Sunday, March 3, 2013

...My Grandpa



Drinking a glass of Crown Royal tonight and listening to Tennessee Ernie Ford "Just A Closer Walk With Thee".

My Grandpa died a year ago today.  We all knew it was coming.  Intellectually we all know no one can live forever; emotionally we all wish they could.  Before his funeral, the question of the eulogy hung in the air.  My aunt blatantly admitted she couldn’t give it.  My mom was steeling herself to getting up and speaking.  The pastor gently said no one had to say anything, she could pass the family’s thoughts.  I didn’t like any of those options, so I gave it.  Below is the eulogy…


Dr Seuss said it best…Don’t cry because its over, smile because it happened.  I’m not sure if Dr Seuss realized how much easier that is said than done.  We are going to cry, hell, we’ve been crying and we’ll continue to cry.  But we’ve also been laughing this week and we’ll continue to laugh.  We’ll laugh and we’ll cry and we’ll think back on him and his life and we’ll smile.  Smile because he happened.  Smile because we had Jim Goldhahn, my Grandpa, in our lives.

Read the inside of the program if you want to get a sense of Jim Goldhahn.  He was Just A Man.  Grandpa wasn’t a great man by Lincolnian standards.  He didn’t cure cancer or invent penicillin or shoot bin Laden.  He was just a man.  But he was a man with an unmatched work ethic who worked his butt off at anything he ever did.  He farmed.  He did construction.  He ran water lines for Geraldine.  He managed the grain elevator here in town.  He and Jean raised a family of three sometimes (and from the stories I’ve heard often times…) out of control girls.  And you all know his three daughters so you understand that alone should make him qualify for the Nobel Peace Prize!  He was just a man but its men like him that make this country great.  I’m not going to stand up here and paraphrase Tom Brokaw but Jim Goldhahn, and his other brothers who served, Harold, John, Bob, Chuck and Hank, really were the greatest generation.  They built this country from the ground up and my generation has nothing but thanks, respect and love for people like Jim and his surviving brother Hank.


No kidding…its men like him that enabled America to beat the Soviets in the Cold War.  And actually if you think about it, it was my Grandpa who beat the Soviets.  I always knew he spent a couple years in Alaska in the Army but for some reason I always thought he was Infantry.  It could have been that, as an Air Force member, I assume everyone in the Army is infantry, but I thank God that I asked Grandpa the night of his birthday, exactly a week ago today, what he actually did up there in Alaska.  He told me he listened to the Russians.  And when I was looking at his discharge paperwork after all of this happened I saw exactly what he meant.  Grandpa was a teletype interceptor.  How cool is that?  Because trust me, we don’t have teletype interceptors anymore…in fact I’m pretty sure teletype intercepting is a lost art.  Grandpa was GI Joe.  Not GI Joe the Great American Hero Action Figure but GI Joe, General Issue American.  He was the kid who rode his horse Beauty around Haystack Butte on the family homestead, who married the girl of his dreams whom he met at the local post office, spilled coffee in her lap when they first met, and then almost slipped while he carried her through the mud on the way to the Junior Prom (we’re all lucky we’re here).  He was the man who answered the call from his country to spend two years listening to the Russians in Alaska and then came home to raise a family of three in Small Town, America.  I’ll say it again…Grandpa was Just A Man but he is the kind of man who makes this country great and I’ll never be able to express how incredibly proud of him I am.

You know…I asked the family what they remembered of Grandpa and what they would always remember of him.  It was things like his love of outdoors and his infinite patience as Laura continually cast her fishing rod across the creek into the trees, making Grandpa wade over to untangle it.  It was his ability to build or fix anything…even when mom came home one day after school demanding Grandpa build her an abacus in second grade to take to school the next day.  It was his sense of civic responsibility…taking Diane out to help mow the Geraldine cemetery, even though Diane kept breaking the lawn mower.  It was the yellow popcorn bowl he used for his air popped popcorn.  His green chair in Geraldine.  It was Russ and I bringing Crunch Bar Ice Cream bars to his grain elevator and getting chastised (in a good Grandpa way) for bringing an ice cream bar with rice into his wheat elevator.  It was him calling all of us Fiery Misohippuses and Yayhoos.  Teaching his girls to shoot.  And then taking them deer hunting at five in the morning.  Because mom was the oldest she got to ride in the cab while Laura and Diane were stuck in the back.  To get back at their big sister, Laura and Diane would eat all the sack lunches of liverwurst sandwiches and Big Hunk candy bars before 10 o’clock.  It was him standing on the bank of Aklee Lake fishing.  It was the peanut shell garbage can.  Or watching his bullriding on TV.  Hooking up the fifth-wheel camper to go camping out at Crystal Lake.  Raising his tomatoes in his garden that took up almost an entire city lot…You know his rows were so precise none of us would have been surprised if he had a compass and survey equipment out there to plant.  It was his Clint Eastwood lip-twitch.  And his insistence that you always filled up your car with gas before leaving town…how ironic that I almost ran out of gas yesterday on my way in to Great Falls yesterday.  It was the home built camper which was then upgraded to the Suburban named Hoopie.  It was him as a huge NBA and NFL fan but insisting he watch the games on mute because he couldn’t stand listening to Howard Cossell.  It was him and his infinite care in helping Grandma transport wedding cakes all over Montana…because really, who would have guessed Grandpa was an expert at setting up wedding cakes.

But you know, after all the memories, all of the laughing and crying and eating and drinking, what will always remain of Grandpa is his legacy.  And his legacy is his family.  Jim and Jean Goldhahn raised success.  Pure 100% success.  Out of Geraldine, MT and their small house on Main Street they raised my Mom, the Alpha Dog of the sisters, who runs the Aviation Department of the US Forest Service and is, as one Special Forces soldier named Frank Norbury put it, “the best goddam pilot whose plane I have ever had to privilege to jump out of”.  And they raised Diane, a teacher in Willow Creek, MT, one of the few remaining multi-grade schools in the state; and there is absolutely no profession more honorable or more important than teaching our children.  They raised Laura, president of Benefis hospital in Great Falls, and trust me, if you’re ever sick or you cant find a parking spot in the hospital parking lot its good to know Laura. All three of his girls approach flying, teaching, and hospital administration with the focus, commitment, passion and love you would expect from Jim Goldhahn.  But it didn’t stop there, that success has then raised more success.  Russ…who is single-handedly farming a 3,500 acre farm near Loma.  Michelle…who will graduate from MSU-Bozeman with a degree in business marketing in May.  Christopher...who just turned 19 yesterday and in his first year of college but Chris, I got to admit, I was sitting by Grandma when you called the day Grandpa passed…the most caring young man you could imagine.  And okay, because they wouldn’t let me get through this without saying where I’m at…I’m doing alright for myself as an Air Force major at Ft Bragg, NC.  I can’t complain.  And I guarantee that success will then raise more success.  40, 50, 60 years from now our grandkids will be standing here talking about us and those grandkids will know exactly where they came from.

Nicholas Sparks couldn’t have written it better.  Grandpa was there surrounded by his entire family celebrating his 21st birthday.  He was a leap year baby so we were all excited that he was finally legal to drink.  And in true Goldhahn fashion his birthday party had turned in to a four-day affair.  There we were, joking, laughing, eating, drinking.  Steaks and baked potatoes and chocolate cake with his favorite 7-minute frosting one night…Grandpa standing there making sure Grandma and I were frosting it just right…like Grandma doesn’t know how to frost a cake.  Pizza and beer a second night.  Plans being laid for the ham dinner (another favorite) over the weekend to culminate the birthday celebration…we never quite got to that dinner.

I like to think that when Grandpa lay down to go to bed on the night of March 2nd, he smiled to himself and thought “Wow, we did good with this family”.  A few hours later he and our Lord decided it was time to go, and with his wife of 62 years by his side, he called it quits.  We should all be so lucky.

I’ll go back to Dr Seuss.  “Don’t cry because its over…smile because it happened”.  So Grandma…Mom, Diane, Laura…Frankie…Russ, Michelle, Christopher.  We’re all going to cry and there’s nothing that can stop that.  We’re going to cry and miss him and every time we get together from here on out there will be a hole, a giant Grandpa-sized hole, that we will attempt to fill with tears and food and wine because that’s what we do.  Maybe some beer because when you looked around the kitchen there was always one beer drinker in a family of wine drinkers, and it was typically the good stuff like MGD.  But because we’re Goldhahn’s we’re going to fill that hole with laughter too.  Lets not cry because its over, lets remember to smile because he happened.  Smile because Jim Goldhahn made this family.  And smile because he will always be with us…until we’re back with him.

I want to close by extending a thank you to the Benefis Peace Hospice for helping all of our loved ones pass on.  Thank you to Schnider Funeral Home for helping with all of this and making our entire lives easier this week.  To Pastor Dotti and the Methodist Church, Don Hazen for the beautiful flowers, John Kutzman and Kim Owen for their beautiful music.  And a special thank you to all our friends and family who came out to show their respects to my Grandpa and support to my Grandma.

God Bless Jim Goldhahn and God Bless the United States of America.  And Give Em Hell Harry.  Thank you.



Sunday, February 17, 2013

...18 Yr Old Apple Employees


SCENE:  The Genius Bar at the Apple Store.  Yes..."The Genius Bar"

34-Yr Old Relatively Intelligent and Technologically Competent Individual:  Hi!  I accidentally deleted a bunch of photos off my iPhone 5 that I took yesterday.  How can I get those back?

18-Yr Old Hipster Apple Employee:  Hmmm...do you mind if I look at your phone?

Me:  Sure no problem.  Here you go...

Her:  OK so you deleted some pictures off your Camera Roll and you want to get them back.  (She clicks on the Photo Stream) Are these it?

Me:  Um...No.  (But thank you for insulting my intelligence) I had not yet connected to a wireless signal before I deleted them so they hadn't uploaded to Photo Stream (I say this with the false hope she will realize she's not dealing with a recent escapee from an Amish village)

Her:  Did you back it up?

Me:  (Ok apparently not).  Um...No.  Thats my point.  (If I backed them up would I be standing at the Genius Bar asking for your Genius Support?)

Her:  Well if you didn't back them up and they're not on the Photo Stream then there is nothing we can do.

Me:  Really.  In all the technology that Apple has created there is no way they can recover accidentally deleted photos?  The company that developed the iPod?  That has transformed the cell phone?  That has completely revolutionized how humans interact with technology?  There's nothing you can do?

Her:  No I’m sorry that’s what backup is for.

Me:  (Resisting the urge to come across the Genius Bar and assure her I fully understand the concept of the “backup”)  I find that hard to believe.

Her:  Well it’s like when you delete pictures off a digital camera…they’re gone.  I’m sorry.

Me:  (Ok kid, I may be in my 30’s but the clarity of long distance phone calls does not amaze me).  Well that’s the funny thing, when you delete pictures off a digital camera they’re not gone.  They Are Still On The Camera (seriously, have you never watched Snapped??)

Her:  Well to get them back the device would have to be sent out.

Me:  So…it’s not impossible?  So saying it was impossible was the easy answer when I walked up (NOTE:  12 hrs ago I accepted the fact that these pictures were gone.  At this point it’s the principle).  So how do I get them back? 

Her:  Um I’ve never heard of this problem before (seriously?  No one has come to you and said they accidentally deleted something off their phone) (she starts typing “iPhone lost data” into her iPad…I’m sure this amazes the Amish…as does running water)

Me:  SERIOUSLY?  ARE YOU GOOGLING IT??  You don’t think I spent the entire night last night trying to figure this out??!!  (At this point my mom walks away to avoid being associated with the irate 30-something)

Her:  I’m sorry, that’s the only thing I can do.

Me:  Wow.  (Again resisting the urge to come across the Genius Bar and explain what minimally financed government agencies can do with cell phones, I simply walk away)

Her:  (Talking to the lady in line behind me who apparently tied up her horse and buggy just outside)  OK no problem, so you’re having problems updating your contact list.  I’d be happy to help.  Let me have a look…   

Thursday, February 14, 2013

...American Effing Heroes


You know its coming.  You know what’s going to happen.  You volunteered to play a part in this exercise.  You’ve got a fairly decent working knowledge of the sequence of events that is about to commence.  Hell…you can see the Observer Controller counting down from five.  But even though you know it’s coming, the speed, surprise, and violence of action absolutely amazes you.  It seems like seconds and the bad guys are “subdued” (a euphemism for “shot in the face”).  It was probably less than that.  The level of detail shocks you:  the choreographed movements, the succinct communication, even down to the oversized American flag on their chests so no one will doubt who these guys represent.  You know what’s coming and you are still left silent with amazement.

The level that society has canonized the American service member and castigated those who would question that sainthood frustrates me.  It has frustrated me for about 11 years now...ever since I got a good view from the inside.  Trust me, America, not every one in uniform is worthy of this praise and not everyone who blouses their boots is a hero.  We lie.  We steal. We’re fat.  We’re bigots.  We’re lazy and crass.  Sure, we’re also thoughtful, intelligent, physically fit, and respectful.  We are simply a cross-section of society; nothing more and nothing less.  It’s a job. And like every job in America, there are different motives and different personalities for those who hold the job. Thanks for the reverence but not necessary on such a massive, homogenously unquestioned level. 

There are, however, those who deserve that worship.  Those that dedicate their short lives to the secret world of defeating the enemies that plot our destruction; those who lose sleep at night wondering if they’ve done everything they can to stop the next catastrophe; those who are called on and respond to America’s most vile enemies with speed, surprise, and violence of action…those are the American Effing Heroes.  Sleep well America, you’re safe.  I’ve seen our most elite weapon in action and even though I knew it was coming, it was absolutely effing amazing.

Friday, January 25, 2013

...Blogging


My job is one of the few, in my field, where we are allowed to interview and board candidates.  This is in stark contrast to almost every other unit in the Department of Defense who gets what they get…the good and the bad. The thought process is that in our business, relationships are everything; relationships enable a successful mission; and the mission is second to none.  And not in a cheesy, cliche "mission first..." kind of way, but in a no-shit Battle of Britain "never have so many..." kind of way.  We need the freedom to choose someone who “fits” the organization and who can work within our structure to continue to build the capabilities that we require (wow - sorry, just slipped in to work mode there for a second.  I digress...)

One question I always ask on an interview board is “if you could choose any job in the world...money was no issue…what would it be?”  I ask this question because I want to get a sense of what the candidate’s interests truly are.  I don’t care if they answer “I would be a dog walker” or “I would be a research scientist” or “I would be a professional video game player”…I just want to know what they are interested in and what they’re passionate about.  Because dog walking, scientific researching, and a video game playing are all passions.  Sometimes I get valid answers, like the guy who smiled when he answered “I would open my own bike shop and repair road bikes all day”.  Sometimes I get bullshit answers, like the girl who said “I would work in supply chain management” (uh…maybe you’re not understanding the full extent of my question here.  Lets try this again…)

I’ve asked this question in one form or another for years.  First dates.  Long road trips.  Late nights in undisclosed countries.  If money was no issue, what would you do.  For years I’ve gotten some great answers and I’ve personally always had the same response.  I would be a free-lance photojournalist.  I would travel and I would write.  I would see amazing things around the world, take pictures of real life and real situaions, and explain it to the world in a prose that would resemble the love child of Jack Handy, Jon Stewart, and Anderson Cooper.  With a little bit of Ernest Hemingway thrown in for fun.

But unfortunately for me (and for everyone I’ve asked this question to…) money is an issue.  Not an “issue” in that I’m living below the poverty line (far from it).  I don’t obsess about finances and I could rarely tell you how much is in my checking account at any given time, but the important point is its in there.  Its like magic…or that boy friend you can never get rid of…the money just keeps coming back.  In a rare bit of self-awareness, I've realized my lifestyle could not be supported by free-lance photo journalizing for very long.  Probably two weeks.  When suddenly the numbers on the ATM receipt didn’t magically increase I would be having a very frank discussion with myself.  I personally like being able to fly off to Colorado to go snowboarding.  Or throw down a couple Ben Franklin’s to go skydiving all weekend.  Or never have to worry about drinking Ernest and Gallo.  Money is an issue.

So whats my point here?  My point is, there I was, half-way through a three bottle night with a friend when I asked her The Question.  I’m a horrible person and don’t remember her answer.  But when I spat out my standard response she simply said “okay, so why don’t you?”  Uh…?  I had a litany of reasons…Responsibility.  Common Sense.  Fear.  You name it I quoted it as why I couldn’t do this.  Deb gave me a “you’re a dummass” look and said “you don’t have to quit your job to do that (she so wanted to say dummass here) look at where you've travelled, just start writing about it”.  Wow.  This girl is brilliant.

So here it is.  My solution to the age old question “what would you do if money was no issue”.  I can't drop what I’m doing and become a free-lance photojournalist (Reason #1:  Uncle Sam) so I’m starting a blog.  While drinking wine.  Because that’s what I do.