Another Trip

While home my brother Lance called asking for advice. His A.L. Williams customers had dried up and he needed a job. He was a talented programmer with a well-rounded experience base in all things computer. It was a skill set in high demand. The problem was that Lance had been self-employed since dropping out of college in his first year. He'd never had a real job so he had no job references.

Lance had noticed a job advertised in the Atlanta paper that he believed was a perfect fit for his skill set. He read the article to me and I agreed. They would never find a person better suited to that ad's description than my brother. The problem, he explained, is that they wouldn't even consider him because of his self-employed history. The company was a law firm, the largest law firm in Atlanta. I asked if he would mind if I gave them a call and try something. I gave him a rough outline of what I had in mind to which he said, "Why not, I don't have anything to lose with them."

I called the law firm and reached the contact Lance had given me for the job. I identified myself as an executive recruiter from a firm in Chicago, but I said I wouldn't give my name or firm. This was before caller ID so I was able get away with this from my home in Alaska. I said, "I've got a gift for you." I briefly described her job opening, and then said, "I've got a kid who fits that bill like a glove. I've tried to place him with a Big Eight (denotes the largest eight accounting firms in the country) here in Chicago but he's not willing to leave Atlanta. All well and good except a guy I hate at Robert Half (a national recruiting firm with an office in Atlanta) is about to place him with a company there. The kid's going to take that job, but what he really wants is your job. I'd rather see him get what he wants, especially if I can screw Mike... the guy at Robert Half, in the process, so I'll give him to you for free."

"Has he applied with us," the woman asked, now clearly interested.

"Yea. Kid's name is Lance Waagner. He applied but says you won't interview him. My guess is because he'd been self-employed. Some programming business with his older brother."

I could hear paper shuffling then, "I got it," she said. "You're right. We don't hire people who've been self-employed. They don't fit our system well."

"Big mistake," I said. "This kid interviewed with my Big Eight client and they went nuts over him. They made an offer, but in the end he wasn't willing to leave Atlanta. The food must be pretty special down there."

"He does seem to have a perfect skill set," she said while reading Lance's resume.

"Like I said, he's a gift. Talk to him and you'll hire him, but you'd better move fast. Got to run." I hung up without waiting for her response. I'd spent so much time around high-end executive recruiters that I knew exactly how they talked. I was so convincing she never questioned who I was even though I wouldn't give my name or firm's name.

I tried to call Lance but his phone was busy. A few minutes later he called me. The law firm called him the second I hung up the phone. He had an interview set for the next day. They hired Lance immediately. Within a year Lance replaced the woman I'd talked to as head of the firm's computer department. A few years after that the law firm realized they couldn't keep him for all the offers he fielded from other law firms around the country so they presented him with an offer. They wanted him to start a service company, doing what he does for them now, and they would be his first customer. But they would also be his partner. To be his partner they would invest in his company (several million dollars, but I don't recall the number). Lance took the generous offer and built his company well. I visited his company once which was the entire floor of a big Atlanta building. In a few years his computer service company was listed on NASDQ. At that point Lance told a senior partner of the law firm how he got his job. Lance said they loved that story.

With the boat safely tied up at Homer and a local dock worker paid to keep watch on it so it didn't sink where it sat, it was time for me to head out on another trip to the lower forty-eight states to make some money. I didn't want to go, but there wasn't any choice. We were broke.

Again I chose to drive rather than fly. I had a small car that got good gas mileage so I took it. I don't remember anything about the drive down the Alcan Highway so it must have been uneventful. I'd driven the Alaska Highway so many times by now that it wasn't a big deal. I no longer needed a map as I knew every meter of the road. I did not take the Cassiar Cutoff. Never again.

Nor was there much to say about my work other than that it didn't go well. People know when you're desperate, which I most definitely was. One of the reasons I drove this time was that Clay had a scheduled surgery at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, so the plan was for me to pick he and Mary up at the airport in Minneapolis. As the time neared for that trip I was practically broke, which Mary was too. It was under these circumstances I left Atlanta for Minneapolis the day before Mary and Clay were scheduled to arrive.

I had left Atlanta with ample time to reach Minneapolis before Mary and Clay's flight, but I started having car trouble almost immediately. Without the money to fix the car I nursed it all the way to Minnesota. Rochester is in southern Minnesota and not exactly on my way between Atlanta and Minneapolis, but it was closer so I went there for my car to die. And die it did. I limped into Rochester airport's parking lot at 10:30 pm, the time Mary and Clay's flight landed ninety miles to the north in Minneapolis.

My loose plan had been to catch a commuter flight to Minneapolis or to convince a private to give me a ride. However, Rochester's airport was small with no air traffic that late at night. When I entered the terminal building there wasn't a soul in sight. I'm sure there were cleaning people somewhere, but I didn't even see them. I walked to the big window and looked out longingly at the small planes across the tarmac. I gave a fleeting thought to stealing a plane, but that wasn't practical as Minneapolis was a Group TCA, meaning I lacked the instrument rating and no-how necessary to land there.

I was walking out the airport feeling defeated when I noticed the unmanned Avis counter. What drew my attention was a sign that said, "After hour's key drop off." With no one around I took a look inside the box's small slot. There was a single set of keys and a knot of paper at the bottom of the box. I couldn't reach the keys, so I went to my car and found a wire clothes hanger. Back at the Avis counter I finally noticed someone running a buffer, but he couldn't see what I was doing. With the coat hanger it was simple to fish out the keys and paperwork.

The car was easy to find since it sat under a sign that said, "After hour's returns." I took a minute to retrieve my radar detector then got in the rental car like it was mine. With the car's rental papers in hand, and the name of the renter memorized, I felt confident enough to speed all the way to the airport in Minneapolis. My radar detector gave me ample warning for the only state trooper I encountered, so I made it to the airport without getting stopped. I nearly cried when I saw Mary and Clay. They were sitting on the sidewalk outside the terminal. They looked tired and defeated. I apologized repeatedly for being late, but Mary blew that off.

"I knew you had car trouble or something," she said.

"What would you have done had I not made it," I asked.

She gave a sly look at the new car and said, "Oh, I knew you'd show up even if you had to steal a car. Nice car, by the way."

"Thanks."

Mary waited until Clay was asleep in the back seat before asking about the car. "It's a rental," I answered honestly. I flipped up the Avis key chain as proof. Mary didn't believe that I had rented the car, nor had I expected her to. But I also knew how she would feel about my stealing a car, so I didn't want to admit the truth to her.

"I see," she said cautiously. "So when will you be returning this "rental"?" She actually did air quotes around the word rental.

"As soon as I drop you guys off at the hotel I'll return it to the Avis lot at the airport." Mary nodded then said,

I knew you'd make it."

We spent that night in the hotel, and then went to Mayo Clinic the next day. Clay had to go through several days of tests before they were sure about the surgery so that was our day. After the test we checked into the free Ronald McDonald House. That place was great as were the people who ran it. While there we meet Igor and his mother. They were from the Ukraine, an early beneficiary from the Berlin Wall falling the previous year. Igor had a rare disease that caused him to grow too fast. I don't recall his exact age, but he was eight to ten years old and my size. Clay would have been eight then, so they were roughly the same age. Despite the fact that neither Igor nor his mother spoke English, Clay and Igor hit it off right away.

As a gift I had brought Clay a new Nintendo Game Boy with numerous games. Game Boy was a pretty hot toy that year so Clay was pretty pumped about it. Igor had never seen a computer game but he seemed to intuitively understand what the Game Boy was. So what the two boys lacked in language skills they more than compensated for with Nintendo.

On the second night there I had a little scare with Igor. Both Clay and Igor were doing tests all day at Mayo Clinic, so at night back at the Ronald McDonald House both unwound playing with the Game Boy. Mary and Igor's mother spent time together cooking shared meals in the common kitchen and somehow communicating as only a pair of worried mothers can do. This left me as the fifth wheel with nothing to do. So at one point I had walked into the den where Clay and Igor were playing with the Game Boy. As I walked in Igor had laughed and pushed Clay. This was normal eight year old play stuff, but what I saw was a six foot, two hundred pound guy push my eight year old son with a serious heart problem. Without thought I rushed into the room and pulled Igor off of Clay and shouted at him.

Igor didn't know my words but he understood my tone. He immediately started crying like the scared eight year old he really was. It is difficult to describe how small I felt for shouting at this eight year-old boy. I tried to tell myself it was an easy mistake to make as he was as big as I, but when this poor kid cried as a response to my words I felt very, very small. I hugged him and apologized even though he didn't know my words. To his credit he calmed down quickly, which didn't make me feel any better. Clay was okay, Igor was okay, but I was a wreck.

Before I go on to tell about my son's surgery I must say that last year I saw both Igor and his mom on TV. It was a Discover or History Channel type show about him. He and his mom both live in Minnesota and both now speak near perfect English. Igor was over seven feet tall and he still has a great sense of humor. After watching this I called Clay to tell him about Igor and to recommend he get in touch with his old friend. Clay remembered Igor, but I don't think he tried to call him.

So back to 1990: I'm writing about things I can remember. Obviously I can't remember everything in my life, but some things I will never forget. This is one of those things that will always be burned into my mind. Clay was prepped for surgery and laying on the gurney. Mary and I were with him in the moments before they took him back to the surgical suite. Clay has always been brave. The bravest kid I ever knew then later the bravest man I've ever known. But on this day he was scared. When the nurse came to roll him back behind the curtain, in tears and fear my son begged me not to allow this to happen. He said, "Dad, please don't let them do this. Dad, please stop this." If Mary hadn't been there to give me strength and to assure me Clay had to endure the surgery, I would have picked my boy up and ran out of that hospital. She was the only force on this earth capable of preventing me from bending to my son's will. When they rolled him away I cried uncontrollably and kept asking my wife, "Are you sure? Are you sure he has to do this?" She was sure, so I let him go.

It was a difficult and dangerous surgery that Clay came through fine. There was some recovery time before they could fly back to Alaska so we spent it as a family, living at the Ronald McDonald House. Those few weeks are some of my fondest memories.