TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 8. Ask, I'll Tell

"They say a secret is something you tell one other person
so I'm telling you." - Peter Mulvey

Seeing the White House from Constitution Avenue was a special thrill. Even though I've seen that view hundreds of times, this one was different. Now Obama is in there. Apparently, the country had to teeter on the edge of chaos, run to the brink by charlatans and bandits, to wise up. Every place I went I found friends with enthusiasm for Obama, the kind unseen in a generation.

None more than Johanna. After Craig's memorial service I headed to New England for visits to several friends. Rick picked me up in his boat at Johanna's dock in the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence River. (More in a later post.) Johanna was Abbie Hoffman's partner and had lost little of her sixties zeal for political activism. She had attended Obama's inauguration along with "my five lesbians," as she put it. I think she said something about them trying to exorcise the White House before Obama moved in.

Johanna was upset by Proposition 8 in California that made gay marriage illegal. Upset not that it passed but that new efforts to overturn it didn't go far enough in spelling out gay rights. Later I asked Larry (my friend, Larry, who I stayed with a couple of nights in DC, not to be confused with my not-friend, ex-boss Larry) if he thought that again legalizing gay marriage in California would be a good thing. Larry, who is gay, said he thought it was an important step. I just don't understand why people get so agitated about it.

I can think of only one thing about Obama that has disappointed me: what's with this "don't ask, don't tell" bullshit in the military? It's not that complicated. Just end it, ok? It's really stupid.

I have to confess, however, that I am conflicted since an earlier version of the country's homophobia kept me out of Vietnam forty years ago. I lost my student deferment at the peak of that folly at the end of 1967. That was just after my very first visit to Washington, DC, for the anti-war march on the Pentagon. Sadly, we failed all efforts to make it levitate.

By early 1968 Uncle Sam wanted me. I flunked my first physical at the U.S. Army's Fort Wayne induction center near Detroit, thanks to a hernia. Two months later I was called back.

"So you're going to keep making me come back here forever until I get this hernia fixed?" I asked the bored Army doctor.

"Yep."

"Then there's something else you need to know."

"What's that."

"I'm gay."

He actually rolled his eyes. But he wrote me out an order to see an Army shrink the next day.

Show time! Walking back to the reception area I sashayed past an endless line of potential draftees, naked but for their skivvies. Dressed in my gay clothes (pointy shoes, tight black pants, flowery fake silk shirt, etc.), I got whistles and cat-calls. "Go ahead, you dumb shits," I said to myself. "Whistle all you want. Your asses are headed to Vietnam to get shot off and mine is out of here."

Assuming I could convince the shrink the next day. Me and a handful of other nut cases were put up in a seedy hotel in downtown Detroit. My weird roommate and I went to see "2001" at the big-screen Cinerama. As if life at that moment wasn't surreal enough.

Back at Fort Wayne the next morning I ducked behind a barracks just before going in to see the shrink. It needed to be the performance of my life. So I embraced my gayness.

I remember that the shrink asked me about a "typical gay day." The rest is kind of hazy. When I walked out I didn't know if he believed me or not.

At the final processing table I could see the Army guy was scanning the shrink's report. Reading it upside-down I saw my diagnosis: "Non-aggressive, sociopathic sex deviant." Hey, don't forget the hernia.

So I pretty much had it covered. Just to make sure I also had applied for status as a conscientious objector. I was turned down, but appealed to the State Draft Board. One day found me sitting before three ribbon-bedecked retired military guys with short hair in the Federal Building in Flint, Michigan. They asked me questions like, "if Hitler was raping your sister what would you do?" But I had studied hard for this insane test and knew all the right insane answers. On a 2-1 vote they bought my story.

I had a bunch of draft cards: 2-S. 1-A. 1-A-O. 1-Y. 4-F. Burned 'em all eventually.

Robert McNamara, architect of that damned war, died this month at 93. He was brilliant, a reminder that tempers my excitement about all the brilliant people now in the White House. McNamara long ago concluded that he had been "wrong, terribly wrong" about the war. That was, of course, after more than 58,000 guys like the ones lined up in their skivvies in Fort Wayne were killed for nothing, plus several million Vietnamese. And a generation scarred forever. Fuck him.

So go ahead. Ask me. I'll tell.

Next: "Friends (Part 1)

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TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 7. Ex-Boss

I got to Craig's memorial service at the Lutheran Church in Sterling real early. I figured it would be SRO and I wanted a seat down front. As I pulled into the church's driveway, there walking across the parking lot was my ex-boss, Larry -- the guy who fired me four years ago. (Or, more accurately, sent his poor stooge, Dan, to do it.) I ducked into the church without having to make polite chit-chat with the guy.

It always surprised me that it took him a year to get rid of me. This will give you some idea of the quality of our relationship: I asked a lawyer about where the line was for slander.

When he first got hired as NWF's CEO he made his debut at the annual meeting in St. Louis. I was in charge of the meeting's logistics and script and also was head of NWF's communications department. Larry came to me the day before he was to deliver his big speech and asked me to review it. I did. It was horrible. Too long. Too technical (global warming, of course). No personal connections with the audience. Awful.

"Wayne, you are screwed," I said to myself. Brand new boss. Not the best history between us. So do I (A) shine it on or (B) give it to him straight? I picked "B." Larry went back to his room and completely rewrote his speech. He didn't let me see the revision. He never again asked me to review one of his speeches.

His new one was pretty good. Still too long, but he did connect with his audience -- NWF affiliate leaders, board of directors members, staff. He singled out three staff members by name for examples of the kind of behavior from us that he expected. I was one of them. He told the audience of my critical response the previous day to his draft speech. As the new CEO that was exactly the kind of directness and honesty he would expect from us. "Varnish is for floors, not for conversations between real people." He actually said that.

"Wayne, you are so screwed," I told myself.

A month or so later an unmarked envelope appeared on my desk at NWF. It held a copy of a 10,000-word keynote speech that Larry had delivered to an evangelical conference, unbeknownst to me or apparently anyone else at NWF. It was posted on the Internet. Now how on earth do you coordinate message and media if your CEO is freelancing? More to the point, how do you deal with statements made by your CEO that explain that he took the job because he was called by God. I could see how staff who didn't share his Christian faith and sanctimonious zeal could be offended.

In his rambling, autobiographical speech Larry described how he did not want to take the CEO job, but through prayer the Lord told him to apply for the job. Apparently, the Lord also rigged the search process: “I have to tell you that God is good. The search committee ended up being almost all Christians. There was one person on that committee that was not. The chairman of my board is a devout Christian, the incoming chair is a devout Christian, happens to be an African-American. He is just an incredible Christian, the next in line to be chair; so that three chairs are all Evangelical Christians. And this all happened while I was away from the National Wildlife Federation. So it has been really fun to go through that. So I get into this full board meeting, the full board knew I was an Evangelical Christian, there was no doubt about that and where I stood on that…”

I asked Larry about the speech. His answer: "They have interns transcribe the speeches. They made a lot of mistakes." The speech quietly disappeared from the Internet.

Six months into Larry's tenure as God's emissary the NWF executive committee retained a mortal to evaluate his job performance. The consultant asked everyone on the senior staff to respond to a detailed evaluation questionnaire about the boss. "Confidential." Of course.

Despite my apprehension I wrote an unvarnished critique, the way Larry said he wanted it. I spelled out his mediocre leadership, business management, communication skills, decision-making -- general stuff like that. And how did that work out, Wayne? you might be asking.

When the final day of my thirteen-year career at NWF ended I called my staff together, gave them the news, told them to support Jaime (NWF's Chief Operating Officer), and slipped out the door. I got a decent severance package. But I don't recall anyone saying "thank you."

One of my last emails was to Monty in Vermont: "It's over. It's good. I'm out of here." Monty, too, had been marginalized by the new boss who couldn't figure out how to use his talents and experience. So Monty chugged along in second gear. What a waste.

It took a couple more years but Monty eventually got canned. I visited him in Montpelier later in my trip. He now is the director of The Center for an Agricultural Economy (www.hardwickagriculture.org). It's a local consortium that is promoting local farmers and cheese makers. I loved Monty's enthusiasm in describing his work and the new publicity he has gotten for them. It had been a while since I'd seen him jazzed that way.

I once took Monty to see "The Full Monty" when it was playing in Ann Arbor. It was an odd date.

Not everyone at Craig's reception ducked Larry. One told me later, "Within thirty seconds my skin was crawling."

I don't know how the guy has survived all this time. But then, hey, who elected that moron Bush and his evil, control freak sidekick? Why should we expect any better from NWF's Board of Directors? But like those turkeys now gone from the White House, Larry's days are numbered. I suspect that if Congress passes a climate change law that Larry then will resign a hero, at least in his own mind.


Next: "Ask, I'll tell"

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TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 6. Happiness

Just before Craig's memorial service I had brunch in Reston with my kid, Matt, and his girlfriend, Ashley. He moved back to Virginia from Oregon a year ago. Herndon is where he has many friends and where he grew up before we moved west three years ago. He and Ashley are living with her parents just two blocks from his old high school. And in the same subdivision where we lived for seven years.

Matt got emotional upon seeing me. It had been the longest, by far, he ever has been away from his family. There's no easy way to be young. Like most 20-somethings he is struggling. But he's holding a job, isn't in jail, and hasn't gotten anyone pregnant. Is he happy, the thing you want most for your kids? I guess for Matt's it's something akin to it. When you raise a kid you learn to adapt to modest expectations. I'm happy with that.

Then there's Matt's sister. Kristen followed us to Oregon, to our great relief, as soon as she completed her French and Education degrees from Virginia Tech. She spent a year studying in France. Less than a year after arriving in Oregon she was married and had a baby. Eleven months later and they have a second boy, who just had his first birthday.

We have a standing joke: "Kristen, if someone had told you when we were living in Virginia that today you would be (fill in here with virtually any typical domestic day), what would you have thought?" They say that life is what happens when you are making plans; Kristen is the poster child. But here's the kicker: she's happy. Happy to be a stay-at-home mom raising two babies with her husband in rural Oregon. Just plain happy.

The babies all start out so innocent. Then they grow up, or at least get older. And everything changes quickly when you're 22 years old. Matt says that Ashley just kicked him out of her parent's house. "I'm screwed," he whined to me on the phone the other day.

During my visit to DC I asked an ex-NWF colleague if she "had a job she didn't hate." She fumbled for an answer and said she wasn't sure if she really enjoyed her job. "That's not what I asked," I said. "I asked if you didn't hate it." She thought a moment and decided that yes, she didn't hate it. Based on my experience, sometimes that's not too bad of a benchmark.

By the way, brunch at Clyde's outdoor cafe in Reston was great. We had waffles with fresh blackberries and maple syrup. And a fresh strawberry parfait. Happiness.


Next: "Ex-Boss"

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TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 5. The Reception

"I just love this guy," Linda beamed as she grabbed my arm at the reception following Craig's memorial service.

I really didn't know what to expect since I was going to meet people I had worked with closely at NWF. Former colleagues I hadn't seen in the four years since I had been dumped by the then-new CEO.

There was a raw honesty to the reception. It threw together people who hadn't seen each other for years. There were probably 500 people at the memorial service; most stopped at least briefly at the reception. Many had worked together, so had histories and stories. Most struggled to remember names, like at a high school reunion without the name tags.

A lot of tension drifted beneath the surface. Quite a few people had been fired by others there. Some had slept with others, or at least wanted to. Some really didn't like each other. Mostly, though, it was about people genuinely happy to see each other again. Lots of hugging.

We all had Craig in common. But at that point how much is left to say? It's the start of moving on.

All that made the reception a non-choreographed dance, participants weaving around the food tables and through the crowd, connecting or avoiding, interactions sincere or just polite, brief or longer.

For me it felt pretty good. Most were happy to see me. I was happy to see them. Like Linda, who couldn't stop smiling. We had worked together at NWF years ago. She did marketing and branding. I always loved watching her Sisyphean efforts, largely wasted it seemed to me, on a company that just didn't get it.

Then there was Chris the environmental filmmaker. You usually hear Chris before you see him. "Why Wayne, I didn't expect to see you here!" he boomed, grabbing my hand with typical Chris gusto, flashing his million dollar smile. "Enjoy it while you can, Chris, because this is probably it," I replied. I just love this guy.

Chris, who once worked for NWF, is a clown who stands on his hands for his audience. He reminds me of a public speaking tip I got more than 30 years ago: "When you get up in public just take off all your clothes. They will either love your or hate you but there'll be no in-between."

He is an extraordinary entertainer. A passionate crusader for nature. Some people say he is a shameless self-promoter and a bit full of himself. Well for Christ's sake what do you expect? It's show biz! Anyone ever say, "That Craig Ferguson. I don't watch him 'cause he's so full of himself"? I'm not saying the world needs a bunch more Chrises but having one is good. In moderate doses. I'm just saying...

Midway through the reception I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned and recognized a face. "You probably don't remember me but I'm Amy and I used to work at NWF. You came to see me in a bike race in Reston one time. I always appreciated that."

"Not only do I remember," I said, "but get this. Three hours ago I was having brunch with my son and his girlfriend in Reston. We wondered why the streets were all blocked off. It was the annual bike race. We sat there watching the same women's race that you were in -- what? -- five or six years ago? I told them about your race.

What do you make of such odd coincidences? Those things happen to me often enough that my wife thinks I'm creepy.

I learned that Amy and her husband are moving to Boulder via an Airstream cross-country odyssey. Here's their dream (from Amy's website):


Among the last to leave the reception, I was edging for the church exit when another old colleague from NWF stopped me. She obviously had something on her mind. After perfunctory small talk she asked why she hadn't heard from me in the four years since I left NWF. "Do you hate me?" she asked, tearing up.

It had never dawned on me that my behavior after leaving NWF would be hurtful to anyone. She really set me back. I mumbled reasons about why I had disappeared but it sounded lame. I apologized as best I could. We talked about what an intense experience it is for anyone who ever works at NWF -- good and bad intense. "But are you remembering the good experiences?" she asked.

At the end I said goodbye to Craig's wife, Jean. It is the strangest thing, saying goodbye to someone you are close to and knowing you likely will never see again. Yet life is a mystery and you just never know.


Next: "Happiness"

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TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 4. First Class

"Wayne, you've got to get out more," I told myself during layover at the Seattle airport, then told myself again at LAX. And again at National Airport where Larry picked me up. There are actually way more attractive people in the world than live in my hometown. Reston Town Center is a long ways from The Wal-Mart in Cottage Grove, Oregon. ("Shopping choice of large people," my friend, Al, has branded it.)

So of course I had to call Ben to share my epiphany. Ben, my friend from Lansing, is an indefatigable pursuer of younger women. They love him, at least for a while. A very few break his heart. He is eclectic and dashing, a graphic designer by profession -- the best I've ever known.

I told him I had found his theme song on the trip: "Sulfur to Sugarcane" by Elvis Costello. "Get the CD. You'll thank me later," I told him.

"...if you take all the sugar you'll end up in the sulfur
And you'll burn in...
'Hello, baby I'm a pleased to meet you'
'I wouldn't do you wrong honey'
'I wouldn't cheat you honey'
'When can I see you again?'
'Wrap you up in cellophane.'"

And Costello's salute to Michigan:

"The women in Poughkeepsie
Take their clothes off when they're tipsy
But I hear in Ypsilanti
They don't wear any panties."

Ben and I marvel that he and I are about the only ones among mutual friends our age who haven't been hit with cancer or some other health calamity. Ben had many years of hard smoking and hard drinking, thankfully leaving that behind decades ago.

"Alcohol was too big a price.
That's why I just said, hey, no dice." - Van Morrison

So why Craig? Everyone who knew Craig must have that same thought? He never did anything unhealthy. He ran marathons. And of course your next thought: Gee, if it can happen to Craig it can happen to anyone. Like me, for instance.

In the meantime I must say that I thoroughly enjoyed flying first class (thanks to frequent flier miles). Big, wide seats and lots of leg room. They wait on you and keep pouring nice wine. You get warmed up cashews in a little bowl instead of those tiny bags of pretzels. Hot wash cloths. Pretty good food for a kitchen at 30,000 feet. And during layovers you can relax in airlines' VIP rooms (the "Alaska Airlines Board Room," as it's called in Seattle).

Best, however, was the view on the trip east. Up the Cascades from Eugene to Seattle. Down the Cascades and Central Valley, then a circle over L.A. and the ocean to LAX. Then cross-country to DC, ending with that stunning picture of Washington, DC, at night as you roar up the Potomac River to land. And right there. And there. I fished all those spots. Pohick Bay. The Spoils. The bridges. Gravelly Point. The Kennedy Center.

This trip, however, wasn't about fishing.


Next: "The Reception"

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TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 3. Eulogy

It was just over a year ago. We had been hiking all morning, chasing rare birds in the dusty heat of south Texas. Back at our campsite all I wanted was a cold beer. Craig, however, ducked into his tent and came out in his running clothes. Off he went for a seven-mile run. Back an hour later, fresh as a daisy. A sweaty daisy. But after all, the Boston Marathon was just weeks away.

Craig flowed through life with natural grace, fluid as his gait when running down the trail. He showed us that nature's beauty is everywhere, starting and ending in our own backyards.

I always remember Craig when I hear a bird call that I can't identify. He had an amazing ear. One note usually was all it took. "There," he would point with the alertness of a bird dog. "Northern beardless-tyrannulet." See little brown blob high in yonder tree. Birds, wildflowers, bugs, mushrooms, you name it. Or, rather, Craig would name it. And it didn't seem to matter where you were: the Eastern Shore, Maine, Florida, Yellowstone, Texas, California. He seemed to know everything about nature everywhere.

Craig was the best naturalist and teacher I've ever known. I tended to mock him relentlessly. "Why Mary that's terrific," I'd say, aping him. "Why, yes I believe that is a cardinal. Why, I don't think I've ever seen a cardinal before. In this parking lot. On a Tuesday." Craig would just grin.

When I say it, it sounds condescending. Craig never was. No observation was insignificant. No question trivial or stupid.

Sometimes I think of Craig when I start to get bored. Because for Craig, boredom didn't exist; every moment had promise. He found Inca doves in the Tucson parking lot where we were getting our oil changed. While getting a flat tire fixed in Animus, New Mexico, he found a guy who took us to see scaled quail at his ranch. But most of all, he never tired of looking for grasshopper sparrows, dragonflies, and all manner of things right in his rural neighborhood. Nature's beauty is everywhere, Craig showed us.

So we remember Craig, each in our own way. And he stays with us through those memories.

Craig was my friend. I miss him dearly.

June 28, 2009

Next: "First Class"

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TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 2. Craig

I got to see my friend, Craig, before he died because my friend, Eileen, thought I was being morbid. I had suggested to her that I might be back to Northern Virginia at some point to attend Craig's memorial service. We all knew that Craig didn't have long to live. However, Eileen told me I should see him while he was still alive.

I thought about it, but not long. She was right. I should see Craig. Alive. I talked to Craig's wife, Jean. They agreed.

I last sat with Craig on Friday morning, two days before he checked out. He was tired. Jean had taken us out to eat the night before at the Hunter's Head. We had a good time, with Jean reciting the local political history of the pub's name. It was pretty much intended for what it sounds like. Its logo is a fox serving a hunter's head on a platter. Yum. But the burgers were good and the three of us laughed a lot.

Someone described to me a similar situation -- his friend dying of AIDS. "There is an honesty and richness to the experience," he told me. It's as good a description as I can find. It was profoundly moving.

What do you say to a dying friend who has lost his voice and can't even write? It's real hard to resist platitudes. At one point I told Craig to "be strong" and he gave me what seemed like a disgusted smirk. "Yea, you're right," I said. "That was pretty stupid." We both smiled. It must have been so frustrating. You could see a sentence backing up in his brain wanting to be said, but he just couldn't get out the words. With a sigh, he would lower his eyes, make a sound expressive for the moment, and we would go on.

Holding his hand at bedside I recited a few lines I had memorized from a drawing hanging in the next room. It was a gift made by one of his past interns:

"Life is a sacred mystery singing to itself,
dancing to its drum,
telling
tales,
improvising,
playing..."

(The author, Manitonquat, "is a storyteller and keeper of native lore of the Wampanoag Nation of Massachusetts," according to Wikipedia.)

It made sense to me at the time. I don't know what Craig thought. A few days earlier I had said to him,"Damn, I just wish I could know what you are thinking. But I figure a one-way conversation is better than no conversation at all." Craig agreed.

I think he was pretty matter-of-fact about his impending departure. One of the things I discovered after spending time with him and Jean is that there is no best way for people to respond. Do you say "goodbye" to someone before they are gone? Do you thank them for the influence they had on your life? What subjects are ok to talk or write about?

Hundreds of people had responded. The written notes alone filled a basket. Jean let me read some of them. Typical was something to this effect: "Dear Craig, You probably don't remember me but I took a class from you twenty years ago. It changed my life. As a result I became a teacher/naturalist/better mom/etc. I just wanted to thank you." The weight of all that passion and appreciation was quite overwhelming. And humbling when I think of my own meager contributions. I told some friends at a lunch later, "If I was in Craig's situation, sure, I would get a few cards. But just as many people would say, 'Hey, he was a prick anyway.'"

No one at the lunch table disagreed, even while assuring me that they were loyal friends. Among the few, they added.

I've never known anyone with more friends than Craig. I always felt it a privilege to be one of them. We had some great birding adventures together. I was blessed to be able to spend time with him at the end.

After Eileen's chastening message I had gotten on the phone with Jean and then with Alaska Airlines to get a frequent flier ticket to DC. Consider the timing. I got a ticket for exactly the dates I requested, just two weeks out. Those dates turned out to bracket the week before Craig died and his memorial service one week later. Within its tragic context, that was some timing. Maybe Eileen was right. Maybe I am morbid.

Jean had told me she had been thinking about what kind of memorial service to have after Craig died. I had only one piece of advice: "Don't let NWF control it or it will be about NWF and not about Craig." I think she did ok on that score but I must say that I found the service odd.

Craig's son, Ben, delivered the high notes of the service, capturing his father with humor and love. He told a story from his youth, obviously an important moment for him, when he asked his father whether God existed. Craig gave him a thoughtful, nuanced and ecumenical reply. I found little nuance in the Lutheran church memorial service. Stuffy with lots about Jesus. The good news: Craig wouldn't have cared one way or the other.


Next: "Eulogy"

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TRUE TALES FROM THE EAST - 1. A Joke

"Let’s not take ourselves so seriously that we forget to laugh." - Chris Palmer, Laughter, Comedy and Environmental Activism, March 2009.

"I have just one question, Doug. What the fuck?"

Doug had walked over to shake my hand at the reception following a memorial service for our mutual friend, Craig. We had been the closest of friends for many years. But Doug doesn't talk to me any more. I thought, what better time to put aside the past? Doug thought otherwise. "Not here. This isn't the time," he hissed.

I had traveled 3,000 miles from Oregon to be in Sterling, Virginia. "Seems to me this is it," I replied. Doug turned on his heel and disappeared.

We once worked together at the National Wildlife Federation (NWF). I was flattered to be the only work colleague invited to his wedding some years back. We had biked together most lunch hours and I knew much of his courtship, marriage and sad, too-soon divorce. Now he appeared to hate me.

"Even if my offense was as heinous as Doug believes, does this make sense?" I had asked friends over lunch two weeks earlier when I arrived in Washington, DC. "It's not like he has friends to burn."

I sure don't. I had come back to the East Coast to see Craig before he died. And while losing one irreplaceable friend, I wanted to refresh as many other East Coast friendships as I could in two weeks. So I was sad about Doug. He is a weird guy. Artistic. I always liked that about him. He made life more interesting and that's no small thing.

Doug's snit was all about a picture. Actually, a parody of a picture. Here's the story: Years back, Doug got himself featured in a little blurb with his picture in Men's Health magazine. I don't remember why. Someone -- probably me, but I don't recall -- took Doug's head and Photoshopped it onto the bodybuilder hunk on the magazine's cover. Ha-ha. Everyone had a good laugh.

Fast-forward to last October. No one's laughing much. Presidential politics is on the big stage and Sarah Palin has just entered, stage far right. Over at NWF everyone is obsessed with global warming; Doug's job is to get his colleagues in the wildlife science profession to take the crisis seriously. It's a group that tends to be real conservative, but Doug had just made a huge step forward. The Wildlife Society had devoted an entire issue of its journal to climate change. In it Doug wrote: "Our profession is facing a problem that will likely become the single most important factor to affect wildlife since the emergence of our species."

Justifiably proud, Doug had sent me a copy. There he was in full color on the cover along with a couple of geeky-looking federal biologists, the U.S. Capitol in the background. "Don't get any ideas, like with the Men's Health thing," he said in his attached note.

Hmmm, I thought. I've got a little time...

So you decide. Is it funny? I'll tell you this: it still makes me grin.

Original:


Improved:

Doug seemed mildly upset when he responded to my email with the picture. But after he started getting email cracks from other mutual acquaintances (I sent it to 20 or 30 of our closest friends), he flipped out. His next email ranted about how this time I had gone too far, way over the line, etc. Best I can recall, it was something about how this was just what The Wildlife Society was afraid of: being sullied by partisan politics. Really? Really, that was it?

Immediately I sent everyone an email explaining that Doug was not amused and asking them to please not forward the picture. I sent Doug an apology, telling him that I meant no offense. It was our last communication until our encounter at Craig's memorial service.

Sarah Palin has resigned as governor of Alaska. Craig's wife, Jean, told me that her relatives in Alaska still believe Palin can do no wrong. They continued to praise her even after the election in a note at the bottom of their Christmas letter. Some people just don't know a joke when they see one.


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