The Most Monstrous of Misleads

I was 14 when I began my work career and registered for my social security card. The year was 1965 and my family lived in Woodstock, Georgia. My younger brother was 13, and did likewise. This was before child labor laws changed, or heck, maybe not, as like I said, we loved in rural Georgia.

We were grocery sackers and worked Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for 3 five dollar bills. My Mom took one 5 from each of us every payday as room and board and this taught us there was no free ride in life.  It was a valuable lesson that I’ve written about before and only a reference point.

My next job was at the local Tastee Freeze and each day after school and weekends, my same brother and I toiled in the kitchen, mopped floors, chopped onions, and took out the trash just to name a few of our duties. My mom exacted the same recompense as before and we had no choice but to pay it. Back in those days, there was no such notion as resisting your parents and I can truthfully say, I did not resent the mandatory room and board. Dad turned over his paycheck in its entirety and we were allowed to keep two thirds.

The summer between the 10^th and 11^th grade, I lied about my age and said I was 16 and had a driver’s license and hired on with my friend with a subsidiary of the Georgia Power Company, as ground men. We were making about a buck an hour if I remember rightly and that was a lot of cash. I had no idea what a ground man was, but quickly learned anywhere the backhoe couldn’t dig, we could with shovels. It was back-breaking hard work tunneling through that Georgia red clay in the same kind of weather we experience here.

Within 10 minutes of arriving on the job, we found out we were moving the equipment 10 miles down the road. My buddy got the 6-wheel drive truck and I got the dodge pick-up with “3 on the tree”. I was already very familiar with the column shifter and we rolled down the freeway like pros. Side note: many of today’s Millennial’s not only can’t drive a stick shift, but also can’t change a flat tire or know where to add oil to their car’s motor.

My Dad had taken a job in St. Louis and we moved quite suddenly and I became a clerk at a milk and bread drive thru, called a Pop-In store. Along the way, I bought and paid for my first car (at 15), 4 new tires, rebuilt the two one-barrel carburetors, a 10-speed bike, a stereo, and my first television.

I cannot recall anyone helping me out along the way as a sponsor or a mentor. I worked and scraped for everything I got. It was the way it was. Many of my friends did not work and they only had what their parents provided. I wanted more and I went in the Air Force, rather than risk being drafted and upon exit after 2 tours in Southeast Asia, I got a job through interviews based on my work career and skills I had learned and have worked non-stop until retirement 2 years ago. The worldly goods I own were earned along the way through constant work and paydays.

A number of times I worked side jobs to make ends meet, or to have extra cash and again, I didn’t have a single soul hand me anything without working for it and this is why I think, in my case, white privilege has been a myth, a lie, and some politically correct fallacy that needs to be exposed for what it is – an excuse.

White privilege went out with the OJ Simpson verdict and Affirmative action and many of us qualified folks witnessed this, as we were pushed back behind less qualified applicants and if that isn’t discrimination, I am a monkey’s uncle. Dare I write it? Dang tootin’, I will. When all across this country, minorities fill top government offices including Fire Marshal and Police Chief positions, white privilege is non-existent. The demographics prove it.

As a person who worked up the ladder unassisted by the system, I refuse to take the tuck head due to the color of my skin. Some reading this will shake their head, thinking I have it so wrong, but I only know what I’ve witnessed over the last 60 years or so.  Sure there have been injustices, but there has been reoccurring behavior which perpetuates the negative responses. “Doc, it hurts when I do this!”  “Well, stop doing it!”

No, I don’t buy the politically correct brain-washing agenda many white people are accepting as fact. It also embarrasses me when they teach their kids this falsehood. In the words of the urbanites, I want them to “grow a pair” and quit making excuses for people who refuse to step up their game and get off the government dime. It is never too late to become a contributor to society, but you may have to start near the bottom sacking groceries.

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Gym work and juicin’

Who knew you could drink celery, kale, and carrots?  Probably the same person who swears this is a fun and delicious drink.  No, I was not ignorant about juicing vegetables and fruits, as my dearly departed father-in-law Willard Reneau turned his entire garden into liquid for years.  In fact, he drank so many carrots that he turned orange.

Recently my bride and I (read my bride) decided we would begin getting a boost of vitamins and minerals by drinking a glass (or more) of yummy green liquid each morning that frankly tastes like a combination of rabbit food, water, and rabbit food.

She giggles as she drinks it, as if she can feel the tiny fingers of health rushing all over her, while my own experience is what I like to call, well… repugnance.   Now over my 40+ years I have drank a lot of things and some of them have been of the adult beverage kind with varying results to my palate.  In fact, I remember the first time I drank straight bourbon.  It was so disgusting; I couldn’t imagine who initially thought it was something a human should taste.

Five minutes later, I understood.  I’m still waiting for this revelation with the rabbit food.

The jury is still out on the green elixir.  Instead of feeling wonderfully healthy, I am find I am rushing for the throne.  Well, not literally rushing, but you get the idea.  All those vegetables and fruits must travel through my innards at something like 60 miles an hour or faster and they are probably scrubbing out toxins and build-up poisons… at least that is what I’ve been told by my expert.

My bride, who recently lured me into the workout place named after the hours of the clock, explained that the benefits of combining  juice and gym is something not even a rocket surgeon could argue over.  “It’s going to turn you into a powerhouse of manliness!” she exclaimed as I watched her drain the semi-thick green glass of pulpy goo.  “Yum!”

“You think gym and juice will do the trick?” I asked innocently as I looked at my gut hanging over my belt and the container of chunky green sustenance on the counter.

“You better believe it,” she said and poured another glass – the one I was supposed to enjoy.

“It looks disgusting,” I said and eyed it suspiciously.

“Oh, but the benefits of juicing make it taste wonderful and just imagine what effect it will have at the gym!”  Her eyes were dancing about with an obvious sparkle.  Now to add insult to nutritious injury she has also advised me that I need to stop eating DJ’s boudin every morning and switch over to oat meal.  Oat meal for the love of all that is natural!

Now, as a 61 year old man, I realize to some I should turn in my Speedos and tenni-hoppers for baggy khaki pants, suspenders, and brogans and maybe I should, but oatmeal over boudin is pert-near crossing the line in my book.  Sure, I’ll go to the gym and all, but these major steps need to be eased into, like the juice.

“Can I drink maybe just a tablespoon of juice and after a couple of weeks move up to a quarter of a cup?”  The look on her face pretty much told me I was going to drink the wonderful concoction.

So off to the gym we go and surprise of surprises, there are a lot of plus 40 people like me there.  One fellow in particular gets on one of those contraptions that makes you look like a combination of running and hopping like a kangaroo and stays on it for an hour.  The first time I observed him, he was covered in sweat and just kept going and going, so I gave it a try.

It’s not near as effortless as it appeared and I went back to the treadmill.  Did you know that if you get on a treadmill and walk at 4 miles per hour for one hour, that when you stop it and step off it feels like you are still walking- if you keep from falling flat on your face that is.  Yea, I learned that one real fast.  Now I slow it down and walk for about five minutes before I get off.

I was talking to my bride’s trainer, Anisha P. and she told me one fellow went off the back end of a treadmill the other day and like to have done a flip.  “It’s one of the things we watch for,” she said straight-faced.  One of the things we watch for???  Good grief, talk about embarrassing!  To me it wouldn’t matter if I broke my leg, all I would be thinking about is who saw me do the flip and then there’s the unexpected results of drinking that juice and the speed at which it moves through my body.  Yikes!  Double embarrassment!

Work, work, work, work....

BB working like Mel Brooks in Blazing Saddles

I’ve been absent from my Blog for the last month while I’ve been working a long string of consecutive twelve hour days. Today is day forty three with no end in sight. I’m getting plenty of rest, so do not be concerned for my health.

My partner, the fellow who worked the opposite shifts of me, jumped ship to work for a different chemical company and it was two weeks before management decided on a suitable replacement. I’ve had him now for a few weeks and training is progressing. The nature of my job involves what our industry labels “critical tasks”, so every detail and nuance must be learned and learned to the point that no mistakes are made.

New light bar added to my Jeep.  Lights on order.

So in the meantime, I’ll keep working and buying upgrades for my Jeep and well, redo our master bedroom’s bathroom. Gotta keep momma happy, you know.

The Silent Side of Christmas

This Christmas Eve, many thousands of workers will stay up all night manning police, hospitals, chemical plants, security, fire stations and EMS across the Texas Gulf Coast. They are supporting the American way of life. Unfortunately, this is every holiday season for them. My hat is off.

While we enjoy opening presents, or a football game and drinks with our friends and family, a single Mom with tired feet is working a checkout stand, as Wal-Mart accommodates last minute shoppers, wishing for once she could be home with her kids. A city utility employee is shutting off a leaking water or sewer line on a wet dark road. His family wishes this didn't happen every Christmas, but it does. I am grateful.

Somewhere a tow truck driver is changing a flat tire in the bitter cold and a taxi is carrying a passenger to a destination so they can be with their family. The tow-truck driver doesn't make it home before they are called to another emergency and the taxi rolls on to find another passenger. Let me shake your hand.

In this city of thousands, there will sit many who are alone and feel forgotten. They heat up their TV dinner and wish it were all over. Christmas to them is a reminder of lost loved ones. Let me say a prayer of comfort for you.

At Minot AFB in barren North Dakota a 19-year old Airman spends her first Christmas away from home as she works the lone-shift position in the weather station - short straw on the rank scale. In South Korea, the tallest man in the unit, a 6'-5" "Dirty Bay" hometown soldier hunkers down against the cold as he pulls night guard duty beside his launcher. In Afghanistan more American freedom-loving men and women look out across the frigid and desolate wasteland and silently offer up a prayer for peace on earth. They do not ask for pity.

Let's remember all our troops both home and abroad. I salute you.

All these people sacrifice time away from their families to earn a living or keep us safe while we eat delicious meals, open presents, mix with our families and finally drift off to sleep.

Security guards Carroll Messer and Eddie Thurmond stand vigilance at one of the many Chemical Plants on the Texas Gulf Coast, like they do every holiday season.

Kolaches and Doughnuts Anyone?

For as long as I can remember, I've entertained the idea of retiring from Chemical Plant life, sitting back in my easy chair and just taking life, well…easy. I bought into the idea of easy street; easy living – easy everything! Yup, Ol.. Baytown Bert was going to enjoy the fruits of his labor and everything that I had done that was physically demanding to that point was going to prepare me for sitting down and doing nothing, unless it was fun of course.

Fortunately as my years have gone by in the Chemical Plant work environment I've noticed things have indeed become easier for me and operators in general. Of course there are still some places which are not modernized and operators still slave away hour after hour, but I think I can safely say that many of us have grown soft and spend more time sitting on our duffs, than we do climbing ladders, walking up countless flights of stairs, or truthfully – breaking into a sweat performing our duties. My apologies to those who do not fall into the category I am about to describe.

From walking, to the everyday use of the two-wheeled bicycle to get from point A to point B, today's larger Plants are rife with Kawasaki Mules and other ATV-type scooters. Radios have replaced the stationary Squawk boxes and that means a person doesn't have to move an inch to talk to anyone. My brother-in-law Ray Tallant, a long time operator at DuPont summed it up perfectly when he commented that "the only thing that changes in an operator's day to day routine these days is the lunch menu".

Huge breakfasts and extravagant lunches now grace many control room break areas with doughnuts and kolaches on a regular basis and everyone knows the best way for management to boost morale or reward a shift is to host a catfish or crawfish catered lunch.

Automation and technology, plus redundant alarm systems have taken the place of extra bodies and the need for those bodies to dash through the Unit, double stepping stairs and scampering up ladders. Man-lifts and personal elevators allow us to go to the top of a structure without breaking a sweat and to be truthful; the job of operating a chemical plant or refinery is nowhere as physical as it once was. Not even close.

Thirty years ago an operator had to be physically fit to do this job. It was an absolute. Climbing multiple ladders and hundreds of steps in the performance of duties was normal activity and quick response necessitated going up stairs and ladders over riding a mechanized device. Strict operation guidelines and poorly functioning control systems kept operator and maintenance people in "the field" and many times lunches were carried home at the end of a shift.

I guess what I'm trying to say is many of us are already on easy street and don't even know it. Evidence is in the extra pounds we have around our waists, higher blood pressure than is healthy and because of our adoption of motorized transport and vertical lifts, we only climb a ladder, stairs or walk when there is no other option. Our knees can't take it, our bellies won't allow it and dadgumit, we are falling apart one doughnut at a time.

All this automation, lack of physical exertion and food is killing us. Caught up in the lethargy and fog of complacency I struggled with the obvious, which of course was breaking out of the stranglehold of easy street. I had the startling revelation that if I was going to remain mobile in my advanced years, I was going to have to get mobile now. I was going to have to get off my backside and start doing the things that would build muscle and restore me to a trimmer and healthier person and turn this into a lifelong habit.

Convention told me to join a gym, take up cycling or jogging and at some point in my busy day, become faithful to these activities. Of course convention mentions nothing about changing my behavior while at work and this is the problem and the answer.

So, I decided to solve this problem in my day to day activities in the most logical way possible. First and foremost I was going to eat healthier and I was going to eat less. I am going to drink my one gallon of water each day. I came to the astounding realization that if I was able to reduce just 500 calories a day from my diet and everything else remain the same, I was going to drop 4 real pounds of fat each month.

Next week, I'll tell you how I've developed a system to reverse the ravages of time on your body and a new method which outlines how you can double your weight loss. Until then, eat less and healthier, drink your water and I'll see you in a week…one pound lighter.