a screeching halt.  If memory serves, a prolonged pause ensued during which we made an effort to recover from the realization we’d not been carrying on in a particularly admirable fashion.  But then, anxious to codify a lesson to be learned from what had transpired to that point, probably by way of forestalling further investigation of why we’d been so negative about the efforts of two who were far exceeding anything we’d managed, we mused about how best to label this personality type we’d proudly “discovered” and aptly labeled.

There WAS a lesson in all the ill-spirited hen pecking we’d been working in: No matter how challenging the personality, or mishandled the effort, or irritating the personal habits, or ill advised the wardrobe, or unattractive the morphology, or marginal the hygiene … people who keep their heads down, work hard (a REAL important element), don’t give up and stay after the goal post no matter what … are people to be admired, with conditions.  Yep, Strivers.

There are countless smooth operators who look good, ‘cause they clean up nice, talk birds out of trees and have all the accoutrements of success.  But Strivers they are not.  They’re Coasters, which I suppose we can agree are the opposite of Strivers.  This old globe might be a better place with more Strivers and fewer Coasters.

In the middle of the spectrum, between the Strivers and the Coasters, you got everything from homeless to all us cogs in the gears of civilization’s mighty engine. 

Strivers are a critical element in that great scheme of things.  For the most part they’re “small business” owners who, if they’re not operating solo, give us jobs tending to stuff no one else wants to do or providing services on which we depend or supplying goods that end up making life easier.   They suffer the stresses of running a business with varying degrees of complaint; they’re erratic in handling employees though they’re typically kind and generous overall excepting the occasional lapse; they’re usually too occupied with business and related concerns to take much time with their families if they have one; they’re opinionated and often willing to loudly assert their views; they’ve seen their share of the underbelly … that viewing sometimes making ’em a little paranoid; they don’t mind imposing on your time if you let ’em … but, bottom line, they’re essential in the matrix of human events.

Lots of these folks are tradespeople who end up working on our homes or businesses.  They’re readily identifiable.  They’re the good ones who aren’t much given to kow-towing.  It’s hard not liking ’em in spite of their talent for tedium. 

My friend and I have conjectured any number of reasons why they turn out like they do, i.e., they’re good stock with unfortunate quirks.  I sort of think they get that way as a result of basic insecurities they refuse to let defeat them.  The kind of insecurities typically laid at the feet of a person’s early years.  Who knows???

No matter.  If you happen on a Striver, understand they may not be worth fooling with but they are worthy of respect.  Fact being, there’s an excellent chance they’re contributing more to the societal equation than that slick-talking Coaster laying on the charm.  Next time you run into a Striver, wouldn’t hurt to pay a little attention.  Some of that striving instinct might rub off to your benefit. 

I’d say Babies are strivers without the baggage that makes the ones we’re talking about less than a pleasure to deal with.  Guess it’s our job to cultivate the striving instinct and avoid those unkind shots that encourage grown up inappropriate behaviors.  Which is to say, take care of those Babies, y’all.  They’re still what it’s all about.  

Neglect your teeth and sooner or later you’ll wish you’d heeded all those warnings about the consequences of pursuing that course.   Can’t say I’ve ever learned to enjoy the process but somehow it’s one of those things I would have trouble not doing before bedtime usually while watching the news … not nearly as important as letting the Family know how much I appreciate them but still a must do. 

Which brings us to keeping up with the continuing maintenance of your home.  Kind of falls in the “floss your teeth” category. 

You got to keep water out of where it doesn’t belong.  You got to make sure your cooling and heating work well and deliver air you can live with.  You got to control critters and bugs, ‘specially ones of the latter sort that eat building materials such as those from which your home is constructed.  It’s a good idea to make sure waste water goes away like it ought and that fresh water is available in abundance both heated and cold.  Exterior surfaces need protecting from the elements.  Electrical circuits that don’t perform as they should need to be trouble shot and put right.  It pretty much boils down to simple categories: Plumbing, Electrical, Heating & Air Conditioning, Pest Control, Clean Gutters, proper Grading and Landscaping, Exterior Paint / Stain / Sealers, periodic roof inspections for remaining service life … the list is relatively short and simple.  Like flossing.  No fun but no big deal.  Then again, if you don’t stay after it regularly, you’re in for a world of hurt at some point.

Finding a good plumber, electrician, roofer, heating and air conditioning mechanic, painter, pest control company and so forth is discussed exhaustively elsewhere in the web site.  What isn’t discussed is a protocol by which you can keep score.  Get an idea of where you stand in the ranks of homeowners who keep their castles in good shape.  This is where your certified home inspector steps to the plate.

Home Inspection is a phenomenon of relatively recent vintage whose time has come.  Not as regulated as it probably will be in the future, individuals and companies of varying quality have sprung up offering to inspect homes, usually being bought, in order to help the buyer identify existing problems or ones likely to appear down the road.  I wouldn’t dream of purchasing a home without having it inspected by a reliable third party to make sure I’m not missing something.  A caveat is much in order at this juncture.  Such an inspection is only as helpful as the experience and qualifications of the person who’s conducting it.  Suffice to say,  experience and qualification range widely.  Proceed with caution in finding a good home inspector!!!

There’s another purpose, not commonly discussed in any venue with which I’m familiar          , for which a first cabin home inspector would be of great benefit to the homeowner interested in staying on top of the home maintenance game.

  Just as you see your dentist regularly to keep you on track taking care of your teeth and forestalling problems that might be developing, so will your home inspector let you know where you should devote some attention or budget for a replacement or repair before a full blown crisis rears its ugly, inconvenient head.  No need to see your inspector more often than every two to five years depending on the age, condition and complexity of your home but be assured, the cost will prove a wise investment.

Other pertinent examples abound … like changing the oil in your automobile and having it serviced periodically.  Or having a physical check-up regularly ‘specially as the years pile up.  Have no doubt, your home is a complex puppy that benefits from preventative maintenance and regular upkeep.  A conscientious home inspector with hands on construction experience who is certified to be familiar with the codes that apply to the type of building being inspected should be thought of in the same way one regards a trusted doctor, dentist or mechanic.

Inspection cost?  Size, configuration, complexity and accessibility to the “guts” of your home all figure in.  As of this writing, May 2001, the professional inspection of an average home in the Atlanta area probably runs in the neighborhood of $300.00 if it’s not too far out of Dodge.  Your home inspector will quote you an exact figure though he or she may want to actually see the structure before doing so ...  I would in any case.

That’s it for this time, boys and girls.  The possibility of not so good news pursuant to a home inspection is no fun and costs money.  Then again, you’ll take pride in having bitten the bullet in the interest of protecting a valuable investment.  Let me hear what you think!!! And take care of those Babies, y’all.   

It’s amazing how easily I’m led to conundrums in which there doesn’t seem any manageable way out.  Get myself boxed in canyons.  No Tonto.  Cards stacked against me.  Market cycle’s unfavorable to whatever business I’m doing.  Folks don’t understand what I have in mind and are, therefore, not helpful like they should be … things just aren’t going my way!

The next step in this process is plunging into a funk fraught with despondent pessimism akin to what a Polar Bear mother must feel waking from protracted hibernation with 2 cubs ready to rumble.  It’s at this point when all who know and love me bear the brunt of disgruntled slings and arrows.  It ain’t goin’ like I had in mind.  Somebody’s got to pay!!!  I’m mad as hell turned inside out and I’m not gon’na take it one second longer.  As often as not, the thing I most want to do is fall in bed and stay there … what we call “hidin’ under the couch.”  Sounds weak, but it’s true.  A person gets down where it’s hard to come back up.

Over more years than I care to admit I’ve learned to recognize this state of affairs as one that represents a huge red flag signaling me to put up the telescope I’m using to find the source(s) of my problem(s) and get myself to the closest reflective surface in whose depths I will surely find the image of my REAL difficulty.  ME.

Works every single time.  When things ain’t goin’ like they ought and I’m not happy with life, there’s an inflexibly productive route to getting back on track … suck it up and reenter the fray.     

Don’t believe I ever heard of “clinical depression” until the recent past.  I ‘spect we’ve all known at least one unfortunate afflicted with this crippler and it assuredly is.  On the other hand, I’ve been acquainted with a number who’ve pronounced themselves, with something verging on pride, victims of clinical (As opposed to “regular” one wonders?) depression, apparently taking considerable comfort in thinking themselves suffering from a medical malady.  I ‘spect all depressed folks truly do suffer whether their condition is basically contrived or medically diagnosed to be biochemical like the case of my close friend who fought his hated condition with a minimum of comment and whining until he finally got to a Doctor.  His symptoms quickly abated with medication he takes as necessary.  

But, sportsfans, that brave soul is, in my experience, the singular exception to a tired rule of recent vintage.  Heretical and flying in the face of politically correct wisdom though it might be, I believe the vast preponderance of depression has its roots in the depressee sitting on his or her butt, like I’m wont to do, casting about frantically for that facet of their sphere imposing unjustly on their pursuit of happiness.

It ain’t out there, boys and girls.  Nor will going inside to explore one’s psyche in search of answers bear fruit.  Most instances of depression have NOTHING to do with that which surrounds us, nor do they have roots in some complex condition buried in our experiential matrix.  Rather depression’s usual cause is precisely in thinking one or both of the foregoing two misconceptions have merit.

Depression resolution’s a no-brainer, y’all.  GET BUSY!!!  Start taking care of the niggling little details you’ve put off for eons.  Go to a VA Hospital if one’s nearby and visit someone there who could use the company.  Or a nursing home.  Or a neighbor fallen on hard times.  Or a school where volunteers are needed to help students with their studies, particularly reading.  Doesn’t much matter.  The trick is, stop worrying about yourself and the true meaning of life.  Find a person or situation you can benefit.  It won’t be real hard to do and you’ll not have to make contacts overseas … desperate candidates are likely in easy walking distance of your home or office.

Being happy and productive’s a matter of will.  You can elect “yeah” or you can go with the “nays.”  There’s lots of nurturing out there in support of the latter route.  Folks taking great pains to find offense.  Knee-jerk reactors who ferret out negative motives or consequences to about anything that comes along.   Individuals and groups pronouncing their “special interests” at every turn in the road.  Efforts so loud and forceful … the truth, or lack thereof, gets lost in the fray.  Too often someone pays to shut’em up.  Unfortunately, the opposite purpose is often served.  The malcontents contrive a name for what they’re doing; start working at it full time, and GET PAID!!!

What we ought do is, as much as possible; proceed quietly in our quest for peace, i.e., being happy and productive.  Strident nay sayers are gon’na be around as they ever have been.  We mustn’t let’em tempt us to stasis and despair at the futility of it all.  We mustn’t let’em saddle us with “clinical depression” or other burdens of that stripe.

It’s wonderful being alive in this country.  There are, and always will be, problems.  The environment, the economy, international conglomerates, disenfranchised citizens and on and on and on.  These difficulties are vulnerable to resolution through hard work and good will taken on by happy, productive people.  Sound bites of self-anointed experts out to save us all have NOTHING to do with setting things right.  They have EVERYTHING to do with confusion, hopelessness and despair.  Regard them with a jaundiced eye.  They’re purveyors of anger, frustration and depression … call it clinical if that bakes your cookies.

Take time with the Babies and much can be done to abate this process.  Teach’em contented living is subject to personal will.  Attitude makes it happen.  You control it.  Nobody else and no other thing can impact the deal. 

Getting on with the business of staying busy in pursuit of helpful, productive ends thereby fending off the depression demon is a matter of training and example.  Babies are real good at accepting instruction ‘specially when it comes from good examples.  The ball’s in our court.  We’re obligated to make sure any child who grows to be depressed is one of those rare “clinically” depressed individuals whose rescue comes in the form of periodic medication.  We need to make sure the rest of us keep a mirror handy for problem source identification and stay mindful of the value in staying off our collective butts, getting out there and takin’ care of bin’ness.

I’ve had the very good fortune to know a number of "hands" in construction who are ability blessed to do whatever it is they’re about with unusual skill or speed or beautifully finished result … they got what we call "style."

No explaining it other than looking to the demonstrable fact that some’s got it, most don’t. Thinking back on those who readily come to mind, Big Bob organizes the steps of a particular assembly in construction projects so the phase he’s responsible for goes slick as greased glass. David R leaves anything he elects to touch looking like a piece of art. The Wet’s deceptively adroit at managing workers for maximum yield as were Gator and Bear. J.R., Todd and Danny do things with roofing to which you can bear witness yet never quite understand, much less match, their standard of performance … like watching what Greg used to do in airplanes. Mario installs molding so snug at corners and joints it appears poured in place. Gordy hangs and finishes sheet rock with efficiency and grace well beyond the range of mere such as we’s … looks doggone good when he’s done by the way. Joe can paint a room so it projects a soft enveloping glow. I’ll not go on longer than you’ll put up with.

There are anointed few in every field of endeavor … you’ve heard told their mastery on playing fields, in surgical suites, behind university lecterns, from pulpits, commanding courtroom venues, at the helms of international conglomerates … ‘bout anyway you turn there’ll be a thoroughbred pacer outstepping those not keeping up no matter how hard they plug away. Doesn’t seem right, does it?!?!

What we’re interested in here is the fancy dancer standing at the front rank of this crème de la crème. I’ve known only a few.

Tim’s skills defy category. He’s as comfortable participating in an investment club roundtable as he is making pipe insulation so fetching to the eye you want it out for folks to admire.

Tim doesn’t meet a stranger ... you can’t help but feel drawn to the boy. No "hail fellow well met" hustling with Tim. He’s a rock solid soul … his promises sacred, a helper where help’s hard to find, quick to share a gut-sore-after-the-fact bout of laughter, temperate in his vices, facile at poking fun self-directed when he missteps. You can count on Tim!!!

That’s a label well-intentioned, productive folks carry … they can be "counted on."

Money and physical possessions don’t rank real high in Tim’s estimation. He lives well within his means, works so long as there’s work to be done, stands ready to pitch in should need arise and he’s not got to know you well to lend an effort!!!

There’s a downside. Tim loves old cars. His sisters and brothers despair of the home place ever being left to grass, trees, weeds and whatever’s growing in the garden. The landscape’s relieved by autos in various states of disrepair. At one time I’ve personally observed a baby blue Caddy coupe, a dingy black Benz, a white S-10 truck, a less white Chevy ½ ton pickup, a spotty white Dodge diesel ¾ ton truck with dump trailer, a bluish Toyota Supra and an ugly yellow Toyota flatbed C.J. and I traded Tim for his 1972 souped up orangeyred Monte Carlo that’s blown its share of imported / home grown upstarts in the weeds. This doesn’t count his sister’s new silver Nissan Frontier.

Tim treasures each of these adopted travelers, never drives them, lets ‘em go to seed where they sit, wouldn’t part with one on a bet unless you came by needing a ride at which time he’d as likely give the pick of his litter as charge you anything. It takes a sorry man to sell a child, a friend or a treasured memento. Tim’s not that sort.

Triumphs marking the legend of Tim are many. One time C.J. and I rebuilt the top end of the motor in our trusty Toyota flatbed truck … the beast wouldn’t die. We were driven to that extreme by not enough money to pay a mechanic you could depend on. C.J.’s driveway in Peachtree Hills served as location for our labor.

The Service Manager of a local Toyota dealership, a man possessed of saintly patience, and the perusal of several "how to / factory spec" manuals led us through the process ‘till we got to the part where the oil pan had to be removed. All manuals said it couldn’t be done with the engine in place. Our Service Manager guru said it couldn’t be done with the engine in place. It was going to be rough, as well as embarrassing, to rig means of getting the engine out in C.J.’s driveway. The neighbors wouldn’t be pleased.

Enter Tim.

On hearing our lament, Brother Tim asked if we’d mind him taking a look. Protesting it’d be a waste of his time according to every resource available, we allowed as to how he could do as he pleased. 20 odd minutes later, Tim had the oil pan removed and was looking for something else to do that couldn’t be done.

His ability to COMPLETELY satisfy the expectations of Mario Bartocelli is another jewel in Tim’s crown.

The matchless beauty of the work Tim did on the refrigeration system of a sausage manufacturing plant in North Alabama will linger in my mind’s eye forever.

Tim’s determination to do pretty work where no one will ever see must surely be deserving of his Maker’s divine approval.

And he’s humble!!!

Recently, Tim retired after 20 years in the Insulators Local. The boy couldn’t stand it. Decided on a new career to keep hisself out of mischief. Signed up in the Plumber’s Local as an apprentice. Understand, Tim’s Daddy, Mr. Charley Jackson, held Card #4 in Dekalb County and helped write the Codebook so Tim’s not exactly a stranger to plumbing.

On realizing this, the high ups in the Local put Tim on a fast track in his apprenticeship training. One day Tim was helping a senior union member set water closets, commodes to us uninitiated, on a commercial project. Tim and the man he was assisting each set two units. When it came time to water test, Tim’s installations proved out … his senior cohort’s commodes both leaked.

After several moments of clench jawed silence, Tim’s many years experienced leader finally muttered, "O.K., go ahead and say it."

Tim replied, "Some folks just got a knack for this kind of work."

Now for the point.

You can make book there aren’t many Tims. I’m talking boys and girls who can do ANYTHING. On the other hand there’s not one of us who don’t "have a knack" for SOME kind of work … you just got to figure out what it is.

Biggest lesson I’ve learned in doing business is you won’t go far if you, as Ken and Wilson taught me, conscript folks into doing things they don’t have a knack for by virtue of desire or natural inclination. That adage about square pegs and round holes is a reliable guide.

You also won’t go far if you don’t take time to figure out whether you’re square or round. That accomplished, you’ll be well along the way to finding a hole best suited to your talents and skills.

All of us know if we’re like Tim or not. Most of us aren’t. That means we have to set off on the journey to discover what we’re good at. Then the process is simple. You like what you’re good at and what you’re good at you’ll do well and get better at so you’ll like it more and so forth … it’s called, "Happy Trails to You."

Our job’s to help Babies find holes that suit’em. It’s maybe the greatest gift we have to offer. Not what we’d like but what they came here to be. If we can manage this it’s gon’na be Happy Trails for most everyone someday. Wha’da’ya think!

Tell Tim he’s O.K. by me if he should happen your way. See you next time.

WILD AND FREE

We talked about the “Call of the Wild” last time as it relates to folks who work in the remodeling industry ...  stipulating all of us carry the capacity to answer subject call, some more than others.  The point was maybe clarifying a few issues with an eye to preparing you for dealing with the basic nature of a remodeler should you ever venture those hallowed halls … proposing an understanding of why stalwarts such as these do like they do.  I’ve received more than one phone call questioning the veracity of my claims.  You got chocolate and, then again, you got vanilla!

In any case, those conjectures reminded me of another which might benefit you as it has me.  Ken’s a PhD Industrial Psychologist.  In addition to being a valued friend and confidant, Brother Ken is one more sharp son-of-a-gun … the boy emphatically knows his stuff.

Industrial psychologists like Ken help organizations of whatever size build teams who are subject to working well with each other and are, therefore, productive.  Industrial psychologists also help find the right person for a particular position.  Ken does the latter with a facility bordering the preternatural.  Ken and his partner, Willi Wong, are kind enough to steer me back on track when my eccentricities and defense mechanisms lead down paths that don’t hold much promise.  Real valuable stuff when you’re the sort who’s inclined to launch off on the wrong foot with unfortunate regularity.

Ken’s daughter, Kirby, is a breath takingly beautiful teenager who’s as smart and athletic as she is attractive.  “The Kirb” and Ken are a pair.  Over the years Ken’s coached various sports teams Kirby’s been a member of.  She plays basketball, runs track and loves soccer so Ken has been obliged to learn enough things about the mechanics of those activities to call himself a coach.  Truth be known, Ken’s real value as a coach is his ability to read people.  How they can best be motivated.  How they can be saved from themselves.

Brother Ken and I get together for breakfast when opportunity permits.  On one such occasion, we were commenting on the importance of staying focused, flexible and fearless in the pursuit of one’s goals.  That conversation gave rise to Ken observing these attitudes of focus, flexibility and fearlessness have universal application … for instance, they’re as critical to success on the playing field as they are in the boardroom.

It seems there was a girl on the Kirb’s basketball team Ken was coaching who displayed obvious physical skills in terms of her size and coordination but who had little impact on the outcome of games.  Ken said it was as though the child purposely played below her ability thereby minimizing expectations and keeping her off the hook of performing at or beyond her limits.  That being his job in the business world, Ken decided to make the optimization of this young lady’s skills a “project.”

Suspecting the girl was hypercritical of herself, as well as loathe to risk doing anything that might mark her a failure, Ken took to encouraging her, being particularly conscious of catching her doing things right … not too concerned about commenting when she came up short.  Over time the girl began to respond, finally approaching Ken to ask how she might improve her game and better help the team.

Ken suggested she do something I was taught by C.J. when we were about the business of learning to serve a tennis ball.  Repeatedly picture yourself in yo’ mind tossing the ball as the experts do, then smashing it at 100 mph + into the court of your opponent.  Imagine the details of you delivering a beautiful serve.  A good time to visualize is just before going to sleep. 

Next time you practice tennis, accept the fact that your mind’s well accustomed to the mechanics of serving a tennis ball and turn yourself over to those neurological resources … they’re what make the whole thing work.  You have to abandon yourself to the process with the possibility of looking a bit foolish but you’ll be amazed how quickly you master the physical skill you’re pursuing.

Abandonment to the talent we all have in one degree or other might best be described as going “wild and free” for whatever marks the goal.

‘Bout time we return to Brother Ken’s “project.”  On being asked how she could improve her game, Ken suggested the young lady performing at less then her max stop worrying about making mistakes and accept the beauty of giving your best no matter the outcome.  Ken  proposed: she picture the area in front of the basket as absolutely her territory into which no one from the opposing team was allowed under any circumstances; she set loose instincts running deep in her psyche.  Instincts for self preservation and survival lying just under our veneer of social conditioning.  Ken recommended the young lady allow herself the joy of playing “wild and free.”

In succeeding practice sessions it was apparent a change had been wrought.  The 8’x12’ area in front of the basket belonged to Ken’s “project” child.  Others entered at their peril.  She made her share of mistakes but that didn’t stop her.  She got discouraged for a minute but she came right back at’cha.  You might outmaneuver the young lady but you sho’ weren’t going to outhustle or outmuscle her.  She was a winner playing wild and free.

Ken says the next contest with an opposing team was an ordeal in that he was constrained to hastily instruct his young charge that the point of a basketball game was to play your best and win NOT destroy.

 I carry around that conversation with Ken over breakfast.  I  pull it out when I find myself holding back, getting overly cautious, falling prey to self doubt, becoming too mindful of what others might think, not playing the game wild and free.

I ‘spect that’s the greatest service we can do those Babies.  Don’t worry too much when they mess up, they know they have without you making a big deal of it.  Rather, catch’em doing something right, praise their victories to the heavens, let’em play wild and free.