A Dewy Pile

A. Duie Pyle, pronounced “A Dewy Pile”, is my favorite trucking company name.  If you work for Cass Information Systems, you know about trucking companies.

I have nearly given up on trying to explain Cass Information Systems to people.

I used to tell people that I work for a company that pays freight bills for chocolate companies: Hershey, Nestle, M&Ms. 

That explanation doesn’t work very well because people don’t focus on the freight bills, they focus on the chocolate, and ask me if I get free samples.

Now I say that I work for a company that pays freight bills for companies such as: Unilever, Ford, Macy’s, DuPont, Whirlpool, Walgreens, Siemens, Sylvania, Corning Glass.

Now people focus on the freight bills, and they wonder why anyone would pay Cass Information Systems to pay their freight bills.

The answer: freight bills are nasty.  That’s why companies pay us to pay their bills.

Some people want more info – how nasty are they?

A music teacher asked me that.  We were at the Scottish Arms pub in St. Louis.  So, I proceeded to explain:

What if you have a shipment that does not fill up a truck and you want your shipment delivered in City A.  However, the truck stops in City B on the way to A.  What if it stopped because of someone else’s goods on the truck?  And what if City B is in Canada, are you going to pay for the shipment in US dollars or Canadian dollars?  Oops, the price of fuel went up while the truck was in Toronto – that has to be taken into account.  And, since Toronto is in Canada, you have to pay GST tax on your shipment --- unless, of course City A, the final destination, is in Quebec, in which case you now have to pay QST.

And what if you think the shipment should weigh 873 Kg but the trucking company says it weighs 902 Kg?

The music teacher struggled to keep up with me.  But sitting at the same table in the pub was a woman who worked for American Airlines freight.  She had no trouble keeping up with me; she was nodding her head in agreement as I spun the tale of a nasty freight shipment.

Some people have not heard of Cass Information Systems, but they have heard of Cass Bank.  We started as a bank in 1906.  The bank started offering freight payment services in the 1930s.  Now freight has outgrown the bank.  We used to be a bank with a freight-paying arm, now we are a freight-paying company which owns a bank.  The tail is wagging the dog.

So, I do not work for a bank.

Some people think that Cass produces snacks, confusing us with Kas, a retro potato chip company.

I do not work for a snack company.

It is a constant struggle to explain Cass Information Systems to people.  But I haven’t given up.  I am hoping that someday, when I say that Cass pays freight bills, someone will ask me: What is your favorite trucking company?

And I will answer: “A Dewy Pile”.

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Zymurgy's Day Job Is To Raise Spirits

The United States Army spent a lot of time and money to teach me how to repair jet turbine engines - something I knew nothing about.

After training me to repair jet engines, the Army assigned me to the Fort Lewis School Command, where I would teach remedial reading - something else I knew nothing about.

I did have some experience teaching, but I taught mathematics, and I did not see much crossover from math into remedial reading.  The Army expected me to raise soldiers up from illiteracy to literacy.  According to the Federal government, a literate person is someone who can read at the fifth-grade level.

To find out how teach reading, I had to do a lot of reading about reading.

One day I came across a list: The 200 Most Common Words in the English Language.  I thought the list was interesting and decided to share it with the other reading instructors at the Fort Lewis School Command. 

So, I proceeded to type out the list, which was in alphabetical order: "a", "about" "after", "again", "an”, down to "write", "you", "your".  I typed them in six columns.  When I finished, I thought that column six looked a little sad because it was two words shorter than all the other columns.

Just for fun, I added "zwieback" after "your".  Then I turned to the last page in the dictionary and added "zymurgy" to the bottom of the sixth column.

Zymurgy is the branch of chemistry dealing with fermentation, as in beer brewing.  Someone once described zymurgy this way: “Its day job is to raise spirits, while it moonlights as the last word in the dictionary."  

I passed out copies of my list to the other instructors.  I was certain that they would get a kick out of my little joke at the end of column six.  Instead, my list caused confusion:

    "Doug, are you sure that zymurgy is a common word?"

   "Doug, I have never seen the word zymurgy before; how can it be a common word?"

   "Doug, I have no idea what this word at the end of the list means.  Surely, it can’t be a very common word."

My joke had backfired.  How could people think for even a moment that zymurgy is a common word?  

Then it hit me: they saw the word in black-and-white on my list.  If you read it, it must be true.  

The printed word has power.  

So much power that a few instructors at the Fort Lewis School Command, for a brief moment in 1968, actually believed that zymurgy was one of the 200 most common words in the English language.

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Jerry Seinfeld And I Lay In Our Beds, Listening

When I was a teenager, my ritual was to be in bed every Sunday night by nine o’clock.  I would tune my radio to WOR, and listen.

At the same time on Sunday nights, Jerry Seinfeld (who lived 21 miles away from me) lay in his bed, listening to his radio tuned to WOR.

And Dee Snider, when he was a teenager, lay in his bed, listening.  Dee Snider would become the lead singer of Twisted Sister

And Harry Shearer, who grew up to write the script for the movie “This Is Spinal Tap”, would lay in bed when he was a teenager, listening to his radio tuned to WOR.

So did Dan Fagen (lead singer of Steely Dan) and Bill Griffith (creator of the Zippy comic strip) and John Cassavetes (director of Alice Does Not Live Here Anymore).

On Sunday night at nine o'clock, we all listened to Jean Shepherd when we were teenagers.

We listened to Jean Shepherd because there was no other radio show like his.  Shepherd told stories.  Actually, he spun stories.

For example, at 9 PM, he would start telling the story about the drum major in his hometown of Hammond, Indiana.  The drum major was a senior in high school and was leading the final parade of his career on Memorial Day, which would remind Shepherd of the two well-dressed women who he saw outside Rockefeller Center on his way to the radio studio, who would remind Shepherd of how his mother always wore her hair up in curlers, which would remind Shepherd that his grade school teacher, Miss Shields, had hair that looked like a Brillo pad, and he would come back to his mother explaining that she kept her hair up in curlers in case something important happened but nothing important ever happened, and he would come back to the two well-dressed ladies who decided to have lunch at a hot dog cart, and he would come back, finally, to the drum major who, in front of the reviewing stand at the Memorial Day parade, tossed his baton skillfully into the air so that it landed across the trolley wires on the main street and shorted out the entire electric grid of Hammond, Indiana. 

Whew, it was 10 PM; it took an hour for Jean Shepherd to tell a story.

But it was more than a story.  It was a journey into the fabric of the mundane things in life, a journey exploring all the quirks of humanity, a journey celebrating people who are unique.

All over the New York City metropolitan area, people shared this journey, listening  to WOR on the radio on a Sunday night.

Luckily, most of America has been on a Jean Shepherd journey, a journey describing the disappointment of  Ovaltine decoder rings, the strange dusting accidents that happen to leg lamps, the agony of getting your mouth washed out with Lifebuoy soap, and the persistent desire for Red Ryder BB guns.  Yes, most Americans have watched A Christmas Story.  Not only did Jean Shepherd dip into his life to write the script, but he narrated the movie as well.  Now most of America is familiar with Jean Shepherd’s voice.

Jean Shepherd's voice entranced me – so much so that I became more observant and I tried to savor all the little moments in life. Jean Shepherd's voice also entranced Jerry Seinfeld – so much so that Jerry named his third child “Shepherd Seinfeld”.

. - . - .

Here, on YouTube, is Jean Shepherd focusing on the winter night when the family car was stopped at a railroad crossing in Indiana:  (14 minutes long)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Spe7jrDUHBM

Here on YouTube is an excerpt from a typical Jean Shepherd Sunday night radio program, where the focus switches rather frequently.  Shepherd did his radio program without notes; he just sat down and started talking: (44 minutes long)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDbDXnMkOdo

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

His Keyboard Delayed My Flight

While I was eating lunch in the company cafeteria, an auditor walked by and said, "Ray Manzarek has died."

The name did not ring a bell with me.  Was Ray Manzarek a company auditor?  Or was he a salesman?  Did he work in the mail room?

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, the auditor explained: "Ray Manzarek was the keyboardist for The Doors."

The Doors!  A flash of anger came over me, as I remembered sitting on an airplane many years ago at LaGuardia Airport in New York.  All the passengers were on the plane, but the plane wasn't leaving.  I was anxious to be on my way to Cleveland to see my brother and his family.  

I looked out the airplane window and saw a baggage wagon pull up with musical instruments on board.  As the instruments were being loaded onto the plane, the two guys sitting next to me (who were wearing Nehru jackets) pointed and said: "Those are the instruments for The Doors".

I was about to say that I didn't care whose instruments they were.  They could have easily been put on the next flight to Cleveland and not delayed my flight.

Then the two guys bragged that they had seen The Doors’ concert last night at Flushing Meadows, they were going to see The Doors in Cleveland, and they had tickets to see the Doors in Indianapolis and Chicago as well.

I had read about groupies, and here I was sitting next to two Doors groupies.  

I itched to ask them why they would ever want to see more than one concert by the same band.  Yes, “Light My Fire” is a wonderful song, but why burn up money on plane tickets to hear it played in different cities?  However, since these guys were fanatics, I decided that I better not ask those questions.

The groupies told me, in reverent tones, that The Doors were on the same plane as we were.  The delayed plane was the Holy of Holies.

But it was still a delayed plane.  I was angry.

A few years later I signed a three-year teaching contract and moved to Africa.  I took a tape player with me, one that would work on 220 volt current.  I knew it would be impossible to buy contemporary American pop music in Africa, so I also took 10 cassette tapes with me: Carole King, The Moody Blues, Joe Cocker, and The Doors. 

These tapes were wise choices; the artists were top-notch and there wasn't a single bad song on any of the 10 cassettes.  I listened to the tapes daily and never grew tired of them.

With Ray Manzarek’s death, I guess it is time to forgive his keyboard for delaying my flight to Cleveland, and it is now time to publically thank Ray Manzarek and his fellow Doormates for their artistry and their music and their cassette tapes, which sustained me for three straight years.

. - . - . - . - .

Here is an HD video of "Light My Fire", live at the Hollywood Bowl in 1968.  You can easily hear how Ray Manzarek's keyboard wizardry is the driving force of the 9-minute song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhqQlmtrLyA

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Transfixed By Wolves

I was 30 years old and living in London, England, when I told some friends that I would take their five-year-old daughter to the zoo.  They said fine, but they noted that their daughter was fascinated by the wolves at the zoo.

The girl's name was Melania, and we took the Underground to the Regents' Park.  From the tube stop, we had a fairly long walk to the zoo.  I was intent on getting to the zoo.  The five-year-old, however, was intent on examining every shop window we passed.

Finally, we reached the zoo entrance.  For some reason, the wolf exhibit was outside the zoo, right before you got to the ticket booth.  I stopped and looked at the wolves.  Melania stopped and stared at the wolves.  Her eyes were focused and she did not move a muscle.  She was transfixed.

Was she transfixed because she knew about Little Red Riding Hood or The Three Little Pigs or Peter And The Wolf?  Was she transfixed because she was face-to-face with predators?  I did not know the answer, but I did know that we had a lot more animals to see once I managed to get Melania inside the zoo.

I cajoled and nagged and finally got her to leave the wolves and move toward the ticket booth.  Inside the zoo, I showed Melania the giraffes, the komodo dragons, the giant tortoises.  She looked politely at each animal, but I could tell that nothing had the same impact as the wolves.  

I realized that I could have saved the admission fee.  No need to go inside the zoo; Melanie would have been perfectly happy to look at shop windows and to stare at wolves.

I live in Valley Park, Missouri, now --- just a few miles from the Endangered Wolf Center, founded by Marlin Perkins.  The Center focuses on keeping endangered wolf species from becoming extinct.  They breed wolves and release them back into their native habitats.  

The Center sits on land once used to store ammunition during World War II.  The hills are dotted with abandoned ammunition bunkers.  The endangered wolves are kept in fenced-in areas amidst the bunkers.  

The Center earns some income by inviting the public to come for daytime visits or nighttime howls.  It was about twelve years ago when I decided to go for a howl.

We were seated in an old Quonset hut.  A ranger talked about wolves and then taught us how to howl like each of the three endangered species living at the Center.  Once the group finished practicing their howling, the ranger led us down a path.  The path was sandy and muffled our footsteps as we headed for a spot surrounded by hills and illuminated only by moonlight. 

Each person in the group got a chance to howl.  I did my best Mexican grey wolf howl, hoping to trick some Mexican grey wolves into howling back at me.  Nobody had any luck, until it was the ranger’s turn to howl.

The ranger’s howl worked.  Out of the darkness came responses from the surrounding hills.  The hills became alive.  Real wolves, somewhere out there in the dark, were howling at us.  I stood there; I did not move a muscle.  

I was transfixed.  I was 57 years old, and I was having a Melania moment.

. . . . . . . . .

A very urban interpretation of Who’s Afraid Of The Big Bad Wolf, sung by LL Cool J.  It is a 4-minute excerpt from the movie "Simply Mad About The Mouse":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDucj50eQYs

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com