About five years ago, I was working as mid-level IT (support & operations) manager at a large Bank in America, I wouldn’t want to name them outright, so don’t go asking me which Bank in America I’m talking about, because I’ve no intention of providing you an Opportunity to figure out which Bank in America it might be. So, I was in Chicago, working at this Bank, and had a number of responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was ensuring a Change Control Board (CCB) meeting was held and facilitated daily.  This meeting, while chaired by myself, consisted primarily of members who outranked me in the Corporate Hierarchy but a level or two and was a relatively weighty and important thing to be held accountable for.

It was also a pretty aggravating and difficult thing to facilitate. If you have ever been in a position to regularly tell a group of people who are individually and collectively more powerful/influential than yourself that their proposals are not good ideas and explain to them why, in such a way that you offend them the least and manage to maintain your own job, you will have an inkling of the monotony of this meeting. I also had the privilege of leading a group of men and women, and the power to delegate the responsibility of facilitating this important responsibility to one of them. So I delegated this particular responsibility to a fellow named Drew Shields (note, all names are changed in this story, in order to protect the innocent!).

Now, as noted previously, I chew tobacco and I would occasionally chew at work. Knowing the opinion of the rest of the world, I was diligent to ensure that I only chewed at my desk when I was alone. In general, someone had to sneak up on me in my own domain to catch me chewing at work. One afternoon, as I was working on a headcount spreadsheet (oh the joys of management) and enjoying a little long leaf flavor when the phone rang. I answered it to be admonished by a high ranking bank official for not having the CCB beginning on time and they wanted to know where I was and when I would be there.

A quick check of the clock confirmed it was that time of the day, and I replied, “Drew should be there any moment.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I remembered that Mr. Shields was out for the day, and I that I did indeed need to run the meeting myself. I hung up and quickly headed to the other side of the Sears Tower to the boardroom we met in. It was a good meeting, if I say so myself. I worked them Sr. Managers over good, stopped the silliness and confirmed the good stuff that we would be doing over night, and all in all was quite happy with myself as I caught the train home that evening.

The next morning, just as I got into the office and was about to sit down, my phone rang again. This time, it was my boss Jim, who asked me to step over to his office for a quick chat. I complied, and as I walked into his office and pulled the door close behind me, I heard him ask, “Bubba, did you really run the CCB meeting yesterday with a chaw of tobacco in your mouth and a Styrofoam spit cup in your hand?”

To with I replied, “Heck no boss! I wouldn’t ever do anything …. like …. oh my word! I think I did!”

He chuckled a bit at that, then informed me that a particularly high ranking, very senior, female member of the leadership team that participated in the CCB had been quite offended by the fact that I had done such a thing. She had accosted Jim and shared her disgust with him, and then gone on to inform him that she would be calling Human Resources to escalate this problem before she stormed out of his office. Jim assured me that I wasn’t going to lose my job over this, but it would be a challenge to get through and to expect a phone call from HR in the near future and handle it appropriately. I then wandered back to my office with that sinking feeling of “Oh crud, what have I done?” settling into my gut.

Every time the phone rang, my gut would jump and that sinking feeling would refresh it’s hold on me. However, a few weeks passed and HR never called. The whole topic just sort of dried up and went away, with no one ever mentioning it. I eventually got over it and went on with life as normal. I’m reasonably sure that only three people were aware of this whole episode, Sr. Lady Manager, Jim, and myself. I’ve no reason to believe that anyone else was ever brought into the loop.

A few months later, the big wig HR lady from New York City flew in to lead a one day seminar on how to properly manage contractors. Apparently, Microsoft had recently lost a lawsuit to a number of contractors who felt like they should have been employees, and this big Bank in America wanted to ensure that they didn’t run into the same issues. Given that I managed contractors, to the tune of hiring about two contractors each month for 6 month stints, I was on the short list to attend said training, which I did. I might mention here how boring, redundant, and useless the training was … but I won’t. I will say, that towards the end of the day, we got to the point were we are all sitting around thinking, “You are done! We know you are done. Please, for the love of our sanity, release us and let us go back to work!”

But does she release us? No! She sits back and says, “Well, we are done with this for the day. But I rarely get out here to Chicago, and would like to make the most of my time here. Is there anything else that you would like to discuss before we take off?” As I sit there praying that no one will open their mouths, my good friend Bob Goudzwaard, in an apparent attempt to get my goat, speaks up and says, “Yes! I’m curious what our corporate policy on chewing tobacco in the workplace is. I’ve searched for something on it, and can’t find any reference to smokeless tobacco.”

Clearly, I’m the only person in Chicago that regularly chews tobacco at this particular bank, and I’m thinking that this is just great, and sort of sunk down in my chair to wait out the next few minutes to get released. About this time, the HR lady responds, “Interesting that you would ask that question. A few months ago, a Sr. Leader here in Chicago called me and asked me the exact same question! I’ll give you the same answer I gave her. Do you know where this company has it’s headquarters?”

I sat bold upright at this point, and leaned forward to catch every bit of the upcoming conversation! All of that anxiety in the pit of my gut had been secretly growing into a consuming tornado of insecurity that nigh on caused me to swoon, thankfully I was already sitting down.

Bob responds, “Yes. Charlotte, NC”

She asked, “ Do you realize that the tobacco industry has traditionally been the most important industry in North Carolina and the backbone of the state’s agricultural heritage?”

He said, “No.”

She further asked, “Did you realize that <insert name of tier 1 level bank officer that everyone knows> chews tobacco?”

He said, “No, I didn’t.”

She stated, “Well he does, and I guarantee you that I will not be the HR person that begins a conversation about ceasing the use of smokeless tobacco in this workplace. At this Bank in America, we chew tobacco and are proud of it!”

Needless to say, I not only relieved, but extremely joyful to be the hearer of such glad tidings. It suddenly made sense to me that the whole issue sort of went away those months back. From then on out, I continued to be sensitive about where and how I enjoyed my chew, and I never ran another CCB meeting while chewing, but was no where near as anxious about it.

I would come home from work, we would eat dinner, and then the whole family would retire to the living room where Tracey and I would read books while the ladies played quietly with their dolls on the floor. It was classic, and peaceful. I have an abiding hatred for television and not having a TV on in the house was a great relief to me.

On the third, or fourth, evening we had been relaxing in the living room for an hour or so, and I was just bursting with pleasure over how fantastic my family is, when Samantha interrupted my reading by tapping on my leg. I finished the sentence, and looked up to see her looking at me intensely with her pointer finger held up to her lips in the universal “Shhhh” signal.

Confusion must have crossed my face, because she then pointed to the back of the house without ever ceasing to encourage me to be quiet and listen. Sure enough, I could hear the TV playing in the back of the house. I looked around and Tracey was still laying on the other couch reading her book, only Beth was missing.

So, in my favorite drill sergeant voice, I bellowed for Bethany and watched her come scuttling out of her room and down the hall to stand front and center. I asked her if she was watching TV in her room, to which she replied no. So I told her, “I can hear your TV playing, and you were in your room.”

She responded that she just happened to be in the room, and the TV just happened to be on, but she nor her dollies ever actually watched the TV … it was just on. All the while giving me her best toe shuffling act and imploring big blue eye looks to further demonstrate her innocence. I asked her how the television happened to be turned on, and she admitted nothing but maintained that she didn’t have the slightest idea how that occurred.

Casting around for some way to appropriately handle this parenting opportunity, I immediately sat straight up, planted my feet firmly on the floor, and in my most dramatic voice said, “There is only one little finger, on one little hand, on one little arm, on one little girl in the whole wide world who could have turned on that TV!”

The whole while I spoke, you could see the excitement running across her four year old face; she knew the answer to this riddle! She was so wound up that she could bare contain herself. As I demanded, “Which finger was it!?” She quickly and proudly held up her left pointer finger for my inspection.

Then, ever so slowly, it began to dawn her what had just happened. Her exuberant visage of pride and pleasure at having correctly answered the question transformed into one of horror and indignation as she transferred her gaze from my face to the offending finger that had betrayed her!

Tracey literally rolled off the couch and fell rolling with laughter on the floor; which tipped me past my ability to maintain a straight face continue on with exercise. To this day, whenever I believe Bethany might be attempting to redirect or otherwise mislead me I simply ask her, “Which finger did it?”              

After a month or so of working together, we were well enough acquainted that it was common to get together on the weekend to BBQ and hang out. Tracey and I continued to maintain a house in Pensacola Florida, and on the weekend in question she had packed up the kids and headed there to take care of some maintenance, meet the renters, and ensure everything was in order, leaving me a geographic bachelor Friday through Sunday.

I arrived at work that Friday morning and was just getting settled in for the day when Tommy comes in and says, “Hey! Check out the parking lot.” I made my way over to one of the offices and looked down at the parking lot to see Tommy’s big old truck with a bass boat behind it taking up a whole row of parking spaces.

Tommy said, “I was thinking maybe we could sneak out of here at lunch today and head over to the Ross Barnet Reservoir to see how the fishing is.”

I hadn’t been fishing since moving to Jackson, but I had my rods and tackle in the truck just in case and it seemed a fantastic idea to me. So around lunch we took off up the Natchez Trace looking for a boat ramp that would get us in the water. Turns out we went further up the bank of the lake than we expected, and when we put in we were effectively at the point where the Pearl River began to create the lake.

We decided to head on up the river and check it out, ultimately we spent most of the afternoon exploring the lake, backwaters, and the river. At one point, we ended up in a backwater channel just off the river, and decided it looked like a great spot to fish. It wasn’t overly easy to get to, the center of the channel was roughly 20 feet deep and it stretched about 40 foot wide, with both banks lined with lily pads.

We didn’t actually catch anything; however, the entire time we were in there these nice sized catfish kept rolling on the surface (we call that sunning) and we spent some time discussing how nice it would be to come back to the spot one night and do some straight lining. That’s where you basically put a big weight on your line with no bobber and let the bait sit on (or just off) the bottom for the catfish to find.

We eventually packed up and headed back home before it got dark and agreed that it was a nice way to spend Friday afternoons and that we should skip work like that more often. I went on back to the house, it was pretty empty without the family, and spent a quite night with a book. I woke up the next morning and began casting around for something to do.

After cutting the grass, cleaning the garage, and various other bits of household chores, the phone rings and it’s Tommy. He mentions that he knows the family is out of town for the weekend, and wondered if I wanted to come over for lunch with Jodi and himself. Given the option of spending the rest of the day on my own, or with good food and better company, it wasn’t a hard decision to head their way.

After a fantastic bit of grilling, we were sitting on their back patio watching the grass grow and Tommy happened to ask me what I was up for next. As I was looking at his boat, I stated that, given the family was gone for the weekend, it would be a great night for me to head back to that little channel we found yesterday and spend the night straight lining for catfish. Jodi agreed that it sounded like a good idea and encouraged us to go on and make it happen.

After a little maintenance on the boat, a stop at the Gas Station slash Bait and Tackle shop for fuel and some stink bait, we were on our way. Now, it should be noted that Tommy lived south of Jackson, and the lake was north of Jackson, and the spot on the river we were headed to was a bit further north of that. So it took us a hot moment to drive all the way up there and get the boat in the water. Then we spent a bit of time casting around to get back up in the same channel we had found, but eventually we were there and all in place.

The day was just approaching dusk, and we quickly agreed that we should take advantage of the waning light to do some Bass fishing prior to setting up for the catfish. I put a spinner bait on and went to casting, and son! Let me tell you, I started snatching their lips off! It seemed like I couldn’t cast that thing without getting a hit, and every two or three casts I’d hook one.

Tommy was catching ‘em too, but his fishing got a bit impacted because I got started first I think, which meant every time I hooked one, he was a good friend and would come to the back of the boat with the net to scoop it in for me. By the time he was back at that front of the boat casting his own lure, I’d be hollering about getting another one. Nice size, 2-3 pounders too, good fights, lots of fun and adrenaline … the fishing trip that everyone hopes for when they head out to do it.

It was getting on dark, and Tommy said we should go ahead and get set up for cat fishing before we lost all the light. I reluctantly agreed, and we got the boat turned crossways in the channel, with anchors off each end to hold us in place. Then we rigged up our catfish reels and got them in the water. By that time, the sun had truly gone down and we were set to just sit back and smoke cigars while we waited on the catfish to find us.

I was still pretty pumped up about the bass though, lots of adrenaline and excitements, and I wanted some more of it. Sitting still wasn’t doing it for me. The moon had come out in its full glory, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the environment, it seemed to be bright as day. I decided that if I used a top water lure, and cast straight down the center of the channel, I could at least get a few more casts in.

So I found my jitterbug, got it tied on to the SpiderWire (a monofilament line that gives you an extremely high poundage of test for a much reduced diameter), and cast down the channel. Tommy asked me what I thought I was doing, and I explained myself. He shook his head, but didn’t really say anything else about it.

On about the third cast, I was listening to my little jitterbug swim back to the boat, pitter-patter-pitter-patter, and then suddenly there was a monstrous SPLASH! and the tip my rod slapped the side of the boat. I’m here to tell you that it was a once in a lifetime experience. I had clearly just hooked the grandpapa of all bass, and I’d be on the front page of the Bassmasters website tomorrow!

Tommy jumped up, grabbed the spotlight and net, and went to shinning it off in the direction of the splash. To no avail, there was nothing but white water and ripples where the lure had been, and I was struggling to fight the monster that swallowed my lure. I easily fought that think for five to ten minutes, it was like saltwater fishing. Over the course of the fight, Tommy and I discussed the possibilities. Whatever I hooked into was big enough to pull us off the anchor(s) twice, and multiple times it pulled all the line off the reel.

We had about decided that it was one of them huge channel catfish, probably a thirty or forty pounder by the way it was acting. I just stuck the tip of the rod straight up in the hopes of getting it to surface (I know, technically the wrong thing to do – but we wanted to see that thing!). Eventually I wore that fish out, and only just before it wore me out. It just laid down on the bottom of the channel, and I went to doing the whole strain to lift the rod up, then reel as fast as possible as I dropped it back down, then rinse and repeat.

Tommy and were both standing right at the edge of the boat, me reeling and Tommy holding the spotlight on the water where there reel was with his right hand, and the left hand holding the big net just over the edge of the boat to scope it in once it surfaced. With great expectations, we focused everything on that spot of water, and our patience was rewarded as the water broke.

Bursting out of the water, and up into the boat, was seven foot of alligator with my jitterbug hung off in the soft tissue just inside its nose! I feel back into the seat behind me and Tommy headed to the front of the boat. I managed to get one boot under the ‘gator’s chin trying to push it back out of the boat, and pulled out my knife to cut the line. Let me tell you, at that moment, I was bad regretting the decision to use SpiderWire … monofilament line don’t cut so easy. There I am, attempting to avoid either a heart attack or being savaged by the ‘gator and Tommy’s standing at the front of the boat with his arms crossed and shaking his head while he says, “Throw it back. It won’t fit in the live well!”

The line eventually cut, and the ‘gator (along with my jitterbug) sunk back into the depths of the channel. We took a moment to relax, and I had to relearn how to breath. Tommy took that spotlight and shone it around the channel, and we were easily surrounded by thirty or forty of the reptiles. Suffice it to say, we packed up our gear and high tailed it out of there!

I’m not sure that I am in the book writing class of story tellers; however, I reckon I can blog my stories as well as anyone and it honestly doesn’t feel quite as pretentious. In attempting to get some momentum behind this endeavor, I find myself struggling a bit to fire the engines up.

I have stories, but the blog doesn’t provide any context for sharing them, and I’m most accustomed to having some reason (even if tenuous) to get me started. So I thought perhaps I would attempt a chronological order of events , but what if I miss a story and need to go back later and add it? Maybe it makes more sense to take a topical approach (Youth, Military, Faith, Adventure, Redneck Exploits, Parenting, etc.)?

Being a blog, and having access to the use of Tags, I believe I have settled on some combination of the two and we will see how that works. The great thing about the web is that I can always go back and retrofit the data as I see fit, might as well take advantage of that.

Lastly, there is the issue of believability. By all accounts, I’ve led a somewhat fantastic life, and had some rather out of the ordinary experiences. I’ve often cogitated on the matter and wonder how much of that is owed to others lack of travel or lack of skill in relating their stories, as opposed to anything particularly unique about my own experiences.

Whatever it is, the fact remains that most people who hear my stories walk away laughing, having enjoyed the tale, yet believing that it is all fiction and that I have a great imagination. The exceptions to this rule tend to be those who have previous military experience, or those who have a wide variety of traveling experience under their belt. These individuals tend to nod their heads and speak up to tell how that reminds them of an experience they once had. Which leads me to suppose that the belief in a story is based more on the listener’s (or reader ‘s in this case) hermeneutic than anything else.

So, for those of you who are predisposed to believe that I simply spin tall tales with only the most tenuous threads of reality, I ask that you suspend your disbelief and broaden your perspective. I promise that all of these stories are well grounded in reality experienced by myself and those whom, alongside myself, set out to lay both hands on life. I will freely admit that I am prone to taking some creative license with these tales; however, I dare say that I’ll not provide any “Big One That Got Away” tales; the fish will all be appropriately sized.

Which leads me to believe that the first story to be shared should indeed be a fishing tale, I will indeed tell you all about The Big One That Got Away, and particularly how happy Tommy and I were to see it gone! Stay tuned and we will see about getting that written up.