Oops. Forgot To Call A Timeout

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March 30th, 2017

Hello blog faithful!

I’ve been so focused and so intent upon this final stage of production for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” that today totally got away from me. Now, I have to head to the airport to pick up Barbara.

It’s been a huge week, and I promise I’ll get something original written on Friday.

Meanwhile, if you weren’t part of the Kickstarter campaign, this is the epic update I put out Tuesday. See you tomorrow!

Bob

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Update 3/28/17: The Biggest Day So Far

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Hello Backers,

Considering my last update was more of a “check in to see how we’re doing” thing, it’s only fitting that this one comes just four days later and is four times as important. Or maybe 10 times. Or 100 times.

Yesterday, I turned on my laptop in the morning and immediately saw an email from Outskirts Press. I was a bit surprised to receive something from them so early in the morning on a Monday. In the email was a link to a PDF of my entire “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” proof, from copyright page to the final photo. All of it.

I do have one last chance at editing before it goes into production, and I’m taking my time with that. After nearly 15 months of dedicated work, what’s a few more days to make sure I get it right?

Yesterday, I dove in earnestly and eagerly, with a touch of intimidation and a dose of nervousness. In what seemed like a blink of the eye, I looked at my watch and saw it was 3:00 pm. But I couldn’t stop reading and analyzing. Finally, I was getting blurry-eyed enough by 6:00 to put it away.

This week, I’ll go through it all, page by page. And in the end, I’m relatively sure I’ll miss a few typos or extra spaces. I apologize for that up front and with honesty. I’ll do the best I can.

I can say this. It’s beautiful to look at and a marvel to even consider. It’s still just a PDF, but it’s a book. I can almost feel the paper when I stare at the screen.

I’ll keep you posted when I hear of a pre-order or on-sale date.

We’re about to have a bouncing baby book.

Thank you all, for your incredible support.

Bob

Howie, How Are Ya?

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March 23rd, 2017

The year was 1979. After my first season as a professional baseball player in the Detroit organization, in 1978, I went to spring training in Lakeland, Fla. in ’79 hoping to move up the ladder to the organization’s advanced Class-A club in the Florida State League. That team was the Lakeland Tigers, so making the leap would at least mean I was “already there” once spring training ended. I had a number of buddies from ’78 there with me, including Roy Dixon and Dan O’Connor who had spent the previous summer with me in Paintsville, Ky., playing for those pesky Paintsville Hilanders.

I did make the Lakeland team, but as you’ll read in “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” it didn’t go as well as I’d hoped and planned. For some reason, I was paid real money to play baseball but I rarely got to play. I had six entire at-bats in about 10 weeks. But, I was there with some terrific teammates who were on their way to the Major Leagues and who were really great guys. The best player on that team was probably Howard Johnson, and we got along great, but the best guy was Howie Bailey, a lefty pitcher who would make it to Detroit a few years later.

Howie and I hit it off right away, and he helped keep me sane while I scratched my head trying to figure out why I was relegated to the bench night after night. We kept each other entertained and motivated, and every now and then we’d head out on an off-night to have a beer or two at a local establishment. We became good friends.

The last time I saw Howie was the summer of 1982, when I was scouting for the Toronto Blue Jays and he was in Triple-A for the Tigers, at Evansville in the American Association. I had summer coverage of that league and Howie and his roomies were gracious enough to have me over to their apartment for lunch one day. Then we lost track of each other.

Today, 35 years later, we reconnected. The internet is a marvelous thing.

This is Howie Bailey and me. You’ll just have to trust me on that…

I know this is a horrible photo, taken with an old Polaroid in ’79, but the print itself is actually much worse than this. I did all I could to lighten it up and make it presentable, but it’s still pretty lousy. This is Howie and me on the field at Marchant Stadium in Lakeland before a game. He clearly wasn’t as eager to get into his uniform as I was.

I was thinking about Howie lately because he’s in the book. Over the last few years, I had scanned the Web for any sign of him and always come up blank (other than baseball cards and stats) but today I Googled him again and saw his photo on a website for his company, called Buy Right. They are a packaging supply company in Grandville, Mich., which is not too far from where he grew up in Grand Haven.

I fired off an email to the main info address at Buy Right and heard back from my old teammate in mere minutes. Connection reestablished. Social media and the internet can be such a good thing.

After his career was over, according to the interwebs, he became an expert skeet shooter and was actually inducted into the Skeet Shooting Hall of Fame. So how ’bout that!

UPDATE: After trading emails and phone numbers, my phone just rang and the screen said “Howie Bailey.” The last 20 minutes have been 90% laughter. Great to talk to another ex-teammate. And, what a good dude.

Roy Dixon is a guy I’d also really like to reconnect with. Of all the guys I played with who I considered to be solidly good friends, and who shared my own skewed and screwy sense of humor, Roy was one of the best. He was a lanky outfield from North Carolina State, but I’ve never been able to find him on the Web. If anyone knows Roy Dixon, tell him I said hello.

As for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” we continue to move along toward having a full proof of the entire book within the next week or so. That will be a huge moment, to use my best understatement. Once I have that in my hands, I have three pages full of notes about corrections I want to make, so I’ll do that first. Then, I’ll start over again on the first page and read it straight through. Here’s hoping it’s actually coherent. Once we sign off on everything, it will be a matter of a few more weeks before it’s available for purchase, both in printed and digital versions. I think you can trust me to keep you updated on that as the days fly by. If I can remember. Something about a book, right? I wonder if it will be any good. Someone will have to tell me after it’s out.

Shasta boy, hanging out watching the kids skate

And, since I’ve been making a habit of posting photos that were in the first huge pile of possible pics for the book but then didn’t make the cut, here’s another nostalgic one for you. I’m sure many of you remember Shasta the cat, my little buddy for 16 years, and if you do then you clearly remember Pond Cam and the hockey rink Neighbor Dave would carve into the pond every winter. This photo addresses all those topics at once. I miss that view, and I miss my little buddy, too. He was a great cat, and do you know where I got him when he was just six weeks old? He adopted me at the Humane Society shelter in Topeka, when I was the GM at Heartland Park in 1991, which was my first job in drag racing. He was “all ears” at that age. And a biter, too. But he “matured” into a wonderful companion.

As for my current feline buddies, they are both “back in bed” after having slept in until 11:00 a.m. At that point, they asked for treats as a reward for their slumbers before they both retreated to their favorite spots to charge those batteries again. Buster is on his cat condo in the master bedroom and Boofus is in his little hut by the fireplace. Tough life.

Spring Training with John Fink. This should be required, not optional.

And now we have time for one more photo that didn’t quite make the cut. Spring training is in full swing right now, and for many years it was a requirement that John Fink and I would meet in Fort Myers after the Gainesville race, to see a Twins game at Hammond Stadium. I’m on a bit of a travel moratorium right now, saving money for when I’m going to really need it when the book is out and I’ll need to be jetting all over the country, and it hit me the other day that going to a Spring Training game in Florida isn’t really a bonus or an optional “take it or leave it” type of thing. It’s kind of necessary.

For me, as is clearly spelled out in the book, Spring Training was always a very special time, starting when I was a young kid and we traveled from St. Louis to St. Petersburg by train! Then, as I got a little older I graduated to spending a week there every year (with some school books and assignments) and I’d get to be a batboy for whatever clubs my dad was managing.

As an adult, after I finally had my chance to attend Spring Training as a player, it was always great to escape the winter and get down to Florida whenever I could. Those years with the Finkster reinforced that feeling a lot, and he and I always had a great day in the sunshine, rooting for the Twins.

We need to do this again, next year. Are ya listening Johnny?

And, how about the just completed World Baseball Classic? Every four years it gets a little better and a little more intense. This version was the best yet, and not because the USA finally won the the thing. The crowds were great, the play was fantastic, and the players were absolutely passionate. It’s not yet at the level of a World Cup or Olympics, but it’s getting there fast. Last night’s championship game, USA vs Puerto Rico, was played at Dodger Stadium in front of a bipartisan crowd that never stopped singing, cheering, and banging on drums. It was really special. And, yeah, it was cool to see the USA get the trophy.

I’ll wrap this up with a question I’ve gotten from at least two dozen readers in the last few weeks. They ask “When will you be back out at the races again?”

As you know, the answer to that question is tied to the actual progress of getting the book produced and published. So, looking at the NHRA Mello Yello schedule and estimating when we might have books to actually sell to people, I’d think Topeka would be not just a long-shot, but also a surprise. Everything would have to go exactly right for me to have books by then. But… Topeka is not a terrifically expensive race to attend, so that’s one I might just go to in order to do some pre-release publicity.

Then, you have Epping, Englishtown, and Bristol in June and those are some expensive races to travel to, so we’ll have to see. By that time, though, I should have the book available everywhere and we’ll be launching a PR blitz to get the word out. Time is ticking fast. It’ll be here sooner than you think. Gosh, I hope that’s true…

So, there we go. After 35 years I’ve reconnected with Howie Bailey. Roy Dixon, you’re next.

Bob Wilber, at your service with plenty of additional tales to tell.

 

A Quiet Week… Until Now

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March 16th, 2017

When I got up this morning the first thought to pop into my head was “It’s Thursday Blog Day. What am I going to write about?” It’s been a very quiet week, frankly. After I approved the layout for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” last week, I requested a slightly different look for the artwork that will be placed atop the first page of each chapter, and I hadn’t heard back from them. I figured this would have to be one of those classic Seinfeldian blog installments about nothing.

And then, just minutes ago, my author’s representative Bridget sent me the revised artwork. And it’s spectacular.

Originally, they came up with a baseball placed over some “tribal” stripes, and while I thought it was fantastically creative and really cool, I knew the baseball only represented a portion of the subject matter. A very key portion, for sure, because baseball has been central to my entire life, but the book really focuses on three major sports: Baseball, soccer, and drag racing.

My first thought was to come up with three different pieces of art. We could have a baseball, a soccer ball, and a Funny Car tire and put the appropriate one atop each chapter. But, what about the chapters in which I’m doing something else, like working for Converse Shoes? Would we put a Chuck Taylor high-top on that chapter? It was going to be confusing, at the very least.

Then it struck me. I asked Bridget if we could do the three major sports in one piece of art, and then put that atop every new chapter. I went so far as to mock it up and send her a close-up of a Funny Car wheel and tire assembly, to give the designer a head-start.

I hadn’t planned to share any of the formatting in the blog, up until now. This is just too cool of a sneak peek not to share. I hope it gets everyone jazzed up over the idea that all of this hard work, spread out over well more than a year, is finally going to be a book. And yes, Chapter 1 is entitled “A Most Uncommon Childhood” because it was just that. And I wouldn’t trade a day of it for any other option.

What we have here is my sports life in a nutshell. Or if not in an actual shell from a nut, at least in one piece of creative artwork. I love it.

It’s cool and it’s me. It’s my life.

So there you have it. I approved it immediately and now the entire manuscript will be formatted and produced. Then, one more quick set of editing passes and we’ll have a book on our hands. Shortly after that, we’ll have a book in our hands. And yes, of course I asked Bridget what the timeline is from here. I’m waiting to hear her best estimate.

And here’s another funny thing. As a writer, you can become completely blind to stuff that other people see immediately. That’s why it’s so hard to proof your own material. Your brain makes the corrections for you, and you don’t see the problem. That was 100 percent the case with the titles of the two sections that come before Chapter 1.

I’ve known all along that such an introductory page is called a “Foreword” because it’s made up of words that come before the actual book. But for some reason I wrote “Forward” over them and then never noticed that dumb mistake. I’ve even been calling them “Forwards” in this blog. Forward is a direction. Foreword is an introduction to a book. Sheesh.

Today, Bridget coyly asked “Bob, would you like me to change the heading to ‘Foreword’ over those two sections?”

After smacking my palm to my forehead and actually laughing out loud, I wrote back and said “Ummm. YES!” I also might have mentioned to her that I’m a complete doofus.

So that’s your book update for this week. And I big important update it is. Also cool.

Moving on to another subject, it’s not just Thursday Blog Day. In the Facebook and social media world’s it’s also Throwback Thursday and I stumbled upon a photo I had forgotten about, which I’m going to post here.

Just three Phillies having yet another great day at the ballpark (Click to enlarge)

The year is 1951. The three Philadelphia Phillies are, from left to right, Del Ennis, Del Wilber, and Andy Seminick. I don’t know why the look on my dad’s face cracks me up so much, but it does. He looks mischievous, like he just cracked a sarcastic joke. He looks playful, and fun. He’s 32 years old here, but to me he always looked older than his age once he got to the big leagues.

I do wish I had been born early enough to see him play in the Major Leagues, but I have all of these photos to recreate what he looked like and how great he was as a player. He was a career back-up catcher, but in an era when MLB had only eight teams in each league. There were about 32 catchers in the show at any given time. That’s all. Just 32. He was one of them for nearly a decade.

And 1951 was his best year. He played in 84 games and had 263 plate appearances. He hit a solid .278 against big league pitching. A lot of teams today would like to have a catcher who hits .278 for the money they’re paying them. He also hit eight home runs in ’51. And, three of those home runs came in his “perfect game” when he went 3-for-3 against the Reds to singlehandedly account for all the runs in a 3-0 win. That game was the inspiration for the name of our family charity, and this very website you’re looking at now.

And gosh, he looks like such a fun teammate. Miss him every day.

So this is a short one, but it’s a big one at the same time. We are about to welcome a new bouncing baby book to the world soon. And he’ll be a hefty guy, at that. Maybe “husky” is a better word.

I’ll be back with you, same time same channel, next week. By then, I hope we have a decent estimate for a publication timeline. A month? I don’t know, but we’re a heck of a lot closer to it right now than we’ve ever been.

Thanks for your patience, and all of your support!

Bob Wilber, at your service and about to be an author.

 

Let There Be Proofs… And The Wall.

HOME / Let There Be Proofs… And The Wall.

March 9th, 2017

The day I sat down to begin writing “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” was a huge moment in my life. That was January 6, 2016. The day I finished principal writing was also huge, and emotional. That was October 20, 2016. Then came months of editing, drilling down to the word-by-word level to sort it out, clean it up, and make it right. That wasn’t much fun, but the day I submitted the manuscript was enormous. When I received a glowing review from the publisher, that was a huge day as well.

This week, another gigantic milestone was met and it was one that was very different than the others. After going through the process of selecting my enhanced formatting options, a layout designer at Outskirts Press put together sample proofs of how the book will look once it’s printed. When the email came, I was as nervous as I was excited. I was not wholly prepared, though, for the wave of feelings that overtook me when I took a look.

After more than a year of seeing my book come to life as a simple word-processing document, I had yet to see it in an actual book format. And when I opened the PDF attachment, there it was. Samples of the copyright page, the forward from Del Worsham, the dedication page, and bits of the first two chapters, all formatted and designed just as they’ll be in printed form. They even sent me a proof of the first two pages of the photo section that will be at the back of the book. Talk about things “getting real” in a hurry. I was speechless.

I don’t want to share any of that here. I want to wait until the book comes out to have other people see what it looks like and read the words. But, there’s no way I could do a Thursday blog without leading it off with this news. It was epic. It was the birth of a book.

I signed off on all the elements and approved the formatting. Now, the entire book goes into production and it should be just a matter of a few weeks before I get the first full “galley proof” of the entire thing. Of all the big days in this process, that day will likely move right to the top of the list, to soon thereafter be supplanted by the day I hold my first published copy in my hands.

And, of course, as I waded through it again late last week I found a few more typos. I didn’t want to slow the process by asking to resubmit the manuscript again, but I gained approval to make one final set of changes and edits when we get to the galley stage.

So that’s what I’ve been doing this week. Page by page again. Paragraph by paragraph. Word by word. I’ve been keeping a list of everything I see that will need to be fixed. One odd thing that kept popping up was a slew of words that were somehow missing their final letter. I couldn’t figure out how that happened. How did the final letter on a dozen words, sprinkled randomly through the book, suddenly turn up missing? Abducted by aliens? I had no clue.

Then it hit me. One of the last big passes I made through the book was a style edit to make it more concise. I was on that famous “comma hunt” I blogged about before. Apparently, a few times I deleted a comma I must have hit the delete button twice instead of once, and that not only removed the comma it also removed the final letter of that word. Weird.

I’ll keep you posted as we move forward. We’re almost there, gang!

My mom in 1999. Hanging out with those Funny Car guys her son worked with. (Click any photo to enlarge).

Back to the theme of running photos that didn’t quite make the cut in the book, here’s one of my favorites. At the St. Louis race in 1999, my parents came over to see their youngest son in action with this so-called “Funny Car team” he worked for. My mom, Taffy, had always loved fast cars. During the 1960s we seemed to always have a Chevy Camaro in the driveway, and they weren’t my dad’s cars.

Both of my folks became big fans of the team and Del Worsham, and Taffy was pretty much over the moon when they came and spent a day with us at Gateway that summer.

My dad watched a lot of the races on TV, and I filled him in regularly on the phone each weekend, but he never quite got the hang of how these cars ran or how hard it was to tune them.

I’ll never forget the time we smoked the tires and lost and he said, on the phone, “Tell your guy to stop spinning the tires like that. You never seem to win when he does that.”

I told him I’d relay the message.

Big brother and little brother, feeling the power and smelling the Nitro.

A few years later, after Big Del passed away, my oldest brother Del Jr. and his wife Kay were in Las Vegas when we raced there, and they came out to the track for a day. It was a first for both of them, and they were unabashedly blown away by all of it. As a life-long sports marketing guy, Del was floored by the hands-on interaction between the racers, the sponsors, and the fans. As a sports fan he was impressed by the competition.

As a human being, he was nothing short of amazed by the power and noise. After we took him to the starting line for a qualifying run, he giggled nonstop for about 20 minutes. It was fantastic to have him and Kay there with me.

And then there’s this…

For some reason, I’ve been all about the band Kansas for the last few months. I was a big fan when they were hitting it big back in the mid 70s, and I’ve always respected and liked them, but like just about everyone I kind of lost track of them and let them slip off my radar screen. I was on to bigger and supposedly better things.

Now, more than 40 years later, I’ve rediscovered just how talented they were. I think stumbling onto the “Miracles Out Of Nowhere” documentary on TV was what started it. They really were a miracle out of nowhere. Six guys from Topeka, somehow hitting it big and playing amazing music.

The albums “Point Of No Return” and “Leftoverture” are my go-to playlists for the gym now. Just last night I was doing my 45-minute walk and lifting some weights to both of those albums.

“Leftoverture” was a critical album for the band. They were selling a lot of records, and building a fan base, but they hadn’t scored that one big “breakout” song that would take them to the next level. Kerry Livgren and Steve Walsh did the songwriting for Kansas, but when they convened to record “Leftoverture” Walsh had writer’s block. He had nothing to contribute, and in a flurry of creativity even he didn’t understand, Kerry Livgren rose to the occasion. Day after day, he’d arrive at the studio and say, “Well, I kinda put this together last night” and each song was better than the last. He capped it off by showing up on the last day with “Carry On Wayward Son” and nothing was ever the same again for the band.

My favorite song on the album, back then, was “The Wall” but I don’t know why, and I couldn’t have seen the future to know why it would mean so much to me now.

The song is basically an allegorical look at challenges we all face. Of getting stale or getting off track and then arriving at that critical point where the biggest challenge of them all is staring right at us. It’s the sort of song that mentions nothing specific, but which almost anyone could hear and say, “Wow, that’s just like what I’m going through.”

When I was spinning that album on my turntable in college, I couldn’t have known how perfect “The Wall” would sound to me in 2017. I think I listen to it once a day now.

I’d been doing PR for Del and Wilk for 19 years. I was getting stale and tired of the travel. I was doing it because I was good at it and I loved the guys, but it was no longer a journey. It was a job. And I knew, deep in my heart, there was something bigger and more important out there. But, throwing it all away to take on my book was a huge wall. I had no idea if I could get over it and get to the other side, but I had to take the risk and try it. On January 6, 2016 I began my assault on the wall.

These words speak to me.

I’m woven in a fantasy, I can’t believe the things I see
The path that I have chosen now has led me to a wall
And with each passing day I feel a little more like something dear was lost
It rises now before me, a dark and silent barrier between
All I am and all that I would ever want to be
It’s just a travesty, towering, marking off the boundaries
My spirit would erase

To pass beyond is what I seek, I fear that I may be too weak
And those are few who’ve seen it through to glimpse the other side
The promised land is waiting like a maiden that is soon to be a bride
The moment is a masterpiece, the weight of indecision’s in the air
It’s standing there, the symbol and the sum of all that’s me
It’s just a travesty, towering, blocking out the light and blinding me
I want to see

Gold and diamonds cast a spell, it’s not for me to know it well
The treasures that I seek are waiting on the other side
There’s more that I can measure in the treasure of the love that I can find
And though it’s always been with me
I must tear down the wall and let it be
All I am, and all that I was ever meant to be, in harmony
Shining true and smiling back at all who wait to cross
There is no loss

When I’m walking at the gym and that song comes through my earbuds, I walk a little faster and feel a little more motivated about everything. In 1976 Kerry Livgren wrote it. In 2016 I lived it.

And my favorite line is “The moment is a masterpiece.” That’s exactly what it felt like when I sat down to write. It was all in front of me, but I had no idea how the process would play out. I had no idea if I had what it took to make it happen.

I hope Kerry Livgren has heard from hundreds, if not thousands, of people about how much that song meant to them. The song is a masterpiece, and Steve Walsh’s incredible soaring vocals help make it so.

See you next week.

Bob Wilber, at your service and on the other side of the wall.

Some More Rambling and Some More Questions

HOME / Some More Rambling and Some More Questions

March 2nd, 2017

Let it be Thursday Blog Day, right here in Blogville, in the state of Blogsylvania. I guess that should actually be the state of Blogesota, but Blogsylvania just sounds better. Today’s installment will be one of those classic rambling messes, since I don’t have any one big single piece of information to share, but the glue that will eventually hold it together will be a few more pertinent questions from readers. So let’s begin…

I’ll start on the “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” front, where no news is good news. I emailed my author’s rep, Bridget, to get an update and see where we are in the process and her reply was along the lines of “Our layout team is working with your interior images right now, to make sure they are all good enough quality to use. If you don’t hear from me soon, that’s good news. Hopefully we’ll have some layout proofs for you to see by late next week.”

First of all, the technical term “interior images” means “photos” and not necessarily photos of the interior of anything. They’re just in the interior of the book. Secondly, if I have any kind of proofs to look at by the end of next week, that would be awesome. Also amazing. I got kind of excited reading that, if by “kind of” you mean totally, really, very excited. Yikes. So here’s hoping it all stays quiet for a few more days and I don’t get the bad news that some of the photos I’ve submitted don’t pass muster.

Winning Indy and doubling up. Amazing. (Click on any image to enlarge)

Speaking of photos, though, I think I mentioned how I needed a release from anyone who appears in a photo. I probably mentioned that here a couple of times. Such a rule does not apply to blogs, so some classic photos I won’t be able to use in the book will instead be shown here. Like this one. It’s a classic from Labor Day in 2005. As this photo was taken, by Auto Imagery, the win light had just come on in our lane in the final round of the U.S. Nationals. After we’d won the Skoal Showdown the day before. Kind of a big rush of emotion, as you can plainly see. Probably, well actually almost definitely, the single biggest “hard to even fathom” rush of emotions I’ve ever felt. It was surreal.

And…  I’m not even in the photo. Del liked me to shoot the video from the side and slightly behind the car, kneeling down, so he could see the rear tire wrinkle, frame by frame. In that spot, I was almost never in the “reaction shot” of the starting line celebration. A few times, yes, but mostly not. If you look under the right arm of the guy in the blue ESPN t-shirt, you can sorta kinda make out the chest of my Checker, Schuck’s, Kragen shirt.

Seattle. I got no “ups” at all.

Of course, with Wilk he liked me to stand directly behind the car, which was a totally different approach but it got me in almost every photo taken of the LRS Ford. Like this one from Seattle, during the first of our three wins in a row there. As you can see, I’m getting absolutely zero air. My feet are firmly planted on the ground. Neighbor Dave, however, is getting big air and by doing so he’s magically “taller” than me. Well done, Neighbor. And fun times.

You can also see why I couldn’t use either photo. Too many people to count, much less get releases from.

You know what? I’m hungry. It’s lunch time. Time to eat! I’ll be back in a few minutes. Talk amongst yourselves. (Theme music plays…)

That was a quick and tasty salad, left over from last night’s carryout Italian dinner. Hit the spot.

And hey, while I was eating an email came in from Bridget at Outskirts Press. Good news! My “interior images” all passed their resolution exams. We’re good to go there.

Bad news, on my front, is that I found a few more typos in the manuscript. I think the plan is to make those corrections when we get to the proof stage. Easier to find them and correct them when we have actual page numbers to guide us. She also said I should indeed be seeing the first layout proofs very soon. Possibly as early as next week. Yeah, baby!

Well done, Mr. Collins.

Speaking of books, I posted on Facebook that since I’ve spent the last year-plus writing an autobiography, I felt like it was time to read one. So I purchased and read Phil Collins’ new book, with the awesome title of “Not Dead Yet.”

What a revelation his book was. He was very diplomatic about everyone in the book other than the guy named Phil Collins. As the book went on, he seemed to get harder and harder on himself. He’s completely open about his failed marriages, his problems with addictions, and every other thing he needed to get off his chest. The book alternates from being heartwarming to heartbreaking, with segments that are enlightening and humorous thrown if for good measure.

I’ve been a big fan of his since he was just “that drummer” behind a huge kit of drums at the back of the stage, while Peter Gabriel did the singing for Genesis. As a matter of true fact, the first time I saw Genesis was at the Ambassador Theater in St. Louis, in the late fall of 1974. It was the “Lamb Lies Down” tour, which means I was fortunate enough to see Genesis with Gabriel on vocals. That’s a great memory.

What was odd about that concert was the fact they played “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway” (a double album) in its entirety, despite the fact there had been some production delays and it wasn’t even out yet! To help us along, since it was one big story of a concept album, they put a copy of the liner notes (which attempted to explain the bizarre story of our hero Rael) on every seat, so we could do our homework and hopefully make some sense of it all. Mostly, I was just blown away by the incredible musicianship and the great depth of the songs. Plus the drummer. He was pretty good, too.

I couldn’t help but do some comparisons between our two books, and I’m happy to say mine stands up to the test pretty well. Phil’s method of writing the whole thing in the present tense, whether he’s eight years old or 58, is a bit odd at first, but you get used to it quickly. It just takes a bit of “adaptation” in the early chapters. I don’t think I’ve ever read an autobiography where everything is in the present tense, as if it’s happening as you read it, before. My book is in the more traditional past tense, because it’s about stuff from the past. I read Phil’s book in just three sittings, and each time I picked it up I was excited to read more, so that’s kind of indicative of how much I liked it.

And now to some questions, one of which ties in neatly to the segment above.

Christy in Wisconsin asked, “I know you’re a big Rush fan, and a big music fan in general. What’s the best concert you ever saw?”

The answer will probably surprise a lot of people. Many of the 25+ Rush shows I’ve seen would rank near the top. Many of the dozen or so Genesis shows would, as well. But in terms of sheer brilliance, perfect sound, great staging, and flawless delivery, I’d have to go with Supertramp during their early “Crime of the Century” tour. I saw them at the Fox Theater in St. Louis, and the best word I could come up with to describe it would be “perfect” and I don’t throw that word around lightly. Bloody well right!

Other notable concerts include the first Genesis tour after Phil moved out front as the singer. He brought in his buddy Bill Bruford, who was in Yes, to play the drums. Then there was the night I saw Mott The Hoople (their big hit was “All The Young Dudes”) and the opening act was Queen. Or the first time I saw Kansas. I was really impressed by Phil Collins’ drumming in Genesis, and he got better over the years to where he was one of the best drummers I’d ever seen, but the first time I saw Kansas I was completely and utterly blown away by Phil Ehart. That night, I turned to whoever I took to the show at Kiel Auditorium in St. Louis, and said, “I’ve never seen a drummer that good before. Heck, I’ve never seen or heard drumming like that before.”  Of course, I hadn’t seen Neil Peart yet, at that point.

Carl, from Texas, asked, “I see you guys have a new MLS team in the Twin Cities. Are you going to go to any of the games?”

We do indeed. Minnesota United begin play in Major League Soccer this weekend, out in Portland against the Timbers. They’re building their own stadium in the Midway area of St. Paul, but until it’s done they’ll play home matches at TCF Bank Stadium, the home of the U of M Golden Gophers football team. Yes, we’re excited to go to a few games, but we’ll probably wait for it to warm up a little more. And then there’s the whole thing about them being an expansion team, which means they might not technically, accurately, be considered “very good” this first year. Go Loons!

And finally, Brandon from Connecticut asked, “Now that you’ve been out of it for more than a year, how much do you miss NHRA Drag Racing?”

The simple answer is “a lot” but I’ll flesh that out a little more. I really miss most of the people, and I have no replacement for the emotional involvement with the team. The concept of “winning or losing as a team” has almost always been central to my life, no matter the sport. I’ve rarely been completely out of sports, since the day I was born. So I miss that. Do I miss the airports and hotels? Not so much, but as time moves on I feel less negative about that. I was really kind of beaten down by the travel when I made up my mind to retire from it and write the book. I still don’t see doing it full-time ever again, but I no longer feel that dread of thinking about getting on another plane.

But, I think it’s an indication of how much I miss it that I watched every Funny Car run from Phoenix, last weekend, on NHRA All Access.

So there you have it. Our first blog in March of 2017. There will never again be a first “Bob’s Blog” installment in March of 2017. Wrap your head around that fact!

Barbara is out in Spokane again this week, but she’ll be home Friday night and the weather here is supposed to be really nice this weekend. I see a few long walks in our future. Can’t wait for her to get home.

Bob Wilber, at your service and answering questions.

Westbound, Eastbound, Downtown, All Around…

HOME / Westbound, Eastbound, Downtown, All Around…

February 23rd, 2017

It’s been a bit of a whirlwind week since I blogged here last. Airplanes, hotels, rental cars, and fabulous meals inhabited my life once again, as did fun friends and beautiful places. It felt good to get out of the house and do all of that! This time, we gave Barbara a break and allowed her to stay off of Delta 1484, and I flew westbound on that MD-90 instead, joining her in Spokane for the weekend in a beautiful room at the Davenport Tower Hotel in downtown.

The Tower is a wonderful place, with a “happening” lobby that seems to be jam-packed every night, full of laughing jovial people enjoying each others’ company. There’s something in such an atmosphere that’s good for the soul. Way better than an empty spartan lobby where other guests pass through unsmiling and nobody cleans up after the so-called breakfast of fake eggs and cereal.

The view from our Tower window. The phenomenal Historic Davenport Hotel is right across the street. (Click on any photo to enlarge)

It’s also diagonally across the street from the Historic Davenport Hotel, owned by the same people and just as spirited, if not more so. The older Davenport was my home for a bit of the summer in 1974, when my father was managing the Spokane Indians to a Pacific Coast League championship. We had a suite on a high floor, looking down on Sprague Avenue, and my dad was mesmerized by the fact they washed the streets and sidewalks every night, with a big tanker truck spraying everything down. The reason? It was the summer of Expo ’74, and with a World’s Fair going on the city wanted everything to shine every day, for all the visitors.

The Historic Davenport was built in 1914, and it looks perfect for that period. It was the first hotel in the United States with air conditioning, a central vacuum system, and a pipe organ. When Big Del and I were there it was a dingy and dark place, worn out and run down. In 2002, it was renovated to all its former glory and if you’re ever in Spokane you should definitely visit the lobby and ballrooms, if you can’t actually stay there.

It was a marvelous weekend for us. Barbara made the commitment to take a few days off before her work revs back up to the red line in the coming days and weeks. The needle rarely ever comes off the red line for her.

We met friends Shannon and Karen for dinner at Hay J’s Bistro in Liberty Lake on Friday night, enjoying world-class cuisine and even better company. We’ve lived in a lot of great places, but I’ve never seen anything quite like Hay J’s. It’s a real asset for the Spokane area in general, and an absolute treasure for Liberty Lake.

On Saturday, we needed to drop off some laundry for Barb, at a place on The South Hill that will clean, fold, and deliver your clothes back to the hotel. As we walked in from the parking lot, I saw three guys get out of a rental car and then haul a couple of duffel bags into the cleaners. I knew immediately they were part of a sports team, and when Barb was inside she spoke with them. They were with University of the Pacific, and were in town to play Gonzaga the next night. When Barb asked why they got the short stick, she said they replied “No short stick. We’re just the lowest men on the totem pole.” Been there done that, in college and in the pros.

Next door to the cleaners is Huckleberry’s, an organic and absolutely fantastic grocery store. We used to make the drive all the way from Liberty Lake at least once a month, just to purchase their insanely good products and to feel the warmth of the vibe in the store. There’s a communal feeling in that cramped little place, as if everyone there senses the idea that they’re making a conscious effort to eat healthy and be good to themselves. At Albertson’s in Liberty Lake, everyone was simply buying groceries and looking for the best deal on an 8-pack of paper towels. There’s nothing wrong with that, because grocery shopping doesn’t have to be entertainment and I probably shopped at Albertson’s five times a week while we were living in Liberty Lake. But there’s something special about Huckleberry’s.

Good eats!

Inside the store is a small bistro, and we couldn’t resist eating our lunch there. It’s great food, and the portions are so big we could split a club sandwich and both be stuffed. As I sat at our table eating, I realized these are great memories of our time out there. When it’s happening, it’s so easy to just go through life and see the things you possibly don’t like, or miss the friends you’ve left behind, but on this trip we both recognized that Spokane and Liberty Lake had made a real impression on us. And despite our intention to not be too social out there, we’d made some real friends.

After dropping off the laundry, seeing the college hoops guys, and eating at the store, we drove over to the Coeur d’Alene Resort for two days and one night of pampered wonderfulness.

With a corner room on a high floor we had sweeping views of the lake and the marina, and despite the winter gloom and some lingering snow, the vistas were as magnificent as ever. Just in a slightly different way. There’s some magic to the Coeur d’Alene Resort, and it never gets old. Living there would not be a bad thing. It would not be a cheap thing, either.

Even gloomy days are gorgeous in Coeur d’Alene

We’ve been to Coeur d’Alene, and to the resort, so many times in the spring, summer, or fall months I’ve lost track. It never fails to be gorgeous, but I don’t recall us ever spending the night at the resort during the winter. I wondered if it would seem “off season” and quiet, or whether the cloudy gloom would make the views lose their stunning charm. I shouldn’t have wondered. It was a beehive of activity and the views were still magnificent. As I wrote above, they were just different. But you still couldn’t help standing at the window and staring at the lake and surrounding hills for hours on end.

Our room had a fireplace, so sitting by the flames and just watching it snow a bit was about as sublime as it can get. It was wonderful for me, to walk away from my desk after this year of writing, and all the small things I worry about. It was medicinal for Barbara. She really needed it, and she found that happy place where relaxation reintroduces itself to you. Again, good for the soul.

Fashion statement of the year. Awesome!

We roamed the streets of downtown Coeur d’Alene a little, but it was raining and sleeting a bit so we didn’t get too far. We did get far enough to find a nice store where I bought a new shirt, which totally changed my wardrobe for dinner, while Barbara fell in love with a funny (yet totally functional) hat. She loved it, and we laughed out loud messing around with it. She wasn’t going to buy it but I insisted. It’s possibly the greatest hat ever. And in Minnesota, it will come in handy. She’s nothing short of absolutely adorable, am I right? It’s the little bear ears on the sides that make it special.

Eating our dinner at the stellar Beverly’s restaurant inside the resort takes sublime to a new level. The service is impeccable, the food is off the charts, and we actually loved getting a table near the kitchen so that we could watch the chef and his sous chefs creating magic. Beverly’s has to rate in my personal Top 10. It’s nearly flawless.

We also brought our own bottle of vino, after making sure it was not on their massive wine list. If it was, the fee to have them open it would make it more expensive than just buying a bottle from the restaurant. It wasn’t, and the head sommelier came over to pour it for us. He was familiar with the vintner, but not with this particular vintage and label, so we invited him to sample it. It was like going to “Wine Appreciation 101” to listen to him describe the first sip. Fascinating stuff. And 20 minutes later, after it had “opened up” he dropped by again and we all discussed how much it had changed since he’d uncorked it. Barbara was in her element. I was mostly a bystander, but I enormously enjoyed their conversation. The wine was pretty good too!

Back in our room, we turned the lights off and lit the fireplace, reinforcing the “good for the soul” reason for being there.

On Sunday, we had a leisurely morning before heading down to yet another amazing place inside the resort. At the spa, we had aroma-therapy massages that did not disappoint. And after the sessions, we enjoyed the complimentary mimosas. The pampering was good. It was parts of two days and just one night, but it felt like an actual vacation. That would be a good thing.

After driving back to downtown, we then met great friends Claudia and Paul for dinner at Luigi’s, the longtime go-to Italian restaurant in Spokane. The service was great, the food was amazing, and the laughter never stopped. All of that adds up to another feather in the cap we call a weekend in Spokane. What a valuable thing.

If you’ve been a longtime reader, you’ll be able to connect the dots about Claudia and Paul. They were the hosts of many Christmas and Super Bowl parties, and wonderful hosts they were. Those were always great parties, and this year we had made a vow to come back out for the Super Bowl if the Seahawks were in it. Sadly, they were not and sadly Claudia and Paul said the party wasn’t the same without us. I think that’s because we always brought the giant Super Bowl betting pool.

I flew back on Monday, still reveling in the good time we had. Sometimes it’s these short but sweet getaways that end up being so special. Elaborate and well-planned vacations can be great, but sometimes the planning and complexity of it can detract from the very reason you went. This little trip was just the opposite.

Upon approach to MSP, the pilot told us it was low overcast, drizzle, but “still hanging in there around 55 degrees.” On February 20. Ridiculous. And, it was one of those approaches that proves just how talented commercial pilots are. We were in the clouds until just before touchdown. We couldn’t have been 200 feet off the ground when I saw the first landing lights, but he put it smoothly onto the middle of the runway.

When I got home, I had two fuzzy boys staring right at me as I came through the door from the garage. They typically like to play a standoffish game for a while, to make us pay for having left them, but this time I cut them off at the pass and picked both of them up. We never had to play the game and they were purring deeply within seconds. It was a fun night in bed that night, too, with my guys snuggling and walking on me until two of us got up in the morning. Buster followed us shortly thereafter. He’s always the last one to get up.

They were screaming for their breakfast, which consists daily of two Greenie dental treats each, and five or six Greenie treats that contain Omega 3s for skin and coat health. When you sprinkle a few bits of freeze-dried chicken on that, they eat all of it until their bowls are empty. Good boyz!

Buster is NOT ALLOWED on the kitchen island. See!

And as for those bowls, we have a strict rule in our house that the cats are not allowed on the kitchen island. Never. Except for the part when they get their treats or need water or just want to be there. They don’t follow rules, so we clean up a lot.

Hey, it’s their house. We just live in it and feed them.

As we all managed to get up that morning, it was obvious that this crazy weather was still in full bloom.

When I went outside to get the paper and put the trash and recycling bins back in the garage, it was unbelievable. It felt like April, although around here April can seem like December for much of the rest of the country. Yes, the winter of 2016-2017 is far from over. That’s a fact and March is typically the snowiest month here, but this year has been yet another aberration. We’ve seen more than a few of those since we arrived in 2002. A few “Polar Vortex” years have balanced it out, but this one is off the charts.

In Spokane, we passed a gaggle of geese chowing down in a park and I remarked, “Look, they still have geese here. Ours have been gone for a couple of months or more and probably won’t be back for another month or two.”

You know where I’m going with this, right?

As soon as I stepped outside on Tuesday morning, a large V formation of Canada Geese flew right over the house, mocking me with their incessant honking. And so it begins again. Watch your step!

Posting this photo is what we call “Jinxing ourselves.” It’s still just February…

It was also daylight, so I could better see what was too dark to notice the night before. In our yard, which recently had snow everywhere and piles as high as three feet tall along the edge of the driveway, there was but one lonely strip of snow out by the street. Two hours later, it was gone. And ice-fishing people are irate about all of this. As are snowmobilers, skiers, skaters, and snowball aficionados.

There’s a huge likelihood of serious snow tonight, and some parts of the Twin Cities might get a foot, but this is still February. I think.

As for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” it’s still officially out of my hands, and I’ve made a pact with myself to not even look at it until I see the first proofs. So far, I’ve been “pretty good” with that pact. Nobody’s perfect.

I’m not sure when I’ll see the first bits of layout, typefaces, and other things that will make it a real book. I’m hoping it’s very soon, but it doesn’t generally work that way. Especially with a book as long as mine. I just got off the phone with Krista Wilkerson, catching up on everything, and we talked about all of this because she asked me when I’ll be coming out to the races. My plan is to wait until I have books to bring with me, so the date and venue are still undecided. We’ll also have to see if I can keep that pact. Sure would be fun to go to Gainesville and then to Fort Myers for Spring Training like I’ve done so many times in the past, but that’s an expensive trip and I don’t need to be spending the money. Yet.

Win Twins!

But speaking of Spring Training in Fort Myers means I’m speaking about the Twins, and when I was on my way to my flight last Friday I passed the newest restaurant at MSP, which is undergoing an enormous renovation with all kinds of new eats and stores. It’s a Twins-themed place, on the C concourse where TGI Fridays used to be. I’d call it a step in the right direction. Cool Harmon Killebrew autograph on the half-wall, and though it’s hard to see in this photo there is a huge MLB logo inside, and it’s made up of red, white, or blue painted bats. Actually, just the last few inches of bat barrels. The place is also, believe it or not, full of memorabilia and jerseys and other Twins stuff. I’ll have to go extra early next time, and have lunch there. Photos will be taken.

And speaking of baseball, we’re well into the planning stages of our annual reunion with my SIUE teammates and roommates, Lance, Radar, and Oscar. Seattle won the selection derby, and we’re looking at a few optional weekends when the Mariners will be in town. Lance is in charge of the lodging this time, so I’m pretty sure we’re not going to be staying in a roadside motel with a number in the name.

Then, over the past weekend I kept looking around at the Coeur d’Alene Resort and thinking how much the guys would dig it, especially in the summer when we can play on their world-famous golf course with the floating green. Just getting to the course from the resort is fun, because they take you there in a vintage mahogany Chris-Craft boat. I ran it past Lance, who ran it past the other boys, and we’re all in. We’ll meet up in Seattle, spend a couple of days in downtown and go to a ballgame, then fly over to Spokane and spend a couple of nights at the resort, with golf, food, and relaxation on the agenda. Then we can all fly home from Spokane. If the boys fly Delta, we can all be on the first leg together and I can get them upgraded to the front cabin. The other First Class passengers will never be the same.

Life in the low minors. At least we made $500 a month!

Finally, another photo that won’t make the cut in the book. It’s another day, another road trip, another time to get off the bus and play ball. This time, our Paintsville Hilanders are in Johnson City, Tenn. to play the Cardinals near the end of the 1978 season.

Roy Dixon is the goofball on the right. We played together the next season, too, in Lakeland, Fla. but I’ve completely lost track of him. He went to NC State and was a fantastic outfielder and an even funnier guy (this photo notwithstanding). Through the magic of the interwebs, I’d sure like to connect with Roy again, at some point. He plays a major role in the part of the book about my minor league days. I’m second in line, with my duffel bag over my shoulder, and behind me are pitchers Pete Conaty and Chris Geason. The rest of our ragtag group lags behind.

So, as you can see there was plenty to write about this week, although only a little bit of it was about the book. Gotta keep my pact and not mess with it. It’s too late. It’s out of my hands now. Literally.

See you next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service and feeling relaxed.

What A Production…

HOME / What A Production…

February 16th, 2017

If it seems, to you, that I’ve been touting these “major milestones” for many months, with regard to “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts,” that’s because I have. And every time I think I’ve reached the final one I discover a new one coming at me from over the horizon. Who knew this was so much work? There was the Kickstarter campaign that was so successful. There was October 20, when I finished the first draft of principal writing. There was November and December, when Greg Halling and I went through the whole thing, multiple times, editing out stuff that could go and tightening it up. And then there was the last three weeks, as I saved $5,000 by doing the copy-editing page by page, paragraph by paragraph, sentence by sentence, word by word, and comma by comma.

If I’d just written a 100-page book, all of that would be far easier. I was actually looking at a book on one of our shelves yesterday, which was my first “sample” of a self-published book, and it’s a self-help, how-to book. It’s so short it has three blank pages in the back, it’s on heavy stock paper, and almost every page has decorations and illustrations. It’s even a smaller than normal size, in terms of page height and width. All of that was an effort to make it seem more substantial. My problem is just the opposite, but this week I’ve clicked past another one of those major milestones and I think we’re finally getting there.

The pre-production part of the process was one I was not looking forward to. Writing was a joy. The thought of doing the paperwork, filling out forms, selecting options, and getting the whole thing organized, almost intimidated me. What if I accidentally clicked on a box that had the whole thing translate to Chinese? What if I accidentally deleted everything? What if…? I loved getting up every day and writing for a year. I even enjoyed the editing because that was a new skill to learn. I looked forward to the rest of it so little I procrastinated like crazy. But then, it was all I had left and I had to get through it.

Her name is Bridget and she’s my author representative at Outskirts Press. Early in the writing process, when I was just getting started and still an “author to be” in the publisher’s eyes (in baseball parlance, I was a prospect) we only corresponded every few months. I just concentrated on getting all the stories and characters into place. As we got closer, and my lists of questions grew, we ramped up our emails and phone calls. Once I initially submitted my manuscript, the motor revved up even more. Over the last couple of weeks, as I went through my online “publishing center” to fill out all the forms and select all my options, she was a valuable assistant, guiding me through it all and answering all my dumb questions. I had plenty of those.

Where I’ve spent most of my last week.

I discovered there were more options and upgrades available, while doing all that, and while I declined most of them there were a few I jumped on. I purchased the elite version of digital publishing, making sure the book would be available for download to just about any device on a wide variety of platforms. I also went with the customized layout option, so that I could determine how the book would be laid out and constructed. Yeah, I clicked on “Let the designer decide” a couple of times, but for most of the steps I chose all the things that would make the book as short as possible. Narrow margins, no spaces between paragraphs (just indentations), no “header” at the top of the page, no index at the back, and other options that will keep the page-count as low as possible.

That’s a critical thing, because of something else I discovered. The wholesale cost of the book takes page count into serious consideration. It has to. A 200-page book is a lot less expensive to print than a 700-page book. We won’t know the exact page count until it’s laid out for the first time, but right now it looks like the wholesale price, and therefore the retail price, are going to be considerably higher than I originally thought (dreamed) and that worries me. After all of this, I don’t want people who have waited so long to think “Well heck, that’s too much. No way I’m paying that for a book.” But, I don’t really have any control over it. Since Outskirts partners with the author in this process, they set minimum limits on the profit margin for the book. They don’t allow you to only make a buck per copy to keep the price down. And I told Bridget I wasn’t interested in cutting more pages. I’ve left too many good stories on the editing floor already. So… I hope people don’t have sticker shock when they see the number in the upper corner of the cover. But, since there are no printed pages in the digital version, maybe that will be a better option for some folks.

The good news is I can also sell some directly. Of course, I have to buy them first and I’ll want to make a little bit of money on each one, but at least I don’t have to split the income with the publisher. More details to work out… And more things to consider. If I sell them directly, I have to not only be an author and a salesman, I have to be an accountant as well. I’m pretty much a terrible accountant.

The bottom line to all of this is that the book is now so “out of my hands” I need to take a break from even reading it. I’ve been through it so many times I could probably recite many of the parts from memory, but now the little birdie has flown from the nest and I need to let her go. If I can get through a few weeks without opening the files to read it some more, I hope I’ll have a fresh perspective and be able to see the forest more, instead of just the trees.

It was interesting, over the last few months, when I’d read and reread again. Sometimes I’d think, “You know what? This is really good” and other times the same chapter would make me think, “Gosh, who would want to read this?”  I think it’s all just a matter of your frame of mind on any given day. I still feel that way about this blog, after having written my NHRA blog for more than 10 years. Some days I’d crack myself up. Other days I wondered what the purpose of it was.

Old number five takes in the action

But speaking of purposes, after last week’s blog I figured one thing I can keep doing is to continue posting photos that didn’t make the cut. I have 39 photographs scheduled to be in the book, so a few more might get axed, but I know I can’t put any more in there. It’s already too long. I like this photo, but I couldn’t secure the rights to print it, because it’s copyrighted by a newspaper. That’s me, just outside the dugout in Johnson City, Tenn. as my Paintsville Hilanders take on the Johnson City Cardinals near the end of the season. I can even tell who the two guys next to me are. Roy Dixon is just to my left, and I recognize Tom Kokos next to him, just from his hair. Great guys and great teammates, and all part of one truly great season of pro ball. And that’s our manager, Yank Mihal, inside the dugout.

The Paintsville chapter is one of my favorites in the book, because the memories are still so vivid and the characters were insanely fun guys. Most of us had never met the day we arrived in that tiny town in the coal-mining hills of eastern Kentucky, but within days we were like family. I was so sad when the season ended. I wanted to get home, but I didn’t want to leave. I was tired, after a full college season followed by 66 games in the Appalachian League, in 68 days. All while riding in our bus for up to five hours each way for all 10 road trips. Overnight trips in the dark, just to get back to Paintsville by sunrise so we could play the next night, happened every week. It was exhausting, even for fit young men like us, but we would’ve kept doing it forever if they’d let us.

After I got home from that season, I never saw any of those guys again except for four of them. My roomie was Stan Osterbur, and we’d played college ball together. We were both at our induction into the SIUE Hall of Fame last fall. Tom Bloemke was a roomie as well, on road trips near the end of the season, and he came to visit me a year later. Roy Dixon signed with Detroit at the end of the season and we played together in spring training and at Lakeland the next year. Vince “The Bronze Fox” Bienek and I went 37 years between the last day of the Paintsville season and our reunion in Sonoma in 2015.

With my longtime buddy, Shasta the cat. And look! A land-line phone on my desk! (Ancient technology)

And then there’s this shot. That would be good old Shasta on my lap, on the day we got back home to our old Woodbury house after a 15-day cruise to Hawaii and back. He was glued to me for days. What a good boy he was.

Shasta was with me through so much, and always a loyal friend who could sense when I needed a little extra attention or some extra purring to perk me up.

He adopted me when I visited the shelter while living in Topeka, in 1991. He moved with me to St. Louis, then to New Jersey, then back to St. Louis, then to Kansas City, then to Indianapolis, then to Chapel Hill, N.C. where he got to move in with Barbara Doyle before I did, then to Austin, then finally to Woodbury. He was a well-traveled cat. And he was my pal.

So now what? I’m looking forward to the production process, and I’m hoping the fact I also selected “Expedited Publishing” speeds the process up at least a little bit. I’m eager to hold one of the copies in my hand and hope I don’t throw my back out due to its weight.

Then, once we have them and they’re on sale, it will be time to get back out there to NHRA tracks around the country. Maybe we can even sell a few. And sign a few as well.

I’ll see you here again next week, but not before getting on a plane tomorrow to fly out to Spokane. Barbara needs to maximize her time out there right now, so rather than having her lose two days to travel, I’m going out there. And, we’re going to spend Saturday night at the Coeur d’Alene resort! Woo Hoo!!! I can’t wait. I’ll fly back home on Monday, eager to see how things are going with Outskirts.

See you then!

Bob Wilber, at your service and in the publishing business.

 

 

What The Hack?

HOME / What The Hack?

February 9th, 2017

Since I didn’t get any urgent emails from anyone earlier this week, I’m assuming most of you didn’t notice that our blog site got hacked recently. I happened upon it just hours after the deed was done, and deleted it immediately. The hacker had replaced my most recent blog with garbage I care not to mention. They also changed the title to “Hacked By” followed by a name I will not print here.

It was a shock to me and very worrisome as well. After deleting it I contacted the Web expert we use here at The Perfect Game Foundation and told her about it. Within minutes she replied with the somewhat good news that the hack was not specifically aimed at Bob’s Blog but was instead a complete hack of WordPress, the internet platform that supports a huge number of blogs and sites. WordPress had, apparently, a hole in its security and the foreign hackers found a way in. We were not the only ones defaced.

But, whether it was random or aimed specifically at me, it was still pretty scary and really disappointing. WordPress has now updated its security and we’ve updated all of our passwords and security, as well, so hopefully that’s behind us. Fingers crossed.

As for the ongoing saga that has been “Bats, Balls, and Burnouts” for oh these many months, last night was yet another milestone. After nearly two weeks of painstaking copy-editing, I cried “Uncle” last night and called it done, once again. Are all the little mistakes gone? Hard to say but I doubt it. It’s an enormous book. I felt lucky to find a few more double periods at the ends of sentences and a few paragraphs that ran together instead of being separated, but I suspect when I get the first printed copy and dive in I’ll find something that leaps off the page and smacks me in the nose. That’s kind of how it works. The good news is, we’re doing this book in “print on demand” fashion so it’s not like 10,000 copies will be printed and shipped on publication day. When you go on Amazon or another site that will carry it, and you purchase the book, Outskirts Press will print it for you and ship it out. Amazing technology, if you think about it. So, if we find any egregious typos we can fix them and the next book printed will be correct.

And now that it is completely out of my hands and at Outskirts for good, I shall share one last snippet with you all. This is the actual final paragraph of the Epilogue, which comes after the final chapter of the actual book. In the Epilogue, I write about the year I took to write the book and what it was like. Early in the book I make it clear that I know I was the luckiest kid in the world, to have been born to my parents with no say in the matter. This is the final line:

—————————-

What a wonderful process this has been. Writing these stories, remembering these characters, and stringing it all together in one lengthy lifetime of experiences reinforces my belief that I’m still the luckiest kid in the world.

—————————-

There’s no doubt about it.

So what do I do now? Well, strategically there is still about as much work to do as there was with the writing. We have to get it produced and formatted, and there will no doubt be a lot of approval steps in that process. Then we need to promote the heck out of it once it’s available for purchase, and I’m looking forward to doing a number of signings and appearances when the time comes. Going to a lot of races will be a key part in that process.

And then what will I be doing a year from now? I’m not sure yet. Write another book? Maybe, but the subject matter would have to be something that I can get my head around. I’m not going to write a romance novel or a murder mystery, I can tell you that. I’ve had some discussions with a few people, and even the thought of writing someone else’s biography sounds pretty intriguing. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get this one out there first and see if anyone likes it. If it bombs, I’ll still be thrilled with the process of bringing it to life.  If I feel like going back to work, it will have been a couple of years since I was out there on the grind of the drag racing tour, so I suspect my batteries will be a bit recharged by then. Again, we’ll just have to see.

Throughout all the editing, some decent stories ended up on the cutting room floor and even more were never included. The thought of putting some of those out there, even if it’s just on my website, is a good one. I’m pretty sure I could also write another 800-page book of all the stuff that didn’t make it, although the names would often have to be changed to protect both the innocent and the guilty.

And, when I started the process of editing the text I also began to select the photos for the back of the book. I ended up with about 100 shots that were being considered. Some good ones didn’t make the cut, and some more might be cut if we end up going too long once the layout is finished.

Who’s the chubby little guy in front?

For instance, here are the five Wilber kids in front of our house on Woodleaf Court, in Kirkwood, Mo. I’m the youngest and the cutest one, and I suspect I’m two years old in the photo. The fact my sister Cindy is being so angelic in her First Communion dress is humorous on a large number of levels.

There were a lot of other photos I originally wanted to use but the possibility of getting everyone in the shot to sign off on releases, or the fact the photos were copyrighted and I couldn’t find the right people to give me those releases, prohibited their use. So, once we get BobWilber.net up and running, I’ll make sure that a substantial photo gallery is included, with a lot of those photos that weren’t able to be included in the printed book.

WARNING: Complete change of subject coming…

Okay, I shall herein opine about the movie “Slap Shot.”

This is the 40th anniversary of the release of the movie, and last night the NHL Network aired a new 30-minute documentary on it. If you can find that on-demand you should.

I saw “Slap Shot” when it came out, four decades ago. I was in college, and it had been at the theaters for a few weeks, although it was destined to not be there long. I saw it in Effingham, Illinois.

Paul Newman played the lead role but the movie was really an ensemble piece, filled with incredibly rich characters. I’ve probably watched it 20 times in my life, and might just watch it again tonight. It’s brilliant, but like a lot of movies it took time for it to coalesce in people’s minds. It was so different in every way it was off-putting to the original movie crowd. It’s clear it was a risk for Newman, too, because he’d never played a character like Reg Dunlop, the player/coach of the Charlestown Chiefs. His character was very flawed, very devious, and pretty desperate.

What’s so unique about the film is how it grew on people over the years, to where it’s now a classic. The documentary nails the explanation for that. Right when it came out, the VHS era was just starting. For the first time ever, you could own or rent a movie and watch it at home whenever you wanted. Had that not been the case, “Slap Shot” would have come and gone and been, most likely, forgotten. Instead, it found its place, it found its footing, and it got handed down from generation to generation.

It’s also a dark movie. It’s about desperate people at desperate times, living in a depressed steel town where the mill is closing. Yet, it’s full of hilarious moments and great hockey action. It’s a juxtaposition of itself, in numerous ways. And, when I saw it at that little theater in Effingham, I didn’t much care for it. I went back to it on tape, a few years later, and the brilliance of it finally hit me.

I was the same way with “Caddyshack” and “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” – two movies on my all-time favorites list and two of the funniest movies ever made, at least to my warped sense of humor. Also the same with “Buckaroo Banzai” which I consider one of my Top 5 favorite movies of all time. When I saw those flicks at the theater, I left disappointed. Not much later, I had them in my personal movie Hall of Fame. I can’t really explain that, other than to assume it’s because these sorts of movies need time to be appreciated.

So there’s my movie segment today. You’re welcome.

I actually remember that jacket

And here’s another photo of little Bobby Wilber. I’m probably more like four years old in this one. Quiz: What is the make of the family car I’m standing in front of in the Wilber driveway? That’s a tough one because you can only see the back end and it wasn’t exactly a memorable vehicle.

So, I won’t wait to divulge the answer. It’s a Vauxhall. It was made in England, I believe, and the company was purchased by General Motors who sold a few of them through Pontiac dealerships here in the U.S. of A. I think. It was LONG time ago…

And this is NHRA Winternationals weekend. How is that even possible, and how is it possible that 2017 is the second season in which I’m not a full-time PR rep on the Mello Yello tour? Writing a book makes time fly, apparently.

Do I wish I was there? Of course I do, although I’d still prefer to have someone fly me there in a private jet, then have a limo take me to the track, where I’d be dropped off at my million-dollar motor coach that is fully stocked and set up. I’ve had that same desire for 20 years, but no one has ever taken me up on it. I’m flummoxed. Seems like a heck of a deal, to me. Or maybe just a heck of a deal FOR me.

So, barring any more hackings or hijackings, I’ll see you next week. Here’s hoping WordPress and our Web guru have this figured out.

And if you’re going to Pomona have a GREAT time and say hello to absolutely everyone for me.

Bob Wilber, at your service and hack-free.

More Questions…

HOME / More Questions…

January 26th, 2017

Greetings  blog faithful. It is yet again another Thursday Blog Day and it’s yet again another fine day to finish copy-editing my book. Doing it myself was pretty much of a “no brainer” after I learned it would cost me more than $5,000 to have a professional do it. I also knew it wouldn’t be perfect, because copy editing is hard work and I’m a “big picture guy” who isn’t all that great at it. And, I had no idea how long it would take me. I’m still not done.

I can only do it one or two chapters at a time, because the focus has to stay sharp or you miss things. So, after putting chapters 29 and 30 behind me this morning, I’m taking a break to write this. It feels good to just let it flow and write again. It’s been all editing for me, for weeks. It feels right to write. Or is it a rite to write? Or is it a rite to write right? All of the above.

Anyway, I have three chapters left to do and then I’ll resubmit it, with the photos I’ve selected, to Outskirts Press. And I’ll cross my fingers that I’ve caught at least 95 percent of the typos.

So what’s on the docket for today’s nonsense? More questions from readers! I’ve started saving them as the emails come in, so we can do this regularly. Let’s dive right in…

Dan from Denver asked: “How many races are you going to this season? Will you be in Pomona?”

The answers are “I don’t really know yet” and “No.”

I’m sure I’ll get to more than a few, and I’ll probably get to a decent number of races right after the book comes out. Until then, I’m giving the process 100 percent of my attention. I am starting to feel the pangs of sadness that I won’t be in Pomona, but I’ve been so busy with “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” and now it’s kind of “too late” to even think about it. I’ll be following along.

Beth from the San Francisco Bay Area (San Rafael, to be precise) wanted to know, “Will your book be for sale at the race track?”

We’re working on that. I plan to have it in a souvenir trailer on the tour, but it’s still up in the air which one it will be. I’ll keep you posted.

Art, from my hometown of St. Louis, asked “Who’s the best baseball player you ever played on the same team with?”

That’s a hard one to answer. I played with Neil Fiala on the Sauget Wizards semipro team for many years. He had made it to the big leagues with the Cardinals and Reds, and it was obvious how good he was just being on the field with him. After my junior year in college, I played summer ball in the Central Illinois Collegiate League, for the Danville Roosters. Andy McGaffigan and Charlie Liebrandt were both pitchers on that team, both really good guys, and both destined to have great (and lengthy) Major League careers. In the minors with the Tigers, I played in Lakeland, Florida with Howard Johnson. In terms of sheer athletic ability, he’d have to rate right at or near the top. Plus, he was a great guy. I played against guys like Cal Ripken, Jr., Lloyd Moseby, Dave Stieb, Julio Franco, Jesse Orosco, Bret Boone, and a lot of other guys who went on to play very well in the big leagues, but that wasn’t Art’s specific question.

To Art, though, I’ll ask this question: “Where’d you go to school?” I’m betting he laughs out loud at that. It’s the first question two St. Louis natives ask when they meet for the first time, and “school” means high school. It’s how you establish first or second degrees of separation.

Corrine from Virginia asked: “What are your predictions for Top Fuel and Funny Car champions in 2017?”

Great question, although it felt really odd there to type 2017. I spent a great deal of my life looking forward to 2000, and now we’re in 2017. Sheesh! And as a disclaimer, whether it’s drag racing, baseball, or any other sport, I’m terrifically awful at such predictions. It’s hard to look past Antron Brown and Tony Schumacher in the long cars, but a sentimental favorite has to be Doug Kalitta. As for Funny Car, I think old Forcey still has another left in him, which would make his new nickname 17x. But who knows. We’ll just have to wait and see. I’ll be actively rooting for Wilk and Del, although Del doesn’t look to be doing the full tour this year so that counts him out for the big trophy. If Wilk gets off to a fast start, he can keep everyone behind him all year.

Carl, from Dallas, asked this gem: “What was your first car? And, what was your favorite car?”

My first car, bought for me by my parents in 1973, was a brand-new powder blue VW Beetle. I think it cost around $2,000. I put red shag carpeting in the front and installed an 8-track tape deck in the glove box. My favorite car is probably the 1985 Saab 900 Turbo I bought new after I’d been dreaming of owning one for years. It was my first real “dream car” and I was finally making enough money (working for Converse) to afford the dream. I even took delivery of it in London, then drove it around France and Belgium for a week before dropping it at the docks in Antwerp to ship it home. Considering that time in my life and how much I adored that car, it probably ranks at the top. I was still young enough to be kind of starstruck by it.

Another Carl, this one from Topeka, asked: “I know you’re a big Rush fan, but did you know Kansas has a new album out?”

The answer is “I do now, and thanks for the tip!” I got that note from Carl a week or so ago, and downloaded the album yesterday. It’s entitled “The Prelude Implicit.” Only two members of the original band from Topeka are still involved, but the album is pretty darned good. And I’ve been mesmerized lately by the documentary “Miracles Out Of Nowhere” that chronicles the band’s history. It’s absolutely brilliant. I think I’ve watched it 20 times. If you liked Kansas even a little bit, you should watch it. Carry on, my wayward son…

Ashley, from right here in the Twin Cities, asked: “How long are you going to keep writing your blog? It’s amazing you’ve done it this long and I’ve read every one, I think.”  Well, first of all the answer is “As long as I can and as long as it’s still feels right.” But the most important thing is to say “Thank you!” to Ashley and countless other readers, who have been with me since August of 2005. What an unexpected and life-changing deal this has been.

Finally, Stanley from Boise asked: “What sticks in your mind as your favorite NHRA moment or memory?”

That’s pretty easy. I had 20 years of great moments and memories, but winning the Skoal Showdown and then “doubling up” by also winning the U.S. Nationals, with Del and the CSK team in 2005, is tops. I’ve never been part of a World Championship, and can’t say definitively if I’ll ever again have that chance, but Indy in ’05 was really special. Getting ready for the final round on Monday I was more nervous and more excited than I’d ever been. Winning it seemed inconceivable, even after the fact.

Trivia time: Who did Del beat in the final round to complete the double up? Answer at the bottom.

Your 1989 Sauget Wizards. (Click to enlarge and see just how handsome we all were!)

And Stanley’s question made me think of how I’d answer that if it was about baseball. Hitting a 3-run homer to dead center to help the Sauget team beat the USA National Team, in Millington, Tennessee, would have to be right at the top. That was basically surreal, and beating those guys was astonishing. Many players on that USA team went on to play Major League ball, including Bret Boone, Jeromy Burnitz, Fernando Vina, Dan Wilson, and a bunch of other guys. And we beat them. Baseball is a funny game.

I think (hope) I described that game well enough in the book. It was a major highlight of my entire career in sports and my life. And playing with these guys for so many years was one of the most rewarding things I ever did. Six of us had played pro ball (Neil Fiala in the big leagues) and the rest of the guys had all been great college players. We’d play as many as 70 games a summer, all for the love of the game. This photo was taken at the USA ballpark in Millington, just a few hours before we beat them.

Answer to the trivia question about the final round at Indy:  Frankie Pedregon, driving a car tuned by Brian Corradi. We beat him by about two feet.

That’s it for this week. Back to these last three chapters…

Bob Wilber, at your service as a proud alumnus of the Sauget Wizards.

Oops. A Little Late.

HOME / Oops. A Little Late.

January 19th, 2017

Cliches. You gotta love ’em, and here I get to use one: Better late than never! The whole day got away from me and all of a sudden I realized it was Thursday Blog Day and I hadn’t written a word. What was I doing? I was saving more than $5,000, that’s what.

Earlier this week, I had a great conversation with my publishing consultant at Outskirts Press, and we walked through all the final details for taking my approved manuscript and turning it into a “book in progress.” There were a lot of details to get through, as she helped me fill out all the forms and make selections at my “Publishing Center” on their website. One of the options was copy-editing, that tedious but important function of finding typos and other mistakes.

Outskirts provides copy editing, but the standard fee for it is based on the average length of the books they publish. Mine is slightly longer. Like, a LOT longer. For $240, your 15,000 word manuscript is meticulously gone over, by trained copy editors who might take anywhere from two weeks to a month to complete their work. Beyond those 15,000 words, it’s 1.6 cents per word to do the editing. “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” is roughly 319,000 words. That would cost me about $5,100 and might take two long tortuous months. I didn’t see any option other than doing it myself. With all the effort we’ve put into this project, it’s pretty polished but it’s not perfect. $5,100 would’ve been a ridiculous sum to pay for a few dozen corrections.

“But you have an editor,” you say. Yes, but Greg Halling was my style editor. He kept me in line, taught me how to economically tell a good story and stay in the same “voice” from chapter to chapter. Copy editing is another thing altogether. It’s tiny detail work, where every word has to be analyzed for correctness, not style.

One pesky fact that can trip a writer up is that it’s enormously hard to copy-edit your own stuff. You know it too well, and your brain will devilishly insert words that are missing, or skip words that repeat, while not noticing things like periods and commas. The only way to do it is very slowly, literally thinking of every word you’re reading, all while looking for odd spaces or missing words. It’s slow going.

Today, I got through five chapters. I probably fixed a dozen little mistakes and noticed a few things that somehow had escaped both Greg and myself for months. Amazing that the brain can do that. Like, how did I not notice a sentence where the word “the” is written two times in a row, or how did I miss the sentence that starts out in the past tense and then switches to the present?

I had my head down all day, really taking my time and sounding it all out, when I noticed it was getting dark. “No problem,” I thought to myself. I’ll just keep working and order a pizza for delivery. And then I recalled it was Thursday. Ack!

I’m going to do all I can to get it completely fixed by the end of the weekend, despite some important sports things on TV and the fact Barbara will finally be home again for a couple of days after a week of company meetings out in Palm Springs. Just gotta keep going!

Once it’s all done for real, I’ll resubmit it as a new version of the manuscript and we’ll go straight into pre-production and layout. All along, I was so in love with the writing process I was kind of dreading this stuff, but now I’m jazzed to the limit to see the first drafts of what it will look like as an actual book, and not just text on my laptop screen. I can’t wait, but I guess I’ll have to.

And, speaking of what it will look like, Todd Myers has finished the back cover and it’s absolutely brilliant. He does masterful work and is so creative it does boggle the mind. Or maybe it moggles the bind.

The back cover. Brilliant work by Todd Myers. (Click to enlarge and read)

We collected a number of endorsement blurbs after sending out some advanced copies of the manuscript in draft form, to important people, and I was completely humbled by the number of folks who took the time to read what we sent them and replied with such honest evaluations.

We only had room for five blurbs on the back, so the other six will be inside the book, before the forward sections. “But there’s plenty of room for more text on the lower part of the back, why didn’t you use that?” I hear you asking. That’s for the bar code and other legalese things that have to be on there in order for you to buy it. You are going to buy it, right?

Check out Todd’s work at right. To blow it up and read it, just click on it. This is getting real, people!

What’s ironically funny is that, in this version of the back cover, there’s a typo. Ha! See if you can spot it. We’ve fixed it in the final version, but totally missed it until my buddy Mike Hohler, the dude who is the producer of the SF 49ers radio broadcasts, spotted it after I showed it to him.

The color photo on the back is, of course, by Mark Rebilas. He was tracking me in Las Vegas at the fall race in 2015, before we shot the front cover photo at sunset in the staging lanes. The black and white photo was taken by a staff photographer in the Sports Information Department, at Southern Illinois University – Edwardsville, during my junior season as a Cougar. I had to get written permission to use both copyrighted photos, and was thrilled when both Mark and the current Sports Information Director at SIUE fired them right back, signed in all the right places.

There are a few other great photos I had been wanting to include in the book, but they are copyrighted and I haven’t been able to even find anyone who could sign off on them. That’s frustrating, but I also know I had picked far more pictures than I’d have room for, and once we launch bobwilber.net on the interwebs, I can include them on there. The website is yet another thing that I’ve planned and gotten secure, but haven’t touched yet. I’ll keep you posted…

Two other things I’ve done, after having a meeting with our tax person, were based on this new business of being a self-employed writer. I established RJW Communications as a Limited Liability Company, so it’s now officially RJW Communications LLC. And, I obtained a Federal Tax ID number for the LLC, so that I can dutifully report all its income when we start bringing in money. How much money? I have no idea. The book is so big it’s going to cost more than a “normal” autobiography to print, and I only get half the profit for online sales. I’ll make three or four bucks a book. That’s okay. I didn’t get into this for money. I got into it to write a book.

I know this is short, but now it’s 6:00 p.m. and I need to get it posted while it’s still Thursday!

Have a great weekend, and I’ll see you next week. I need to copy-edit a couple more chapters. Gotta fine thos tipo’s and the missing peeriods

Bob Wilber, at your service fixing little mistakes.

Acceptance Is A Good Thing

HOME / Acceptance Is A Good Thing

January 12th, 2017

In the long saga that has been “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” there have been many landmark moments. This week provided another such moment, and it was a big, although unexpected, one. Going into the process with publisher Outskirts Press, I was not aware that my manuscript would undergo an editorial review after submission, and I assume my lack of awareness about that subject had a lot to do with my focus on writing. I have done very little digging on the Outskirts website, in terms of policies and other obligations, throughout the process. I just stayed laser-focused on the writing. Either that or I used the writing as a perfect excuse to not dig into the minutia.

After I did submit the manuscript, my Outskirts publishing representative let me know that it would be immediately forwarded to the review board, and their findings and recommendations would probably take one or two full business weeks. When I asked what sort of things they’d be looking for, my rep said, “Editorially, we need to make sure your manuscript is of a high enough quality for Outskirts to fully get behind it, in terms of promotions and sales, and that it follows our guidelines for socially acceptable material. Beyond that, they’ll be looking for copyright issues and other legal things.” That made perfect sense. I just hadn’t thought of it.

I’m a pretty confident person when it comes to my writing abilities. I also know I was a much better writer at the end of the book than the beginning, and I’m fully aware that Outskirts publishes material from a wide range of authors, who all have different skill sets and styles. I hadn’t even thought of my material being reviewed prior to production and publication. So, of course, I got just a tiny bit worried. What if they hated it?

In just a matter of a few days, I got an email from the woman at Outskirts who had reviewed my manuscript. In the subject line, she had posted congratulations for my acceptance. That was a very good thing. I exhaled.

Most of the letter was real “nuts and bolts” stuff about what we do next, what copyright guidelines need to be met, and other important details we’ll have to address as we move forward. But, she also inserted a more personal note, right near the top of the email. This is what she wrote:

“You’ve truly done a remarkable job of writing your story and detailing your experiences in a way that draws the reader in. Memoir writing is one of the most challenging genres to tackle and this manuscript flows so well you really made it seem effortless. I can see this book not only engaging sports enthusiasts but anyone who can relate to “plowing forward” – which makes this appealing to a wide audience. In your work, your narrative voice is just great – very familiar and easy to follow.  It looks to me like you have meticulously gone through your document revising and smoothing things out. Excellent job.”

Acceptance was good. This paragraph was great. My doubts were extinguished like a small flame under a deluge of water.

Of course, much of the credit for those compliments goes to my style editor, Greg Halling. The “voice” and flow I used throughout the book is a direct reflection of his guidance and mentoring. To that end, late last week I took a prized possession up to the UPS Store, here in Woodbury, and asked them to package it carefully, and include the “Thank You” card I had just bought at the Hallmark store around the corner. And I asked them to ship to a Mr. Greg Halling in North Ogden, Utah.

On the card I wrote “Because you’re a champ! Hold Wally high and celebrate this victory!” (For the record, the Wally was from the 2004 Dallas race with the Worshams.)

So, the bottom line is that I still don’t know exactly how long we still have to wait before we can hold a copy of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” in our hands, but we’re getting there and the acceptance email was yet another wonderful “feel good” moment in this process. It’s good to be accepted!

Here at the ranch, we have a lot of white stuff. Over the weekend, our fearless weather forecasters in the Twin Cities were telling us about the jet stream, and how it would be wavering both north and south of us for a few days, bringing “light snow flurries” and “colder temperatures” through Wednesday. They figured we might get 1-3 inches of fluffy powdery snow.

1-3 inches? Missed it by THAT much. But it is pretty! (Click to enlarge and feel the crunch under your boots)

We got a little more than that. It’s been snowing, on and off, since Monday and a lot of ice was still on the ground when it started. It’s been a little slippery out there, but this is Minnesota and we live in the Twin Cities. The plows and salt trucks have been out in force, and hardly anyone has missed a beat.

Barbara had an appointment early yesterday morning, as in leaving the house at 6:30 early. When she got back, she said, “This is why I love Minnesota. An army of plow trucks are out there. Everyone is just going about their business.”

I’d say, all told, we got at least six or eight inches, and the mounds of snow next to our little road are pretty high. In shopping center parking lots, where they scrape it all off and pile it up, they’re mountainous. I’m tempted to scale one and put an American flag at the top.

Back in the world of racing, the Winternationals are only four weeks away. Isn’t that amazing? It’s going to be very odd to not attend the opener in Pomona, but I’ve decided to stick to the plan with the book and wait until we have a firm publication date, or at least a “pre-order” date on Amazon, before spending the money on travel to the races. Once we get to that point, I’ll most likely be making it to a lot of races, and I’m hoping to find a way to put the book on sale at a souvenir trailer out there on tour. It’s all about making sure people remember me and this project, and getting out there to publicize and promote it. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to Wilber’s Snake Oil. It cures all your illnesses, freshens your breath, improves your memory, and builds muscle mass. It’s the greatest product since Silly Putty!”

And speaking of racing, I think the question I get the most from blog readers around the world is “What are you going to do once the book is published?”

Well, as stated above, right after it’s published I plan to put our marketing, PR, and promotions plan into motion. I see that lasting throughout the NHRA season. As for 2018, I really don’t know. I’m open to just about anything, and wouldn’t mind taking on the next great writing challenge, but I haven’t exactly narrowed down the options yet. Just like I wrote at the beginning of this blog installment, I’ve tried to stay laser-focused on the challenge at hand, and we aren’t anywhere near done with that yet.

One of they key reasons I took this past year off to write the book was the fact I was really tired of the travel. 20 years on tour is a long time. So, I’m not guessing that going back to that lifestyle will be at the top of my list, but there will probably always be options out there for freelancing, consulting, and even doing some more P.R. work that doesn’t entail 125,000 miles of air travel a year.

We’ll see. We’ll just plow forward and see what opportunities are like out there. I do have a couple of other book concepts floating around in my head, but haven’t seriously pursued those yet. Writing someone else’s book could be interesting, in terms of an authorized biography, and that would be a whole new concept and style to tackle, which would be fun. This old dog is yet to be done learning new tricks.

I might also win the lottery. That’s Plan B. Probably would need to buy tickets in order to bring Plan B to fruition, though. I think that’s how it works. Apparently they don’t just call you up and tell you that you won. There’s always a hitch.

A little bit of a short one this week, but Barbara and I have a couple of meetings today and I need to get going. Just remember this: It’s good to be accepted!

Bob Wilber, at your service and about to be published.

Another “Red Letter Day”

HOME / Another “Red Letter Day”

January 5th, 2017

Back in ancient olden times when the only way to know what day it was involved looking at an actual printed calendar, the dates for major holidays were printed in red ink instead of black. Hence, the words “red letter days” denoted something special. Today was yet another one for me. I officially hit the “Send” button on my email program and shipped off the entire “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” manuscript to Outskirts Press. That makes the writing phase of this project officially complete.

Now that they have it, I can’t make any more changes or take a few hours each day to re-read and tweak a word here or a comma there. My little bird has left the nest. My child is out of the house. Elvis has left the building. And I did it in “less than a year.” I did. I really did. I started writing the book on January 6, 2016 and shipped it off to the publisher on January 5, 2017. That’s less than a year. One day less, but less. Maybe I should’ve waited a day to email it just to make it exactly 365 days, but the truth was I was anxious to see it go.

And the antiquated term about days and letters being red on the calendar is but one of many such things we continue to keep in the language well after the literal version of the statement is long gone. When we “hang up the phone” or “dial a number” or repeat things until we “sound like a broken record” I suspect a hefty portion of the population simply goes along with the terminology, despite the fact they’ve likely never put a telephone handset back in the cradle, or spun the dial with their finger to call someone, and it’s possible (if not likely) they’ve never heard a record skip on a scratch. I could say the writing of the book was a thrilling “E-ticket ride” but Disney hasn’t sold individual ride tickets for decades.

So there we have it. Now an entirely new part of the process begins but I’m more an observer than a participant. The initial thing Outskirts will do is review the manuscript to make sure I’m not a terrible writer or my subject matter is inappropriate for their standards. Let’s hope home runs, soccer goals, and 300 mph Funny Cars meet their criteria.

And, after 364 days of this, I’m in a quiet zone between writing and promoting. I have to wait. And, I hope it’s not too long. Once we get close to the publication date and finally get an official “Pre-Order” date from Amazon, we can kick the P.R. and promotion into high gear. Is that a motorcycle reference? Maybe, huh. I don’t know of too many other vehicles that are shifted into gear with your feet.

Overall, the sense of accomplishment is a great feeling. But I’d no sooner sent the manuscript out when it hit me, “So what do I do now?”

I don’t know how long pre-production, layout, copy editing, and the other stuff that goes into making a book will take. It will feel good to take a bit of a break before we push it back into motion to promote and sell the thing, but there’s already that sense of wonder as to how it will feel until we get closer to publication. It’s like there’s an echo in the room, and yet I only kicked my little bird out of the nest a couple hours ago. Hmmm.

Here in Woodbury, on January 5, it’s 3 degrees. And they said we’d have a high today of 2 degrees. We kicked that forecast’s butt.

Before this deepfreeze, though, we had a rarity for this part of the country during this part of the year. We got up into the low 30s and it started to sleet, which turned quickly to freezing rain. It came down gently but persistently overnight a few evenings ago, and we awoke to a coating of ice so slick and smooth it looked like a Zamboni had cleaned it. The neighbors on either side of us were out of town, and both had newspapers in the drive, so I did the neighborly thing by grabbing their papers for them.

Pure, unadulterated, slickness (Click to enlarge and fall down.)

I walked up the snowy side of the drive for one, and as I walked out a few steps to get the paper I could tell it was as slick as a hockey rink. As I stood flat-footed (best way to walk on ice) I bent over for the paper and could feel my feet moving. But, I wasn’t moving them. The neighbor’s drive is a very gentle slope, but just standing on it I started to move toward the street. It was like being on a conveyor belt. I somehow managed to steer myself back toward the snow, and was able to do that successfully, but I’ll admit that for a brief moment I wondered how it was going to end. The darker rectangle in the middle of the drive was where the paper had been. The curvy lines below it are the tracks my shoes made. Imagine if their driveway was steep!

When the freezing rain ended, the temperature dropped well below zero. Therefore, much of the ice is still exactly where it was when it hit the ground. We have sidewalks all over Woodbury that are 100% impassable and dangerous, and it’s so cold things like salt and ice-melt don’t work well or at all. And even if it does get up to 10 degrees or so, anything you melt will refreeze overnight. The roads are mostly fine, with only a few patches of ice you have to look out for, but boy-oh-boy the driveways and sidewalks are officially declared to be “a dangerous mess.”

We’re adding some color to our lives. We are SO bold!

Here at the Wilber/Doyle home, we have changes afoot. Barbara took the initiative to hire a professional interior decorator, to bring some color and pop to what is a beautiful but muted home. Our house was the model in the neighborhood, so it was painted and decorated to be “safe” for all consumer tastes. In other words, it’s mostly tan, beige, and brown.

Marsha Anderson owns Shasha Interiors, and it’s her job to get us out of our normal colorless rut to change the look around here. In the end, we’ll paint and bring in new pillows, chair fabrics, curtains, and other details. We need a pro, in this regard, because if left to our own devices we tend to be pretty boring. We need some color around here, people! And from what I saw today, in terms of swatches, that’s exactly what we’ll be getting. Should be a fun process.

Tonight, I’ll be heading out of here in a couple hours to be a big-shot Board of Directors member for our community and Home Owners Association. I’m actually on two boards here, as the Vice President for our neighborhood, St. John’s Village, while I’m also the representative for our little SJV board on the master board for the entire development. I looked at a PDF of the info packet for tonight’s meeting, and it was nearly 50 pages long. Much of it is numbers and dollars. We do have a bunch of HOA compliance issues to address, though, so that should be interesting. We have lots of rules here, to keep the development looking uniform and first-class, and when residents freelance and break the rules we have to address the issues. And then we flog them. Maybe. I mean, painting your house orange will get you flogged for sure, but changing the color of your shutters without approval will probably only end up earning you a penance of wearing a t-shirt, for a year, that says “I brought shame to my neighborhood.”

I actually really enjoy this new role on the two boards, and I like the fact that residents here are proud of how the community looks. They live here for many reasons, and it’s rare when rules are egregiously broken. I think we’ve only flogged two people so far. But I’m the new sheriff in town, so look out.

On a completely different topic, I will admit to one pastime that keeps me interested on a weekly basis. I love to scour the internet for previously unseen photos of my father, from his playing days in the big leagues. His final year as a Major League catcher was 1954, with the Red Sox. I was born in 1956, so I never saw him play. I did get to watch him coach in the big leagues for one summer, when he was the bullpen coach for the Washington Senators (remember them?) in 1970, and that was a ton of fun, but I do wish I had memories of him playing.

The legend versus the backup catcher.

With that in mind, I found this photo the other day and put it on Facebook immediately. The date was August 30, 1948. Big Del Wilber played for the Cardinals. And here he is about to tag out Jackie Robinson at home plate. I had NEVER seen this one before. Very cool.

There’s a great new resource for stuff like this. It’s a website named newspapers.com and you can do all kinds of sorted searches for almost anything you’re after. I’ve even found photos and newspaper stories about me, from my baseball days, that I never knew existed. Be careful, though. It’s pretty addicting.

Trivia question: How many different Washington Senators teams were there? And what became of them? Answer at the bottom, and if you get it right your reward will be a virtual pat on the back in appreciation of your baseball knowledge.

Last night, I was messing around on social media and saw a post on Facebook by one of my former high school classmates. And I saw comments from some other guys I was not connected to, so I sent them friend invites. And that led to other guys, and more invites. By the end of the night, I was reconnected with about a dozen former classmates from St. Louis U. High, with whom I had lost touch. That’s the thing Facebook does the best.

I also spotted my boss from my days with Converse Shoes, former Kansas Jayhawks basketball star Roger Morningstar, and we connected in mere minutes. Which led me to Milt Gibson, also a former Jayhawk who was one of my Converse colleagues back then, in the mid-80s, and now we’re friends again too. A couple years ago, I found Mark Gannon on Facebook and we’ve been connected since then. He was a former Iowa Hawkeyes basketball player, and we all worked for Roger, who remains one of the best overall bosses I ever worked for in the business world. Also a great guy.

When I went on to become the GM of some indoor soccer teams, I had zero experience in terms of leading a staff and managing people. So I did the obvious. I copied Roger’s attributes and techniques as well as I could. “What would Roger do?” was a question I asked myself often.

I get the feeling I’m being watched.

My assistant has returned to his office post to watch me work. Whew. Not sure what I would do if Buster didn’t keep an eye on me.

Circling back to the book, there are still some important things I can (and must) keep working on. The photo section will come at the back, so I need to keep sorting those and deciding which ones are absolutely going to make the cut. I’ve got almost all of the release forms back and signed now, so we should be good there, but there are a few still in the mail and I still need a couple of copyright releases as well.

One of the copyright releases I need is for a lovely photo of my mom, circa 1963 or so. She’s standing in downtown St. Louis (you should see the cars in the background!) holding her portable KMOX reel-to-reel tape recorder in one hand and a microphone in the other. She’s ravishing, as well. The only problem is that the photo was professionally taken by KMOX and it is therefore copyrighted. Without a signed release, I can’t use it, but I’m not having much luck even finding someone at KMOX who can sign off on such a thing. I’ll keep trying until I run out of time.

There was also a photo release form I needed for another favorite photo, and I’d be wildly exaggerating if I insinuated that I thought I’d get it. I seriously doubted I’d even get a reply from the generic email I wrote by clicking on the “Contact Us” button at a company’s website. The firm was SRO Management, and they’ve represented my favorite band Rush since before their first album, when Geddy, Alex, and Neil were still in high school.

I got an email Tuesday, and within a couple of hours we’d traded enough notes and electronically exchanged forms for them to permit me to use the photo of Alan Johnson, Jeff Arend, Todd Myers, and me backstage with Geddy Lee. So how about that!

As for New Year’s Eve, I’m proud to report that we all had a great time without burning any houses down or creating the need for any restraining orders. Plus, Terry and Lynn Blake joined Barbara, her sister Kitty, and me for our sleepover at the Jacobsens. Happy New Year!!!

I’ll sign off here with the answer to the trivia question posted above. There were actually three incarnations of the Washington Senators. The original team was founded in 1891 and it played in the National League until 1899. The “new” Senators joined the American League in 1901, although from 1905 to 1907 the team name was changed to the Nationals. After the 1960 season, they moved to Bloomington, Minn. to become the Minnesota Twins, and were immediately replaced by Major League Baseball with a new expansion team, also called the Senators. The Los Angeles Angels joined the American League at the same time.

The new Senators, however, did not do well and prior to the 1972 season they moved to Arlington, Tex. to become the Texas Rangers.

The current Washington Nationals team is not connected to any Senators team, but is indeed the old Montreal Expos. So in Washington baseball history, they’ve lost three teams (one to dissolution and two to other cities) while inheriting one homeless team after MLB took over the Montreal franchise.

You’re welcome.

Bob Wilber, at your service but not becoming a different franchise. I’m here for good.

Happy Holidays!

HOME / Happy Holidays!

December 29th, 2016

Hello blog faithful. No real blog today. No need to wade through paragraphs of nonsense. No stories to tell. No laughs, no tears, no groans. It’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve and I’m enjoying the time off.

I can report that ALL of the writing for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” is complete. We’ve secured wonderful “Forward” sections from two great guys, and longtime friends. You’ll have to wait until it’s published to see who the two guys, who were so gracious to provide such a thing, actually are. Okay, it’s Del Worsham and Pete Delkus.

I’ve spent the week collecting the photos I want in the book, although there will be an editing process there, as well. I’m starting with a huge pile of everything possible. We’ll just have to see what we have room for after we do the layout.

From me to you, here’s hoping you had a warm and loving Christmas. And looking forward to this weekend, here’s wishing you all a safe and fantastic New Year’s Eve. We’ll be heading over to Marsh Creek, our old neighborhood, to join our wonderful friends yet again. And five of us will be then be doing an epic “sleep-over” at Dave and Nichol Jacobsen’s house. Should be much fun.

Stay off the roads if you go to a party. Call a cab. Request an Uber. Ride a bus. Or do what we do. Have a sleep-over pajama party.

See you in 2017!

Bob Wilber, at your service and ready to ring in the new year.

Just Missed The Deepfreeze

HOME / Just Missed The Deepfreeze

December 22nd, 2016

Greetings blog faithful. It’s again Thursday Blog Day, although I wrote this one on Wednesday because my Thursday is jam-packed until late in the day. I shall endeavor to post this in the morning, but I don’t want to confuse the entire blog-reading world by posting it Wednesday. Wednesday is not blog day. That’s a rule.

So the first topic today will be weather-related. That happens often around here, but this one was fairly epic. And what was more epic was the fact Barbara and I missed it. As much as I’d love to say I experienced what happened here, I think we’re both happy we missed out on the merit badges.

On Friday in the Twin Cities, it snowed some more and the temperature started dropping. It was cold and white, but it was just the warm-up act for main event that was to follow. The snow continued into Saturday and, while it ended up being a solid six inches, that was far less than the dire forecasts of 10 to 12, so that was a relief. What was not a relief was the severe polar cold that followed the snow. It got down to -20 that night. That would’ve broken my personal record by three degrees.

All the while, we were out in Spokane. It was snowy and cold there, as well, but “frigid” in Spokane means it was about 10 degrees.

Barbara had been out there all week, and I flew out on Friday, just as the snow was starting to fall at MSP. We were about 30 minutes late off the gate because the ground crew guys were trying to add drinking water for the coffee makers. To do that, a hose is attached to a valve on the outside of the plane. The valve was frozen, so maintenance guys were called to thaw it out. Apparently, whatever method they used worked and we had water, but it took a while. Can’t take off without making sure people can have coffee. That’s another rule.

When we landed in Spokane in the early afternoon, I picked up a rental car and headed for the Davenport Grand Hotel, in downtown. It’s a relatively new place, right across Spokane Falls Blvd. from the convention center, and I’d never stepped foot in it. Not surprisingly, after all the glowing reviews I’d heard, it was spectacular. Although, we quickly wondered if the management was regretting their decision to have brilliant white marble floors in the lobby. People couldn’t help but track snow and slush in from the street, so a small army of hotel employees were continuously cleaning it with Swiffer sweepers. It went on the whole time we were there.

The view from our room. Look! Off to the south. A big hill! (Click to enlarge The South Hill of Spokane)

Our room, on the 14th floor, faced “the wrong way” if what you were after was a downtown Riverfront Park view, but it did provide us a beautiful view of The South Hill, the area of Spokane that is indeed both south of downtown and on a hill. We almost lived there, but the deal on the condo we liked fell through and we ended up out in Liberty Lake, instead. Although we enjoyed Liberty Lake immensely, and Barb loved the two-minute commute to work, I think we both wish we’d have had a chance to live there. It’s a very neat part of the city.

As for the 14th floor deal, I had to break the news to Barb that we were actually on the 13th floor. Like many hotels, they skipped that number designation and went from 12 to 14 in the elevator. You can’t fool me! That’s not a rule. Sometimes you can, indeed, fool me.

Our plans for Friday night were party-related, as we headed over to the southern part of Spokane Valley to join some old friends from Barb’s company. The same people, Claudia and Paul Hersey, hosted us every Christmas for the last few years, and twice hosted us for Super Bowl parties when the Seahawks were in the big game. They know how to put on a heck of a soiree, and we love their gracious company. A fun time is always had, and this one was no exception. And, hilariously, they named their fantastic lower level the “Hersey Bar.” Get it?

Saturday was the date for the Barb’s company party, and the best news was that we wouldn’t have to drive to get there. It was in the ballroom at The Grand, so our commute included nothing more than a walk down the hallway and an elevator ride. But first, we had to do some shopping. There’s a Nordstrom at the downtown mall, only a few blocks away from the hotel, but by then it was getting to be pretty cold, even by our Minnesota standards, so we actually drove the half-mile and battled fierce holiday-shopping traffic to avoid the walk. To make it a little more painful, I tweaked my lower back that morning, making a funny twisting and bending move that pinched a nerve and made the muscles spasm. Not fun, but it’s something I’m kinda used to after two decades of lower back problems. Aleve comes in handy, at such times.

Before the party, though, we met up with our friend Nancy and her mom, at a restaurant about halfway between downtown and Liberty Lake. Nancy was our cat sitter for Buster and Boofus the whole time we lived out there, and she’s a gem. Her mom was also a hoot.

The restaurant blew me away, and it made me little mad/sad that we’d never discovered it the entire four years we lived there. It’s the restaurant at a Spokane Valley hotel called the Mirabeau Park, which is a nice property but not the sort of place, or location, that would make you think it’s a destination. The restaurant is called Max, and there’s also really no reason to imagine it would be anything more than a standard hotel eatery. It was anything but. It was fabulous. If you’re ever in Spokane, there’s another place to check out. I can vouch for the prime-rib French Dip.

For the Itron party, I had planned to wear a nice jacket, slacks, and dress shoes with a colorful dress shirt, but Barbara had heard at work that a lot of people from Itron were going to be getting dressed up to the nines. So, I found a red tie at Nordstrom that would make me look dressier while it also gave me a little Christmas color. Barbara wanted to find something nicer, as well, and she found a fabulous outfit that was perfect for the festive occasion.

Proof that these two love birds can still clean up well.

Of course, in the end the big-party gathering of 400 people featured everything from formal outfits to blue jeans. I thought we nailed it, right in the strike zone between being too dressed up and too casual. And we looked GOOD! Well, at least my wife did.

The party was huge, the food was great, and the company was spectacular. My back was still hurting, but the fun factor and getting to chat with colleagues like the CEO, the CFO, and other executives was fantastic. We had a blast. And with my back, I had a perfect excuse to keep us off the dance floor, but we did enjoy watching many others cut a rug, which was actually not a rug. It was a hardwood dance floor.

All in all, we had a great time and I’m so glad I went out there for those two parties. Good people.

And, while everyone was shivering because it was near zero in Spokane on Saturday night, we were getting texts from Woodbury friends about the -20 excellence they were enjoying.

We flew back on Sunday morning, and were both in the front cabin but not sitting together. When that happens, I try to size people up before asking anyone if they would trade seats with one of us, but before I could even do that more hilarity ensued. One young girl was in 1-A, but when a man got on next and had that on his boarding pass the young lady was very confused. She pulled her pass out and it said 10-A, but she said, “They told me I’m in the front row. This is where I’m supposed to be.”

I turned around, suspecting where the confusion came from, and sure enough this MD-90 was one of those planes where they skipped a bunch of row numbers between first class and the main cabin. The last row of first class was row 4. The first row of the main cabin was row 10. Six entire row numbers simply didn’t exist.

Anyway, we finally convinced the young lady that she was really going to have to move to row 10, because the guy needed his seat and someone would soon be getting on for 1-B, where he was temporarily sitting as he tried to explain this to her. Once she moved, another couple came on and one of them asked Barb, who was in 1-C, if they could talk her into moving back a row so they could sit together. And at the same time, a giant dude who looked like he was in a bad mood, sat next to me. Barb moved, to be polite, but by then everyone was laughing because of the musical chairs we had going on. I didn’t have the heart to make it worse, so I just said, “Oh, I could make this even better but I won’t. That’s my wife, sitting over there,” as I pointed to her in 2-D, by the window.”

Everyone looked a little stunned, and the rest of them laughed, but mammoth man next to me just kind of grumbled. He definitely wasn’t giving up his aisle seat. Such are the many fun “off the record” things that can happen in the front cabin before you even push back. It’s nonstop merriment.

By the time we landed late in the afternoon, at MSP, it was up to a balmy -7 but the roads were totally clear. They do that pretty well in the Twin Cities. The contrast to Spokane, where they’d had two inches and had cleared about 10% of the main roads, was stark.

So that’s it for this week. I have no idea when I’ll be traveling again next. No plans at all right now, just holidays at home with my Sweetie and my fuzzy boyz.

Friday night, though, we’re headed for the Timberwolves game where we hope to catch up to Gary Gerould before tip-off. It will be great to see my longtime NHRA friend.

See you next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service and none the worse for wear after missing a record snap.

Of Travels and Travails…

HOME / Of Travels and Travails…

December 15th, 2016

What a week this has been, and I got the easy part of it. At least so far. Here’s a quick round-up of things that have happened since last Thursday’s blog: Barbara and Todd both got on planes at Heathrow Airport to fly home on Sunday, with Barb flying nonstop to Minneapolis while Todd had to connect in Atlanta to get back to Orlando. Yes, they had a great time.

I went to MSP on Sunday afternoon and waited for Barb outside the exit for international arrivals. She was right on time. The problem then was simply one of getting home without ending up in a ditch or in the path of another out-of-control driver. We had quite a bit of snow, and it was still coming down heavily on the ride home. We made it, but a bunch of other not so intelligent drivers (otherwise known as idiots) who were pretending it was June while all the slippery white stuff swirled around, were not so fortunate. We saw cars in the ditch, cars in the guardrails, and even one car facing the wrong direction right ahead of us, on I-494.

We’d thought about going to dinner, but by the time we inched our way to Woodbury all the jet lag and long flights overcame that desire for Barb, so we just went home. I made a frozen pizza.

The hardest part for my wife was the fact she was zonked from the jet lag but had to get up and fly out again on Monday, to get back out to Spokane. Plus, she first had to do a day’s worth of work in her home office here, and she had to go to Minneapolis to teach the final class of the semester in the Master’s program she runs at St. Mary’s University. Then, she had a 10:00 p.m. flight to Spokane through Salt Lake City (I think) after class. I don’t know how she does it.

I helped by doing her laundry but mostly just stayed out of her way. I can’t do her work for her, I most certainly can’t teach her class, and her need to be in Minneapolis to teach and then hustle to MSP to fly left me out of that equation, as well.

So here’s what we did. She left on time to get to school, in her own car. After the class, she drove to the airport and parked it in the short-term part of the garage so that she’d have the shortest walk to get to her gate. They were about halfway through boarding when she got there.

On Monday, I called the cab driver we always use. His name is Israel, and he gives us a special “flat rate” fare for being regular customers. Plus, we know him, trust him, and like him a lot. He never lets us down. He picked me up and drove me to the airport, with the second set of Barb’s keys firmly planted in my pocket. I followed the directions she had given me, and walked directly to her car. Fortunately, Barbara had the presence of mind to actually get a parking ticket when she got to the airport. About 95% of all the people who park at MSP use the system where you swipe the same credit card both entering and exiting, and you then never have a ticket or have to see a cashier. Had Barbara used her credit card, I couldn’t have gotten her car out of the lot unless she left the card in it. She left the ticket, and I was out of there in a flash and back home just an hour after Israel picked me up.

So now it’s Thursday and tomorrow I’m on the 11:00 a.m. nonstop from MSP to GEG (aka, Spokane.) We have a private Christmas party, hosted by friends, to attend on Friday night and her company’s official holiday party on Saturday night, and we’re staying at the new Grand Hotel in downtown. Then we fly back together on Sunday, so my car will be waiting for us when we do that.

What could possibly go wrong? Well, our first cold snap of the year is now officially a Polar Vortex event, with this frigid air coming directly to us from the North Pole. There’s no word on whether or not Santa was involved in this.

Winter in Minnesota
Winter in Minnesota (click to enlarge and feel the cold)

The other day we got about six inches of snow, maybe a little more in places. Then the bottom dropped out of the temperature, the skies cleared, and the wind picked up. The clear skies are important because A) They make it colder with no “blanket” of clouds over us. B) Even when it’s in single digits a sunny day melts some snow on the roads and when the sun sets a lot of that refreezes.

Yesterday, with a temp of 8 degrees we had 20 mph winds, so it felt like -120 degrees. OK, not quite that cold, but it was frigid. I had to scrape the driveway again because the wind blew two inches of old snow right back on the asphalt I’d already scraped earlier. It’s fun to live in Minnesota!

So here’s hoping I can get to the airport on Friday. The current forecast is another 6-10 inches of new snow starting tonight, ending on Saturday. That’s just spectacular!

I actually don’t mind the snow. I think it’s pretty and it makes winter interesting. I just don’t like it when it becomes a serious nuisance in terms of travel. I don’t even mind the driveway scraping. It’s good to get outside and get some fresh air while you’re doing something physical. It feels good to come back inside with your cheeks all rosy and a little sweat going underneath all the layers you went out there in. Layers! Always wear layers!

That's either 6 inches of snow or a huge cake...
That’s either 6 inches of snow or a huge cake…

If all I had to worry about was sitting in the house looking at the snow flutter down, with a fire in the fireplace and chili on the stove, it would be awesome. This was my view from my office this week.

So fingers crossed the roads are clear when I need to get to that huge place where all the airplanes are.

Then, after we get back on Sunday, I sure hope my wife has the chance to stay in one time zone for a while. And preferably it would be the Central time zone. As in, here. In Woodbury.

And it’s about to be Christmas, too.

We decided to NOT have a big Christmas in terms of buying each other gifts. We’ll leave some new treats and a few new catnip-infused toy mice in the stocking for the boyz, but for us we’re just going to savor the time together. That’s far more valuable than new sweaters.

We are planning to buy ourselves one actual gift and while it’s utilitarian it is still much anticipated. We’re going to buy a Roomba iRobot. Todd and Angie have one down in Orlando, and it’s masterful. Barbara and I do the best we can keeping this place looking nice, but with two boyz in the house it’s a never ending battle to keep the hardwoods and the carpets really clean. Even with our Dyson, the coolest vacuum in the world. I’m going to let the Roomba take over the upper level, and then maybe next year we’ll buy another one for down here. Pretty romantic gifts, huh?

As for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” we’re almost done with the final edits. My editor Greg is now on Chapter 21, going over it all one last time, and he’s averaging about 3 chapters per night, three nights per week. Once he’s done, it will be shipped off to the publisher and a whole new slew of things will have to take place.

I very much like the fact Greg has emailed me to let me know the edits I made, before handing it back to him, were great. So, through this lengthy year-long process, I not only became a better writer, I also became an editor. That’s a good thing.

While he’s doing his last once-over, I took on the process of selecting photos for the book. And then I got word from the publisher that any person who appears (and is recognizable) in a photo that ends up being in the book, must sign a release form to allow that photo to be published. In other words, I have a lot more work ahead of me than I realized.

I’ve started the process already, and the first person I heard back from after my initial flurry of emails was Fred Turner. As in Fred Turner from Bachmann-Turner Overdrive. On my first day on the job with Team Wilkerson, in West Palm Beach for testing in January of 2009, Fred happened to be driving through the area in his motorhome when he happened upon the track and saw all the NHRA big rigs. He pulled in to see if I was there and we spent some great time together before he got back on the road. We also had a photo taken, so I’ll need his release form to publish it. Only about 15 more to go!

In addition to all the releases I can get, our Option B is PhotoShop. There are some pics where people I don’t even know are in the background, and they’re too tight to the main focus of the shot to be cropped. So they will have to “vanish” via the enormous skill of my graphic artist, Todd Myers. There’s one of Del Worsham and me, arm in arm, walking down the return road with huge smiles after he won the Skoal Showdown in 2005, but two Skoal girls and two Indiana State Troopers are also in the shot. I wouldn’t have a clue as to how to track those four people down, so we’ll have to edit and crop the photo. This is all the stuff that goes into making a professional book. I had no idea about all of this, when I started.

And now I just got my alert to check-in for my flight tomorrow, so I’ll wrap this up. This will be my second trip back out to Spokane since we moved in June, and I know I’ll enjoy seeing a lot of familiar places and friendly faces.

Oooohhh...
Oooohhh…

I’ll leave you with this photo. Once you’ve strung some Christmas lights on a few shrubs, bushes, and a window-box planter, your house looks more festive. Then, when you get six inches of powdery snow, it looks festive plus awesome, as the lights make the snow glow.

Fortunately, the winds have calmed down so I don’t have to re-scrape the driveway and front walk today. Unless I just want to do it. Well, it’s actually minus-3 degrees right now, so maybe I’ll take a pass this time.

Gotta get more of these photo release forms in the mail!

Bob Wilber, at your service attaching stamps to envelopes.

 

Questions Nobody Asked…

HOME / Questions Nobody Asked…

December 8th, 2016

Greetings blog readers! Today I’ve been musing on this little existential gem: What if, hypothetically speaking, no real people actually asked me questions for this blog, but I answered them anyway? Would it be that falling tree in the forest that nobody heard? Or, would it just be a new creative way to write about nothing? I’m going with the latter. And for the record, I think the tree makes a noise. There may not be a human there to hear it, but trees and all the living beings around them are organic. It makes a big noise, if it’s a big tree. But why did it fall in the first place? That’s the bigger question!

So here we go…

 

First snow of the season!
First snow of the season! (Click to enlarge).

Q. Is it finally winter in Minnesota?

A. Yes. After a string of the warmest months ever recorded, the jet stream finally shifted and some Arctic air swooped down within the past few days. With that change, also came our first snow a couple of days ago, and then another smaller flurry this morning. And it’s been windy. When I left the gym last night the wind-chill factor was below zero. And I was sweaty. Bad combination. I did use the hot tub last night, while some flurries were fluttering down and it was in the low teens for temp. That was awesome. Looking at next week’s forecast, though, it clearly indicates that the real winter coats are going to have to come out. No more Twins jacket without gloves. Highs in the single digits or low teens, and lows below zero. And that’s before factoring in the wind-chill. That will be a tad chilly.

 

Q. Do you shovel your own snow off your drive?

Scraped...
Scraped…

A. That depends. Our HOA hires a contractor to scrape the snow off our driveways, sidewalks, and walkways, but there are a whole lot of caveats as to when that happens. The snow has to be at least 3.5 inches deep, and they wait until the snow storm is over to come out. In case of a blizzard, they may come out halfway through it to make a first pass. Our snow the other day was about 3 inches deep. Missed it by THAT much. So, I had to scrape that one, and it was a very heavy wet snow. My back hurt after I was done. An ice pack was utilized. This morning, it was just a powdery dusting, but the bottom is going to fall out in the temperature department so that stuff had to get scraped, as well. Once it gets below zero, like it will be next week, whatever is there is going to stay there until it warms up. It was good to get out there and just push some snow around anyway. Fresh air!

 

Q. Are you big into any particular kinds of apparel?

A. Oh yeah. I’ve been an athletic shoe fanatic since high school, when I was the first person anyone knew who had a pair of Puma sneakers. After that, it was on and always has been. It helped that my first job after baseball was with Converse, giving shoes away as a promotions rep. My brother-in-law Lonnie still brings that up, in the form of the statement, “I can’t believe you quit that job.” I had the whole family pretty much decked out. Then, when I was in indoor soccer, we had a contract with adidas (no, you don’t capitalize it) and they took such good care of me I wore them exclusively for a long time. Loyalty is big with me. Then I discovered the Reebok Zigs a few years back, and went through a bunch of them before they did what most shoe companies do. They tried to “improve” the model and instead made it worse. Most recently, I’m all about Asics Gel shoes. What ties most of those preferences together is a wide toe box. I don’t like having my toes cramped together at the front of the sneaker. Plus, these Asics are fantastically supportive, very comfortable, and cool looking. That last part is important.

 

Barb and Todd in London Town!
Barb and Todd in London Town!

Q. Isn’t this when you were going to be in London with Barbara?

A. ‘Tis indeed the time I was going to be in London. And if I was, this nonsense blog wouldn’t have happened today. Barbara’s nephew Todd did go in my stead, and they’re having a great time. He’d never been there before, but he took to it like a fish to water (that’s a horrible cliche). He took to it like cod to fish & chips. He landed while Barb was in business meetings, so after he checked into the hotel he went exploring on his own, to Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, and he even rode The Tube to get to some other places. That’s all way better than taking a nap, which is very tempting to do when you’ve just flown overnight. They’re aiming to see the changing of the guard and maybe take the tour of Charles Dickens’ house today and tomorrow.

 

Q. You used to write about music a lot, at the old NHRA.com blog. Are you into anything new these days?

40 years.
40 years.

A. Not really. Not too much of what is coming out now, in good old-fashioned heavy rock, really speaks to me that much. I find myself listening to older music from as far back as the 60s as much as I listen to new stuff. My go-to band for working out or walking has been Chevelle for a very long time. Probably going on three years now. That says a lot about their song-writing and playing ability. They’re good, and very creative. As in, “How can you not like a heavy rock band that recorded a song about Bernie Madoff?” Seriously. The song is “Face To The Floor” and it’s great. Of course, my favorite band of all time is now retired, so that’s a big loss for me. Maybe someday Rush will record again, but they’re done touring. I recently got the Blu-Ray DVD of their newest documentary, called “Time Stand Still” and it follows them through rehearsals and then on their final tour. 33 shows across North America. And as the shows tick down and they realize it’s coming to an end, everyone on the screen begins to get more and more emotional. The final show was at The Forum in Los Angeles, and everyone backstage and in the crowd was crying. There are scenes at the end, where they show fans on the floor, and the security guys are hovering, trying to get them to leave. But the fans refuse to go. It was like the guys in the band were the only ones to keep it together. As for me, watching it for the first time, well… You can probably guess. It’s a fantastic film, in all ways, and it so vividly brings out Geddy, Alex, and Neil’s own feelings about ending their touring days. Geddy and Alex are obviously saddened by it, but Neil is 62 and as he puts it, he doesn’t want to play their music if he can’t do it like he always has. He won’t play at a diminished level, and if you’ve ever seen him play the drums you know it’s a massive physical feat to play three-hour shows like he plays. He was just getting to the point where he feared he couldn’t do it anymore. Alex Lifeson also struggles with arthritis in his hands and fingers, which is not a good thing for a guitarist. Geddy Lee, I’m sure, would keep touring forever. He has such sadness in his eyes when he talks about it on-screen. But, they toured for 40 years and we all got to enjoy that. There will never be a different version of Rush. They won’t hire a drummer to play Neil Peart’s parts. It’s the three of them. That’s it. And now it’s over. (Sad face).

Boofus, ready to get to work should I leave my desk.
Boofus, ready to get to work should I leave my desk.

 

Q. How are Boofus and Buster?

A. They’re great. Winter is a much different time of year for them, because they love being outside on the porch or going for walks in their cat stroller, but when it gets below 40 they sniff the air and turn around. They are much bigger snuggle bunnies in the winter, though, because they like to be near anything (or anyone) that offers warmth. For instance, this is the time of year I can NEVER leave my computer open when I leave the room. Boofus loves to take over the keyboard and, without fail, he manages to open eight or nine programs and applications. Somehow, he seems to open iTunes every time. Plus, whatever I been working on ends up with a thousand random new nonsensical letters within the text. But they’re great.

 

Q. How much longer on the book? Is it ever going to come out?

A. As for how much longer, it’s still hard to say. We could be done with editing within a week or two, and then it gets shipped off to the publisher. Normally, it’s a two-month process of pre-production, approvals, lay-out adjustments, and other “stuff” that has to happen, but with Christmas and New Year’s coming up, I’m sure that will slow things down. The good news is, my book is pretty straight forward, in terms of layout. There are no illustrations or fancy artwork, just a photo section at the back. Other than that, it’s just text.

 

Q. What’s for dinner?

A. I’ve had chicken the last two nights, so… Probably Mexican. Or Walleye. How’s that for two disparate choices?

 

Q. You haven’t run a snippet from the book in a while. When will we get another one, just to tide us over until it comes out?

A. How ‘about now?  Here’s the backstory. In college, I imitated famous race car driver turned television announcer Jackie Stewart at a party once, and everyone loved it. So it became a staple of mine for bus rides. I did it once on the field when I arrived in Paintsville, Kentucky for my first year of professional ball, playing for the Paintsville Hilanders in the Appalachian League, and after that the guys always wanted me to do it on the bus after we won a game. They just “asked” for it in a unique way. See the snippet below to learn how.

———————-

After that, any time we’d be on the bus after a win, whether it was a long five-hour ride back to Paintsville or a short hop back to the motel, I’d be sitting in my seat and after a few minutes I’d hear the requests, but none of them were spoken in words. The guys would simply start to quietly make a noise like a Formula 1 car passing by, and then slowly ramp up the volume until it sounded like our entire bus was full of race cars. “Zzzzhhoooom” came the calls, and that was my cue to celebrate our win with 15-seconds of Jackie Stewart.

———————

 

Q. Anything else?

A. That’s about it. Time for lunch, I think. We have a new place here in Woodbury called Which Wich. Ever heard of that? It’s a sandwich shop, and it’s very tasty, but they added a fun twist to the ordering process. When you walk in, there are a variety of different brown paper bags on the wall, and cups full of red Sharpie pens. You find the bag for the sandwich type you’re after, and put your name at the top. Then, you check off various toppings, bread type, size, and other options with the Sharpie. Then, you hand the bag to the cashier and after you pay, he clips a hook to the top and hangs it on a wire. It then gets pushed down the wire where someone else constructs it just like you’ve requested. Finally, when it’s done they put it in the bag you used to order it, and off you go. I usually go with the tuna, cold, on wheat, with mayo, red onions, pickles, and black olives, 7-inches long. Now I’m really hungry!

 

Q. What’s that noise?

A. Um, Buster is sleeping in his carrier (he loves being in there, so we leave it on the floor near my desk) and he’s snoring. It’s adorable.

So, thanks for bearing with this existential Q&A in which nobody but me provided the Qs. But I was channeling someone. It’s just a matter who whom it might have been. Maybe it was Geddy Lee.

Bob Wilber, at your service and sad that Rush will tour no more.

 

We Return To Our Regular Programming

HOME / We Return To Our Regular Programming

December 1st, 2016

Welcome back from Thanksgiving! I hope your holiday was warm, fulfilling, and a solid slice of family to go with the turkey. We ventured south to Orlando, and had a very heartwarming few days there, but more about that later. We’ll start this installment, instead, with more updates on “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts.”

When I started the book, 11 months ago, I was clueless as to just about every aspect of producing such a thing. I just sat down and started writing before my fears about all the details, and the huge amount of work it would entail, could scare me away. I learned a lot about writing, and about flow and concise language, and then I began to learn even more about editing. Right now, I’m still learning.

After going back through all 36 chapters with a magnifying glass and a sharp knife, I got it down to 33 chapters by eliminating one and condensing two others into the chapters ahead of them. I also found some stories and paragraphs that were fine, but not essential to the story. It was a long slow process.

This week, I’ve gone back and done it all again, front to back. It serves a number of good purposes, in that it allows me to finally stand back from this huge mural to see all of it at once, instead of just the chapter I’m working on, or just the page I’m writing. It allows me to see it as a book. In that regard, it’s a fabulous thing.

And, when doing my editing, it takes time and patience to let it all soak in to a point where your eyes spot individual words, buried deep in paragraphs, and your brain alerts you to make even tiny changes. It’s like a “how did I not see that before?” moment each time you make an edit, and there have been plenty of them to make. Today, I polished off the final three chapters and the epilogue. Today, Greg Halling also tackled the same process one more time, editing from front to back. He’s just at Chapter 2, so there’s a way to go for him, but he’s a pro. And that leads me to one other thing I had not considered when I started: If patience is a virtue, I was going to need to be the most virtuous version of me possible. This takes time.

If I wanted the book to simply be a 600-page version of my blog, I could slog through it and fire it off. But it’s not like that. It’s a book. I want it to be a very good book. I want my readers to not just like it, but feel the need to attack each page to see what surprises are in store for them. I want it to be what we call “a page turner” from start to finish. That takes time, and it takes a great amount of care.

Plus, now we’re into the photo section, and I’m carefully going over my archives to find the best ones that relate to important stories in the book. My first collection would’ve filled 50 pages. Now, I am editing this final section of the book, as well. And that doesn’t even count the photos I’ve secured from Mark Rebilas and Richard Shute (who owns AutoImagery.com). Many of the photos from Mark and Richard will be absolutely central to the project, since they cover much of my NHRA career. Mark also shot the cover, so there’s that bonus as well.

And, there’s a lot of paperwork that goes into this. Every copyrighted photo needs a sign-off from the owner. Each one must be accompanied by a form with legal signatures.

Meanwhile, it’s December 1st and I’m itching to be done with all of these processes. But it takes time. You can’t just cut corners and hope for the best, unless you expect the worst. Day by day, we’re getting there.

Taking last week completely off was a bad thing, in this regard, but the best thing in others. 11 months is a long time to devote to something like this, and I needed a chance to recharge my mental (and physical) batteries before making the charge to the absolute finish line. Greg felt the same way. Now we’re up to max speed again.

Aside from the writing and editing, I’ve continued to receive some wonderful endorsement “blurbs” from famous and influential people. To get these endorsements has a been a fun reward for all the endless work, and I’m thankful so many high-profile folks have been willing to add their comments to the book. I think (hope) you’ll be impressed when you see them.

From a PR perspective, I’ll be working with one of the best ever and we’re communicating regularly to put a firm plan in place for interviews, promotions, and other publicity. I’ve also decided that it would be best to stay active at the track on the NHRA tour, so I’m formulating a plan to do that officially, in a small but hopefully effective associate sponsorship way. Being at the track for a few early races, when the book is finally available, will be a very good thing. I don’t want to be out of sight and out of mind.

Now, about last week. The reasons for the trip were many. It’s family. It’s Thanksgiving. There are two four-month old twin girls to see. There was turkey!

Barbara, with her favorite little girls.
Barbara, with two precious little girls. (Click to enlarge)

Arabella and Anastasia were waiting to meet me, and eager to have Barbara back in their midst for much nurturing and surrogate mothering. They. Are. Adorable.

And, even at four months they have very distinct personalities that I’m sure will become even more distinct as they grow. They’re both extraordinarily sweet and very calm, but “Baby Stazzy” is much different than “Baby Bella” in many ways. Bella is already smiling and laughing and starting to really lock in on her surroundings. Stazzy (I made up that spelling of what everyone calls her) is very quiet and observant, but she seems not yet ready to trust the world. She’s got a worried look on her face a lot, but she also sleeps like an absolute world champion. Both of them are priceless.

We got down there Wednesday, after a very early start to the day. Our flight was at 7:00, so we were up at 4:30 and our cab picked us up at 5:15. Ugh. Anyone who knows my standard travel schedule knows I’m not one for early morning flights. The good news was we had little trouble getting through TSA Pre-Check and I slept a lot on the plane. That’s a sentence I almost never write.

I’m great at sleeping when I really need to be awake. I’m terrible at sleeping when it would be a great benefit, like on airplanes. This time, I slept for a solid hour and dozed for the rest of it. Of course, I was completely groggy when we got there and never really did snap out of it, but at least I got some sleep. It could be said that I once fell asleep during an English class in high school, and I still haven’t really snapped out of it.

On Thursday, we were at Todd and Angie’s house early, and Barb’s sister Kitty was staying there, so we were all present and accounted for. While Todd, Angie, and Barb took turns doing feedings and inducing the subsequent burps, I helped Kitty as her assistant. I chopped, grated, peeled, fried, and assembled. I even made the mashed potatoes with a big giant mixer that scared me as much as it made the process go smoothly.

Angie was on-call for her job, so we didn’t schedule dinner until 6:00, knowing that if she did get called in she could be home by then. The home was filled with wonderful aromas for most of the day. It felt every bit like Thanksgiving. And after Angie’s father, her brother, and his significant other arrived, we sat down and enjoyed an absolutely masterful feast. Kitty is THAT good when it comes to cooking. To me, I’m a cook. She’s a chef.

And that’s how Thanksgiving goes, right? People work all day, preparing a marvelous meal, and when you sit down it’s all over in about 15 minutes and you’ve gone from hungry to completely stuffed. But oh so wonderfully stuffed.

On Friday, we loaded the girls in one of our cars and headed to a place Barbara and I had never visited. I’m not sure I knew it even existed. We went to Disney Springs. As far as I know, it’s the only Disney property at the resort you can enter for free, and even park for free. It’s full of high-end retail, great restaurants, and fun activities. So it’s free to get in, just like any mall, but it’s hard not to be wowed into spending a couple of hundred dollars between the shopping and the eating. And a glass of wine. For the record, we ate at the the Irish pub and it was fantastic. Stazzy and Bella benefitted directly from a one-hour shopping spree Barb and Kitty embarked upon.

Worst selfie ever!
Worst selfie ever!

There’s one “ride” at Disney Springs, and it’s a huge balloon that takes a dozen or so people into the air at once. Do not fret, it’s attached to a cable.

As it began its descent, I tried my best to shoot a selfie with Barbara, but it ended up being me, the balloon, and her visor. Worst selfie ever.

Having gone there in two cars, Todd and I bailed out at 4:15 and headed for downtown Orlando to attend the Magic’s home game against the Washington Wizards. It was good for the two of us to get away for some “guy time” with all the mothering that’s been going on.

On Friday, more of the same until around noon, when we loaded the girls up again and took them just a few blocks to Lake Eola, right in the heart of downtown Orlando. After a leisurely walk around the beautiful lake, with me doing much of the stroller pushing, it was time for Barb and I to head for the airport. A few hours later, on Saturday evening, we were home.

Until recently, I only had an outsider’s view of Orlando. Like most people, I only saw it as the town that gave Disney and Universal a place to be. I never really thought of the city much, at all. Turns out, it’s a pretty neat place.

Downtown Orlando is far more cosmopolitan and far more residential than I ever realized. It has a vibrant street scene, and there are always people out and about. Our hotel, an Embassy Suites, overlooked the lake and it seemed like it was always buzzing with activity. If someone asked me “Would you live in downtown Orlando?” I think my response would be, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t rule it out.” It’s a fun place, even without the theme parks.

Next week, I was supposed to be getting on a big jet to fly all the way to London, as in England. Barb and I were going to spend four days there, but after much soul searching it became obvious to me that I was attempting to cram too much travel and too much fun into a time when I really need to devote every hour to the book. Barbara was great with that, and she’s still working on her nephew Todd to get him to visit there with her. He’s never been to Europe, and at first he dismissed the notion outright, due to the girls. When Angie and Kitty promised him they could handle the babies for a few days, he began to consider it. At the Magic game, he said to me, “So tell me about England and Europe.”

I don’t know for sure if he’s all in, but I think Barb convinced him to meet her there. He’ll be so happy he did, once he gets there. I really hope he goes.

Here at the house, we only had one day to do some Christmas decorating but we managed to get a lot done. We also made the decision to forego a tree this year. We gave our artificial tree to Barbara’s niece Leah, when she and her boyfriend Levi came to Liberty Lake and drove home with a truck load of furniture and other household items they picked out prior to our move back to Minnesota.

This house really isn’t set up for a big tree, without moving quite a bit of furniture, and for a while we considered putting a tree on the screened porch, but then we had other ideas.

Let there be lights!
Let there be lights!

We hired the same company that used to decorate our old Woodbury house to come out and put lots of lights and natural garland here, but we reversed course when doing it. We have a couple of lights and decorations out front, but the design of this detached townhouse puts most of the focus on the backyard, so we had them heavily decorate our crabapple tree and our pergola. It looks great, and our neighbors on both sides have told us they love that we did it.

I hadn’t really stopped to think about all of this before we got ready to spend our first Christmas here. The design of these townhomes is fairly brilliant, in terms of privacy. They all built very close together, but 90 percent of the views are reserved for the private backyard. We have only small rectangular windows on each side of the house, to let in some light. The front windows are in the office. But, in the living room and master bedroom, we have large windows facing the yard and a big sliding glass door to the porch. It feels open and private at the same time.

And since that’s our view, it made sense to decorate back there. If we went all out on the front of the house, we’d only see that when we drove up the driveway. This way, we leave the shades up and get to enjoy the twinkling lights until the timer shuts them off at 10 pm.

Ho Ho Ho
Ho Ho Ho

And, for close to 18 years we’ve had a Santa and Mrs. Claus that we’d put at our dining room table, seated in two chairs in front of a big window facing the street. Well, we don’t have a set-up like that here, so we put them out on the porch. I still have a couple of additional things to do this weekend, and then we’ll be as decorated as we’re going to get. And it’s starting to turn cold, after the warmest autumn on record here. It was crazy to go through almost all of November in the 60s and 50s. Now it’s in the 30s and that feels cold, which is also crazy. We could easily have two feet of snow on the ground by now, but all we have is dead leaves.

So that’s about it. I’m back in the saddle, back in my groove, back in the driver’s seat, and back from Orlando. It was a week off, but I needed it.

See you next Thursday!

Bob Wilber, at your service and not going to England next week.

Putting Bows On Things

HOME / Putting Bows On Things

November 17th, 2016

“Put a bow on it.” That’s a cliche’ about finishing something and calling it done. Another variation is “Stick a fork in it” but that has kind of a negative connotation. If you’re in the dugout and are riding the opposing pitcher to rattle him, you might yell “Stick a fork in him. He’s done!” But when something important comes to a conclusion, you put a bow on it to celebrate the accomplishment.

In terms of the 2016 NHRA Mello Yello Drag Racing season, we put a bow on it this past weekend in Pomona. I say “we” because it’s still “us” to me, even though this was the surreal year I stayed associated to the sport without being officially involved in it.

As for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” I can’t yet put a bow on it, but I’m busily selected the color, the fabric, and the width. We’re that close. But, let’s start with Pomona.

Barbara met me there, and in an odd twist of fate we managed to do that at LAX instead of at the hotel. She’d been in meetings in Pasadena, with her CEO, and he needed to get to LAX for a flight around 2:00 p.m. They had a car service driving them around, and the original plan was for the driver to drop the CEO off at the airport and then drive Barbara out to the Sheraton by the track. Earlier in the day, though, Barb texted me asking for my specific flight times. All along, I thought I was on a 1:30 flight that got in around 4:30, but the day before I was was surprised to get a text from Delta, asking me to check-in for my flight, at 11:30 in the morning.

I have no idea how I had that mentally screwed up, but stranger things have happened. So, it turned out that I’d be landing just about the time the car would be dropping Barb’s CEO at LAX, if my flight was on time. It was indeed, despite the fact we left almost 25 minutes late out of MSP. The reason for the delay was a total lack of headwinds, which you generally encounter when flying west. With no headwind to fight, we’d lop at least 20 minutes off the flight time, and at LAX Delta doesn’t have any extra gates. They needed us to wait in Minneapolis so that a gate would be open when we got to L.A.

We landed, I got my bag, and I went to the drop-off zone on the upper level. That way, the driver didn’t have to take Barbara out to Pomona, and she could go with me to get the rental car. To make it even easier, he pulled up next to the curb and I hopped in, rather than have Barbara hop out. He drove us over to National Rental Car himself, so we didn’t have to wait for the bus.

And then we battled L.A. traffic for almost two hours. It was horrible. And very stressful as people dodged into and out of lanes as if they owned the place. “I’m coming in, so look out! This is my road!”

I totally get living out there, especially near the beach or the mountains, but if I had to commute in that freeway traffic I’d explode. Or spontaneously combust. Whatever the outcome, it wouldn’t be pretty.

On the way out to Pomona, in that famous bumper to bumper traffic, we decided to get our In-N-Out fix out of the way that night. We checked in, dropped our bags, and drove up to Foothill Blvd. by passing the track. Did it feel weird to drive by the track but not go in? Simple answer: Yes. Very weird.

We did the drive-thru to get our burgers and then saw one of the picnic tables empty at that particular In-N-Out, which doesn’t have a dining room. So we plopped down there and within seconds heard the first Top Fuel cars make a run. From about two miles away. We just looked at each other and said, “Wow.”

We also made up our minds that we were weren’t going to the track on Saturday, either. We both really needed a “mental health vacation day” in the worst way, so we decided to go to the “Happiest Place On Earth.” We’d be going to Disneyland. On a gorgeous Saturday. As you might imagine, a few other people had the same thought.

Traffic was, again, just awful. Where do all these people need to go on a Saturday? Seriously.

We parked about a mile from the entrance, which has all been redesigned since the last time I was at Disneyland. They have shuttle buses running nonstop but we were so tired of sitting on planes and in cars, we decided to walk the mile or so to buy our tickets. And then we stood in line to do that. And then we stood in line to get into the California Adventure park, across from the Magic Kingdom. And it was wall-to-wall humanity.

It was clear when we got there, around 12 noon, that we could spend much of the day at the California Adventure and in Disneyland itself, and not get much done, but we took advantage of the Fast Pass option to make it go more smoothly. With that, you go to a kiosk and get a pass that allows you to skip most of the lines, but only during a pre-set one hour window later in the day. We definitely wanted to ride the California Screamin’ roller coaster, which truly looked bad to the bone, and we wanted to do the whitewater raft ride, so we got some Fast Pass tickets and then went to the giant ferris wheel, which looked like a nice sedate way to kill some time waiting for the thrill rides.

When we got in line, which was “only” about 40 minutes, we saw the fork in the maze where you had to pick either a non-swinging gondola, or a swinging one. Well, what’s the fun in a non-swinging gondola? We went for the gusto.

Ah yes. That moment of bliss before the gondola swung out like crazy...
Ah yes. That moment of bliss before the gondola swung out like crazy… (Click to enlarge)

When we were finally on the ride, with two parents and their teen daughter, we were all smiles. And then the huge wheel began to rotate. As we got up to about 9 o’clock, we discovered how the swinging gondolas work. They don’t just swing, they roll on long tracks and swing at the same time. When we did that for the first time, feeling like we were falling and almost upside down, all five of us were basically petrified. We hadn’t expected such a huge rapid swing. We got used to it, and discovered it only happened in the extreme like that a few times per lap, but none of us were thrilled when we discovered the ride was two orbits long. For something so benign as a ferris wheel, that was pretty intense the first few times it happened. It felt like we were falling off the ride!

Once we escaped from the ferris wheel, it was time to get on the raft ride. On the way, we picked up Fast Pass tickets for California Screamin’ and watched it run a few times. I don’t like loops on roller coasters, I’m more of an old-school wooden coaster guy. This one had a loop, but watching it I could see it was so tight it would be over in a second. The dad on the ferris wheel had confirmed that, saying “It happens so fast you hardly notice it, but the g-forces are pretty intense.”

As we boarded the raft ride, Barbara asked the lady taking our Fast Pass tickets if there was any particular place to sit in the raft to avoid getting wet. The woman smiled and said, “There’s one way to avoid getting wet, and that’s to not get on the ride. You’re either going to get pretty wet, or totally soaked.” What the heck, it was a hot sunny day. We wouldn’t melt.

SOAKED... But what great fun.
SOAKED… But what great fun.

We got completely an utterly soaked, as did the family that shared the raft with us. Whether it was rapids splashing over us, or waves pouring in, or even the geysers that shot 25 feet in the air before coming back down to drench us, we basically looked like we fell in the water. But it was ever so much fun. What a riot.

When we got on the coaster, that was the final piece in the process of drying off. It was a little scary, but once we were in line it was like “Well, we’re here, so we’re doing it.”

It starts off with a drag racing style start, going from zero to about 60 mph in just five seconds. Then, it’s huge hills, steep drops, tight lateral compression turns, and that dastardly loop. It’s a GREAT ride. I’d do it again a hundred times. And it’s fast. Very fast. It’s also the longest coaster in the world that contains a loop. And yes, it happened so quick all I noticed was that my chin hit my chest.

We strolled around a little more, and then decided to head over to the main park to hit a few old favorites. Our wish list was Pirates of the Caribbean, the Haunted House, and maybe Space Mountain. And we had a 4:20 reservation for dinner.

The fact a huge Christmas parade was going on just as we walked in didn’t help our plan. It was so crowded we could barely get through, but we’d made up our minds to try Space Mountain first. When we passed the Star Wars 3-D ride, and the regular lines were only 30 minutes, we made the call. We figured Space Mountain would be a letdown after the big coaster, and 3-D rides are always cool.

With C3P0 as our captain, we launched in our space ship. We were not prepared for how rockin’ and rollin’ it was going to be, but the 3-D effects were awesome.

Did I mention the entire theme park was packed? It was so crowded it was exhausting. But, we got on Pirates after a 45 minute trudge through a nearly endless maze and that made the world a better place. It’s one of my favorite rides since the first time I stepped foot in Disney. It never gets old, and we only got a little wet.

We enjoyed a great dinner, and walked around a bit more, before taking the bus back over to the car around 6:30. We were tired, but refreshed at the same time. We knew we’d made the right call to hit Disney, despite the crowds. We needed that.

On Sunday morning, we headed for the track around 9:45. I knew pre-race driver introductions would be the best place to see as many of my peeps as possible, in one place, and that worked like a charm. PR people, National Dragster folks, and drivers all packed into one small space.

Generations. Amazing...
Generations. Amazing…

Then we saw Connie Worsham, and Kate and Maddy. Del’s sister Susan and her new baby Lily couldn’t be far away. Seconds later, our wonderful friend Susan appeared with the sweetest little girl you could ever meet. What a doll. And she seemed to be truly enjoying her first drag race, or at least her first one out of the womb.

And as for Kate and Maddy, my gosh. They’re young women. Wasn’t it just yesterday when they were born? At least just a couple of days since they were little kids. It’s a good thing I haven’t aged over this same period of time. Oh yeah. Never mind.

We spent a great deal of time with Susan and Lily, along with Susan’s longtime friend Jennifer, who we’ve known since the very early days of the CSK era. It was great fun, and we stood in the shade of the grandstand to watch the first round.

It never fails to startle me when I watch the fuel cars run from the top end. We were very near the finish line for this, and I walked out to the fence to see Tim run. When he went screaming by me at 325 mph, it took my breath away. The sensation at the starting line is mostly about concussion and volume. The car just seems to get really small, really fast. At the finish line, it’s all about mind-blowing speed.

After the run (Tim won over Del, in round one) I went up into the lounge and gave him a fist bump, and then said, “Dude, I always forget how fast it looks at the finish line. That’s incredible.”

He smiled and said, “I tell everyone to do that at least once. Your brain can’t process what 325 mph looks like. It’s pretty stunning, isn’t it?”

Yes, it is.

We hung around until the semifinals were over, and then headed back to the hotel. An hour or so later, we enjoyed a nice Mexican dinner up on Foothill and then relaxed. We still had a busy Monday ahead of us.

Originally, we were going to visit Catalina Island for a few days, but when work got in the way of that we changed our flights. Barbara booked a night flight on Monday, around 9:00 pm, from LAX to Spokane. I had a room at the LAX Hilton and had planned on taking a noon flight on Tuesday. But, we both thought it would be better for me to get home to check on Boofus and Buster. I got on a 3:15 flight on Monday afternoon.

But, to make it more complicated (because our lives aren’t complicated enough) Barbara still needed my hotel room. She had a class to teach from 4:00 to 6:00 and needed a private (quiet) place, with good WiFi, to do that. So, in a bit of reverse engineering, she dropped me at LAX and then went and checked into the room. After class was over, she checked back out. She said the desk clerk looked worried when she did that, saying, “Oh my, was there something wrong with the room?”

She explained how it was all fine and just a matter of necessity, but they were kind enough to wave the $20 valet parking charge for her. Now, it’s Thursday and she’ll be flying home tonight, getting to the house around midnight via taxi. The lives we lead…

And now to the other life I lead, as a writer.

The book is so close to being shipped off to the publisher it’s scary. But there’s still more work to do.

This week, I let Greg concentrate on his real job and I restarted my mission of seeing just how many words, paragraphs, and pages I could cut out without losing the quality we’ve both been striving so hard to produce. Sitting down over the last two weeks, I’ve gone through every page. That 845-page total will scare you into doing that.

When I finished up today, I did the math and we’re down to around 750. If we can trim a bit more, and find a way to get more words on each page, we can get this thing down to near 700, but I now have my head wrapped around the fact that the book is going to be hefty. If it has to be 710 pages, then that’s what it is. I’d rather have the quantity if it means not losing the quality.

It was a pretty neat experience doing this editing, as well. After more than 10 months of writing, it was the first time I purposefully read the whole thing, front to back. So, it was fun to see that it really does feel, look, and read just like a book! How ’bout that!

It was real work, though, and pretty exhausting. I wasn’t just reading it, I was analyzing every paragraph, and in some cases every word. Generally, I was able to lop off at least one or two pages per chapter, and by condensing those early ones I got the total close to 100 pages. I feel pretty good about that.

Greg is going to do that same thing with all of this, as well. He’ll be looking more for style and flow, to make sure it all sounds the same and is in the same “voice” from chapter to chapter. That’s a real thing to think about because I’ve evolved quite a lot as a writer during the year, and the book shifts from my childhood and school years, to pro baseball, the business world, indoor soccer, and then finally to drag racing. All of those things have a different flow to them. The baseball and drag racing parts are particularly reliant upon statistics, because numbers are what hold those sports together. Many of the other parts are more whimsically about stories and characters.

It’s going to be important for us to take a close look at all of that. I’m over worrying about when the book will be done. I was focused on that for months, but now it’s just going to have to be done when it gets done. I want it to be the best it can be.

And here’s a little teaser…

We plan to have endorsement “blurbs” on the back cover, from well-known people who have enjoyed the draft copies we’ve been sharing. To say I’m pleased with the reaction would be a gross understatement. I won’t spoil the fun, so you’ll have to wait to see it for yourselves, but some of these are names you won’t just recognize because you’re a fan of a certain sport. A few of them are household names in a much bigger way, and their reactions to what they’ve read have been very heartwarming. Even a little stunning. One of them is so well known and highly thought of Barbara was stunned when he called me on the phone. “Wait, you just talked to….?” Yes I did.

So this thing I’ve done is a book. A few highly respected and influential people have read parts or most of it. And they like it. Amazing…

I’m still shaking my head.

Oh…  And next week’s blog day is also a little thing we call Thanksgiving. Barbara and I are going to spend it in Orlando, with her sister Kitty, her nephew Todd, his wife Angie, and their adorable baby girls Arabella and Anastasia. So, with that in mind, I think we’ll take next week off, if that’s okay with you.

See you in two weeks. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, or just a wonderful week if you’re outside the USA.

Bob Wilber, at your service and slacking off for a week. 🙂

 

The Editing Hat

HOME / The Editing Hat

November 10th, 2016

Powers Lake, just down the street.
Powers Lake, just down the street. (Click to enlarge)

Before I type any more words, especially about today’s title, I must apologize. I’m late with the blog today. Whether it was subconscious or not, or whether it’s just due to 10 and a half months of writing and three straight days of manic editing this week, I completely forgot it was Thursday. I remembered about a half-mile into a 2.5 mile walk around Powers Lake, a beautiful body of water, surrounded by a paved trail, only about a quarter-mile from home.

As I rounded a corner and mouthed the word “Hello” to yet another person out for a stroll (with music playing in my earbuds, it’s just easier to mouth the words since I wouldn’t know if I was whispering or shouting) I got a text from Barbara and when I looked at my phone to read it I saw the word Thursday. Egads! I had no choice but to finish the walk, and now here I am at 4:01 Central Standard Time, sitting down to write something.

Okay, so the title. I don’t have an actual hat that represents editing. It would be awesome to have a 1940s fedora with a card in the band that said “EDITOR” but I don’t. It’s symbolic. But this week has been all about editing.

I wouldn’t be anywhere close to where I am without Greg Halling. I wouldn’t be the writer I am now, either. He’s been that instrumental in teaching me new styles and finding the fat in the text. I watch his edits like a hawk, absorbing why his version always sounds so much better than mine. I’ve learned a ton from him.

As the Executive Editor of a real-live newspaper, though, he has not just a “real job” but a really stressful one. Newspapers don’t rest. They are in operation all the time. And he runs the place.

So, this week I took it upon myself to go back to the beginning and start applying what I’ve learned to what I wrote many months ago. The reason? Page count.

When I finished the final chapter, I dared to peek between my fingers to see what the final total was, in terms of pages. Not pages on my computer screen but pages in the book. You can get to that number by knowing what the average number of words are on every page, in a book format. That will get you very close. When I added them all up, and peeked at the number, it was 845. That would warrant my second “Egads!” of this blog.

My original goal was around 550. As I kept writing, I moved that number up to 625 or 650. That’s a LOT of pages, but there were just so many stories to tell. At 845, I faced the truth. There has to be some serious cutting and trimming.

So, with Greg swamped at work, I took it upon myself to start at the front and go paragraph by paragraph. If I could trim a page or three out of every chapter, that would get me to within visual distance of 700. Maybe. From there, Greg and I will sit down and do the really painful cuts.

Right now, I’m through Chapter 19 and have shaved 58 pages. That’s the good news. The bad news is that by this point in the process, I was absorbing more and more of Greg’s instruction, and the writing was getting more concise. At the beginning, I was the same wordy guy I am here. There was a lot of fat to trim. Now, it gets harder.

I found two full chapters that were full of detail but basically redundant. They came after major baseball points in my life, and in the previous chapter, before each, I’d described most of the guys I played with pretty well. For some reason, back in February or so, I thought it necessary to then follow each of those chapters with more in-depth descriptions of the guys. Looking back on it, that seemed dumb. And a waste of precious pages.

So, I killed off the redundant chapters altogether, but not before moving a few of the more critical things into the original chapters. Those chapters got a little longer, but the second ones disappeared completely. In all, I chopped close to 30 pages right there, and I really don’t feel like I lost too much really valuable stuff.

OK, there was one thing. One of our roommates, when Lance, Radar, and I lived in a white rental home we creatively dubbed “The White House” was a guy named Larry Donaldson. He was a gem and a great guy, but kind of hilarious in a goofy sort of way. He was a good sport about it, and a great roommate, but I felt the long description of him wasn’t totally necessary. So I cut it. Now Larry goes from multiple paragraphs to just a few sentences. Cuts are painful.

So, I present to you here, the bits about Larry that will not be in the book. Consider it like when a band puts out an album of previously unreleased tracks that didn’t make prior records. Here’s Larry Donaldson…

—————————

Larry Donaldson was our roomie at the White House, and he inhabited the lower-level bedroom we’d have to traverse to get to the bathroom. He was at least 6-foot-5, killer handsome, and built like a brick house. Plus, he was a pitcher who was fortunate enough to throw with his left hand. When he threw off a mound for the first time at spring practice, we all stopped what we were doing to watch, figuring this might be the moment we all beheld greatness for the first time. He wound up, looking a little like Goofy from the Disney cartoons, and he delivered a “blazing” fastball at around 80 mph. Maybe. Larry was going to have to bedazzle them with guile.

He had a great personality and was a fine roommate when he wasn’t spilling milk from his cereal bowl onto the carpet, but he had a little bit of doofus in him that was charming. His original nickname was easy — Bo. That was in reference to the AM Radio pop band Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods. Think “Billy, Don’t Be A Hero”.  His second one dipped into sarcastic Latin. We put a sign on his bedroom door that said “Idiosus Villagus” and even Larry thought that was kind of funny, taking it to a whole new level of heinous humor.

Larry also had a ravenous appetite, and one of our favorite places for dinner was the Bonanza Steakhouse, for numerous reasons. You could get some good protein there, they had an endless salad bar, and each entree came with Texas Toast. Plus, with our student ID’s we got 25 percent off. Basically, for about three bucks you could walk out stuffed.

One night we sat next to a table of young ladies and Lance mentioned to them, under his breath, “Better be careful girls. Larry will reach right over there and take your bread,” and at that point the word “bread” was the only one that registered in Larry’s brain. He looked up, wide-eyed, and said “Did she say she didn’t want her bread?” in complete seriousness, as he reached for it. Both tables roared.

Early one Monday morning, when Larry was still in bed with his tube-socked feet sticking out from under the covers, I used the phone in his room to call one of my professors. For some reason, I wanted to cut a class that morning, and within my major I always called instead of just not showing up. I made up a bit of a ruse by saying, “Sir, I went to visit my folks over the weekend, in Kirkwood, and my car broke down. It’s getting fixed today, but I’m still here at my parents house so I don’t think I can make class. Can I come see you tomorrow to catch up?” After I hung up, Larry groggily looked at me and said “What’s wrong with your car?”

——————————–

So there you have that.

Powers Lake again, just because I can.
Powers Lake again, just because I can.

I’m leaving for Pomona tomorrow morning, so probably not much editing will get done before I get back on Tuesday. Originally, Barbara and I had plans to spend Monday and Tuesday nights on Catalina Island, where neither of us have ever been. I had hotel and ferry reservations all set, but work gets in the way too often. Her company called a major board meeting so she has to go straight from LAX up to Spokane on Monday. Fortunately, I was able to get refunds on everything.

We’re meeting in Pomona tomorrow. That’s kind of our life. One of us always seems to be heading off to some other place. She was in Chicago and San Diego already this week, and she just called me from L.A. Tomorrow, she’ll beat me to the hotel near the track so I made sure her name was on the room, as well. That way, she can check in.

Her flight isn’t until Monday evening, and we’re still debating about doing something “tourist fun” instead of spending both Saturday and Sunday at the track. Sometimes you need that. Disneyland might be calling…

And while on my walk, I listened to music from a playlist I built entitled “Trip Mix 2” which was a really creative title for about 8-hours of songs designed to help get us through our second drive across the country with the boyz.

And Powers Lake one more time. On November 10th.
And Powers Lake one more time. On November 10th.

On that playlist, is a song entitled “Sylvia” by the band Focus. You remember Focus, right? They were a band from The Netherlands who had a weird little hit called “Hocus Pocus” in which the keyboard player, Thijs van Leer, yodeled the vocals. They were an amazing group of musicians, but none of them were singers. Hence the yodeling.

On “Sylvia” their extraordinary guitarist, Jan Ackermann, plays his guitar as the vocals. It’s an extraordinary song, although 99.9 percent of American music fans never heard it. If you have a chance to download it, and want to hear some massively intriguing guitar work, do it.

And also, about my walk, today is November 10. I’m in Minnesota. I wore shorts and a t-shirt, and still worked up a sweat. We haven’t even had a decent frost yet. It’s insane.

So now it’s 4:37, and I still have to go to the store, figure something out for dinner, and pack. I’ll be leaving at 9:00 a.m. so I might as well do that tonight. Plus, because it’s who we are and it’s the lives we lead, I’m bringing a bunch of clothes and books for Barbara. With all the places she’s been this week, and still needed to get to the meeting in Spokane, she couldn’t fit it all in one carry-on. I’ll swap this stuff for what she doesn’t need, and she’ll be good to go.

Sorry so short. I won’t be so absent-minded next week. Off to Pomona!  And aren ‘t you glad you met Larry Donaldson?

Bob Wilber, at your service and leaving town again.

 

 

Friends

HOME / Friends

November 3rd, 2016

I have always deeply valued friendships. I stay in touch with people who are long gone and out of my circle of life just because I valued our friendship many years ago, and I don’t want that connection to break. Friendships are my roots, my foundation, and my soul, I think you could say. I couldn’t fathom the concept of life without dear friends.

This past weekend illustrated that value vividly. I went to Las Vegas, where I was surrounded by friends.

I spent two days with Team Wilkerson at The Strip. The Strip as in the race track of that name, not the brightly lit canyon of casinos. I didn’t stay on that Strip because it always feels soulless to me. There are no friends there unless you bring them with you, and even then you feel the crush of greed and crookedness draping over you like a filthy suit.

I stayed, instead, someplace totally new for me. I reserved a room at the JW Marriott on the west side of the Vegas metro area. It was a solid 30 minutes to the track on the Highway 215 loop, but getting down to the bright lights can take longer than that. Plus, it was in a marvelous part of town, it was classy, serene, and welcoming. It really felt 180-degrees from the Strip. When I passed other guests in the hall or shared an elevator with them, I spoke up. It was almost like making friends. Down on the Strip, people have blinders on, to other individuals and to the boisterous drunken groups that are stumbling around 24 hours a day. It was a great decision, and it made my time in Vegas much more enjoyable.

At the track on Saturday, it started with Laura Contreras-Rust at the VIP Credentials trailer. She never fails to get up from her seat inside the black trailer, just to meet me at the door with a heartfelt hug. That’s an enduring friendship that always starts my weekend off right. Inside the venue, I was surrounded by my racing family. Handshakes and hugs were common, as were the questions about my progress on the book. It always surprises me that so many people already know exactly how things are going. They keep an eye on me, here via the blog and through other means, to make sure I’m moving forward.

In the Media Center, my PR colleagues were joined by a number of longtime reporters and National Dragster editors, whom I consider friends as well. The PR gang is evolving, as new people enter the room each year while others go off to do other things, and it won’t be long before hardly anyone knows me, or even remembers me, in there.  But, for now, the many smiling faces and genuine hugs are precious to me. Those are good people. They’re good friends.

During an oil clean-up, I walked down the hall to the announcer’s room and caught up with Alan Reinhart. Alan can be as goofy as the next guy, but this year our conversations have always been more serious. He genuinely wants to know how I’m doing, and he asks most of the questions before I can even get to “How about you?”

In the pits, longtime blog readers who have become friends knew where to find me. Despite the fact the Wilk team didn’t have the hospitality area set up, we still had room up by the “back” of the pit to socialize, with no team parked nose-to-nose with us. And I put the word “back” in quotes because I always find it funny that the “back” of the pit is the “front” of the transporter. Why is that? It’s all perspective. From the ropes, at the back of the rig, you’re looking forward to what appears to be the back, but it’s the front, not the back. It’s the front. But it’s the back. Get it?

On Saturday, I made the rounds quite a bit and saw as many people as I could. I knew Sunday was going to be the big day, in terms of friends. Gregg Potter and Cathy Rich were going to be there. Gregg is a world-renowned drummer, who plays the drums for the Buddy Rich Band. Cathy Rich is the late Buddy Rich’s daughter. The two of them are an absolute hoot, like a nonstop comedy show, but it’s also an honor just to hang out with such percussion royalty. And again, really good people.

Buck, Mary, Gibson, and Hudson Hujabre were also coming to the track on Sunday, so I was doubly excited about that. Plus, with Buck being a musician who is “fluent” in many instruments, including the drums, it was cool to know I could introduce him to Gregg and Cathy, as well. I knew they’d all hit it off immediately.

And then Gregg and Cathy showed up on Saturday! Bonus time with two great people.

I ducked out as the final qualifying session was about halfway done, and was pleasantly surprised to get back to my room with it still going on. I saw Tim’s final run on my laptop. Then I headed someplace I had originally not planned to visit.

When I made my reservation at the resort, I was under the impression it did not have a casino. For the first time in forever, I planned to wager not one dime. And then when I arrived and checked in, I had to walk through the casino to get to my room. Plan foiled. The gravitational pull was too great. I won $300 and went to bed. Take that, slot machines!

I’ve been to six races so far this year, and at each one of them I relived the “morning memory” in exactly the same way. I wake up at sunrise and think, “I’m going to be late. I have to go!” Then I realize I don’t have to hurry. I can go whenever I please. I wanted to make it to the track around 10:00, but soon discovered another thing I’m not well versed in: Incoming traffic.

Since I spent the last two decades making sure I beat the traffic getting into the track, I rarely sat in any. Even at Gainesville, where we arrived at the track before sunrise. I think the only place where incoming traffic could slow us down, even if we left the hotel at 7:00, was Reading. Those narrow two-lane country roads can stack up with just a few cars.

As I drove around the 215 loop, heading for I-15, I sensed more cars on the road than should be typical for a Sunday morning. When I got to I-15, merging onto it just two miles from the LVMS exit, my first thought was, “There must’ve been a wreck.” Traffic going northbound, toward the track, was completely backed up. Looking south, toward Vegas, the line of cars went on and on. It wasn’t a wreck. It was traffic all heading to the NHRA race at The Strip at LVMS. Saturday’s crowd had been enormous. Late in the afternoon, they announced it was a complete sell-out. Clearly, Sunday’s was going to be huge as well.

I finally got to the pit around 10:30, just in time for driver introductions. I decided however, to hang out at the pit to find the Hujabres. They arrived moments later. For the record, the boys are getting huge.

April, 2011. Gibson takes his first steps
April, 2011. Gibson takes his first steps with the famous Pond Cam pond behind him. (Click to enlarge)

In late April of 2011, when the Jersey Boys touring company came back to the Twin Cities for a three-week run in Minneapolis, Buck, Mary, and Gibson lived with us at our old house on the pond. Gibson was a bit over one year old at the time, and he took his first steps not long after they arrived and unpacked. By the end of their stay, he was walking around like a pro. It was an amazing thing to watch, and I’ll never forget it. Now, he’s playing flag-football and is a star running back and quarterback. It’s stunning how fast that all happens. It’s also stunning that one of his assistant coaches is his dad. I wonder if he designed a play to be an “end sweep, stage left.”

When Gregg and Cathy arrived, I introduced all these friends of mine to each other. It took them all roughly 4.5 seconds to connect about two-dozen dots, making those mutual friendship connections. Show-biz people know everyone. So do musicians.

New friendships being born. Cathy and Gregg meet Buck and Gibson
New friendships being born. Cathy and Gregg meet Buck and Gibson

I then let the new friends mingle and head to their seats for round one. And Tim smoked the tires at the hit of the throttle. As disappointing as that was, it did provide the benefit of a much more relaxed pit area for the rest of the day, as the guys serviced the car and Tim huddled with Richard Hartman to figure out “why it did something goofy like that.” Tim said it absolutely should not have done that, and he was more afraid that they had it too soft. Race cars can be such brats. Petulant brats, at that.

New TV show concept: "Hangin' With Hujabres"
New TV show concept: “Hangin’ With Hujabres”

We all reconvened and laughed for hours, with Krista Wilkerson being right in the middle of it. She’s my best friend at the track, and she makes friends so easily with people she meets. It’s a joy to make her laugh, although I’ll also admit it’s not that hard to do. But, when people like Buck, Mary, Gregg, and Cathy are there, she just beams.

With no actual work to do, I could also spend quite a bit of time with my PR peeps up in the tower, and I made sure to do just that.

Seeing Elon Werner, Kelly Topolinski, Sadie Floyd, and everyone else in the room is always a treat, and it was fantastic to get brought up to speed on what everyone else is doing while answering all their questions about the book.

And since I was only at my sixth race (which still seems like a lot for a guy who officially “retired” last year) it was the first time I could get a sense of just how everyone feels this time of year. It’s been 10 months of travel for all of them, and when I was in that mode I knew I was tired by late October. To varying degrees, mostly based on age and experience, I think, I could see it in many of them. Just one more race. One more hotel. One more flight. Then the banquet, and then a week off before all the prep for 2017 seems overwhelming.

I went back to the pit to socialize just a little bit more, and then it was time for a major presentation.

When Tim slammed his Funny Car into the wall at two different races, earlier this year, it was a major financial hit for the team. That’s a lot of money crunched in just a second. The wall always wins.

Gibson and his little brother Hudson saw both races on TV, and they immediately wanted to help. They emptied their piggy banks and asked their father to send it to Tim. And they were very serious about it. Also insistent.

Buck told me what they’d done, and he made it clear that the boys did not want their money back. They wanted to help Tim buy some new stuff. Both Tim and Krista were really touched by the generosity, so in Las Vegas they gave the boys two connecting rods and a box of used spark plugs, telling them they wanted to share the parts the boys had paid for. Their eyes almost came out of their heads.

And they’re such smart little guys. Buck asked Gibson if he knew what the rods connected to, and he said, “the crankshaft” without hesitation. Blew me away.

Gibson, dreaming of going very fast.
Gibson, dreaming of going very fast.

To make it all even better, Tim went and got two used pistons and gave them those, as well. Then it was time to sit in the car. Gibson went first, and he could hardly contain the joy.

I could relate to it, as well, considering my baseball upbringing. My dad was always introducing me to his friends, who just happened to have last names like Musial and Williams, and I got to do the equivalent of “sitting in a Funny Car” a lot as a kid, except it was a dugout or a mound or a clubhouse I got to be in.

When it was Hudson’s turn, he got bashful. He grabbed onto Buck’s leg and said he didn’t want to sit in the car. And I found it heartwarming to listen to Buck talk with him, saying, “You don’t have to buddy, but if you really do then let’s put you in there.” He declined once again, and Buck put no pressure on him whatsoever. He and Mary are parents of the highest order.

When it was time for the family to go back to the stands, Hudson finally changed his mind. He asked his daddy if maybe could it be possible for him to sit in car now. Buck smiled as much as he did, and then helped him sit in the cockpit.

As Buck said, “Heck, I got a huge kick out of each of them getting the chance to do something really special like that. It was an honor for me to let them do it, and to help them get in and out.”

Hudson gets his chance!
Hudson gets his chance!

Hudson happily sat in the seat and was grinning from ear to ear. I love seeing stuff like that. It warms my heart.

After the semifinals, I beat the traffic but not until I’d shared one last hug with everyone. Well, not everyone. The Hujabre family was going to meet me for dinner.

Since the boys were coming along, we let them pick the restaurant, although Buck was kind enough to limit them to the ones they liked in the part of town where my hotel was. They chose The Cheesecake Factory. My wife Barbara swears we went to one of those many years ago, but when I heard we were going there on Sunday I could’ve sworn I’d never been. Buck just kind of winked at me, saying, “You’re gonna love it.”

I went back to the hotel and got cleaned up a little, and Buck kept me posted as to their status. I was back in the room keeping tabs on the final round on my computer when they left the track, and we planned to meet at the restaurant.

It just happened to be about a block from the hotel. It took me longer to walk down the hall and take the elevator to the first floor, than it did for me to drive over there. And we all arrived within seconds of each other.

At dinner, I marveled at how well behaved these two kids are. And when Buck showed me a video of Gibson scoring a touchdown in the championship game of his flag football season, I heard him ask Gibson what the play was. He said, “A double-reverse, and I just ran it in.”

A little later, Gibson asked me where I lived. I said, “Minnesota, and you were at my house there once. I bet you don’t remember that, though.”

He didn’t, of course, but we got to talking about the small park just around the corner from that house, and how Gibson was so fearless on the curvy slide there. He had just started walking a couple of days before, and when we got there he went straight to the top and slid right down, giggling the whole way. When Buck and Mary were talking about that, his eyes lit up.

“Is that the slide from the picture in my ‘Why I Love Daddy’ book?” It was, and he made the connection.

And for the record, Buck was right. I loved The Cheesecake Factory. The food was fantastic and the company was 5-Stars. And post-dinner, the siren call of the casino beckoned one more time. I was playing with house money by then, so why not? I made about $500 on the same machine and called it a night. There is no truth to the rumor I threw all the hundred-dollar bills in the air and laughed maniacally.

Gibson's slide!
Gibson’s slide!

Yesterday, I was running some errands and I dropped by the park just to take a selfie next to the slide. I texted it to Buck, with a request to show it to Gibson. What great memories.

And what great friends. What a fabulous couple of days with many of the best friends I’ve ever had, laughing, and talking, and just having fun.

You can’t have too many friends. Seems simple enough, but I’m not sure everyone realizes that. Some people close themselves off to others, as if they’ve reached their friend capacity and can’t sell anymore friend tickets.

I think great friends are the most valuable thing in life. If I had a billion dollars but no real friends, I’d be miserable. I’d be rich, but I’d be miserable. It wouldn’t be worth it.

We moved back here from Washington for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one is that this is where are friends are. They’re some of the best friends we’ve ever had. This is home.

And home is wherever great friends surround you. In September, home was my alma mater, SIU-Edwardsville, when he had our 1977 baseball Hall of Fame induction. This summer, for one weekend, home was Target Field when my college roomies Lance, Oscar, and Radar came to town and we went to the Twins game.

This past weekend, home was Las Vegas. Barbara gets back here from Spokane tomorrow. Home will be Woodbury.

Until next week, this is Bob Wilber at your service. With friends.

When In Spokane…

HOME / When In Spokane…

October 27th, 2016

When in Spokane, do as the Spokanites. Words to live by! And by the way, that’s pronounced “SPO-kin-ites” and Barbara and I were both there to enjoy all the city and the area has to offer, last weekend. Well, not exactly all. We only had one full day and two nights, so we went after the highlights. It was much fun, and great to be back out there.

What was a bit odd was that it hadn’t been so long for me that it felt nostalgic. It just felt like I was still living there. I’m a huge fan of driving around towns and places I haven’t been for a long time, to check them out again and feel those waves of nostalgia wash over me. Driving down Liberty Lake Road, or having dinner at Hay J’s Bistro, felt like I’d never left. I think I might have even felt a little cheated that it all seemed like yesterday, but I had a great time nonetheless.

Barbara has been staying at the Davenport Hotel in downtown Spokane, on this commute to her job, so when I landed on Friday afternoon I went straight there and got a key to the room. That allowed me a chance to catch up on some correspondence before we met for dinner, and what a fun dinner it ended up being. Our friend Patti and her boyfriend Sheldon (whom I had not yet met) joined us at Hay J’s for what can only be a spectacular meal. They don’t serve any other kind. It hadn’t changed a bit, and the conversation was as great as the meal. After that, Patti invited us over to her house so we could see her kids and her awesome cat Emma. All of that was good, but when Emma got a little nervous and flashed one of those front paws, complete with “outdoor cat claws,” Barb’s forehead was on the receiving end of a little quarter-inch slice. Much Neosporin and many Band-Aids later, she’s fine. There will be no litigation against Emma.

Before we got to dinner, we had some time to kill so we stopped in at Barlow’s, another of our favorite restaurants but a much more casual “comfort food” type of spot. We were going to just have a glass of wine in the bar, but we spotted our favorite server, Lori, and she insisted we take a table in her section, saying “This is so weird. I was just thinking about you two the other day. I wondered where you were.” It was fun to catch up, and once again it felt like I’d never left.

On Saturday, our only plan was to tour around downtown before heading over to Coeur d’Alene for dinner at Cedar’s Floating Restaurant. That name sounds like it must be a gimmick eatery, but the cuisine is actually fabulous.

We also suffered a bit of a delay before getting out of the hotel, when Barbara had to resubmit some school work for the class she teaches at St. Mary’s University, in Minneapolis. That took a few more hours than she’d anticipated, but once she was done we got to venture outside on a nice cool day. That’s a good thing, because according to Barb and everyone else we spoke to, it’s been raining in Spokane for as long as anyone can remember. Seriously, at least a couple of weeks, and on that particular Saturday, just as we left the Davenport to walk around downtown and the riverfront, the clouds parted and blue sky could be seen. I’ll take all the credit.

As we walked toward Riverfront Park, we noticed signs explaining a wide variety of renovation projects the city is undertaking. As Barbara said, “Ya gotta give Spokane credit. They keep doing things to make it better. They never give up.”

And quick, Riverfront Park is the former site of what great event? We’ve had this question on the test before…  It’s the site of Expo ’74, the only World’s Fair I’ve ever attended, and that was simply due to the good fortune of being able to spend a few weeks that summer with my dad’s minor league team, the Spokane Indians. And back then, we lived in the Davenport when the team was in town. So there’s that.

I never trailed in this horse race!
I never trailed in this horse race! (Click to enlarge any photo)

On the way to the river, we passed the historic carousel and Barb wanted to take a phone shot of it for her sister, Kitty, who had a great time there, with us, when she was in Spokane for Thanksgiving one year. Then Barbara said, “Wanna ride it again?” and I kind of shook my head no, but I could see she really did, so we sprinted for the ticket booth and found two horses who looked “our speed”.

It’s campy fun, and always worth doing. It’s been in operation for more than 100 years, and it’s a huge investment of two entire dollars to ride it.

After that thrill ride, we strolled around the park and crossed over the Spokane Falls a number of times, soaking it all in one more from various vantage points. At this time of year, the Falls are near their low point. In the spring, when all the snow in the mountains melts and finds its way to the Spokane River, the Falls are ripping and roaring so violently people travel from far and wide to see the spectacle. It can actually be a little scary and intimidating in April or May, to be on a suspension bridge just about 10 feet above all that powerful water. You’d have no chance if you fell in, so my advice is that you don’t do that.

Lunching at Clinkerdagger
Lunching at Clinkerdagger

We were also getting quite hungry, and our reservation for Cedars wasn’t until 7:00, so we made up our minds to have a light lunch. At first, we were going to go to Twig’s, one of our go-to spots in Spokane, but we called an audible. I stopped, looked around, and yelled, “2-80. 2-80. Omaha!” and off we went, with a screen pass instead of the run I’d called. None of that happened. We simply changed our minds and decided to have lunch at Clinkerdagger, a really nice restaurant overlooking the Falls on the north side of the river. It’s quaint, it’s cozy, the views are amazing, and my combo plate of a half Caesar Salad and a half French Dip was spot on.

It’s a fun place, with great food and a friendly staff. And how did I learn about Clinkerdagger in the first place, back before we even moved to Washington? From Jerry Foss, esteemed photographer for National Dragster magazine, who read about our impending move way back then and told me to check the place out. Well played, sir.

After lunch, more strolling, more Falls views, and more fun. It was great to be back in Spokane, and for me it was a chance to be a tourist again. The first time I’d been able to do that since National Dragster editor Phil Burgess and his wife, Marie, were there about a year and a half ago. The Falls were ripping quite a bit more then, than they were last weekend.

Always fun, even when the river is low
Always fun, even when the river is low

We took our time, took a few more selfie’s, and finally headed back to the hotel, but not before taking one last long look. I really don’t know when I’ll be back, but you gotta give Spokane credit. They don’t give up.

Barbara had actually left her rental car at Itron after our dinner and cat attack on Friday night, so the plan was for us to head straight for Coeur d’Alene, with the hope of having some time to walk around the charming downtown area there before dinner. And then we’d swing back past her office to pick up her rental after we ate. Best laid plans, and all.

Instead, we were a little late getting there in terms of the downtown stuff, because Cedar’s floats on the other side of the lake from there, but we were early in terms of our reservation. It was about 6:15. We figured we could have a floating glass of wine in the floating bar if they couldn’t seat us early in the floating restaurant.

It was funny, because the receptionist said it would be at least 20 minutes and that they had no tables by the windows available. It was funny peculiar, not funny haha, because we had no more than taken our first sips at the bar when the restaurant manager came in and said, “I can seat you at a window now.” Hey, whatever works. We floated right on over there.

So a restaurant that floats seems like a gimmick. I mean, remember fine dining rule No. 126: Never eat at a restaurant that revolves on the top floor of a hotel. The revolving part is a gimmick to get you to eat lousy food. Well, by that rule, a floating restaurant might be included. And a floating restaurant that features a salad bar? Steer clear, right? Maybe, but not in the case of Cedar’s. The salad bar is awesome, and the menu is filled with fantastic fresh dishes from the Great Northwest and beyond. My steak was officially considered perfect. And their Ranch dressing, at the salad bar? Oh my. When a Ranch is so good it causes me to tell the server, “If you brought me a plate of yard clippings and twigs, I could eat it with this Ranch” it’s very good. And that’s coming from a Ranch aficionado.

On Sunday, Barbara actually followed me to the airport in the morning, in her rental that we did indeed pick up after our floating dinner. Did I mention that Cedar’s actually floats on Coeur d’Alene Lake? It does! Seriously. And it has a salad bar!

She wanted to get rid of the giant SUV she’d gotten when she arrived a week before, so we both dropped off our cars and Avis gave her a Subaru Outback for this week. She’s probably off-roading in it right now. It felt like the airport was kind of busy, in a way a guy who travels as much as I do can sense upon arrival, so I gave my wife a kiss goodbye and went to check my bag.

The TSA line at Spokane is usually not too bad. After all, there are almost never more than two or three jets leaving within any 30-minute span of time, so how many folks can even be there? And, there’s a TSA Pre-Check line too, so you usually fly right through. The times you don’t are when the don’t have the Pre-Check line open and have only one TSA agent manning the desk. Like on Sunday. Right when I got there.

I was no more than 20th in line, but it was moving at a snail’s pace. Snails move very slowly. When I finally got to the front, the woman said “Pre Check is going to open in about 10 minutes if you want to wait” but I could see no benefit in that. The entire process, which usually takes just a minute or two, took close to 25 minutes this time. I barely had time for a massage, a pedicure, and an autograph session before getting on my private jet. I didn’t write that sentence, it just appeared. I did barely have time to log onto the interwebs to check my mail before boarding the little Delta jet that would fly me in the wrong direction for 45 minutes. I did write that because it’s true. I had to fly west for 45 minutes to get to Seattle, where I had a two-hour layover. Then, back in the air going eastward, flying directly back over Spokane on the way. In the great words of the band Supertramp, I took the long way home.

Oh, but I wasn’t done traveling! No sir, not at all.

On Tuesday, I had a 9:00 a.m. flight to Detroit, but I’d never leave the DTW airport. I had a 5:00 appointment with “the authorities” who I assume were Customs people, to be fingerprinted and approved for my Global Entry “trusted traveler” number. Such a thing is extremely helpful when traveling abroad, and with our December trip to London coming up, I needed to get it. I just had to fly to Detroit to do it, because every other airport I checked was booked out until next spring.

Barbara had also flown to DTW to get her number, last year, and she said the line was two hours long, despite the whole process of having appointments. So, I spent some time in the Sky Club and then headed over to the other terminal to get in line. And when I found the office, there was nobody waiting at all. They took me in at 3:00 and at 3:15 I was walking out, having had my photo taken and all my fingerprints scanned. Bam. Done deal. Apparently, I’m trustworthy.

I hoped to get on an earlier flight, not the 8:50 one I was on, but I’d just missed the 3:30 flight and the 5:30 was overbooked. I killed some more time in the Sky Club, and munched on the new food offerings they have, then went for a walk. That’s easy to do, at DTW. If you walk the length of the main terminal up and back, that’s well more than a mile. Throw in a stroll through the tunnel of lights to get over to the smaller concourse, and you’ve had a nice hike. Yet, I still had another hour until we boarded the plane. So I went back to the Sky Club for a glass of wine and some cheese and crackers.

As I turned a corner, I saw a handsome and well-dressed guy coming toward me. I knew I recognized him, but I only had a split second to connect all the memory dots before he walked by. As he did, I said, “Fred?”

He looked up and said, “Yes” with an inquisitive look on his face. I simply put out my hand and said, “Bob Wilber.” The handshake quickly turned into a hug.

Because sometimes you just have to be lucky to run into an old friend named Fred.
Because sometimes you just have to be lucky to run into an old friend named Fred.

Fred Fried (pronounced “Freed”) and I worked together way back in the dark ages. When I was hired as a Project Director for DelWilber+Associates, my brother’s sports marketing agency, I joined a small group of young go-getters who were right out of college. Not long after I joined, Fred was hired. Not long after Fred was hired, he and I were great friends. We were both smart, had similar likes and dislikes, and we could crack each other up with just a look. We were also both big fans of Washington D.C.’s number one morning deejay, a hilarious guy who went by the name of The Greaseman. We could do his bits all day.

The work entailed long hours in the office, and travel to far away places on a weekly basis. It was mentally taxing, and physically draining, despite the fact it was all “desk work” not physical labor. About a year later, when Fred and I went to lunch and he broke the news he was leaving to take a job with ProServ, a huge agency that represented a lot of athletes, I was crushed. It felt like breaking up with a girlfriend. It was never the same after he left, but for him it’s a good thing he did. When he left ProServ his career was on a steep upward trajectory, and he started and sold a few businesses himself. He’s still at it, but as he said, “I can only play so much golf, so I keep doing it but at my pace.”

Plus, when we were at DW+A together, one of our colleagues was Bridgit Corbin, who was young and smart and dedicated, intent upon making her own mark in the world. Fred and Bridgit were both soon married, but later in life they found themselves single again, each with children, and they began dating. They’ve been married for quite a while now, and no two people could be a better match.

I hadn’t seen Fred since the day he left DW+A in the mid ’80s. We found a quiet corner in the Club and spent 40 minutes talking nonstop, catching up on everything. Had I not gone back to the Club, and if I had not been turning that corner at exactly the right time, Fred Fried and I would not know, right now, that we were both even there at the same time. What a stroke of enormous luck. And what a truly great guy!

So that’s my past week, since the last blog. And tomorrow I head to Las Vegas to see my NHRA peeps and the Hujabre family. Can’t wait to get there.

On the book front, we’ll soon be moving into the next phase of pre-production, layout, and approvals. I’m going to take on this part of the process with all the determination I used for the writing. I can’t wait to see it come to life.

So, I’m off to the races after a wild week of “When in Spokane, do as the Spokanites” followed by a day-long journey to Detroit and back and the great food fortune of seeing Fred.

What will next week bring? We’ll see.

Bob Wilber, at your service as a former Spokanite.

 

A Very Big Day

HOME / A Very Big Day

October 21st, 2016

Even after I recently realized how close I was to finishing the principal writing of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” it still took me a long time to do it, at least in my mind. When I got within a couple of chapters it was like, “I’m right there. I can finish tomorrow.”  But, the finish line was like a mirage on the horizon. When I thought I was getting closer, it just moved away.

Today, October 20, 2016 at approximately 4:35 p.m. in Woodbury, Minnesota, I put a period at the end of a sentence and calmly thought, “Well there you go. I’m done.”

I had no inkling this would be any different than any of the other days, since I started this project on January 6. It was just another day. Just another period on the end of an endless list of sentences.

This week had been manic. It really was RIGHT THERE, within my grasp. I just had to find the time and have the fortitude to do it. Unfortunately, my calendar was full of “real life” stuff that needed to be tended to. Appointments outside the house, and service calls inside. Adulting. It takes time.

By yesterday, I could smell it. But, I had a service appointment to get my Lexus its 15,000-mile service and have the tires rotated. I took my laptop to the dealership and hid myself away in the “Customer Business Center” they provide, writing for the entire 90 minutes my car was being worked on. I couldn’t wait to get home and get back at it.

At 6:30 last night, my fingers, back, and brain gave out. I thought I was no more than six pages away, but once it gets to that point you have to walk away. Even my typings skills had deteriorated to the point where I was deleting as many letters as I was typing. I had to finish today. But today is Thursday Blog Day and I reserve it for this blog. Not today. The book took precedence.

After reading the newspaper and looking back over what I had written yesterday, I sat down and got serious around 11:45 this morning. At 4:35 I typed that period and it was done. Well, it’s nowhere near done, but the principal writing of this book, which starts when I’m 3 and ends when I’m 60, was there. It’s all editing and tweaking from here, and then pre-production and publication. After that, marketing and promotion.

And, I realized, the final chapter was too long. Chapter 35 was supposed to be the final one, but as I dove into 2015 the stories that just <HAD> to be included kept coming to mind. I kept writing. When I was done, I split it into two. The book is now 36 chapters long. I think if I’d have made that decision, to have a 36th chapter, before I started 35, I would have put the last one off until next week. By writing all 41 pages of it in the last few days of marathon writing, it was easy to break it in two. Reflections on 2014 followed by 2015. It was better this way.

I had no idea how to write a book when I started. I have no idea how to do the things that are left to do. I’ll approach it the same way. I’ll trust myself, trust my skills, and trust my opinions.

I also have the help of the best possible editor I could bring onboard. Greg Halling finished polishing and improving Chapter 32 last night, and when he sent it back to me he wrote: “Let me just say this, Bobby Ballgame. You’re a much better writer now than you were when you started this book.”

That pleased me enormously, because one of the things I’m most proud of is that I have indeed been able to see how I’ve taken his cues and gotten better. I’m an old dog, but I’ve learned a lot of new tricks. That’s an accomplishment.

I’m heading to Spokane for the weekend tomorrow, to spend it with Barbara in and around Liberty Lake. Good meals at our favorite haunts out there will be on the agenda. I’ll take my laptop, and I’m sure I’ll open it, but right now the goal is to take next week completely off. My fingers are sore, my elbows hurt, my lower back seizes up every time I stand up, and my brain is fried. We’ll see if I can actually do that. There’s always stuff to fine tune and adjust.

These last couple of weeks have been very emotional, too. When I started this climb, I’d never been to a mountain and I couldn’t see the top. It was like I got up one day and thought, “Mountain climbing looks cool. Let’s go to Everest!”

As I got closer, the realization that 10 and a half months of this had actually produced what shall soon be a book, a book about me and my life, was sobering and exciting.

Today, when I finished, it felt like any day of writing. That was the end point. Time for a walk and then for dinner. And when I stood up from my chair, it hit me. I had done this.

Have you seen the great movie “Miracle” about the 1980 USA hockey team, starring Kurt Russell who absolutely channels legendary coach Herb Brooks? He plays Herbie miraculously (pun intended) and whether it’s the movie or the actual footage, the shot of Herb reacting to the buzzer at the end of the game, when the USA stunned the Soviet Union to move on to the Gold Medal game, is etched in my mind. Herb was all about letting the players do the work and win the games, while he kept himself as just the coach. “I’ll be your coach, I won’t be your friend.” He wasn’t going to all of a sudden steal their thunder by running out on the ice, as if he had personally won that game. He raised his arms behind the bench and then immediately ran up the tunnel to the dressing room, by himself, while the players and the crowd enjoyed pure bedlam in Lake Placid after the win. In the concourse outside the dressing room, he raised his arms again, saying “Yes!” to himself, and then slumped against the wall, all alone. It had hit him, right then, what he had accomplished.

That was sorta me, when I stood up after that final period at the end of the final sentence. I actually raised my arms and a tsunami of emotion ran through me. I could feel it course through my veins. It wasn’t just another day of writing. There is still a lot to do, call it “finishing work” around a house that’s finally built, but today I reached the end. I had to go for a walk to let that sink in.

On that walk, instead of listening to the usual play lists I have on my phone for such activities, I instinctively went to my heart. I punched up “Power Windows” by Rush. I have an autographed lithograph of that album cover artwork on the wall here. The album is rarely listed or considered to be one of their best, and a lot of people who think they know Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson, and Neil Peart’s “style” for Rush would be surprised to hear it. It was released in 1985, when they were reacting to and adapting to a whole new sound in rock. It’s got a pop vibe to it, and is heavy with synthesizers. Many Rush purists don’t like it. I actually do, but I have no idea why I punched it up.

And then the first song started. It was the tune “Grand Designs” and the lyrics could not have been more perfect for the moment. Now keep this in mind: Neil Peart does not write a lot of lyrics that “speak to people” like Bruce Springsteen would. He delves into psychology and science fiction quite a lot, with entire albums placed well into the future. Nobody listens to “2112” and thinks, “Man, that’s my life…”

Songs like “Subdivisions” and “Tom Sawyer” can do that, and one of my all-time favorites is “Analog Kid” about a young boy laying in the grass, staring at the clouds and dreaming of where he wants to go, but most aren’t.

“Grand Designs” might not be either, but for me at that moment I was stunned as I walked down the sidewalk on a brisk but sunny Minnesota day. It was everything I was thinking about, and much of what drove me for the last 10 months. It’s about much of what drove me for the last 60 years.

I leave you with this…

“Grand Designs”

So much style without substance, so much stuff without style

It’s hard to recognize the real thing, it comes along once in a while

Like a rare and precious metal beneath a ton of rock

It takes some time and trouble to separate from the stock

You sometimes have to listen to a lot of useless talk

Shapes and forms, against the norm

Against the run-of-the-mill, swimming against the stream

Life in two dimensions is mass-production scheme

So much poison in power, the principles get left out

So much mind on the matter, the spirit gets forgotten about

Like a righteous inspiration, overlooked in haste

Like a teardrop in the ocean, a diamond in the waste

Some world views are spacious, and some are merely space

Against the run-of-the-mill, static as it seems

We break the surface tension with our wild kinetic dreams

Curves and lines, of grand designs…

 

See you next week,

Bob Wilber, at your service with grand designs

A Coincidence of Timing

HOME / A Coincidence of Timing

October 13th, 2016

The NHRA Mello Yello tour is in Dallas this weekend, which means there are only three races left in the Countdown and in the season. I’m not in Dallas this weekend, but I am also nearing the finish line with “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” and the coincidence startled me this morning. When I sat down at my desk in early January this year, I began to write a book. I really had no idea how to do that, nor did I have a clue how long it would take. And here we are, in mid-October. The NHRA season and my book are on the same pace.

A lot of people have asked me a lot of questions about this process. One of the most common has been, “How did you even know how to do this?” The answer is: I didn’t have a clue. Maybe that’s a good thing.

I just sat down and started writing, first with an outline to give me a road map but I then quickly transitioned into the actual writing of the book. I just dove in. I’ve never written a book before. I’ve never written anything close to this deep and this long before. But, and this was key, I had it all “up here” (points to his head) when I started. I just needed to find the right words.

I didn’t do any research whatsoever in terms of the writing process. I figured that would come naturally and I’d sort it out as I went. Very quickly, I fell into a routine and I’ve kept that routine going almost every week for the last 10 months. Rarely do I write on any days other than Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. On those days, I typically write in the afternoon after spending the morning doing research or just reading. And, I’ll admit it, I sleep in a little late as well. I’ve NEVER been a morning person. Today is Thursday Blog Day. Tomorrow, I look back over the chapter I wrote earlier in the week and I “clean it up” a little. It’s a good routine. It works.

If I write four or five hours during the afternoon, that will generally produce about 10 pages. Three days of that will generally produce a chapter.  I’ve been writing for about 38 weeks and I’ll finish Chapter 34 tomorrow, so I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping the pace. What a coincidence. And then Chapter 35 will come to life next week (fingers crossed) and that will wrap up the principal writing of the book. That, my friends, is hard to believe.

There is still a bit more to write. After Chapter 35, I’m going to write an epilogue and it will be all about the actual process, and the people who have helped me through it so much. But for the book itself, Chapter 35 should be it.

Once that happens, the real work begins. The process of laying it out, copy-editing it, selecting photos, and finishing the cover all still have to happen. There will be proofs to approve, alterations to make, and before that there will no doubt have to be a difficult editing session with Greg Halling, unless we want the published book to be so long no one can finish it.

Fact: Todd Myers can’t finish the cover until we know how many pages the book is going to be. Until that number is decided, he won’t know how thick the spine needs to be. The front, spine, and back are all part of one design layout. Details…

And here, at the same time, the NHRA season that started yesterday (right?) is coming to a conclusion as well. Krista Wilkerson just called me from Dallas and it startled me to think that everyone is there, at the Texas Motorplex, and there are only three races left. I’m sure the crickets are there as well. I wish them all the best, and hope none of them get trapped in the hospitality flooring for an unexpected ride around the country.

It also surprised me to realize I’m going to be on quite a few airplanes in the coming weeks, especially for a guy who has been “off the road” for most of this year. Next weekend, I’m going to Spokane and Liberty Lake to spend a couple of days out there with Barbara. The next Tuesday after that, October 25, I’m taking a morning flight over to Detroit and flying back that night. I’ll never actually leave the airport there. Why? Because I’ve applied for a Global Entry number to go with my passport. Global Entry makes you a “trusted traveler” and keeps you out of the worst lines when traveling internationally, and Barbara and I are headed to London in December.

After I applied for it online, it took a week for my application to be approved. The next step is a face-to-face interview, and you need an appointment for that. When I checked Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, the first available date was at the end of March. That wasn’t going to work. I checked Las Vegas and LAX, because I’ll be at both in the coming weeks, but couldn’t get in there either. Finally, I checked Detroit because Barb had actually flown there to do her interview last year. I got in. It’s worth it to fly over there and then straight back just to get the number.

I’ll attend the Las Vegas race at the end of the month, and then I’ll finish the racing season in Pomona. For a guy who “retired” from racing at the end of last year, I’ve done a lousy job of staying away from the track. Pomona will be my seventh race of 2016. Crazy? I most certainly seem to be.

And here’s something you might not know. Most of the blogs from the decade of writing at NHRA.com are still there. You just can’t see them without a link to the “back way” in. That’s a good thing for me, because some of the toughest research for the book has been in the area of timelines. When you’re thinking back to 2009, it’s hard to remember how non-racing things happened, and whether it was the chicken or the egg that came first. The racing stuff is easy, because those stats are archived online and in my files. Remembering the exact timing of vacations, visits from relatives, injuries, surgeries, and other personal details is a little harder. By going in the backdoor to the old blogs, I can look back through the years and the months and find specific entries that bring all those things back to life.

They’re not all there, mind you. Some of the links are broken, but I can at least see the headline and the date for every blog installment and sometimes that’s enough to provide me the info I’m after. It’s like forensic detective work, sometimes.

Here at the ranch (which isn’t a ranch at all) things are good. Yesterday was a big day in a lot of ways. I wrote six hours yesterday, which is more than I ever write, and it stunned me to look at my watch and realize it was 6:30 when I thought it might be closing in on 3:00. You lose all track of time when you’re that immersed in it.

I really didn’t even want to stop for dinner, but I had to eat. Barbara was traveling back from Spokane, so I didn’t want to go to any trouble but I also didn’t want to order pizza or have a frozen meal, so I went to the store and bought a pint of cashew-chicken salad. That was my dinner. I probably ought to make up for that, in some way, today. Sounds like a salad is in my future.

And today…  Drum roll, please… The HOA sent their irrigation guy out to finish the blow-out procedure on the sprinkler systems in our neighborhood. Some of them got done yesterday, but ours happened earlier this morning when Barb and I were having coffee at the kitchen island. We heard a whooshing sound and water running, and it scared us both. But, a quick look outside explained it all. No more sprinklers for us until probably April.

And that means winter is almost here. I’m okay with that. I was just writing about winters in Spokane yesterday and how they were much warmer than the winters here, but also much more depressing because of the near-constant overcast. As I tell anyone who will listen, “I don’t care if it’s 10-below zero, as long as the sun is shining.” Winters in Minnesota are okay with me, because the sun shines a lot.

What a place. Awesome.
What a place. Awesome. (Click to enlarge)

And speaking of Minnesota (or more precisely, “writing about Minnesota”) this past weekend Barbara and I were able to attend the Vikings game against Houston Texans at US Bank Stadium, and a great time was had by all. All 66,000 Vikings fans. The team that lost its starting quarterback before the season opener, and then lost its Hall of Fame-worthy running back in the second game, while also losing its starting left tackle and a few other players, is now 5-0.

The real star, though, in a lot of ways, is the stadium. I’d been lucky enough to buy Mary Beth and Joe Gillis’ tickets for a preseason game as well, but this time Barbara got to go and she was blown away. It was my second time there, and I was blown away again! Maybe the difference was that the game counted, but either way it was a ton of fun and really exciting. We’re also learning the vintage Vikings fight song everyone sings after a touchdown, and the cool “Skol” chant the fans picked up from the Icelandic soccer team. And we’re getting to know our way around the place pretty well, too.

It’s also a good thing to have dear friends who have such good season tickets. I should just put in a standing offer to buy any additional games Mary Beth and Joe can’t attend. Money well spent.

On a totally different subject, I’m thrilled to learn that a new documentary about my favorite band is coming out this fall. It’s by the same production company that won awards for the previous Rush doc “Beyond The Lighted Stage” and this one will be about the final full tour, the R40 tour that wrapped up their fourth decade of performing, last year. I wonder if I’ll be buying that? Maybe, huh.

Because who doesn't need this dinner jacket?
Because who doesn’t need this dinner jacket?

I leave you today with this photo. We visited the Vikings team store at the stadium, and Barb did buy a pullover there, but not before admiring this understated but elegant Vikings dress jacket. Talk about pure class. Who doesn’t need one of these?

I think it would be perfect at a formal party. Or a wedding. Or a job interview! That’s the ticket. Walk into that interview for an accounting position wearing this bad boy and you’re sure to get the job. I guarantee it.

Now, time to look for typos within everything I’ve written above and then hit the “Publish” button at the bottom of my screen. At which point, I will look at this post on the interwebs and spot at least a dozen additional typos. That’s just how it works.

See you all next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service but not wearing that Vikings jacket.

 

Game 163 And Other Rambles

HOME / Game 163 And Other Rambles

October 6th, 2016

Game 163
Game 163 (click on any photo to enlarge)

I bet the vast majority of the people reading this blog have absolutely no idea what they were doing on this date, October 6, in 2009. I will never forget, and it’s a very good thing. Barbara Doyle and I felt fortunate to secure lower level seats out in centerfield at the Metrodome in Minneapolis. Officially, according to the box score, 55,086 other folks were there in the stands with us.

Fact: The Major League Baseball season is 162 games long, but we were going to see Game 163.

The Detroit Tigers held a seven-game lead over the Twins as late as September 6, that year. They showed no real signs of slowing down, and their final month of the season wasn’t all that bad, but over the course of the final three weeks the Twins gained a little ground. The Tigers went into the final three games of the regular season with a two-game lead. Then they lost two of those final three to the White Sox. And, of course, the Twins swept their final three, over the Royals. After 162 games, the Twins and Tigers were tied. They’d play Game 163 (you capitalize it because it was *THAT* important) on October 6, in Minneapolis. Winner take all. I can’t believe it’s been seven years.

I can’t possibly overstate how incredible this game was. I grew up watching baseball every day. I went to as many as 40 or 50 Cardinals games during childhood summers. I was a batboy or bullpen catcher for my father’s Triple-A minor league teams for four summers during high school. I played baseball until I was 40. I got paid to watch baseball, as a scout for the Toronto Blue Jays, for four years. What all that means is I have no idea how many baseball games I’ve seen in person (thousands, no doubt) but I can say, without question, which was the single most thrilling ballgame I ever saw. Game 163.

If I recounted all the ebbs and flows, all the potential game winners and potential game savers, and all the thrills and heartbreaks from that game, this blog would last until next Thursday. Rare was the inning when nothing much happened. There were clutch home runs, fluke triples, stunning double plays, base running blunders, leads taken and leads handed back, and too many incredible defensive plays to list (although I will mention the name Nick Punto, just because he was that clutch). The crowd, assembled hastily with just two days notice, filled the Dome to its inflated roof and rarely sat down. I’ve been in the fifth row for Rush concerts and not had my ears ring as much as they did after Game 163.

After 162 games, the season had needed a 163rd game to settle the American League Central. In Game 163, nine innings weren’t enough. In the 10th, the Tigers nearly silenced the crowd buy taking the lead again, but the Twins came back and tied it in the bottom of the 10th. In the bottom of the 12th, two of the fastest Twins ended it. Alexi Cassilla singled to right and Carlos Gomez streaked home from second, sliding across the plate head first. The Dome almost exploded. The celebration on the field was just as real as the one in the grandstands.

Bottom of the 12th. Game over.
Bottom of the 12th. Game over.

There were two guys sitting behind us that night, and by the conversations they were having I could tell they had either played a lot of baseball or were certifiable “baseball lingo” geeks. They knew all the lines players utter mindlessly in the dugout. They were also hilarious, and I enjoyed talking to them all night long.

When the winning run scored, I had the presence of mind to spin around and click this shot with my iPhone. Nailed it. That’s exactly how I felt, as well.

Seriously… Best. Game. Ever.

I would like to say that I woke up this morning and remembered Game 163 and the fact it happened on this date. I’d like to, but I have this thing about honesty. It was a tweet, by someone in the Twins front office, that reminded me. So of course, I posted the selfie you see above, of Barbara and me, on Facebook and then replied to the tweet. Because social media. It’s how we live now, and when people aren’t posting hateful stuff, it can be a marvelous thing.

Just a few days after Game 163, I was in Richmond for our NHRA race, in my first season with Team Wilkerson. Top Fuel owner/driver Bob Vandergriff called me the day I was traveling. A friend of his, who lived in Virginia, wanted to come to the race and hang out “behind the ropes” to show his mom, dad, and brother what NHRA Drag Racing was all about. He’d hoped to do that with Bob and his team. Unfortunately, Bob had already decided to sit the Richmond race out, so he wasn’t going to be there. He told his buddy about a former minor leaguer who worked for Funny Car driver Tim Wilkerson, and that he was sure that guy would be happy to host his him and his family.

Me with some cat named Verlander, at the drags
Me, with some cat named Verlander, at the drags

Justin Verlander and his family had a great time that day. So did I. There was some talk about my days in the Tigers’ organization (we both made stops at Lakeland, in the Class-A Florida State League, “only” 26 years apart) and his blossoming Major League career, but not a single mention of Game 163. He didn’t pitch in that game, but there was no need to bring it up.

It’s MLB playoff time now. Cubs fans are beyond excited, but also probably nervous as they start their series against the Giants. Maybe they should invite Steve Bartman to the game, to exorcise those demons. The Blue Jays and Rangers are playing a Division Series and the last time those two teams were on the same field a brawl took place. The Indians are hosting the Red Sox, which reminds me that I still can’t believe Cleveland won the Central Division. The Dodgers and Nationals match up in the NL, and it’s Kershaw against Scherzer in Game 1. Which brings to mind the question: Have two no-hitters even been thrown in the same game? It’s October. This is baseball’s month.

Here in Woodbury, I’ve been on a real roll with “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” and have been cranking. I posted on my “B,B,&B” Facebook page an admission that I’d really struggled the last couple of weeks. Part of it was due, no doubt, to some fear and intimidation that came to the surface when I realized how close I was to being done. Another part of it was allergies. They’ve been pretty bad the last few weeks, and when I get that congested it’s like my brain is fuzzy. It’s actually hard to string coherent sentences and stories together when your eyes are watering and you’re hacking nonstop.

But this week, it all got better. I rocketed  through Chapter 33 and it’s done. I’ve even started Chapter 34, but put it aside for now because today is Thursday, and Thursday is Blog Day. There’s a real chance the book is going to be 35 chapters long, but I definitely don’t see it being more than 36. If so, I have but two or three chapters left to go. Plus the epilogue and a few other details. Then, my editor Greg Halling and I are going to get together in Ogden, Utah and do some serious editing. I hope we don’t have to leave too much of it on the cutting room floor, but I also realize it can’t be so long it scares people away. I didn’t sit down to write “War And Peace” when I started this back in January. I sat down to write it all, though, starting with me as a three-year-old, and if Greg and I have to get the cyber “red pen” out and do some selective pruning, then that’s what we’ll do.

Like a baseball player at the end of a long season, I can also attest to being “nicked up” and worn out by this process. This week, I wrote five or six hours a day on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. This blog takes a couple of hours to write on Thursday. I’ll get back to the book tomorrow. And thanks to all of that, for more than nine straight months, I could probably use an MRI on my left elbow. It’s constantly sore, and I assume that’s because I’m right-handed and when I’m not typing I lean on my left arm. My neck throbs from looking down at my laptop. My lower back would be a total mess if not for this great ergonomic mesh chair that supports me in just the right places and also keep me cool.

It’s hard work, this writing stuff. But I have no time to go on the Disabled List. I’ll just rub some dirt on it, tape it up, and go. I might want to rethink the part about rubbing dirt on it anywhere near my laptop, though.

At the end of Chapter 33, Barbara accepts the job in Spokane, with Itron, and we began the process of putting our Woodbury house on the market and getting ready to move across the country. That was four and a half years ago.

With me being in the middle of the seven-year Team Wilk era now, there is still plenty of research to do. That can get a little tedious, especially flipping back and forth through the years on NHRA.com, but last week I realized I have a shelf full of great background material at my disposal.

It's all here. 2009 thru 2015.
It’s all here. 2009 thru 2015.

At the end of each season with Wilk, I compiled all of the important press clippings we earned, all of my feature stories, all of my daily updates from the races, all of my post-event reports, and a complete statistical review of the entire season, race by race. All the info is there, in these binders.

At least once an hour, the last three days, I’d stumble onto something in one of the books and think, “Gosh, I can’t believe I forgot that.” OK, maybe I didn’t actually use the word “Gosh” but the sentiment is very true. I remembered winning races, but I can’t say I always recalled who we defeated or how we got to the final round. And some stuff, like big engine explosions or carbon-fiber Mustang bodies that ended up crispy after a large fire, were probably not in the forefront of my mind because of selective mental deletions. If I didn’t read it in the binder, maybe it didn’t happen.

So that’s where we stand, or at least that’s where I sit.

I have just written an entire blog without mentioning Buster and/or Boofus. That might be a first, but I won’t stand for it. No sir.

I sneaked up on Buster to photobomb his selfie
I sneaked up on Buster to photobomb his selfie

Buster just took this selfie with my phone, so I photo bombed him. Now he’s mad at me. Touchy much?

So there you have it. No NHRA race this weekend, so I’m free to do housework and other fun pursuits. Like, for instance, one of these days I ought to get back into the utility room to straighten it up, just like I planned to do the day after the movers left back in June. I’m waiting for the right moment. You can’t rush these things.

On Sunday, Barbara and I are off to US Bank Stadium to cheer on the Vikings, as they take their 4-0 record into a game against the 3-1 Texans. Skol Vikings!

And the Wild are already playing preseason games. Hockey starts soon. The Timberwolves have, I think, the most talent and most depth they’ve had since we moved to Minnesota in 2002. Lots of incredible young players, and some solid veterans for leadership.

But it’s October. This is baseball’s month. Play ball!

Bob Wilber, at your service rounding third, and heading for home.

 

A Gateway To Good Times

HOME / A Gateway To Good Times

September 29th, 2016

Being in St. Louis is the most wonderful kind of nostalgic experience. The city grows, alters, changes, and adapts, but so much of it stays exactly the same, and it feels like I lived there yesterday. Growing up in a sports family, it’s a bit jarring that old Busch Stadium is gone, as is Busch II, and now we have Busch III, but it looks like it’s always belonged right where it is. The old St. Louis Arena is also long gone, where I saw concerts and attended hockey, indoor soccer, and basketball games as a fan, usher, and front-office executive, but across the highway is Forest Park, home of the 1904 World’s Fair, and just down Oakland Avenue is my high school, St. Louis U. High, where the main classroom building looks much like it did when it opened in 1924. Throughout all the change, the place stays very much the same.

To that end, you can still see elements of the 1904 World’s Fair in Forest Park, including the world-famous St. Louis Art Museum. And there is still a youth baseball field where old Busch (aka Sportsman’s Park) stood, on Grand Avenue. And on and on and on… 1904 Olympic Games? Yes, the main gate is still there, on the campus of Washington University, just west of Forest Park.

I arrived at Lambert Airport right on time on Friday and checked into the Homewood Suites, in Clayton. It’s the perfect place for me to stay, because I can get to the track in 15 minutes and get to Farotto’s in 5. Plus, I know every shortcut and backroad. Being there at 3:00 left me three hours until pizza with Kim and Chris, so I made a brilliant decision. I’d drive over to the track to pick up my credential and parking pass, thusly saving myself as much as 30 minutes on Saturday morning.

It was a bad decision. There’s construction on Highway 40 (yes, it’s I-64 now, but anyone my age still calls it Highway 40) and it took me one full hour just to get from the hotel to the Mississippi. Once at the track, things flowed a lot smoother, and I picked up my stuff at the VIP Credentials trailer with the sounds of Top Fuel cars serenading me. Yes, it’s a bit odd to be at a track and not actually go in, but by then I had to hustle to make dinner.

With my local knowledge, I skirted around the backed-up rush hour traffic on Highway 40 by zipping off at the Forest Park Parkway, taking it past the northern edge of Forest Park, then past Wash U. I took a left on Big Bend Blvd. (taking a look to my left to see the aforementioned Olympic Gate) and took that to Clayton Road, just a couple of miles from the hotel. You might want to print this out if you’re ever on your way to the Gateway City and need to get from downtown to Clayton while staying off the highway. You’re welcome.

Farotto's and family. It doesn't get better than that
Farotto’s and family. It doesn’t get better than that (Yes, you can click on the pics to enlarge)

Dinner was as marvelous as anticipated and, after we’d boxed up our leftovers, Kim and Chris invited me to see their home in Kirkwood, the same suburb I grew up in. I knew their neighborhood, but had never known anyone who lived there, so I had to follow Chris to make sure I pulled into the right driveway. Their home is charming, warm, inviting, and beautiful. I’m really glad I took the time to spend an hour with them there. Thanks guys!

On Saturday morning, I left the hotel a little early and hoped for the best in terms of traffic. Being a Saturday, though, I shouldn’t have worried. I never slowed down until I was at the entrance to the track. I wanted to get there a little early, because I also have enough experience to know that the Media/Gold Key parking lot at Gateway can fill up. It hadn’t yet, when I arrived, but when I went back to my car to get something a couple of hours later, there was a guy circling in his car, and he rolled down his window to ask me if I was leaving. The lot was full.

I headed straight for the Team Wilk pit area, to say hello to everyone, and that’s always a joyous thing. Krista Wilkerson’s hugs are legit. And, with this being the St. Louis race, the list of friendly faces was far lengthier than Sonoma or Brainerd. When I saw Jon and Susan Cagle in the back of the pit, and headed back there to see them, I was pleasantly surprised to see that Annette Schendel was there, as well. Annette and I joined the team in 2009 at the same time. We’ve shared a lot of mutual experiences, and nobody does hospitality management better than she did. It was great to see her. It was great to see everybody!

A homecoming with Annette!
A homecoming with Annette!

Shannon Heisler, who heads up marketing for LRS, appeared before my eyes and surprised me, because I had bought into the unsubstantiated rumor that she wouldn’t be in attendance. It was a pleasure and a privilege to work with her for seven years. LRS also has an auxiliary hospitality tent, trackside, at St. Louis because of the great number of guests and staffers they host at their “home race” so I went out there to see Shelley Williams, who was always so great to have with us whenever we’d have a “big race” in terms of hospitality. The definition of “big race” would generally be one at which Dick Levi himself would be in attendance, and that’s exactly what happens on Saturday in St. Louis.

Longtime Wilk friend and backer Tom Meyer has taken over many of my duties, in terms of the hospitality area, and he does a great job at it. He took the golf cart out to the main gate and escorted the limo (party bus) right to the pit. Well played, sir!

It was great to see Dick, and he smiled broadly when he saw me. He is, of course, the much-deserved center of attention when he’s at the track, so I spent a few minutes catching up with him and then let the masses surround him. Dick Levi is a class act. Period.

It was simply awesome to see everyone, including Andy Krug, Dan “Dozer” Hough, the Team Wilk crew guys, Leah Hook, and dozens of familiar faces in the hospitality area. At least two dozen fans shouted hello to me, in the pits, as well. It was good to be home.

This group... :-)
This group…

It’s also great to be “home” with my former PR colleagues. Whenever I walk into the Media Center, it’s like I never left. Well, almost. As time passes, even just since this time last year, a few new faces have popped up in the room, and a few familiar ones are gone, off doing other wonderful writing and PR things (I’m talking about you, Kelly Topolinski and Pat Caporali.) Todd Myers, who doesn’t do the full tour anymore but did do the graphic design for the cover of my book, was there to do some contracted work for Rob Geiger, so it was awesome to see Toddly as well. Like a Todd bonus!

Elon Werner, Sadie Floyd, Cody Poor, Leah Vaughn, Laz Denes, Allison McCormick, Lee Montgomery, Jeff Wolf, Rik Anthony, John Procida, Scott Smith, John Bisci, Brandon Mudd, and everyone else I saw made it feel just like where I needed to be. And laughs were not in short supply.

I spent some time with Tim, up in the lounge, and once again it was like I’d never been gone. Good times. Dan Wilkerson and his brother Kevin were also there, but working on Brian Stewart’s car, so deja vu was in full force. In the staging lanes, I ran into Del Worsham and we chatted and laughed for a good 10 minutes. Del is being kind enough to write one of the “Forward” sections for my book, and we’re getting that done these days, as well. I spent 12 years with a very good man.

View from the Media Center. Wall to wall humanity.
View from the Media Center. Wall to wall humanity.

In terms of the racing, it was great to watch that happen from the Media Center, just to get that perspective on it. And it was incredible. The crowd was huge, right about at capacity, and the cars were flying. But, and this was the only downside to the day, the heat and humidity were pretty tough. It was St. Louis on full display, despite the fact it was the middle of September. It was the kind of day where your glasses would totally fog up the second you stepped out of any air-conditioned environment. I’d call that “blinding humidity” and I spent much of my life dealing with it, there. It comes with the territory. Here in Woodbury, it’s only 64 degrees today. And dry. I accept.

I stuck around until just before the final Funny Car session, and then beat the traffic getting out. Gateway’s staff does the best they can getting the traffic out after racing, but they’re mostly dealing with a lot of cars all trying to get out the same few exits, so it can be difficult. I had leftover Farotto’s waiting for me at my room. I needed to get there fast! One must be dedicated to one’s priorities!!!

On Sunday, I had booked myself on a late afternoon flight, just to have some options. When I got up, I knew I wanted to tour around some more, to see old neighborhoods and familiar places, but I also thought to check the Delta website to see if I could get on an earlier flight. Being Diamond Medallion (for a few more months) I can make same-day confirmed changes to my flights with no penalty, but only if seats are available. There was one First Class seat left on a flight two hours before mine, so I made the call. Getting home to Barbara, Boofus, and Buster was way more important than seeing old stomping grounds. And, since Barbara had to leave on Monday to go to Boston and New York, it was a good idea to get home and have a few extra hours with her.

I mostly drove around Kirkwood, the suburb I grew up in. On Sunday afternoon, the main downtown section, bisected by Kirkwood Road, was absolutely bustling. It was amazing. When I was a kid, we’d ride our bikes there and have the place mostly to ourselves. There was a Rexall Drug, a bakery, a hardware store, a couple of small shoe stores, a sporting goods store (Casey’s, where my dad worked during the baseball off-season) and an ice cream shop. Now, the whole area is full of bistros, restaurants, wine bars, and other cool destinations, and the sidewalks were packed. We call this “gentrification” I do believe.

Home. On Woodleaf Court. If that driveway could talk...
Home. On Woodleaf Court. If that driveway could talk…

I made a point of driving by Woodleaf Court, where I grew up, and I took this photo of 513 Woodleaf. It’s a little sad the basketball hoop is gone, because I spent endless hours shooting baskets out there, but the house looks fantastic. I also noticed that the house next door, owned forever by the Hargis family, is for sale. To say I was stunned to see it listed for $295,000 is an understatement. Our house cost $22,000 when my folks bought it around 1954. After they moved to assisted living and we put it on the market in the late 90s, I don’t think we even got close to $100,000 for it. The new owners have completely renovated and updated it, tearing out walls and ceilings to create a huge amount of open space (I haven’t stepped foot in it since we sold it, but I’ve seen photos online) and I’d think they’d have no trouble getting $300,000 for it if they put it on the market. Kirkwood is a really hot real-estate location now, and we know what sells. Location, location, location.

If the asphalt on that driveway at 513 could talk, it would have many tales of basketball, Wiffle Ball (home plate was right in front of the garage door and any ball clearing the middle of the street was a home run) and driving lessons. When we were little, and Dad brought home snow skis from the sporting good store, we learned to stay upright by gliding down the little hill next to the steps, then we graduated to the street, before we ever set a ski on a real slope.

Can you tell it was great to be back home again? I assume it’s pretty obvious.

I was happy to get back home to Woodbury, my real home now with my real family, and was happy my flight was right on time.

This week, my new passport arrived in the mail. That’s important because my previous one expires in January and I’m going to need a valid passport this winter. I’ll divulge that fun news at a later date, because our lives are alway in flux and you’re never really completely sure until it’s time to do something like getting on an airplane for a long flight to a place where you need a valid passport.

Tagged and legal, with my old favorites back in my possession.
Tagged and legal, with my old favorites back in my possession.

And, I’ve been waiting for my new Minnesota license plates to arrive and they came Tuesday. When we changed the registration for both cars about a month ago, I gave the clerk some options for new personalized tags, thinking maybe it was time to go with something baseball or music related. I tried 643-DP, and 543-DP, as well as YYZ2112 and 2112YYZ but the clerk kept saying “There’s no way that will be available” before she even looked. She was right. Just as I was about to take regular plates I asked about my old tags, NHRA FC. She looked that up and said, “Well, it’s still assigned to you. Do you still have the actual plates?”

I do, but they’re buried away in a box somewhere and I really didn’t feel like  A) Digging them out, and, B) Having to come back to the DMV to get them re-registered. So, she gave me a temporary tag and we had new ones made. I put them on the car this week. NHRA will be a big part of me for the rest of my life, so I might as well show that to the world.

As for the book, yesterday was a big day. I’d been struggling a bit over the prior 10 days, just not being happy with what I was putting on the page. My allergies were bad, and that made my head feel foggy, and it just wasn’t flowing as well as it had been for months. I was even going back and re-reading and thinking it was terrible, and that’s a bad frame of mind for a writer. Yesterday, the fog lifted and the logjam broke. I did some research in the morning, ate an early lunch, and at 12:30 sat down to do it. At 5:30, when I had to drive to the airport to pick up Barbara, I’d cranked out 16 new pages, and the flow was back. It felt good to get out of the funk, and I might just dive back in this afternoon after this blog gets posted. It’s time to get going on Chapter 33… Because the flow is back, BABY!

One of the things that’s hard to stay on top of are the two different applications I write in (not even counting email, which is a third). I write the book in Google Docs, and that has its own way of formatting and editing. I write this in WordPress, and it’s very different. For instance, when I hit “Return” to end a paragraph, WordPress jumps down two lines with one press of the key. When I do that on Google Docs, it only drops down one line, so I have to hit the key twice. There are a number of other little quirks like that, which succeed in keeping my feeble mind utterly confused. Basically, I’m constantly hitting the Return key twice here, then I have to delete one line to go back, because I write here once a week and I write the book the other four. I only have so much capacity left in my mental hard drive. What’s my PIN again? The struggle is so real.

So, here we are. The tour is already off to Maple Grove Raceway in Reading, where everyone can hope they don’t get soaked. Ah, the fond memories of the year we finished the Reading race on Wednesday… Good times.

I’ll be starting Chapter 33 as soon as I “recover” from this blog. It’s a lot of words and a lot of typing. Until I started “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” I never knew how physically challenging and mentally draining this much writing could be. Or maybe I’m just a wimp.

And, I’ll see you all next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service and home. Home is good.

 

Meet Me In St. Looie

HOME / Meet Me In St. Looie

September 22nd, 2016

In the interest of fair reporting, and honesty, I’ll admit that this particular blog installment has a chance to be a bit of a rambling runaway train. Why? Because I have a lot of little things to write about, but not one big subject. That’s the way blogging works, though, and I’m quite accustomed to sitting down at my desk without a real plan. Sometimes, the plan becomes clear once the words are on the page.

The Gateway to the west. Home.
The Gateway to the west. Also known as “Home.” (Click to enlarge)

So, I’ll be getting on an airplane tomorrow, heading for St. Louis. There are all sorts of reasons why that’s a good thing. 1) I’m looking forward to seeing all of my former NHRA colleagues again. 2) I’ll be at the track on Saturday and that’s the single biggest day of the year for Levi, Ray & Shoup and Team Wilkerson, with Dick Levi in the house and thousands of guests at the race. 3) After I arrive on Friday I’ll be seeing my niece Kimberly and her husband Chris at Farotto’s for my favorite pizza on the planet Earth, with some epic toasted ravioli thrown in for good measure. 4) It’s my hometown.

The last time I lived in St. Louis was 1994. In March of that year, I accepted an offer to become the general manager of the Kansas City Attack indoor soccer franchise, and I left the Gateway Arch, Busch Stadium, Kirkwood, and Forest Park behind. But, and this is something most people can relate to, it’s still home and always will be.

I’ll spend Saturday at the track, reconnecting with some of the best people I ever worked alongside, and then I think I’ll switch to a later afternoon flight on Sunday, just to give myself a few hours to tour around town.

Typically, over the course of the many of the years we’ve been racing in St. Louis, I’d barely give myself enough time to see any of the old neighborhoods or landmarks, but this time I left myself the option of taking Sunday to do that. If that feels like the right thing to do, when I get up that morning, then that’s what I’ll do.

I always like visiting Woodleaf Court, the little cul de sac in Kirkwood where we all grew up. There’s no longer a basketball hoop next to the driveway in front of the house, but my footprints will always be associated with that strip of asphalt. Whether it was playing my sister Mary in a game of H-O-R-S-E or my buddy Mitch in an epic series of Whiffle Ball games, that driveway and I are forever linked. For the record, Mary routinely beat me at H-O-R-S-E but Mitch could not handle my sidearm slider. It was my go-to out pitch.

The weather forecast for the weekend calls for it to be pretty hot, like in the 90s, and I’m clearly not in shape for that. We’ve turned the corner to much cooler temperatures up here in Minnesota, and we’ve also had a lot of rain lately, so 92 degrees with typical St. Louis humidity is going to require quite an adjustment, as well as weather-correct clothes. When Barbara and I went out for a quick dinner last night, I almost grabbed a jacket.

And speaking of our home here in Woodbury, I’m proud to announce that for the first time in my life I’m now sitting on a Board of Directors, and not just one but two! Okay, they’re unpaid positions and nobody else seemed to want to do it, but it’s good experience and I feel like I’m helping the neighborhood.

A new endeavor, on a board of directors
A new endeavor, on a board of directors

Our new home here is in a large Woodbury development called Dancing Waters. Within Dancing Waters are a number of individual neighborhoods, ranging from large traditional homes, to townhouses, and detached townhomes (like ours). Each subdivision has its own board, and I’m now the Vice President of the St. John’s Village board of directors. We work directly with the property management company that acts as our Home Owners Association.

Each sub board also puts one director on the Dancing Waters Master Association board, and that’s me for the next two years. I’ve attended one Master board meeting, but I was just tagging along with my neighbor Jerry, to see how it all worked. After that meeting, I took over Jerry’s spot on the Master. We’ve also had one meeting as the St. John’s Village board, and at that one I was officially welcomed to the group.

When we moved to Woodbury originally, in 2002, the population was around 30,000. Now, in 2016, it’s over 60,000 and still rising. Dancing Waters was a big part of that population growth, as a fully pre-designed community, and it’s now almost completely built out. Seems like yesterday when Barbara and I would ride our bikes over here and walk through various homes under construction, trying to get a feeling for how it would all turn out.

The great news is we live in a fantastic neighborhood, and the entire development of Dancing Waters is very well kept and in great financial shape. It’s a great place to live, and we plan to make it even nicer.

It's a beautiful place
It’s a beautiful place

One of my favorite things about this development is how they built it in harmony with nature. We have miles of trails, acres of native prairie grasses, dozens of ponds, and beautiful features that allow you to walk out of your front door and feel like you’re in the rural countryside.

I went on a walk the other day, when the weather was defined as “perfect” and just marveled at it all. So much of suburbia, even here in Woodbury, is basically just sprawl, where disconnected subdivisions pop up like mushrooms overnight. In our part of town, it’s all integrated into a lifestyle, and we try to take advantage of the trails all year long. It won’t be long before I’ll be able to take this same photo but ice fishing will be happening out there.

We also have no shortage of wildlife, and that keeps Buster and Boofus pretty busy. They sit out on the screened porch, or at the sliding door that’s behind me down here in my work space, and keep track of the little birds, the doves, the blue jays, and the squirrels. Every now and then, a majestic Bald Eagle will pay a visit, eyeing the ponds for signs of lunch, and although we no longer live directly next to a pond, like we did at our Marsh Creek home, we still get visits from herons.

Boofus, keeping an eye on the visitor
Boofus, keeping an eye on the visitor

This guy had Boofie enthralled for 10 minutes.

Dancing Waters is also totally designed to be a real neighborhood. People are always outside, walking their dogs (or in our case, cats) and interacting. In St. John’s Village, we all have covered front porches, and almost everyone in the neighborhood takes the time to sit out there and interact when the weather is good. It’s a wonderful place to live.

As for my full-time job of being the author of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” I’m well into chapter 32 now. It starts with me joining Team Wilkerson, but that coincided with a long-planned Caribbean cruise vacation, so technically I started with the team by leaving the continental United States. That’s a great gig if you can get it.

We visited Aruba, Curacao, the Panama Canal, and Costa Rica on a trip that can only be described as incredible. That’s the last cruise we’ve been on, and it was eight years ago, so that tells me it’s about time for us to get back on a boat.

The Panama Canal visit was one of the most fascinating “bucket list” things we’ve ever done. Here’s a snippet from Chapter 32 that references that experience.

———————

After another day at sea, we arrived at the canal before sunrise. We awoke at 5:00 a.m. and walked to a forward viewing area on Deck 6, where the staff had croissants and orange juice waiting for us.

We staked out a spot at the railing, staring off into the distance as the running lights from dozens of freighter ships sparkled all around us. They were waiting to make their passage. Another large cruise ship was directly ahead of us, and we’d get the “express” lane trip. As the sun began to rise, it all came into focus.

We could see the canal in the distance, as we slowly approached. The first set of locks, which would raise our ship 85 feet, would get us to Gatun Lake. There are two “lanes” to get through the locks at each level, but the canal is not necessarily a strict two-way street. Ships are raised or lowered as the traffic demands, and we were going in with the other cruise ship right next to us. To see the giant vessel rise so quickly as the locks were flooded was astonishing. Within an hour after arriving at the locks, we were sailing into Gatun Lake. We stayed there a couple of hours, and then returned to the Atlantic Ocean by heading back down the locks to sea level. It was one of the most fascinating things I’d ever experienced.

———————  

Yeah, we really need to do that again. Over dinner last night, we were talking about these memories and how vivid they still are, and we both agreed that Costa Rica was as fantastic as the Panama Canal, but just in a totally different way. To be within 15 yards of a group of Howler Monkeys allows you to fully understand how they got their name.

And if you want to win a bet at a bar, just ask someone what direction they’d be sailing if they traversed the Panama Canal from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. You’d be going west, of course. Except you wouldn’t be, because Panama has a tricky dogleg shape and much of the voyage toward the Pacific is southbound or even eastbound. That’s totally counterintuitive, but take a look on a map and you’ll see it’s true.

On a completely different subject, it’s worth noting here that this past weekend featured the final “Jersey Boys” show in Las Vegas. I’ve known Buck Hujabre since just before he landed his first “Jersey Boys” gig in the national touring company, and the first time we ever met face-to-face was during the touring company’s initial run in Minneapolis. I only know the guy as a performer, and now he’s a civilian. He’s not planning on doing whatever it takes to keep acting and performing, because he’s doing very well in real-estate out in Vegas and he’s been craving a more normal life with his wonderful wife Mary and their boys Gibson and Hudson.

As Buck put it, “When the boys were really little, it was the perfect job because I could interact all day with them and then they’d be going to bed right after I left for the theater. Now that they’re both in school, it’s just the opposite. They’re gone during the day and right after they get home from school I have to leave for the show. When I get back from work, they’re asleep.”

I can’t wait to see the entire Hujabre clan when I head to the Vegas race next month. Buck and Mary are two of the most genuine, and most wonderful, people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.

So, as advertised this did ramble around in circles fairly well. Sometimes I just sit down and start typing and then I read what’s on the screen to see what I wrote. It’s a weird process.

So I’m off to my hometown to see all my peeps. If you’re going to the race, and you see me, give me a shout!

Bob Wilber, at your service and on my way to St. Loo.

Of Reunions and Inductions

HOME / Of Reunions and Inductions

September 15th, 2016

What a great weekend Barbara and I had. Words like marvelous, outstanding, heartwarming, and terrific come to mind, because it was all of those things and more. It was also an honor and very humbling, but mostly it was just fantastic fun to spend a couple of days with a bunch of guys I haven’t seen in a long time. It was worth the wait.

We flew down to St. Louis on Friday, picked up my rental car (which, oddly enough, had Minnesota plates on it) and drove over to Collinsville, Ill. a few miles east of Gateway Motorsports Park. After checking in at our hotel, where a big dune buggy show was going on in the parking lot and multiple soccer teams were coming and going on luxury charter buses, we followed our emailed directions up to Dave Schaake’s beautiful home in Edwardsville. Dave and his wife Kathy live no more than a mile or two from our alma mater, SIUE.

39 years earlier, I posed with Stan Osterbur and Dave Schaake in knee-deep snow
39 years earlier, I posed with Stan Osterbur and Dave Schaake in knee-deep snow

When we arrived and parked out front, I saw James “Oscar” Noffke walking up to the front door and shouted his name. I’d seen Oscar just about a month ago when he, Radar, and Lance came to the Twin Cities for our annual weekend get-together, but most of the other guys I haven’t seen in decades. When I shouted Oscar’s name, I heard a reply from the tall guy he was saying hello to. It was my good buddy Stan Osterbur, and he said, “I know that voice” before he literally (I’m not exaggerating) sprinted full speed across the front yard to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. My hamstrings almost exploded just watching him.

Stan and I have a lot of history. By my sophomore year, we’d become friends. By my junior year, 1977, we were rooming together on road trips and had become very close friends. Somehow, because baseball scouting is an inexact science performed by mere humans, Stan didn’t get drafted after the ’77 season was over and we’d bowed out of the NCAA Div. II World Series, in Springfield, Ill. That wasn’t right. He was easily good enough to have been drafted by an MLB team. They all whiffed on that one.

He went off to play independent ball in Beeville, Tex. that summer, while I played for two different high-level collegiate summer teams. For a month, I went up to Seattle and played for the Cheney Studs where most of my teammates were from the University of Washington, Washington State, and Oregon. Then, in midseason I came back to the midwest to play for the Danville Roosters in the Central Illinois Collegiate League, alongside some great players from Texas A&M, University of Texas, LSU, and other top programs. I was proof you could go from being a Stud to a Rooster in one summer.

After my senior season, in which we as a team collectively stunk without guys like Stan, Dave, Mike Brown and a few other key players, I signed with the Detroit Tigers and ended up playing in the Appalachian League for the Paintsville Hilanders, in the coal mining hills of eastern Kentucky.

Osterbur and Wilber reunite in '78, for the Paintsville Hilanders
Osterbur and Wilber reunite in ’78, for the Paintsville Hilanders

When our pitching staff was struggling to get left-handers out, and our manager recognized the lack of quality lefty pitching on our staff, I told him and the owner about Stan. They signed him and he arrived in Paintsville about 24 hours later. We’d be teammates and roommates once more.

I’d been living with two other guys in a one-bedroom place, so our owner found Stan and me a studio apartment in town. What a place it was, too. It sat atop a long-closed and abandoned drug store. Our door had no lock on the knob and no deadbolt, so we used a padlock on the outside of the door when we left, and then we put it on the inside and locked ourselves in at night. Not that anything nefarious was going to happen in little Paintsville, but still… We had a great time that summer.

We would never play or room together again, and we lost touch with one another for quite a while, until Lance and I put a reunion together in 1997. Before Facebook or LinkedIn, it was hard to find guys from the past and stay in touch with them. So, after that reunion we parted ways and again found it almost impossible to stay connected.

Then, Facebook did what it does best. We found each other there and have been in regular contact since, sharing stories and photos from college and pro ball, and catching up on each other’s lives.

Within seconds, after the mad sprint across the front yard and the big hug, we were talking as if it had all happened yesterday. He’s still got the same great sense of humor, and we can still crack each other up. Some friendships are built that way. They last forever.

At Dave Schaake's house, Oscar Noffke and Don "Duck" Broadway discuss who was the better 2nd baseman.
At Dave Schaake’s house, Oscar Noffke and Don “Duck” Broadway discuss who was the better 2nd baseman.

The dinner at Dave’s house was fantastic, and a lot of the guys attended. I can’t say I recognized all of them at first glance, and some of us did have to put out a hand and say our names, but many of the guys look almost exactly as they did back then, 39 years ago.

Dave had a display in his living room, with tons of photos and clippings from his scrapbook. We enjoyed flipping through all of that and a number of other guys brought stuff with them, as well.

Now, about Dave Schaake. We were college kids. Most of us were goofballs. Dave Schaake was not. He seemed like a pro among amateurs, and he carried himself with dignity and class when the rest of us didn’t know what those two words meant. He was big, strong, and could just flat play.

The fact he also did not get drafted just reemphasizes the mistakes scouts can make. Dave was one of the best shortstops I ever played with. He was actually the very best shortstop I ever played with. He had all the tools. He could hit, hit with power, field the ball, and throw strikes to first base. And just like with Stan, all the scouts totally whiffed on him. I’m still shaking my head. Dave was also our leader.

His co-captain in the ’77 season was another team leader, named Mike Brown. Brownie did get drafted, by the Mets, and he absolutely deserved it. He played right field, and since I was the centerfielder we played next to each other that year. We both had our ups and downs, but in the end we helped the team get back to Springfield for the second straight year.

On Saturday afternoon, Barbara and I headed over to Radar’s house and hung out there for a while, with him and Oscar, enjoying one of the most unique “man cave” garage set-ups I’ve ever seen. Then we drove down to Oscar’s brother’s house, 20 minutes away. To get there, we had to drive through Highland, Ill.

In college, we mostly stayed right in Edwardsville when we went out, but one tiny little disco called Off Broadway lured us to Highland many times. It was just a small brick building, and very old. Within was a small dance floor and a few Christmas lights. I don’t know what we found so fascinating about it, but for some reason it was worth it for us to drive 25 minutes to get there.

As we drove through Highland, with Barbara and me following Radar, I told Barb all about Off Broadway, which (you’re not going to believe this) sat just a half block off the road we were then on: Broadway! (Get it?) And then I saw it and pointed it out to Barb. At the same moment, Radar put his window down, in his truck ahead of us, and pointed. I gave him a thumbs up. I hadn’t seen a lot of these guys in decades, but I know for a fact I hadn’t seen Off Broadway since we last danced to the Bee Gees there. Stayin’ Alive!

Before we knew it, we had to hustle to get back to the hotel and get dressed for the 2016 SIUE Athletic Department Hall of Fame Induction ceremony. It was fantastic to be back on campus, which has grown so much since I went to school there. There are more buildings currently on the sprawling campus that I have never stepped foot in than those that were there when I was a Cougar. The place looks marvelous.

Looking good, Mr. Osterbur!
Looking good, Mr. Osterbur!

Stan was there when we arrived, and we once again fell into our easy banter, telling the same jokes and insults like we always had. I think Stan, Brownie, and Dave win the award for being in the best shape and looking the best, nearly 4 decades after we all shared a dugout and bus rides with each other. They all look like they could put on their spikes and grab a glove right now.

And the truth is, we were all a pretty smart bunch of guys, as well. We took school seriously, we got good grades, and for the most part we’ve all gone on to great careers. At the induction ceremony, there were bank presidents, senior level executives, and guys with other outstanding resumes, plus one former PR guy who is writing a book. And they were all on the baseball team.

The word had spread about “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” thanks to social media and our interconnectivity these days, and the guys were peppering me with questions about it, including the single most common question: “When will it come out?” I sure hope the answer is before Christmas, but that’s still to be determined.

Speaking of that, though, one quick aside. I’m now on Chapter 32, in which I join Team Wilkerson in 2009. That’s how close we’re getting, and my editor, Greg Halling has been on fire lately. He’s extraordinarily busy as the Executive Editor of the newspaper in Ogden, Utah and for a while that’s kept him from keeping up with me. Lately, though, he’s firing the chapters back at a rapid pace. He’s right on my heels, and his work is priceless.

Now back to the ceremony…

Proud inductees. Steve Novak and me.
Proud inductees. Steve Novak and me.

Since a number of guys who couldn’t make it to Dave’s house were able to make it to the induction, it’s a good thing they gave us name tags. I didn’t need to see Steve Novak’s name tag, though. Steve and I roomed together for a couple of years. He hasn’t changed a bit and his wife Linda has simply not aged at all. They were high school sweethearts, so we all got to know Linda very well back in the 70s. It was great to see her and their son Ryan.

Steve’s been in the sports apparel business since we graduated, and for a few years he was an executive with a firm called Tehama, which was owned by Clint Eastwood. So there’s that.

As part of the ceremony, there were a number of individuals who accepted induction into the Hall of Fame, and one other team, the 1977 men’s soccer team. The final induction was for us, the 1977 baseball squad.

We watched a video that Schaake and Brownie had made, and it was by far the best video of the night. They spoke so glowingly about our coach, Roy Lee, and about the ’77 team itself. We were one big collective question mark, really, because Brownie and Dave were the only returning starters from the ’76 World Series team.

In the video, about two minutes in, they were talking about how the team shaped up and Dave mentioned the fact that Brownie played right field, which was the toughest outfield spot at our ballpark, because of the sun. Then he said something about how nice it was for Brownie that Bob Wilber came along to play center that year. Dave’s quote was along the lines of “Bob had, and he’ll admit this, a lot of confidence, and he could really cover a lot of ground…” When he said the word “confidence” he did it with a wry smile and almost a wink. Confidence = Cocky. I laughed out loud watching the video, and agreed with it fully. You’ll see. It’s worth watching.

What’s funny is that my memory is slightly different than the facts. In ’77, I had barely played any varsity ball for the Cougars. I played strictly on the JV my freshman year, and although I made the varsity as a sophomore I only played in parts of 10 games. I think I only had 14 at-bats, and most of my appearances were as a late-inning defensive replacement. Yet, going into my junior year in ’77, I fully considered the centerfield spot to be mine. There was no question about it, in my mind. I’d been playing at SIUE for two years, and at the time I felt like a veteran. I was actually still a rookie.

When we rode on the bus early in the season, coming back from having played University of South Carolina and Coastal Carolina, I saw an article that said “Bob Wilber appears to have won the centerfield position after a strong road trip.” I was incredulous. I believed it was mine all along. I was not short of confidence.

Stan took the microphone away from me...
Stan took the microphone away from me…

After the video, they brought us all up on stage to accept our framed photos and after some formalities the host asked if anyone wanted to say anything. When the soccer guys had been up there, no one seemed to want to speak, so I was ready. As I raised my hand and took the microphone, two or three guys said “Oh geez, don’t let him speak!” It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together, but they all still know me. Too well. I kept it short.

After I spoke, Stan wanted to add a few words as well. As always, you can click on any photo to enlarge it, and this one is the best candidate for doing that. I present to you, most of the 1977 SIUE Cougar Baseball Team. We are now official members of the school’s sports Hall of Fame. And very proud of it.

Although Radar was a few years behind us and therefore wasn’t on the 1977 team, everyone knew him and we considered him part of our inner circle, even back then. It seemed only fitting that he’d attend the ceremony to be with us and support us, and I’m glad he did. After the ceremony, a smaller group of us capped off the evening at a local pub for a bit. That allowed me (Wilbs) to hang out with Nove, Oscar, and Radar for another hour. It was terrific fun.

Honored to have my lovely bride along with me for this.
Honored to have my lovely bride along with me for this.

I hope we can get together again, at some point. As Dave said “We probably shouldn’t wait another 39 years to do this” and we all agreed. What’s certain is that the 1978 team will not be the magnet to draw us back together, unless SIUE inducts us into some Hall of Shame. We were, sadly but honestly, that bad…

Much to my chagrin, and counter to my pleas, Lance did not come into town for the induction, which is too bad. He was unable to stand up for himself as we laughed uncontrollably recalling the night he played third-base and threw the ball entirely out of the stadium at Oral Roberts. Out… Of… The… STADIUM! And Oral Roberts has an actual stadium. No, Lance wasn’t trying to do it. Novak was playing first and he initially put his glove up, but then watched it go like the rest of us did. It was a rather incredible sight.

It was a great weekend. I am very proud to have been a part of this group. They’re some of the best friends I’ve ever had.

Congratulations to all of you guys!

Bob Wilber, at your service and in the SIUE Hall of Fame.

 

What A Year It’s Been

HOME / What A Year It’s Been

September 8th, 2016

Roughly one year ago, over the Labor Day weekend in 2015, my life changed in many ways. I was, of course, at the U.S. Nationals in Indianapolis, working for Team Wilkerson and doing my best to keep the PR standards high while I also interacted with our sponsors and guests in my ongoing attempt to keep everyone happy and engaged. It was my seventh U.S. Nationals with Tim and the team, after 12 consecutive years with Del Worsham. Counting some earlier forays with various teams I did contract work for, it was my 23rd U.S. Nationals overall.

My first order of business, upon arrival at Indy, was to speak with Tim and Krista, up in the lounge of the transporter. I’d been debating a major change in my life for months, years actually, and had finally come to the decision. I’m a believer in making these major life transitions in an orderly and helpful way, and Indy is generally the time when people start to announce their plans for the following year. I walked in and told the Wilkersons that I would not be back. It was time to write my book. I would, of course, finish out the year and even attend the NHRA Award Ceremony in Hollywood, but my notice had been given and that made the book project very real.

I’d been thinking about a book for many years. My mom and I, believe it or not, planned a Wilber family book when I was just a sophomore in high school. Her plan was for everyone in the family to write a chapter or two, about what it was like to grow up in a baseball/radio/PR family on a suburban cul de sac. She wrote quite a bit, and so did I. No one else got onboard, but my mom sent one of my chapters off to a St. Louis magazine and they ran it. It was the first time I’d ever “been published” and it taught me a lesson about editing. The magazine chopped it to pieces, so much so that I thought it was incoherent. From that point on, I always wanted to be in charge of what I wrote. I’d learn from great editors, who could fix my mistakes and elevate my words to a better place, but I didn’t want anyone chopping my stuff into bits just to make it fit on a page.

On that day, one year ago in Indy, not 30 minutes after my arrival at the track, the plan was official and it was in motion. Starting in January, I would be a full-time writer. “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” would be my job. I didn’t know how long it would take, and I didn’t know how long the book would be once it was done, but it was official.

I tried a few test runs during my free time, writing bits and pieces and trying out the muscles I’d need to take this on. It seemed like something I was meant to do.

I finally convinced myself that a Kickstarter campaign wouldn’t be a bad idea. After all, my wife Barbara was being gracious enough to allow me to quit my job in order to do this, but that didn’t mean it should also cost us a lot of money to publish the thing. She thought I might be able to raise $5,000 in six weeks. I thought I could raise more. A lot more. And in the end more than 100 people combined to contribute $22,500 toward the publishing costs. That’s been the entirety of my income this year, and it’s all been set aside to pay for the book. The process was nothing short of amazing.

After the holidays, during the first week of January, I went to work. I didn’t have much of a clue how it was all going to happen, but I realized on that first day that I couldn’t look at the mountain top. It was too high. I couldn’t even think about anything other than what I was going to write on that day. It was such a daunting task it was intimidating, but I went to work and began the process.

The chapters started to flow. The words would pour out of me on some days, and protest their arrangement on others, but week by week the chapters began to pile up. Month by month, I could see a book coming to life. Now, in September, I’m almost done. By the end of this month, I think I should be wrapping it up and then concentrating on editing, with Greg Halling, and layout/production with Outskirts Press, who will publish it. We almost have a book on our hands. What an incredible experience this has been.

After having that meeting at Indy, with Tim and Krista, I got ready for our qualifying session that night. Mother Nature had different plans. After lengthy delays, NHRA finally faced the inevitable and cancelled racing for the day. It was around 9:00 p.m.

I took an umbrella and walked to my car, parked inside the pits at the track. Every single second mattered, but I didn’t know it at the time. In a light mist, on wet streets, I worked my way eastward on US 136, aiming to make a left on Dandy Trail. Coming upon the intersection, I saw a long line of cars in the right lane, waiting to go straight or take a right. The left-turn lane, where I needed to go, had only a couple of cars in it, and as I got to the start of that dedicated left-turn lane, the green arrow came on. I drove forward slowly, passing the cars in the right lane as they waited to proceed. When I passed a large black truck, my car seemed to explode.

A year ago... Two flat tires and a totaled Kia. Not fun.
A year ago… Two flat tires and a totaled Kia. Not fun.

I’d been broadsided, and quite hard. The driver of the truck, who we will always refer to as Idiot Number One, had flashed his lights and waved through a young lady leaving the convenience store on the right, allowing her to make the left turn she was waiting for. He, obviously, never looked in his side-view mirror to see if anyone like me was there.

My initial reaction, at the split second she hit me, was anger. Despite the fact I never saw her coming, my brain knew what had happened, and I yelled “Dammit!” very loudly. Then the adrenalin kicked in. I knew I was in the middle of the road. I knew my rental car had been wrecked. And, I knew I wanted to get out of the road. Without really knowing what was going on around me, I put my foot down and drove around the corner, into the parking lot at the convenience store, and right into a space. With two flat tires and a broken right-front wheel assembly. It didn’t sound very good, but I was intent upon getting there.

My wallet, which had been between my legs (I don’t like sitting on it when driving) was on the floor. All of my credit cards were also on the floor. They’d been ejected.

I called 911, the police officer came, and I gave him my statement. Idiot Number One, in the truck, was long gone. I called National Rental Car and they said they’d send a wrecker. It never came.

Well past midnight, I called National back and told them exactly where the car was, and that I’d leave the keys on the driver’s side floor. A taxi took me to the hotel. They picked it up in the morning.

It took nearly three months for the insurance issues to be settled. The girl’s insurance company admitted her fault and covered 100 percent of it. My State Farm agent, out in Liberty Lake, was fantastic and very supportive, but I’m happy I never had to file a claim. The only person who knows who Idiot Number One was, is Idiot Number One.

That was all a year ago. Had I been one or two seconds quicker, she would’ve missed me. Had I been one or two seconds slower, I would’ve T-boned her right in the driver’s door after she emerged from behind the truck operated by Idiot Number One. That would’ve been a whole different deal.

I have never driven the same since. I’m now totally aware of where everyone is around me. I drive under the assumption that Idiot Number Two and a lot of other fools, are all about to do something really stupid. I trust no one to be aware of their surroundings, or to even look before they pull out into traffic. The idiots are all around us. I guess you can call me a fully defensive driver, now. I was blissfully ignorant of all the dangers that lurked on the roads until that smashing sound changed everything.

Putting the wreck behind me, I finished out the season and then got to work. It’s been eight and a half months. Greg Halling’s work has been fantastic, as he allows me to bring it all to life but points out places where it could be better. Not once, in eight and a half months, have I looked at his advice and thought “No way.” It’s all been good. No, it’s been great, and I’ve learned from it. I’m a much better writer today than I was on January 5, when I sat down and began this adventure.

And here we are in September. It’s almost done, but I’m still a defensive driver.

An amazing place...
An amazing place…

In the “here and now” I’ve had a great week. Last Thursday night, my buddy Scott Meehan and I made our first-ever foray to US Bank Stadium, the new home of the Vikings. We knew it was the final preseason game and that most of the players on the field were not going to make the team, but that didn’t matter. We were there to watch football and see this magnificent new structure.

It’s so dramatic and impressive it’s hard to even take it in when you’re there. It’s also huge.

And what I found interesting was the players. Once I let it sink in that final cuts would be coming in the days following that game, I felt a bit sad. So many of those guys were trying to attain what was surely a lifelong dream to play in the NFL. And for most of them, the dream was going to fizzle out and expire in just a few days. Some will make the practice squad, a few others will try again next year. Some might go to the Canadian Football League and others will play Arena Football. Most will do anything they can to keep the dream alive, and I bet a few will even get past all the enormous odds and make it happen.

It's slightly large.
It’s slightly large.

Our reviews of the stadium were mostly stellar. They still have some kinks to work out, in terms of long lines at some concession stands and no lines at others, but I remember Target Field going through that process the first year the Twins were there. There’s a big difference between blueprints and the real thing, especially when you add 66,000 human beings to mix.

We walked all the way around the lower concourse, making a complete lap, and for the most part everything was moving smoothly. Before the game, outside the stadium, the whole area was one big festive party. Unlike a lot of stadiums, there are no huge surface parking lots surrounding the building, so the Vikings go all out to make the area a big interactive carnival, with a lot of football stuff for kids. And there was a lot of purple to be seen.

Just like the players we watched, I had a dream as well. I wanted to play Major League Baseball, following in my father’s amazing footprints. I was good enough to get a fantastic education from the game, at a great college, SIU-Edwardsville. I was fortunate to be on a team that played in the NCAA Division II World Series twice. The Detroit Tigers and Oakland A’s were interested enough to pay me to play for a couple of fun seasons in the minor leagues. But I never attained the dream. I felt for those players, out on the US Bank Stadium field. The dream dies hard.

Tomorrow, Barbara and I will head to MSP and get on a flight down to St. Louis. When we get there, we’ll pick up my rental car, drive defensively, and head to a hotel in Collinsville, just a few miles east of the track. For dinner, we’ll head to the house of my former college baseball teammate, Dave Schaake, for a cookout. Many of my buddies from the 1977 team will be there. On Saturday, as a group, we’ll all attend a ceremony to be inducted into the SIUE Athletic Hall of Fame.

A bunch of great guys, and a talented group.
A bunch of great guys, and a talented group.

It’s a neat honor, and I can’t wait to see these guys. I’m also thrilled Barbara will be attending with me. Our 1976 team was a little better, making it all the way to the final game of the NCAA Div. II World Series before we lost to Cal Poly Pomona. That team was inducted a few years ago, but I had a race that weekend. I had a race a lot of weekends for a lot of years.

In 1977, we received a bid to host our NCAA Regional, something the SIUE baseball program did regularly. It was the eighth consecutive post-season berth for the Cougars. We swept everyone away to earn our way back to Springfield, Ill. and the Div. II World Series, for the second straight year. We lost two heartbreakers there, but the accomplishment itself earned us another place in the SIUE Hall of Fame.  (Yes, you can click on the photos to make them larger. I’m fifth from the left in the back row.)

We’ll fly back up here on Sunday morning, and Barbara will just have enough time to unpack and repack, before she heads out on a business trip next Monday.

I’ll get up on Monday morning and go to work. Right here at my desk. On Chapter 32.

There’s a lot to look forward to.

Bob Wilber, at your service and driving defensively.

Welcome To September

HOME / Welcome To September

September 1st, 2016

Somewhat unbelievably, today is September 1. Where on Earth did the summer go? Is it really time for the U.S. Nationals? Is that slight ache in the pit of my stomach a reaction to seeing school buses on the streets? Will it snow tomorrow? Can the “Infield Fly Rule” be applied if the pop-up drifts foul?

These are all pertinent questions. The answers are: Summer went where it always goes. Yes the U.S. Nationals are this weekend, with eliminations on Monday. Yes, the slight ache in my gut is a reaction to school opening again. No, it will not snow tomorrow (at least not here). And, no, the Infield Fly Rule only pertains to fair balls.

It’s also Minnesota State Fair time, wherein 100,000 people or more (per day!) stroll around looking at animals, butter carvings, and various foods on sticks. Barbara has spent the week out in Spokane, but hopefully we’ll have a chance to get out there this weekend.

As for my week, it’s Thursday Blog Day but it’s already been a big successful effort on the writing front. On Monday and Tuesday, I spent each morning doing research and then spent the afternoons cranking out the pages. Chapter 30 is done, and it gets us halfway through the Worsham-CSK era, so that means I’m on the home stretch. Or in drag racing terminology, I’m at the top end making a charge. Or in terms of baseball, I’m rounding third and heading for home. It’s pretty exciting.

It’s also interesting how the need for deep research increased once I got into the NHRA years, with “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts.” At first I thought that was odd, because this is the most recent stuff I’ve been writing about, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. With more than 20 races each year, for nearly 20 years, it was hard to remember specific locations or stats, and I wanted to make sure it was all correct (or as correct as my research would allow.)

Notes, notes, and more notes.
Notes, notes, and more notes.

So, each morning I flip the page on my note pad and start another year of digging. On NHRA.com, I hit the “Results” archive and go race by race, starting and ending at Pomona, writing down all the stats, qualifying positions, opponents, and final results from the season in question. When I need to remember what certain special-edition bodies looked like, or where we ran them, I go to AutoImagery.com and click back through their photo archives. The result of all that research is specific information, but it also usually triggers other thoughts and other memories, turning them into deeper stories, which is a good thing.

I wasn’t even aware that Del had a fairly well-detailed Wikipedia page, but once I found that I printed it as well. It has year-by-year records of round-wins, points positions, and race victories. It’s all handy stuff.

My editor, Greg Halling, is now only a few chapters behind me, in terms of “cleaning up” what I share with him. I think one of the things I’m most proud of is how well I’ve been able to not just understand how he tweaks what I write, but adapt to it and instill a lot of that into my style. He just finished Chapter 25, and it might have been the least amount of real editing he’s done to any chapter yet. Because, I’m learning. You’re never too old for that.

Another piece of the ongoing research is to go back and read my preview stories and post-event reports from races over the years. When I got back to 1999, when email was becoming the preferred way to communicate, my stories startled me. I had no formal training in PR or journalism, in college. I was a TV/Radio major in the Mass Communications school at Southern Illinois Univ.-Edwardsville. I had plans to be a Major League ballplayer and then possibly a radio play-by-play announcer, but no plans to be a PR guy.

I was always a good creative writer, and actually had my first feature published in a magazine when I was just a junior in high school, but I was clueless about structure and format. I was definitely clueless about AP style, and how real journalism worked. I just wrote what I felt.

Those early stabs at it for the CSK team were pretty amusing, as I dug back and read some of those stories for the first time in more than a decade. I wrote very conversationally, kind of like this blog, and in a lot of cases the stories were heartfelt but amateurish. As I got a little better at it, I started to pay attention to what the real pros were writing. People like Phil Burgess, Todd Veney, Susan Wade, and others I admired, wrote with panache and style, but in a cohesive format. They were actually following rules, instead of just writing what they felt. I tried to learn something from every story I read, and I picked up those writing rules through osmosis. Today, if I were to write a press release or a feature story, it would bear little resemblance to my post-event report after Team CSK won Seattle in 1999. That’s not to say my story then was bad, or hard to read, because it was actually a pretty fun one, but it rambled and it broke about every AP rule in the book.

And, watching Greg tighten things and improve my writing now, I’m still learning. That’s a good thing.

8 Million of these bad boys hit McDonald's across America
8 Million of these bad boys hit McDonald’s across America

Okay, here’s a trip back in time. Just a chapter or two ago I wrote about our Hot Wheels promotion from the early CSK days. A guy approached me in the pits at Pomona, and he told me about the plans McDonald’s and Hot Wheels had, for the Happy Meal. I thought he was either kidding or an imposter. He was neither, and within 24 hours we’d nailed down our participation in the program. We were the only NHRA team to be a part of it, while the other Happy Meal cars were from NASCAR, IndyCar, or Formula 1.

Eight million (yes, eight MILLION) Del Worsham Funny Cars were given away. Each came as an interactive kit, and the kids had to take the custom decals and apply them to the cars in the right places. I was surprised that all of the other teams did very little to promote their sponsors or their drivers with the program. Maybe they were all such “big shots” they just approved the promotion and let Hot Wheels do whatever they wanted. I made sure CSK was accurately represented, and I made sure Del’s name was above the windows. I even managed to get small Mac Tools and Auburn Foundry logos included.

Each car in the program came in two versions. There was the current car, in our case the CSK Funny Car, and there was a “future” car, which allowed the Hot Wheels people to dream up what they thought a race car would look like far into the future. In our case, that meant a 12-cylinder rear-engine thing.

With my heavy involvement in the design, I built up a great relationship with the guys at Hot Wheels, and when it came time to design the paper bag the Happy Meals came in, they used our car on those as well, as a “thank you” for all the help I’d provided. It was a fun deal, and it was even more fun to go into a McDonald’s to buy a Happy Meal, with the actual human version of Del Worsham alongside me. The whole thing took us to the next level. And, I was still a relatively unknown PR guy at the time, so it pretty much put me on the map, as well.

So thoughtful!
So thoughtful!

Another fun thing that happened in the last week is shown here. Ruth Williams has been reading my blog pretty much since Day One. She lives in Santa Rosa, Calif. (which is not too far from Sonoma) and I’d often get to see her out there each summer. She sent me an email recently, wondering if she could have our home address because she had “a little something” she wanted to send Barbara and me.

When it arrived, I was blown away. There was a wonderful quilt, made by a friend of hers featuring lots of cats, two t-shirts, a bottle of lavender, and a pillowcase.

The quilt is already a favorite of the boyz. The pillow case will soon be on our bed, and it features photos of Boofus and Buster on both sides.

The t-shirts were the capper. She had my name and Barb’s name put on the front of the shirts, and the cover of my book put on the back.

What a marvelous gesture and a wonderful gift. Ruth included a heartwarming note, as well. Thank you, Ruth!!!

Tonight, I’m going to be heading to downtown Minneapolis with our friend Scott Meehan. We’ll be attending the Vikings final preseason game, and getting our first in-person look at US Bank Stadium, the Vikes’ new incredible stadium. Our friends Mary Beth and Joe Gillis have season tickets, which they couldn’t use tonight, so I jumped at the chance to take them off their hands.

Sadly, it’s been a startlingly bad week for the Vikings and Minnesota football fans. The team’s young quarterback, Teddy Bridgewater, appeared to be on the cusp of stardom, and great things were predicted for this season. As you’ve probably heard, he dislocated his knee and totally tore is ACL at practice on Tuesday. He’s out for the year.

He’s such a good kid, and all the coaches raved about how well he learned and what a sponge he was when they were coaching him. A lot of people expected the Vikings to make a deep run in the playoffs this year, and a Super Bowl appearance wouldn’t have surprised many of the experts. Now, we’ll just have to see. And the injury cruelly happened with no contact whatsoever. He was just on the field at practice, took a step, and went down. Once it was obvious how badly hurt he was, the coaches called off the rest of practice. Ugh.

Scott and I would be going down early no matter what, just to stroll around and explore the stadium, but the sports schedule in the Twin Cities tonight, as well as a ton of construction on major highways, make it imperative that we go very early. The game is at 7:00 and I’m picking Scott up at 4:30.

Why so early? Because the Vikings, Twins, and Gophers are all playing home games tonight, at roughly the same time and within a few miles of each other. It’s going to be gridlock, I suspect.

I guess that’s it for today. Chapter 31 will begin tomorrow. Here’s hoping for a fun time at the game and a chance to get to the State Fair this weekend. I need a pork chop on a stick.

Bob Wilber, at your service with Hot Wheels cars and many memories.

A Big Time In Brainerd

HOME / A Big Time In Brainerd

August 25th, 2016

Happy Thursday Blog Day, everyone. I’m back from Brainerd and still kind of glowing about it. It was my fourth visit to a race this year, which lends further credence to the Facebook post my former colleague Lachelle Seymour wrote, which stated, “You’re failing at being retired from drag racing.” Considering I’ve visited four tracks so far and plan to be at three more before the season is over, means I’ll be at a little less than 1/3 of the races this year. And let’s remember I didn’t travel to all the races last year. I went to 15 races in 2015, and I’ll be at seven this year. Lachelle is right.

The biggest (and most obvious) difference is that I’m simply attending for social purposes now. I don’t have to fly out on Thursday, spend four nights in a hotel, leave for the track at 7:00 a.m. and return 12 hours later, stick on decals, do PR on social media every hour, or any of the other stuff I did for 20 years. I just go “hang out” now, with my former teams and former PR colleagues. The simple reduction in the amount of stress makes it completely different. And the stress reduction makes it really enjoyable.

It’s funny, though, how some of the stress is deeply ingrained in me and hard to suppress. My plan was to drive up early on Saturday morning, since I had my room at Madden’s for two nights, starting Saturday. Barbara had originally planned to come along, but the birth of her nephew’s twins precluded that, so I was on my own. My goal was to be on the road at 7:00 or 7:30 on Saturday morning. I failed. I actually woke up at 7:00, so it was a bit after 9:00 when I was finally pulling out of the driveway in Woodbury.

I wasn’t too worried about it. It was Saturday morning, after all, so how bad could the traffic be in the Twin Cities? What I forgot to factor in is the fact we have two seasons in Minnesota. There’s winter, and there’s road-construction. Even on Saturday morning, it took me more than an hour just to get on I-94 westbound, on the other side of Minneapolis. It cleared up after that, but on the 694 loop I saw how lucky I was to be going west. They had large stretches of the eastbound lanes completely shut down, and were detouring the traffic onto surface roads. It was ugly, and I saved that information for later decisions, on the trip back.

As I passed St. Cloud and neared Little Falls, I realized how late it was getting. I wasn’t going to be at the track before noon. And the wave of panic washed over me. Stress is not a good thing. Then, I realized (yet again, this year) that I had nothing to worry about. I’d get there when I got there. I had no meetings, no structure, and no pressing issues. I was just going to hang out.

I saw my longtime friend Laura Contreras-Rust at the VIP Credentials trailer. She always gets my stuff to me with a smile and then takes the time to come outside to give me a hug. That’s the best start to a day at the drags.

I put my Media parking sticker on the the windshield (no hard-card for me, anymore) and I had a feeling the reserved Gold Key lot would be full. The actual Media lot at Brainerd is all the way around the track through the pits, behind the left-side grandstand where the Media Center sits. It’s super convenient for getting to the Media Center, but a hike and a half from the Nitro pits. With that in mind, I usually just park in the open field that is Gold Key, and walk in from there. When you come in that gate, you’re right at the edge of the pro pits.

Gold Key often fills up, though, and this year it was way worse. They’d had torrential rain for a couple of days, and at least half of the lot was flooded. The rest was full of cars. So, I made up my mind to drive on in to park all the way over in the Media lot, but just as I approached the gate I spotted an empty spot along the fence. Someone, who had no doubt gotten there very early to nab that spot, had left the track after originally parking. I pulled right in. Rock star parking at its best!

I walked to the Team Wilk pit and said hello to everyone, including my traditional wonderful hug from Krista Wilkerson. With no hospitality, it was a tight squeeze in there, but we had enough room to at least stand and chat.

Hanging with Gerald (superstar).
Hanging with Gerald (superstar).

Our good friend Gerald Meux was there. He’s been a rising star with Hormel since he graduated from college, and now has earned his latest promotion all the way to the corporate headquarters in Austin, Minnesota (about 100 miles south of Minneapolis). It’s always a blast to see Gerald. He told me about his trip to Japan, and then on to Okinawa, which was set to begin on Monday. He’s probably on his way back by now.

Longtime fans and friends Juan and Sonja Morgan were in attendance, as were so many other longtime blog readers or friends who shouted at me, shook my hand, or just waved. Erica Moon, the girl with Minnesota license plates that say “WILKFAN” was also there. It was great to see everyone, but I have to say the best part is just walking through the pits. Crew members, drivers, crew chiefs, and NHRA folks would spot me and the slightly puzzled look was usually priceless. It’s beyond wonderful to say hello and share a few words with so many great people. It’s my extended family, really, and it’s heartwarming to connect again with my “brothers and sisters” in the NHRA.

Krista asked me if I wanted to go to the starting line with the team, for the qualifying sessions, and I declined. I didn’t want to be a burden or get in anyone’s way. She kept after me though, and finally went and got a crew shirt out of the lounge. I had not gone to the line with the team in Gainesville, Chicago, or Sonoma but this time it seemed like the right thing to do.

I put the shirt on (authentically stained by whichever crew guy had worn it before me) and before the first session I made the long walk to the Media Center to see my peeps there. Elon Werner, Sadie Floyd, Leah Vaughn, Cody Poor, Nicole Clark-Erickson, Laz Denes, Lee Montgomery, and all the rest were just like they were when I saw them last, which is not odd because I saw them last just two races ago. It’s always like I’m “home” when I walk in there. The fact I was wearing an LRS starting line shirt only raised a few eyebrows, however. Just about everyone looked at the shirt, tilted their heads, made a funny face, and said, “What’s this about?” as if they were wondering if I’d gone back to work. Nope, just visiting. It was great to see everyone, but I sure do wish my friend Kelly Topolinski had been there. (Sad face).

delay
Kids these days…

I hung out in there until Top Fuel was running in Q3, and figured I’d head down to the starting line when it got closer to the Funny Car session. And then it rained. Hard. I was kind of stuck.

We all just hunkered down and sat it out, for about an hour. And I noticed one key thing about how rain-delays have changed in the past few years. We’d always talk and tell jokes to pass the time, but now everyone gets on social media or plays funny games on their phones. The laughs are still abundant, though. Maybe more so.

When the rain finally abated, I headed back to the pit and passed the time with the team until the track was dry. Rain and drag races are a lousy combination, but it gave me some extra time to socialize and circulate, so I guess that’s not a totally bad thing. Finally, as the Funny Cars all pushed back and towed up to the line, I headed that way on foot and once again ran into dozens of people I hadn’t seen in a while.

In the lanes, I spotted Del Worsham and pointed at him in his car. Seconds later, his wonderful wife Connie spotted me and we just had time to share a hug before two cars fired up. We really need to carve out some time to spend a day together with the Worshams, somewhere…

Finally, as we pushed forward to make our Q3 run, I saw announcer Joe Castello behind the starting line. He came over for a quick handshake and a few fine words. Then, there was a slight delay before it was Team Wilk’s turn to run, and I heard Joe say into his microphone, “Do we have a minute? I have Bob Wilber here…”

Chatting with Joe on the big screen!
Chatting with Joe on the big screen!

Sure enough, just a second later I had a camera in my face and was getting interviewed by Joe. He’s such a great guy, and very gracious. He even teed up a question about “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” so I’d have a chance to plug the book. That was great fun.

One duty I did not take over was the running of the video camera during Tim’s lap. That’s Krista’s job and all I had were foam earplugs. Without the full headset ear muffs, I wanted to have my fingers at the ready for the launch, and plus I’ve shot thousands of those videos. Been there, done that, don’t want to go totally deaf.

Tim had struggled on Friday, smoking the tires in Q1 and then having some mechanical problems in the pits before Q2. Not getting the second one in, due to the problems, left him outside the Top 12 going into Saturday. The fact he ran 3.935 at 323.50 mph with me standing right by the car could only mean one thing. It means he and the crew are very good. I was just happy to be there.

When more rain started circling around, and things were getting later and later, I decided to head over to Madden’s to get checked in and have dinner. It’s such a soothing pleasure, really, to drive out there around Gull Lake and feel like vacation is a full-time gig. I love that place.

Madden's. Sweet!
Madden’s. Sweet!

Of course, last year I had a room at Madden’s but the huge storm that did so much damage at the track, just a couple of weeks before the race, also did major damage at the resort and they had to close so many buildings and rooms I lost my reservation. Now, a year later, there are very few signs of destruction left to spot, but there are a lot of new facilities. When I got to my room, it still had that “model home” smell of all new carpet and furnishings. It was fantastic.

And, it was huge. A big king-sized bed, a large round table, a sitting area, and a deck. My only regrets were that Barb couldn’t enjoy it with me and that I couldn’t enjoy it for a month. What amazing work they’ve done to get Madden’s back in shape.

I really didn’t think Q4 would happen, but when it finally did I at least got to follow along with NHRA All-Access on my laptop. Tim ended up qualified 10th and would face some character named Force in round one. I think his first name is John, but I could be mistaken.

After a delicious and nutritious dinner of pizza, which was delivered to my room by yet another smiling Madden’s employee, I took a glass of wine out onto my deck to enjoy what turned out to be a phenomenal sunset.

GullWhen I got out there, it was beautiful. As it proceeded, it became something better described as stunning.

I present to you, for your viewing enjoyment, sunset over Gull Lake. You’re welcome. The iPhone photo actually doesn’t even do it justice.

I once again dealt with the rush of stress when I got up in the morning, and once again realized I was in no hurry. The only issue with getting to the track at 9:30 was the flooded parking situation.

As I pulled in, I could see the water hadn’t really receded and the entire lot seemed to be full of either cars or water. Just as I was about to head on in and park in the Media lot, a guy from the track came up on a golf cart and said, “Follow me. I’ve got a spot for you…”

Sure enough, down at the end of one row of cars there was just enough space for one more vehicle to park without being in the water. I backed in and thanked the guy profusely.

I had my room for two nights, but I decided to keep my options open. With Barb being out of town, I didn’t want to leave the boyz for any longer than necessary, but if we won the race (or even went to the final) I figured I’d stay and enjoy the camaraderie and another sunset, if not another pizza. So, when I left the room in the morning I left all my stuff there. If we didn’t go to the final, I could always go back and quickly pack up to drive home. I had to pay for the room either way, so I thought it was a good option to make that decision later in the day. Plus, since I was just driving my own car and not flying, I could literally just toss everything in the back and go.

Prior to driver introductions, I got to hang out in the staging lanes with Del and Chad Head, for a while. That was great, and it was big fun to laugh with those guys before the racing got serious.

Sunday was a big one for Del. By qualifying, he was making his 500th career start. That’s a lot of drag racing for a guy a lot of people still think of as “The Kid From The Coast.” By my rudimentary version of math, I suspect I was with him for more than 260 of those 500 races. And, since I’m now deep into those CSK Worsham Racing years in the book, I’m reliving most of them.

I generally start out each day now doing research in the morning. Writing about my childhood was easy, because it’s all just general memories. Writing about the racing years takes more digging, because I want to get all the facts right, with the correct elapsed times and the right opponents, at the right tracks, in the right years. So, thanks to the NHRA.com data base and archives, I sit down each morning with a pad and a pen and spend a couple of hours going race-by-race through an entire year. And as I look back on those results and stories (even my own preview and post-event reports) more storylines emerge. At least five times a morning, I’ll think to myself, “Oh yeah. I totally forgot about that…”

With it being his 500th race, Cody Poor (who does PR for Kalitta Racing) organized a whole bunch of stuff to honor Del, including having some special hats made up. Cody told me on Saturday that he’d get one for me. When I ducked out early, he took it to the pit.

This one I'll keep. Forever.
This one I’ll keep. Forever.

When I got to the pit on Sunday morning, Krista said, “Follow me” and took me into the lounge. When she handed me the hat, she had a little tear in her eye. And that tear was for good reason. This incredibly thoughtful gesture makes this a hat I will keep forever. And once again, remember: You just have to click on the photo to enlarge it.

After all the pre-race hoopla was over, we headed to the line to race Force. I figured Tim would get the LRS car down the track and we’d give old 16x a battle, but you always sense a bit of fear that it will smoke the tires. These cars are running so fast now, it’s mind-boggling. And it’s still easy to lose traction.

It was a beautiful morning, but maybe a little warmer than anticipated. All week, the forecast called for mid to high 70s on Friday and Saturday, and then a cool front would come through and keep it pretty chilly on Sunday. One forecast I saw had a high of 67 listed for race day. Instead, when round one kicked off it was already flirting with 70.

We were also the seventh pair, so waiting through Top Fuel and six other pairs of Funny Cars was enough to keep me pacing, walking in circles. Whether I’m directly involved with the sport or just there to see everyone, the pre-race pacing will probably never stop.

Pair by pair went down the track, and some big numbers were going up on the board. In the first pair, Fast Jack went 3.85 and the crowd went nuts. Then Matt Hagan went 3.89 and in the next pair Del matched it with another 3.89, before Courtney Force threw down a 3.87.

A fast car in front of a big crowd.
A fast car in front of a big crowd.

When it was our turn, the two cars launched and when Tim’s car got past the “danger zone” where smoking the tires is most likely, I could tell it was going to be close.

Your brain goes into hyper-drive during a run, and I had plenty of time to think, “OK, this is going to be close. Gosh I hope we don’t lose by a hundredth.”

We didn’t. The two cars were running almost identically for 900 feet before Tim pulled away and Force’s motor quit a little early. Our 3.923 beat his 3.954 and I can attest right here, in writing, that the high-fives at the starting line felt awesome.

We did lose in round two, to Del (who went on to win the race) but it was in the oddest way. When Tim launched, his red light came on and we all saw it staring at us. He legged it out and put a nice 3.913 on the board. Del ran an even better 3.904 on his side of the track.

When I got back to the pit, I went up into the lounge to see Tim and he was perturbed. He said, “I’m telling you, I saw all kinds of yellow before I put my foot down. I can’t believe I red-lit. Here, look at the video.”

It was the strangest video of a launch. Frame by frame he moved to video forward, and all three amber bulbs were lit for a good long while before the first puff of smoke came out of the pipes. But, the oddest thing was that the top amber bulb came on just slightly before the other two. And it’s the top bulb he was staring at. Going on the top bulb probably made him five hundredths early, and that made him foul. Crazy.

Just like in baseball, just as soon as you think you’ve seen it all you see something you’ve never seen before.

After that, and a fun chat with my buddy Shorty Shannon, I decided to head back to the hotel, pack up, and head on home. Many hugs and handshakes later, I was doing that.

It was probably around 3:00 or 3:30 when I loaded up the Lexus and pulled away. Gerald and I had been talking about which route we were each going to take when going home, and both of us agreed that we wanted to avoid using I-694 around the top side of the Twin Cities. So, I went east to Mille Lacs Lake. If you go south from there, on Rte 169, you end up in Elk River, still on the west side of Minny. So I went around the north side of the lake and then over to I-35, which would allow me to miss all that construction on 694 once I got to the Twin Cities.

I wasn’t on 35 for two miles when I discovered there was construction there too. At one point, we came to a complete stop and people were putting their cars in park to get out and take a look. It stretched on forever. It should take about two and a half hours to get from Madden’s to Woodbury. It ended up taking more like four and a half. Almost five by the time I pulled into the garage.

That was a lousy way to end a fabulous and spectacular weekend.

My next race will be St. Louis. I can’t wait!

And as for the book, I’ve stepped up my writing in the last couple of weeks. Yesterday, I completed Chapter 29, which covers 2002 and 2003 with the Worsham team. Chapter 30 should cover 2004 and 2005. Chapter 31 will get us to 2008, and the end of the CSK sponsorship. And that means I’m just two chapters away from joining Team Wilk.

The finish line is so close at hand I can visualize it. And it’s amazing to be this far along after thinking, back in January, how massive this task would be. The time has flown, and I can’t believe it’s about to be September. I’m sure it seems, to everyone who’s not writing a book, that I’m taking forever. This is just how long it takes. You can only write as much as you can write, as often as you can write. And, of course, every Thursday has been Blog Day, and every Friday has been editing “clean up” day. I’m cranking about 20-30 pages every Monday through Wednesday, and it’s a thrilling thing to do.

We’re almost there.

See you next week! Enjoy the weekend!

Bob Wilber, at your service in the field of writing.

Bob’s Big Brainerd Blog

HOME / Bob’s Big Brainerd Blog

August 18th, 2016

Welcome to Brainerd week! I’ll be heading up there early on Saturday morning and coming back on Sunday night, and I’m really looking forward to it just like every time I’ve ever gone to Brainerd. It’s a great place, it’s totally unique on the NHRA Mello Yello tour, and it’s just plain fun.

Question 1: Will I be visiting The Zoo?

Answer: No. Been there, done that, don’t need to do it anymore. Heck, when I first started going to Brainerd, The Zoo was considered a fairly dangerous place. They still party hard in there, but it’s much more good clean fun than it used to be. During my initial Brainerd race I had no less than six racers or PR people tell me, “Whatever you do, don’t wear any racing apparel in there. You’ll come out without it.”

Now, famous drivers and notorious PR people head in there on golf carts totally decked out in their racing stuff. There’s plenty of beer consumed, but you no longer have to worry about being stripped of your starting line shirt. I think. I don’t plan to find out.

Anyway, no I won’t be doing that, but I always advise first-timers to take a few hours on Saturday night and experience the fun of The Zoo. It’s a box that needs to be checked.

Question 2: When was my first Brainerd race? Was it 1997 with Del Worsham?

Answer 2: No, believe it or not it was five years earlier than that. It was 1992 and I hadn’t even met Del Worsham yet.

Writing “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” brings all the stories back to life for me, and some of them are things I had forgotten. It’s almost as much fun doing the research on all of it as it is to write about it after I put it all back into order.

The first drag race I ever saw, period, was the 1991 Gatornationals in Gainesville. I was the GM of Heartland Park Topeka and my boss sent me and a few of my staff members to Gainesville to tag along with the staff there, to learn as much as we could. The first thing I learned, after watching a session of Top Fuel Dragsters and Funny Cars from the top of the tower, during qualifying, was “Don’t wear a white polo shirt to the track.” That shirt went in the trash that night.

And, while my staff stayed for all three days of the event, I took off early Saturday morning and drove down to Sebring to watch the 12 Hours of Sebring IMSA race, because Heartland Park hosted an IMSA event as well. I found it all very fascinating. And I found it all a little over my head, in terms of what was going on. Up until the first day at Gainesville, I had not seen two cars go down a drag strip at all. Up until my rainy day at Sebring, I’d never seen any types of cars run for more than three hours. And those guys ran for 12! For the record, it was my second IMSA race, but the first had been just a few months earlier at Del Mar in California. I was about to interview for the Heartland Park job and the track president sent me there to watch the sports cars. Sebring was a whole different animal, though. I made it through six hours before sneaking out and heading back north to Gainesville.

Anyway, now I’m way off track (racing pun) because this is supposed to be about Brainerd and yet I ended up in Sebring, Fla.

Yes sir. The Nobody Beats The Wiz Funny Car
Yes sir. The Nobody Beats The Wiz Funny Car

So… My first NHRA National Event was Gainesville in 1991. Then I went to Bandimere that summer to see the Mile High Nationals. Then we hosted our own Heartland Nationals in the fall. In 1992, I took a job as the assistant to a guy in New Jersey who represented Chuck Etchells, and his Nobody Beats The Wiz Funny Car.

After joining that guy, the first race I went to was Brainerd. I flew into MSP, and drove on up there not really sure where I was going or what I was going to see. My boss would be joining me on Saturday, but for two days I’d be on my own, getting to know Chuck, his crew chief Maynard Yingst, and the crew. And I would be introduced to the Chaparral Bunkhouse Motel. Having flown there from Newark, it was a good bit of culture shock, even for a midwestern guy like me.

Being in Brainerd, and at Brainerd International Raceway, was both strange and fabulous, and that was the year so many people told me that if I was going in The Zoo, I should do it incognito. I steered clear altogether.

Question 3: Why was a Funny Car called “Nobody Beats The Wiz”?

Answer 3: If you’re from New York or New Jersey, you probably know this answer. Nobody Beats The Wiz was a chain of electronics stores in that part of the country. The guy I worked for in New Jersey did consulting work for them. He got them to sponsor Etchells. So, it wasn’t the “name” of the car. It was the sponsor.

I provide, for your viewing pleasure, the Mississippi River in Brainerd.
I provide, for your viewing pleasure, the Mississippi River in Brainerd.

Question 4: Is this blog going to be all questions and answers?

Answer 4: No. I hadn’t planned on it but that’s how I wrote the first bit at the top and it took on a life of its own. I promise to stop with the questions now. I’ll just ramble on about Brainerd. I’m a highly trained professional rambler. Don’t try this at home!

I have so many fond and fun memories of Brainerd it’s hard to even consider them all. Over the years, one of the most consistent not-so-good memories of the place, though, was the string of lousy motels we stayed in during the Worsham/CSK days. We didn’t have any choice in the matter.

Brainerd is on a par with places like Gainesville and Commerce, Ga. when it comes to motel rates for race weekends. Run-down joints by the side of the road, where you could get a room for $39 the rest of the year, would charge $139 with a four-night minimum. When the new Holiday Inn Express was built, not too far from the track, their nightly rate was $1 million. No it wasn’t, but it was over $200, with a three or four night minimum.

Once I joined Team Wilkerson, I had to be on my own for a room because they stayed at the Chaparral Bunkhouse and that little place didn’t even have another room, for me. So, I made the decision to stay out at the resorts on Gull Lake. I’ve stayed at Cragun’s, Grandview, and Madden’s, and this year I’ll be at Madden’s again.

I was planning on staying there last year, but the major storm that rolled through Brainerd just a month before the race, doing a lot of damage to the track, also severely damaged the resort. They had to close major portions of it, and I lost my room in that shuffle. So, I adjusted and did the PR work from home on Friday and Saturday, then drove up to St. Cloud on Saturday night, to be 90 minutes closer to BIR. I went up to the track on Sunday morning and I drove back to the Twin Cities that night.

A no-brainer. Madden's.
A no-brainer. Madden’s.

When people would ask me why I’d spend so much to stay at one of the resorts on Gull Lake, my response was always the same. I’d say, “Well, I could stay in a noisy smelly place in town, with a view of the dumpster, and still have to pay $140 a night for four nights. Or I can stay at a beautiful resort, with a view of Gull Lake, for $200 a night. It’s a no-brainer, to me.”

And it’s a no-brainer this year.

Yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon, my phone buzzed to tell me I had a text message. It was from Krista Wilkerson. All it said was “I just waved.”

I called her, laughing, and said, “Did you just drive by the Woodbury exit on I-94?”

“Yes we did,” she said. “So I waved at you.”

Cracked me up.

And today, just an hour ago, my phone rang and the screen said “Del Worsham.” He said, “I’m on my way to the track in my motorhome. I’m past Minneapolis now, but I drove by Woodbury not too long ago.”  It can be a small world when the entire NHRA universe is descending on Minnesota.

People used to ask me all the time if Brainerd was really like it looked and sounded in the movie “Fargo.” Well, I haven’t been to Brainerd in the winter, but I’m sure it does typically look a lot like that. And the snow has a certain crunch under your feet when it’s 12-below.

But, the funny thing is, almost all of “Fargo” is set in Brainerd (not Fargo) and almost all of it was shot in the Twin Cities (not Brainerd.) The Coen brothers, who made the film along with a long list of other quirky but ingenious movies, were born and raised in the Twin Cities suburb of St. Louis Park. They, therefore, had no problem seeking out locations for the movie. And a lot of the memorable places shown in the flick are still around.

As for the second part of the question, the accent in “Fargo” is a bit over-the-top, but it’s based on the real thing and it’s pretty darn close to what you’ll hear when you do get up in the northern half of the state. The Twin Cities are so diverse it’s not as common here, but the Nordic lilt is still noticeable.

And remember, the word “Ya” is both a question and an answer. Ya? Ya! Oh you betcha.

And for the record, “Fargo” holds a position in the top 10 of all time, when it comes to Barbara and my favorite movies. We’ve probably watched it 45 times. Also on the list is another fine Minnesota movie, “Miracle” starring Kurt Russell, who absolutely channels Herb Brooks.

Did you know they cast “Miracle” in the opposite way they cast most sports movies? Yep, they looked for really good hockey players first, then found the ones who had some natural acting chops. The director said he felt it would be far easier to teach a hockey player to act than it would be to teach an actor to play hockey. It was a genius move, and it’s what makes the film one of the best sports movies ever made. “You were born to be hockey players…”

This bear has been part of the family for more than a decade
This bear has been part of the family for more than a decade

On another Brainerd note, we have a charming wood carving of a sleepy bear sitting under a pine tree, and we’ve had it for many years. It hung on a post by our hot tub at our old Woodbury house, and it made the move with us here. We bought it in Brainerd, after the race one year, at a roadside place called “Come See What I Saw” but that guy has been out of business for years.

Barbara was planning to come to the race with me this weekend, but about a week ago her nephew Todd’s wife, Angie, gave birth to twins, so instead I dropped her at MSP around 7:45 this morning and she flew to Orlando. I sent along hugs for everyone, including Todd, Angie, Kitty, and our two newest family members, Anastasia and Arabella.

So, it appears I’m totally failing at the “being retired” part of my NHRA career. That was pointed out to me, on Facebook, by one of my favorite-ever colleagues, Lachelle Seymour, who used to do Ford’s PR on the tour.

I’ve already been to Gainesville, Chicago, and Sonoma. This weekend, I’ll be in Brainerd. Then I’ll be at the St. Louis race. Today I booked my flights and a hotel room for Las Vegas. And, while I had said I had no plans to go to Pomona, it didn’t take much for Barbara to talk me into it. Susan Worsham recently gave birth to her first, and we can’t wait to meet little Lily Elaine. So, we’ll go to Pomona for a couple of days, and then we’ve made a commitment to get away somewhere for a few days after the race. Santa Catalina Island, perhaps? Possibly. Neither one of us have ever been there. I’ve seen it from the coast, but have never taken the boat ride to get there.

Because I can
Because I can

To cap off this Brainerd blog, I give to you the comedy stylings of Dave Rieff, in a photo taken a few years back in the pits at BIR.

Because Dave Rieff.

And now, before I go, it’s time for another snippet from “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts:

In the last two weeks, I’ve strapped in and stayed after it for another two chapters and another 30 or so pages. We’ve entered the Worsham years now, with our Checker, Schuck’s, Kragen sponsorship, and the stories are nearly limitless.

In Chapter 27, I cover a lot of ground from 1999 and 2000, and part of that was our race win in Seattle in ’99. Del hadn’t won a race since 1991. As Team CSK we’d been to one final round, at Route 66 in 1998. We lost to Whit Bazemore there.

In Seattle, during the ’99 race, the track was hot and tricky. Del and Chuck simply mastered a track most teams couldn’t get down cleanly. It was the first time I’d ever been a direct part of a race win, and I shot the video of it with the camera Del had just purchased, second-hand, a week earlier. We won, beating Bazemore. We went nuts, we did the Winner’s Circle stuff, and then Joe Spica from CSK took us all out to dinner. After that, I still had to go back to my room and write my Post-Event Report. It was the first one I’d ever done after a win.

We were just at the dawn of the internet and email era then, and I had a nice little mailing list of media, sponsors, family, and friends. I wrote the story as midnight approached, and then fired it off. Here’s how it goes in Chapter 27…

_______________________

I sat at the desk and composed myself for a minute, there in the room, and then I began to write. I wasn’t the polished writer I am today, and I wrote most of my stuff in a very personal “insider’s view” sort of way. I didn’t know much about PR yet, and I most certainly didn’t know much about AP style and the correct format for such things. I just wrote from the heart.

The next morning, I pinched myself to make sure it had really happened. Then I checked my email. I’d never before logged on for email and seen more than 10 or 12 new notes. On this morning, I had nearly 100. It was the dawn of a new social-media internet age, and it introduced itself to me that morning. Every note seemed to be as “from the heart” as the story I’d written.

_______________________

Those memories are as fresh as if 1999 was yesterday. And the research, to drill back down and get as many specific details as possible, really has been a blast. When I post this blog, my next assignment is to go back through every race of 2002 and 2003, to get all those details organized.

So, that’s about it for this Thursday Blog Day. I’ll be back next week, with photos and tales from Brainerd.

“So that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there. And I guess that was your accomplice in the wood chipper. And those three people in Brainerd. And for what? For a little bit of money? There’s more to life than a little money. Don’tcha know that? And here ya are, and it’s a beautiful day. Well, I just don’t understand it.”  – Marge Gunderson

Bob Wilber, at your service don’tcha know. Ya? Ya!

 

 

Valmeyer, And The Wizards

HOME / Valmeyer, And The Wizards

August 11th, 2016

The headline to today’s blog might make a smidgen of sense to you, but only if you’ve been a longtime reader of my various blogs, including this one back when it was called “Bob On Baseball.” It’s not about fairy tales or Harry Potter stuff. It’s about a special place, a very special tournament, and one of the best groups of guys I ever played baseball with. The Valmeyer Tournament, and the Sauget Wizards.

Valmeyer, Illinois sat just a few miles from the Mississippi and about 26 miles south of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. It was a tiny little village, really, and barely could call itself a town. In the heart of it sat a baseball field with a quaint covered grandstand, a large pavilion, and plenty of room around the fences for picnics, folding chairs, and coolers.

That was a good thing, because every summer during the 4th of July weekend Valmeyer hosted a baseball tournament for local semipro teams, and that tournament is still being celebrated and honored to this day. I played in it, managed in it, and reveled in it for many years.

Hanging with Scott Brown, waiting for our tournament game to start.
Hanging with Scott Brown, waiting for our tournament game to start.

I played for the Sauget Wizards. There was no team quite like us, and we were proud of that. During any given summer season, for the near-decade I played for the Wizards, we’d be made up of six or more ex-professional players, including Neil Fiala who played in the big leagues. The rest of the roster would be made up of former college players, most of whom should’ve been rewarded with a pro contract, and a few current college players who could give us some youth, some speed, and a fresh arm or two.

I played professionally for four different teams, in three different leagues, over the course of two years. Then, I was a professional baseball scout for four years. None of that compared to the experience of playing for the Wizards.

Sauget (pronounced SO-zhay) is also nothing more than a little village. It sits just south of the I-70 bridge near St. Louis, but on the Illinois side of the river. Rich Sauget incorporated the town, which was mostly made up of some small homes and a couple of giant chemical plants, and then opened two establishments. One was a saloon and music hall called Pop’s. The other was a huge disco named Oz. When Rich formed a high-level semipro baseball team, and built a beautiful ballpark for us to play in, we became the Wizards.

Robert Giegling and Jim Donohue. Two great guys and great ballplayers.
Ready to play in Valmeyer, with Robert Giegling and Jim Donohue. Two great guys and great ballplayers.

These days, there are independent pro baseball leagues and teams all over the place. Right here in the Twin Cities, we have the incredibly popular St. Paul Saints, who play in the independent American Association and put more than 8,000 people per game in their fantastic ballpark in downtown St. Paul. Many of their players have played minor league ball, or even Major League ball, and they’re in their mid to upper 20s, if not their 30s. It’s a way to hang on. It can also be a way to get started.

A former college teammate of mine, Bill Lee, is the commissioner of the Frontier League, another very successful independent pro league. When guys don’t get a chance to play professionally in a Major League organization these days, they have a lot of options to go play professionally elsewhere, and the Frontier League is a prime option. They don’t belong to a big league team, but they get to showcase their skills for the scouts and they often catch the eye of a MLB team to get a contract. Had it been this way when the Oakland A’s told me my services were no longer needed, back in 1980, I might have strung it out, putting off real life, for years.

I think it’s a good thing the independent option wasn’t readily available back then. It forced me to move on and continue to find fascinating things to do. Those stories make up “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” and the Wizards are an important part of the book. I had the time of my life playing for that team, with those guys.

The 1989 Wizards. in a photo taken roughly five hours before we beat Team USA.
The 1989 Wizards, in a photo taken roughly five hours before we beat Team USA (click on any pic to enlarge.)

We played in the Mon-Clair League, in Illinois, and would also play three or four non-league games a week. One year, we played 70 games in four months, while we held down full-time jobs. In 1989, we traveled to Millington, Tenn. and beat the USA national team, which was filled with guys who would go on to great Major League careers. Bret Boone, Fernando Vina, Jeromy Burnitz, Matt Mieske, Dan Wilson, and other Major Leaguers to be, were on that team. And we beat them 6-5. That experience was priceless, but the highlight of every summer was the Valmeyer Tournament.

Spread out over three days, with eight fine teams competing for nothing more than a trophy, it featured talent that would be on a par with a lot of independent pro teams today. Maybe even better. I never played on a professional team quite as good as the Wizards.

The little ballpark at the foot of the river bluffs would be decked out in red, white, & blue, with bunting and banners all around the place. A Budweiser beer truck would be parked behind the concession stand, selling 12-ounce draft beers in plastic cups. The concessions were hot dogs and hamburgers, and the open grill sent the aroma of summer picnics wafting through the whole park, even into the dugouts. The P.A. announcers were more like hilarious radio play-by-play guys, introducing the hitters but also rambling on and announcing raffle numbers. It was as American as apple pie. It was as American as baseball. It was everything you’d ever imagine in a tiny midwestern town with a bunch of guys who loved the game, being cheered on by families and fans who loved to watch it.

The Valmeyer team was always the host. We knew them well, and played them often in the Mon-Clair League. Just up the road sat Waterloo, Illinois, where the Waterloo Buds were also in our league. They were our biggest rivals. A Sunday double-header at the Waterloo ballpark felt like the Yankees playing the Red Sox. The Buds were always in the tournament, as well. The rest of the tournament field would be made up of other talented semipro teams from the St. Louis area.

Every day, for three days, the place would be packed. From the main grandstand to the smaller open bleachers, and down the grassy stretches behind the foul lines, people flocked to the Valmeyer Tournament, and they saw some great baseball.

My two biggest fans at the tournament. Big Del and Taffy Wilber
My two biggest fans at the tournament. Big Del and Taffy Wilber

My dad didn’t get to a lot of games then, but he and my mom made a point of coming to Valmeyer. To “go deep” and hit a big home run with my dad watching was as big a thrill as I ever experienced. To later manage the Wizards to a tournament championship, with Big Del Wilber in attendance, was nothing short of a pure honor. I still have the trophy.

In my early Wizard years, I worked for Converse Shoes and my boss asked me to deck out the team with matching blue spikes, duffel bags, and Converse batting practice t-shirts. I happily did that, and the guys all loved it. We were one of many very good teams in the area, but when it came looking like pros no other team came close to us.

Bob Hughes, Jim Greenwald, Robert Giegling, Neil Fiala, Rick Fiala, Jerry Pitchford, Jeff Junker, Joe Mehallow, Dave Kassebaum, Dan Nicholson, Jim Donohue,  John Parke, Pete Delkus, Scott Brown, Ron Rohlfing, Lance McCord, Mike Rogers, Reid Hartmann, and a bunch of other great guys shared the Wizards’ dugout with me over the years. I’ve never played with a better bunch. We had backgrounds that included stints with the Detroit Tigers, Oakland A’s, St. Louis Cardinals, Minnesota Twins, Cincinnati Reds, Los Angeles Dodgers, Pittsburgh Pirates, New York Mets, and Philadelphia Phillies. We all went on to fine careers, in business and in sports. And, we played as hard as we could every time we stepped on the field.

We played because we loved the game, and we loved the camaraderie. We didn’t play in a beer league. We took it as seriously as any professional player would, and more seriously than some of them. We got there on time, and gave it everything we had. We took 90 mph fastballs in the ribs, we slid on rock-hard dirt and tore our legs up doing so, and we dove for sinking line drives as if the World Series depended on it.

It was marvelous. Nothing short of marvelous.

When we won the Mon-Clair League championship one year, Rich Sauget asked us to drive straight to Pop’s after beating the Alton team on their home field. When we walked in, to applause, we saw 16 bottles of champagne lined up on the bar. We had a heck of a celebration, with very little of the bubbly actually going into our mouths.

League champions, dressed to the nines.
League champions, dressed to the nines.

The league always held a banquet after the season, and most of the attendees came in casual clothes. Wearing a jacket and slacks would’ve been considered “dressy” for the affair, held annually in an American Legion hall. To accept our championship trophy, we went in matching tuxedos. Because we could.

It was an honor for me to land a full baseball scholarship to Southern Illinois Univ. Edwardsville, and my years there were precious. It was a privilege to play minor league ball for the Tigers and A’s, and I played alongside some fabulous guys who went on to amazing careers. Playing for the Wizards was different. It was pure joy. No stress to “make it” or move up. Just the joy of playing the game I loved, at a very high level. I was a better ballplayer for the Wizards, by a lot, than I ever was in college or pro ball. I was a “late bloomer” in that regard, and I took my game to a whole new level under the guidance of Bob Hughes, who made me into a real hitter.

But mostly, I had more fun than I ever imagined I could have. Even in the 9:00 a.m. game on the second day of the Valmeyer Tournament.

Valmeyer, as a village, still exists but not in the same place. It was effectively erased from the map during the great flood of 1993, when the Mississippi broke the through the levee and inundated everything below the bluffs. After that, the villagers agreed to move the town. It now sits on high ground, atop the bluffs. It will never be the same.

And those days will always make up many of the best memories I have. I can still vividly hear the P.A. announcer in my head.

We need to figure out a way to have a reunion.

Bob Wilber, at your service as a former Wizard.

Sweet Spot Sonoma

HOME / Sweet Spot Sonoma

August 4th, 2016

Sometimes, you just need to get away. I’ve enjoyed these seven months of writing “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” more than I ever dreamt I would, but I knew I needed to recharge and get away from it for a bit. Take how much I needed a weekend getaway and multiply it by 100 and that’s how much Barbara needed it. Her job has always been stressful and challenging, and she only has one speed when it comes to work. She can’t idle through it. Basically, her work mode is simply an On-Off switch, and “On” setting is 100 percent.

Barb hemmed and hawed about actually going with me to Sonoma, for weeks. The call of work, out in Spokane, pulled at her heavily. She vacillated between “I absolutely will go with you” to “I’m not sure if I can go” all the way to “I just need to be in Spokane” and the options could exchange the lead position as often as every single day. Finally, she realized she needed to get away. She’d have to fly straight to Spokane on Monday, but she needed to get away.

We also debated what we were going to do each day, before we left. There’s always wine tasting, and that’s usually what we do with any free day around Sonoma or Napa. So, because that’s what we usually do, we decided against it. We committed to a fun day-trip around northern California, with visits to the Redwood forest and Bodega Bay, being part of our Sunday. On Saturday, we’d take Vince and Mary Bienek to the race. We had a plan.

We flew out to Sacramento on Friday. Every time I’ve used Sacramento as my destination airport for the Sonoma race, it’s worked out perfectly. Oakland works, but the freeway drive up to Sonoma can be tough. San Francisco works, but the drive up and over the Golden Gate Bridge, before you even get close to Sonoma, can be a traffic nightmare as well. On a good day, the trip from Sacramento to Sonoma can happen in as little as an hour. All you need is a good day.

We landed just a little late, shortly after 1:00 Pacific Time, and then waited for our bags before waiting for the Rental Car shuttle. Once we left the lot, we headed for the freeway. Nearly three hours later, we arrived at the Best Western in Sonoma, frazzled and road weary. It was, by far, the worst traffic I’ve ever dealt with, getting to Sonoma. In many spots, you could easily walk faster.

And speaking of the gridlock, are you a “lane jumper?”  You know the description. In stop-and-go traffic there’s the guy who is constantly switching lanes, in an effort to get ahead of even just one car by jumping into the lane that’s moving, even if it’s moving ever so slowly. I decided to just stick with the middle lane, on I-80, because it gave me options if I needed them. A guy in a white Dodge was behind me from the start, as was a guy in a white Honda. Every time the lane they were in stopped, they jutted out and forced their way into a different lane. And every time traffic came to a complete halt, I’d look in my mirror and both of them were still behind me. They exerted a lot of effort to make up no ground whatsoever. The only times I changed lanes were when a big rig was directly in front of me. They don’t accelerate fast when the traffic breaks up, but also I just don’t like not being able to see what’s ahead of us. So, slow and steady for me and nonstop lane jumping for those other guys. And we all got there at the same time.

Barbara had booked a spa appointment at the nearby Fairmont Sonoma Mission Inn, and we thought she’d have all sorts of time to relax before she went over there. By the time we got to Vacaville, still well short of Sonoma, it was obvious she’d have a hard time making it at all. She called the spa to cancel, but they were kind enough to push her appointment back 30 minutes, so she kept it. We still made it with just a minute to spare. We stopped at our hotel, and I checked in and took our bags to the room. She took the rental car and drove down the road to the spa at the Fairmont. I’m glad she did, because she needed something just like that.

After I got settled, I walked across the road to Whole Foods and bought some supplies for the mini-fridge in our room. When in Wine Country, cheese and crackers are kind of essential. As are fruit drinks, water, and a little wine. Plus, when I opened the mini-fridge upon my return from the store, I found a very nice bottle of white wine already in there. It was courtesy of the hotel. A nice touch.

I’ve stayed in my share of Best Westerns over the years, but I’ve never stayed in one quite like the Best Western in Sonoma. It’s just a block off the scenic square, and it’s fantastic. It’s not cheap, nothing is out there, but it’s fantastic. And it’s walking distance to most of what makes Sonoma great. If you can walk to the square, you’re in a great place.

When Barb got back, it was already close to 8:30 and we were both ravenously hungry. We strolled out of the hotel and up to the square, where we stumbled upon a place called Maya, an upscale Mexican restaurant. You won’t find Taco Bell food at Maya. I ordered the fish tacos, and they were sublime. Plus, and this was sign from above, the top-shelf margarita on the menu was called “Bob’s Margarita.” How could I not order that? It was as good as any Texas Martini we used to crave when we lived down in Austin.

Sonoma. A little slice of heaven.
Sonoma. A little slice of heaven. (Click to enlarge)

Sonoma, for the record, is one of our favorite places on Earth. It’s small, it’s surrounded by some of the finest vineyards in the world, and it’s completely and utterly charming. And our friends live there. Jealous much? Oh, you bet. Just wandering around the square is wonderful, and they can walk there and do that any night they want. With both of them being in real estate, Vince even admitted he uses the square as a networking tool, stopping in various restaurants and bars to get to know the locals. Works like a charm.

Our plans were to meet Vince and Mary in the lobby of the hotel at 9:00 on Saturday morning, so we made sure we gave ourselves just enough time to have a hot breakfast at the hotel. Right at 9:00, we met my former Paintsville Hilander teammate, and his Paintsville-native wife, in the lobby and we headed for the track.

Coming into Sonoma Raceway from the north, like that, is a breeze. Almost all of the traffic is coming in off of Route 37, whether it’s from the east on the causeway from Vallejo, or from the west and the 101 Freeway. Almost no one comes down from the north. We pulled right in and, after a stop to pick up my credential and parking pass, we were walking into the track.

Vince and Mary had never attended any kind of drag race before, and while they’ve passed the race track a zillion times they’d never even been inside it. They were wide-eyed and impressed by the scope and size of the facility, and were both eager to hear a Funny Car fire up. Okay, Mary was also a bit scared, but she was eager!

On the "See The JFR Pit" tour with roadie Elon Werner
On the “See The JFR Pit” tour with roadie Elon Werner

We stopped at the Team Wilk pit to see Tim, Krista, and the crew and Tim came out to chat with us and welcome the two newbies to their first race. We then strolled around for a bit, to see the pro pit area, and almost immediately we stumbled onto some big tall guy with a John Force pullover on. Elon Werner said, “So, do you guys want to have a tour of the JFR pit area?” Well, of course we did. Heck, even I have never had a guided tour of the inner workings of John Force Racing.

Elon, who really is the best of the best and I’ve said that many times on this blog, showed us everything but the tuning log books (not that we could decipher any of that, anyway). We were into and out of every JFR trailer and pit area for a solid 40 minutes.

I’d already done a brief “NHRA 101” introductory class for Vince and Mary, back in the Team Wilk pit, because both of them were chock-full of smart questions, pertaining to how the car runs, how fast it goes, how much power it makes, and things like that. Elon then did the exact same thing in the JFR pit, and fortunately the two PR guys both managed to give the Bieneks the same facts. How lucky are we? After all these years, Elon and I are both finally smart enough to recite some enlightening info about Funny Cars and drag racing. Just smart enough to be dangerous.

We got back to the Wilk pit in time for the warmup, but the wind wasn’t blowing quite the right direction for Vince and Mary to get their first full-on Nitro experience. We needn’t have worried, though. The Top Fuel team pitted next to Wilk provided quite enough of the experience when they warmed up. They got a good dose. Tears were shed.

I then took our guests up to the Media Center, to meet some of my former colleagues and see what life in the PR world is all about. I could tell they enjoyed that quite a bit, and they were impressed by everyone they met. Sadly, my dear friend Kelly Topolinski didn’t attend the Sonoma race. Had she been there, my friends would’ve been even more impressed.

Finally, it was time for the first qualifying session of the day. I’d prepared for it by purchasing, in advance, four reserved seats about halfway down the main grandstand and about halfway up. I’ve always been impressed by Sonoma Raceway, and from the starting line it’s easy to feel that way. It seems like such a “big league stadium” sort of place. Well, for the record, it seems even more so when you’re sitting in the main grandstand. We were halfway up the aisle, and yet it seemed to go on forever above us.

Two first-timers about to get rocked by Nitro. Vince was focused!
Two first-timers about to get rocked by Nitro. Vince was focused!

I know Vince and Mary were wondering what it was going to be like when the Nitro cars ran. They were very attentive and engaged while we watched Pro Stock, and they thought those cars were really going fast. When the first Top Fuel dragster made a full pass, they came right up out of their seats, and the look on both of their faces was priceless. With the grandstand at Sonoma being so far from the track, thanks to the NASCAR pit lane and front straight being between the stands and the drag strip, I wasn’t sure how vivid the sensation would be. It was quite vivid. They both patted their chests and said, “I felt that as much as I heard it!”

We watched all the Top Fuel and Funny Car teams compete, and sat through a couple of quick clean-ups along the way. Both Mary and Vince were impressed by the Safety Safari, and how quickly they can clean up a big oil down, and we almost got a t-shirt from the group that entertains during those breaks. It was all fun. It was great, actually.

We cruised around a bit more, and were lucky enough to spot Sheila Cunningham over at the DSR pit. Throughout all those years when Chris Cunningham worked for the Worsham team, and then when he was with Bob Tasca and parked right next to us, Barbara and Sheila became great friends. They even went to Germany together, on a whim, once. So, being able to run into her was a great thing and lots of hugs and smiles were shared.

After that, I didn’t want to wear our Sonoma guests out, so we decided to duck out a little early so that we could get cleaned up and have a wonderful dinner. Vince had gotten us reservations at the Swiss Hotel, on the square, and as Barbara and I turned the corner from our hotel to walk over there, we timed it just perfectly and met Vince and Mary at the crosswalk.

Dinner was fabulous, and the conversation was perfect. Until last summer, I hadn’t seen Vince since the final game of our 1978 season in the Appalachian League, against the Johnson City Cardinals. Last year, we mostly reminisced and talked about playing together, our old teammates, and the little town of Painstville itself. This time, we talked a lot of drag racing but we also just talked. About anything and everything. Just like you would with great friends. Almost all of it was accompanied by much laughter. It’s as if our summer in Paintsville had just happened. That’s pretty cool. No, it’s very cool.

My sister Mary, who along with her husband Lonnie lives on Kauai in Hawaii, resides in paradise. She relishes it every day, never taking it for granted. Vince and Mary also live in paradise. And they never take it for granted. When Barbara said to me “I could live here” I didn’t hesitate to agree. I don’t think we could afford to live in Sonoma, but I could live there. If we could find a way to have a condo or time-share there, in addition to our Minnesota home, I’d jump at that in an instant. But, and this is the big “but” in the concept, we both agreed we’d need to live within walking distance of the Sonoma Square. Is that asking too much?

We said our goodbyes and promised to do it again soon. Then, Barbara and I retired to our room and got a phenomenal night’s sleep. When you do that much, and have that much fun while laughing almost constantly, it’s so good for the soul it allows you to sleep perfectly.

My first "tree selfie" and it was epic!
My first “tree selfie” and it was epic!

On Sunday, we had a rough idea of our itinerary and where we wanted to go, but we also pledged to each other that we’d be open for any diversion we came upon. Our first target, though, was the Armstrong Redwoods State Reserve, about an hour from the hotel. We drove west out of town, up through Santa Rosa and Sebastopol, to the little village of Guerneville, then up into the park. Before we even got out of the car, we were staring at some of the most beautiful trees upon which a set of human eyes could gaze. They are amazing.

The reserve is a great place, with all sorts of options for walking trails through the towering forests. We mapped out a route that was about two miles long, but I wouldn’t call what we did a hike. A hike is when you are doing it for the exercise and for the walk itself. Walking two miles in the Armstrong Reserve is an exercise in staring, touching, and admiring so many enormous trees you can barely fathom how tall and how old they are. When one of the oldest trees in the park finally came to its end, they cut a cross section of it and posted the various world events that happened while that tree was still alive. At the center of it, by the first ring, the little tag said “This Tree Germinated” and the year was listed as somewhere in the 900’s. That’s nine hundred and something. That’s old. Like REALLY old. It’s almost impossible to fathom something living that long.

We truly were strolling around in wonder of it all. If you’re ever in northern California, take the time to visit and walk around this natural treasure. It’s peaceful, it’s breathtaking, and it’s all real. I think that’s the hardest thing to get your head wrapped around. It’s all nature. It’s all so old, and the trees are so enormous. It’s beyond the scope of our normal lives so much, it all seems impossible.

Feeling the peace and serenity a giant Redwood can provide.
Feeling the peace and serenity a giant Redwood can provide.

Go there, if you can.

Take your time. Walk slowly. Admire the beauty of it while you also find yourself respecting it enormously. We savage this planet in so many ways, taking almost no time to think or feel concern when ruining the water, chopping down the trees, or polluting the air.

Spend a few hours with the Redwoods, and you’ll have a whole new appreciation for just how beautiful life can be. Can you tell our trip there was mind blowing? It was.

After we pulled ourselves away from the park, we headed toward the beach. The drive through that part of the state is gorgeous, and for me it’s a lot of fun. I like roads that challenge me to technically drive well enough so that if Barb is looking at her phone she won’t even notice that we driving on sharp curves, back and forth. I don’t always hit the apex just right, but it’s a fun thing when I do.

Once we got to the coast, we were just about 20 minutes from Bodega Bay, on beautiful Highway 1. I’d been there before, usually when I was doing the whole Western Swing with John Fink, and Barbara and I were both eager to get there and enjoy it for a few hours.

If you’ve never been to Bodega Bay, but are a fan of Alfred Hitchcock films, you’ve seen it. It’s the location for “The Birds” and it’s beautiful. We were both starving by the time we got there, and I spotted a nice place called The Tides alongside the road. When we parked, it hit me. I said “My gosh, I’ve been here before. When I was a scout for the Blue Jays I came over to the coast for a day, one time. I ate here.” I love deja vu.

Bodega Bay
Bodega Bay

We had a great lunch, and then strolled along the dock for a bit. For the northern coast, it was about as perfect a days as you can get. It can be really foggy in that part of the state, just like it can down in San Francisco, and if the air is wet and the breeze is strong, you can find yourself buying a cheap sweatshirt in a hurry, also just like you can in San Francisco. Del Worsham and I used to laugh about how many $20 San Francisco sweatshirts we owned, because we never remembered to take one when we’d go to the city before Sonoma.

Our visit, to Bodega Bay, was blessed with gorgeous weather. And yes, I had packed a pullover just for this day, but I forgot to put it in the car and left it in the room. No worries, though. It was perfect.

We got back in the car and drove back north for a bit, and when we came to the parking area at Portuguese Beach I said, “Do you want to go walk on the sand?” Barb definitely wanted to do that, and so we did. Because we could.

We hadn’t exactly come prepared for a beach visit (I was wearing jeans and sneakers) but what the heck. That wasn’t going to stop us. We parked the rental and walked down the sandy slope to the wide beach.

Life's a beach!
Life’s a beach!

For those who have never been to a northern California beach, the truth is the sand is really coarse. It’s more like tiny pebbles, actually. And when you’re away from the water, where the tide never reaches, it can be really taxing to walk through, because you sink in so much. We took off our shoes and got down by the water as soon as we could, to walk on the more hard-packed tidal part of the beach. It was still fabulous.

Just to smell the saltwater, and feel the sand between your toes, is a wonderful thing. There were lots of people there, many with some adorable dogs, but it never felt crowded and it never felt hot. It just felt great.

We walked the full length of the beach, and said hello to all of the friendly people we passed. You could feel your batteries charging the whole time. Sometimes you just need to get away.

And sometimes you just need to take your shoes off and walk on the beach. I was so glad we stopped. I was even more glad we’d saved Sunday to do something like that. We had to get back to the real world on Monday, starting with the drive back up to Sacramento that had me stressed, but to take just one afternoon and spend it in such a gorgeous part of the country was exactly what we needed, and we were both smiling like goofy kids the whole time we were there, at the Armstrong Reserve, in Bodega Bay, on Portuguese Beach, and even in the car on those winding roads.

A day well spent.
A day well spent.

A day well spent. That’s what it was.

When we got back to Sonoma, we were finally hungry again after our wonderful lunch at The Tides, but we weren’t so hungry we wanted another big meal. So, the call of a Bob’s Margarita at Maya won the “What are we doing for dinner?” battle.

We walked over there and sat at the bar, splitting a plate of fantastic nachos while we sipped our martini-style drinks. And all the time, we smiled and talked about two fantastic days, in fantastic places, with wonderful friends. To see Vince and Mary again was priceless. To share my NHRA family with them was awesome. To spend two days doing such fun stuff with my lovely wife, was the best.

And, of course, we were so worried about a replay of the Friday traffic, trying to get to Sacramento, we left a full four hours before my flight, which means we left five hours before Barb’s. And you can probably guess how the traffic was. We never slowed down once. My flight was at 1:00 and we were checked in and through security by 11:00. So, we had lunch. Because we could. Now, it’s Thursday (Blog Day) and Barb has been out in Liberty Lake all week. She was going to spend the weekend there, because she has to spend all of next week there as well, but yesterday she made up her mind to come home for a few days. I applauded that decision (not literally, just mentally.)

And yes, I could live in Sonoma. I know my wife agrees. Maybe some day…

Until then, thanks again for reading. Time to get this posted and get back to “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” I’m already three years into the Worsham era, and the memories are flowing full speed. Back to work!

Bob Wilber, at your service with a great weekend behind me.

Of Jackets, Books, Sonoma, and Billikens…

HOME / Of Jackets, Books, Sonoma, and Billikens…

July 28th, 2016

It’s Thursday. That’s Blog Day. This is the blog. Everything is in balance. Well, not everything. My office in the lower level of our house isn’t exactly perfect, in a Feng Shui sort of way. I do have a new giant frame, filled with jackets, that needs to go on the wall, but it’s really heavy and very bulky and it will take some effort to get it hung, so for now it leans against said wall. And, I’m actually a little behind in the writing process this week. We are finally into the Worsham years with Chapter 26, and the flood of memories is hard to stem. I keep going back and adding stuff to what I’ve already written because “Well, that has to be in there” or “I can’t believe I forgot to write about that.”  For instance, in this chapter I not only meet Barbara, my wife to be, but she also gets to know my wonderful cat Shasta, who moved in with her before I did.

That made me realize I had forgotten to introduce Shasta in the appropriate chapter, after he adopted me at the Topeka Humane Society when I worked at Heartland Park. See, this whole book-writing thing is like a puzzle. You just never know when you’re done. Imagine if this was fiction! Sometimes my life seems like fiction, but if it really was I’d be stumped to keep the story lines straight.

Looking back to last weekend, I did indeed watch the “live” coverage on FOX, from Denver, and I thought they did a really good job of keeping the flow going. I felt absolutely sick, though, when I was watching Saturday’s qualifying on NHRA All Access and saw Wilk hit the wall again. Absolutely sick. The bad news was filled with lots of items, including him being unable to race on Sunday because of the wreck and the fact it cost him a lot of money (again) but the good news was the fact John Force wasn’t in the way when Wilk’s LRS Mustang made a hard right again. And the second piece of good news was that Tim now feels they have finally gotten to the root of the problem that also bit them in Topeka, and it has to do with a fuel line problem. I sure hope so. No one works harder and no one works smarter than Tim, Richard Hartman, and the rest of the Team Wilk crew. They are truly being tested right now, with these crazy incidents, and here’s hoping they come back stronger than ever.

I’ll be there in Sonoma on Saturday to cheer them on, and I can’t wait to get there. What will make it even better is the fact Barbara will be sitting next to me on the plane, on the way to Sacramento, and she’ll be at the race with me, as well. I know a lot of people are eager to see her, and she’s just as eager to see all of her racing friends. Plus, as I mentioned in a previous blog, our friends Vince and Mary Bienek will be going to the race with us, for their initiation to NHRA Mello Yello Drag Racing. Bring on the Nitro! Advice to them: Wear comfortable shoes and clothes you can layer. Sonoma Raceway can go from blistering heat to shivering cold when the marine layer floats in.

So, you add together the fact I’m a little behind schedule this week, with my writing of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” with the fact we’re traveling to California tomorrow, and you come up with an answer that says “I’m taking my laptop on the plane and will try to finish Chapter 26 before we touch down in Sacramento.”

And, when you get off the plane at the Sacramento airport there really should be a sign that says “Welcome To Sacrament0 – The Proud Home Of Gary Gerould.”  Someone needs to work on that.

As for a snippet, I haven’t done that in a few blogs so I might as well do it today. Here’s the set-up…

It was 1997, my first year with Del and Chuck Worsham. I had written a paragraph about the day Chuck asked me to pitch in by putting a couple of new decals on the car. When I put them on straight, he declared me to be officially in charge of decals, and that would be something I’d do for the next 19 years. Had I botched those first decals, I might have never done it again.

And then I continued on by writing the two paragraphs below. In ’97, things like websites for racing teams were in their absolute infancy. We were all figuring it out and exploring the concepts without much of a plan, but now that I look back on it I can see how my approach to our popular website was a key indicator of how I’d later write my blogs. The approach wasn’t to show race cars doing burnouts. The approach was to give viewers (and, later, readers) a peek into the life we all were leading. It went like this:

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At around the same time, I made another new inroad in terms of my career. I talked Del into launching DelWorsham.com and I managed every facet of the fledgling website. Being on the internet was changing every aspect of the sport, and every aspect of life, for that matter. Our site took off and quickly became one of the most popular in the NHRA realm, and the “Photo Gallery” page was the main reason for that. Little did I know, at the time, that my approach to photos was a preview of how I’d approach blogging, eight years later.

Pictures of the race car launching or doing a burnout were fine, but they were everywhere. As I told Del, “I want fans to look at the photos from each race and think that it feels like they were right there behind the ropes with us. And I can take them there in photos.”

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Chapter 26 is about a lot more, and my guess is that 99% of the folks who read it will be surprised by some of the behind-the-scenes stuff that eventually all worked out to spawn a 12-year run with Del and Chuck. As we say in the publishing world, “You’ll have to wait for the book to learn all about that stuff.”

I actually don’t know if that’s what we say in the publishing world. I’ve never been in it before.

So (he writes, as a signal that he’s shifting gears to a new subject), what about this giant frame that’s leaning against the wall behind my desk? You asked that, right?

Well, the move back to Minnesota created a need to do some additional purging of a lot of old stuff. I had two closets here absolutely jam-packed with old jackets, sweatshirts, and crew shirts. That would be okay if we had a surplus of closets, but the two in question were the closets in the two guest bedrooms, so I needed to clear the space. I’d already gotten rid of a lot of it thanks to my Kickstarter campaign, and was down to what I thought was the bare minimum of some of the other items, but after analyzing both closets completely I realized I could do more. Charity is the way to make that happen, and in Minnesota it’s always a good idea to contribute things like coats and jackets to charity. Being warm is kind of critical.

When I came upon my high school letter jacket, I had an idea. I could take my high school jacket and put it together with my college baseball jacket and the three jackets that represented my professional baseball career, and make a nice display out of it. That would clear a lot of space out of one closet, and it would give me another piece of memorabilia that would make me smile. Having them all stuffed into a closet didn’t make me smile.

Way better than being stuffed in a closet
Way better than being stuffed in a closet

So, I apologize for the lousy photo but here it is. It’s huge, it’s very heavy, and it’s bulky as well, so I couldn’t arrange a photo that didn’t have reflections on it, but you can get the idea here. My St. Louis U. High letterman’s jacket (Class of 1974) is the main piece, with my SIU Cougars, Detroit Tigers, Oakland A’s, and Toronto Blue Jays jackets surrounding it (in clockwise chronological order). Yes, you can click on it to make it larger.

And, you ask, what’s that thing on the left sleeve of the high school jacket?

Well, the St. Louis University sports teams are called the Billikens. I attended high school at St. Louis University High, so we were the Junior Billikens. The SLU Billiken is kind of tough and mean looking. Our Junior Billiken looked like a cuddly little Buddha with big feet.

So, you also ask, what the heck is a Billiken? I’ve heard a lot of different stories over the years, but the most credible one is that the original Billiken was a charm doll, invented in the early 1900s by a woman who claimed she saw the mystical character in a dream. She considered her Billiken to be “The God of things as they ought to be.” I know, it doesn’t make much sense to me, either, but by all accounts a Billiken is supposed to bring you luck. I can vouch for that.

Note the accurately sized feet on the Junior Billiken!
Note the accurately sized feet on the Junior Billiken!

And here’s the next funny thing. When the owner of the art gallery that framed my jackets brought it to the house himself, he helped me lug the thing downstairs. When he left, I looked on the back and found this. It’s the sketch made by Kyle, the young man at the gallery who has coordinated most of my framed items, over the years. He drew this to show the framers exactly where everything was supposed to go.

It cracked me up, because he really took a lot of care and put a lot of detail into the sketch. So much so, he actually drew the Junior Billiken on the sleeve. With his big feet!

And for the record, I was never the Junior Billiken mascot during my four years at SLUH. We did have one, and it consisted of a guy in a blue sweatshirt, white pants, and a big smiling plaster Billiken head. And also for the record, since SLUH is an all-boys Jesuit prep school, our cheerleaders were guys as well. No, they did not wear skirts. They did, however, get our student section to be incredibly loud at football games. And they formed a human pyramid every game. The smallest guy got on top and stood on the backs of the two guys below him, who in turn were kneeling on four guys below them. Good times.

I’ll always be proud of being a SLUH Jr. Bill, and I’ll also be proud that I got through four years there without flunking out. I came close, as a Freshman, but I made it through one of the most difficult curriculums of any high school in the country. Put it this way, college was an absolute breeze compared to SLUH.

Complete with a cuddly Junior Billiken and his big feet.
Complete with a cuddly Junior Billiken and his big feet.

A few years back, when I was in town for the St. Louis race, I was behind a car at a stoplight, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the decal in the window. Every Wilber car from 1960 to 1974 had one just like this in the rear window. The design hasn’t changed one bit from when Del Wilber Jr. (Class of ’63) or Rick Wilber (Class of ’66) roamed the hallways of “the U High” before me.

So that’s about it for this week. I have to get a haircut, do some editing, and then do some creative packing well before dinner, because we’re actually going to a play tonight. We’ll be leaving for the airport by 9:00 tomorrow morning, and then off to Gary Gerould’s home town before we drive down to Sonoma.

I wonder if we can drive right past the Vacaville exit without pulling off the highway for In-N-Out…  The force is strong, with this one…

Bob Wilber, at your service as a former Junior Billiken.

Great Weekends, Both Past And Future

HOME / Great Weekends, Both Past And Future

July 21st, 2016

When I established this routine of “Thursday Blog Day” it was by design, but the timing of it was pure chance. With the writing of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” being my prime endeavor, and with three consecutive days of doing so seeming to be about right, each week, the blog slid safely into Thursday. Upon replay review, it was confirmed the blog kept its foot on the base and the ruling on the field was upheld.

What I didn’t realized, when Thursday became the day, was that it was perfectly positioned for looks both forward and backward. I’d always have the prior weekend and three days of writing to summarize, while the next weekend (and whatever it had in store for me) was just ahead. This blog is a perfect example of that neat positioning.

Last weekend was our second annual SIUE Baseball mini-reunion, featuring three of my longtime roommates and teammates. After that fun was over, this Monday through Wednesday included some of the more prolific and extensive writing I’ve done in the six months I’ve been tackling my book. Now, today is blog day. Then, this weekend kicks off the NHRA Western Swing, and although I won’t be going to Denver I will be watching some groundbreaking television, along with millions of others. Denver marks the first time we’ll not just go “live” on Sunday. We’ll go live on the main FOX broadcasting network. The big FOX. The one that airs content from little organizations like the NFL, and MLB, and the World Cup. Also some outfit called NASCAR.

We’ve already been in lofty ratings territory (yes, I still say and write “we” without thinking about it) on Fox Sports 1, but moving over to the big network this weekend, and for the rest of the Western Swing, will take NHRA Mello Yello Drag Racing to all new heights. I suspect we’ll see the best ratings in drag racing history. I can’t wait. But first, since Denver is this coming weekend, let’s look back.

Lance McCord flew in on Thursday and arrived right on time. James “Oscar” Noffke and one Bob “Radar” Ricker drove up, going the long way around from St. Louis to Kansas City then up to Albert Lea, Minn. on Wednesday, before arriving in Minneapolis on Thursday, as well. Radar dropped his son off with his daughter for the weekend, in KC, hence the circuitous trip. They arrived a few hours after Lance and I did, but not before the starter died on Oscar’s car in Albert Lea. $620 later, he had a new one. As he put it, in typical Oscar fashion, “I was thrilled.”

Lance and I headed straight from the airport to the hotel, the sumptuous Grand Hotel of Minneapolis, and checked in. We were both starving, and not sure when the other two guys would get there, so we walked a few blocks to The Loon, over near Target Center and Target Field, to grab a bite. By the time we polished off some fine grub and a couple of iced teas, the other boys were checking in at the hotel, as well.

L-R, the lineup of Noffke, Wilber, and Ricker in front of the new stadium (photo by McCord)
L-R, the lineup of Noffke, Wilber, and Ricker in front of the new stadium (photo by McCord)

We had a few hours to kill, before our 7:15 dinner reservations at Manny’s, so we decided to aimlessly walk around downtown for a bit, starting with a stroll down to US Bank Stadium, the gigantic new home for the Minnesota Vikings. It will be officially opening in mere days now, and the first event will actually be a soccer game, with Chelsea taking on AC Milan in an international friendly match.

And you know the drill with the photos. Click to enlarge!

While we were standing across the street from the stadium, admiring its large “Viking-ship prow” architecture, the light rail train went by before it stopped at the new US Bank station. Lance asked where it went, and I told him there were two lines. One line goes to downtown St. Paul, and the other to the airport and then on to Mall of America. Lance said, “Well, let’s go!” We were headed to MOA.

We walked over and bought our tickets (the light rail stations work on the honor system, and by all accounts the vast majority of riders do pay to do so) and waited for the correct train to arrive. We also decided our trip to MOA would be strictly “guy style” and there would be no shopping, per se. We were just going so they could see the mammoth place with its amusement park in the middle. The one exception to the “no shopping” rule would be any store that sold a wide variety of baseball hats. I needed a new Twins hat, and all of us can browse in a place like that for a bit.

Commuters on a train.
Commuters on a train.

We rode the train. We watched the scenery go by. We welcomed travelers and a number of flight attendants at the two airport stops, and then we disembarked at MOA.

It went something like this… Walk in, go straight to the amusement park. Stare in wonder at the size and scope of it all. Listen as I tell them some key facts about the place, including its average daily attendance of upward of 100,000 people, the fact the amusement park in the center has no heating system despite typical Minnesota winter weather, and that it sits right where old Metropolitan Stadium was. Turn around and spot the red stadium chair attached to the wall, where Harmon Killebrew’s longest Met Stadium hotel landed. Walk to the other side of the park and find home plate on the floor. Marvel at exactly how far away the red chair is. Get an iced tea or soda. Walk one lap around the Mall and stop at Lidz, a hat store. Buy new Twins hat. Get back on the train.

We are nothing if not efficient, and MOA was successfully checked off the to-do list for my three buddies.

Upon our return to the hotel, we discovered we were not the only baseball-related people staying there. A few fans were lined up behind ropes near the front door, with pens and memorabilia in hand, waiting to get autographs. For the record, they were not waiting for our autographs. I know that’s hard to believe. No, the Cleveland Indians were staying in the hotel as well, and they filtered in on Thursday after the four-day All-Star Break. Some of those guys are big.

We cleaned up as best we could, donning the best apparel we’d brought with us, and walked over to Manny’s for dinner. It was pretty spectacular. Okay, it was really spectacular. And when Lance picked up the bill before the rest of us could get to our wallets, I made it clear he wouldn’t be buying anything else over the weekend. My monthly mortgage payment is smaller than the Manny’s tab he picked up. And I’m not kidding.

Downtown Minny in the mist. Sorta dramatic, right?
Downtown Minny in the mist. Sorta dramatic, right?

Since we were on foot, we had a nightcap at the bar there at Manny’s, then strolled back to the hotel as a light mist fell. It was barely enough to get you wet, but it was just enough to make the downtown Minneapolis skyline fairly dramatic, even with just an iPhone in hand.

The guys had already decided they liked Minneapolis. They also quickly picked up on the fact the whole “Minnesota Nice” thing is real. Everywhere we went, everyone was very friendly. The view of the skyscraper disappearing into the mist was just a nice capper on the evening.

Once we were back at the Grand, we decided to have one more drink. Well, I decided to have one more drink. The other three guys apparently, according to what I heard in the morning, decided to close the place down. Hey, we were on vacation!

No one got up early on Friday. Our only appointment for the entire day revolved around a text message I got from Dave St. Peter, the President of the Minnesota Twins. It instructed me to wait to hear from a guy named Clyde Doepner, who would be calling me shortly with instructions for our guided tour of Target Field that afternoon.

We watched a bit of the British Open, in Lance’s room, then walked a couple of blocks to Key’s Cafe, in the Foshay Tower building. We have a Key’s out here in Woodbury, as well, so I knew it would be good and the portions would be large. Key’s Cafe is known for their incredible all-day breakfasts, so we dug in with authority. My omelet was the size of the Sunday newspaper. Including all the supplements.

Clyde called while we were there, and he sounded really excited to show us around later that afternoon. He told us to meet him outside Gate 29 at 4:00, a full hour before the gates would officially open. As we walked back to the hotel, I called Barbara and said, “Dave got us all set up with a guy named Clyde. He sounds like he might be an older guy. He’s probably a volunteer who helps do stuff like this.”

Once it got to be 3:00, we couldn’t watch any more golf and we were stir crazy, so we headed over toward the ballpark and bought a few soft drinks and an appetizer at Kieran’s Irish Pub, sitting outdoors on their 1st Avenue patio. I believe that’s called “dining al fresco.” I don’t know Al Fresco. Never met the man. Can’t vouch for him…

Hanging with Clyde. What an incredible two hours!
Hanging with Clyde. What an incredible two hours!

At 4:00 sharp, we approached Gate 29 and Clyde spotted us coming. When he introduced himself, he added that he’s the Twins’ official curator, in charge of all the club’s history and artifacts. He was not a volunteer. He was instead, one of the most critical individuals in the organization, when it came to preserving the team’s history, and he started his job in the 60’s, down at Met Stadium, after the Washington Senators moved to Minnesota to become the Twins. What a guy he turned out to be, too.

Clyde basically owns the place. Everywhere we went, people were shaking his hand and saying hello, and he knew everyone’s name. Secure doors? No problem. Private elevators? C’mon in. The story behind that Harmon Killebrew display, and how it was almost lost forever? He can tell ya. He was there when it was saved.

We went everywhere. All around the concourses, through the private Delta 360 suites area, into the curator’s private vault room, where everything not on display is stored and catalogued, out to the Town Ball Tavern above the left field corner, where amateur baseball is celebrated and the floor is historic. It’s the original floor from the Armory building a few blocks away. It would be the floor upon which the Minneapolis Lakers won multiple NBA championships, with their star big man George Mikan. If you ever wondered why the L.A. Lakers had such an odd name, playing in part of the country with so few lakes, that’s the reason. They kept the name when they moved.

I thought about grabbing a bat and jumping right in there...
I thought about grabbing a bat and jumping right in there…

We toured the press box, saw the TV and radio booths, and finally went down to the restricted areas below the grandstand. We walked down a long hallway, passed the umpires’ dressing room, and the light at the end of that tunnel was the camera well next to the Cleveland Indians’ dugout. A few steps later, the crunch of the warning track under our sneakers was a welcomed sound. The Twins had just wrapped up their extended batting practice, and the Indians were stretching and getting ready to take BP themselves. Despite the fact all of us have played a lot of baseball, and two of us played at the professional level, it’s still pretty cool to be on the field, just a few feet behind the cage.

Clyde was such an endless wealth of information it was staggering. He spent a full two hours with us, and when it was time for him to go to his next appointment, he stopped and came back with a few additional tidbits of Twins history twice, before he finally left.

It was sincerely an honor to spend so much time, doing so many cool things, with such a knowledgeable and friendly guy.

We had already purchased tickets for the game, so after another leisurely stroll around the concourse, we headed down to our seventh-row seats to enjoy the ballgame. I’d like to say our enjoyment of said game hinged totally on the play of the Twins, but it really didn’t. I was the only true Twins fan in the group, so it mattered to me, but the other guys are baseball fans. We were there for the experience. They are now fans of Target Field, as well. And Radar even bought a Twins cap.

Four guys at a ballgame...
Four guys at a ballgame…

Again, the friendliness of Minnesotans was on full display in the seats all around us. Everyone was overly friendly, very polite, and totally welcoming.

In the game, Mike Napoli of the Indians hit a ball into the upper deck in left. Had the grandstand not been in its way, NASA would still be tracking it. Final score: Indians 5 – Twins 2. Brian Dozier went deep for the home team.

Late in the game, a vendor came down our aisle selling hot dogs. I’d already told the guys that the hot dogs in the stands are better than at most parks, but with our box seats we had access to a private area under the grandstand, with a full concession stand, a bar, and restrooms. We had purchased the much better ballpark grub in there already, so no one was interested in a hot dog from a vendor, in the seventh inning.

And then we watched this guy work. Every sale was an experience, as he announced in a theatrical voice every step of the process, pulling out the wax paper and bun with a stage-acting flourish. Pulling out the hot dog carefully, and then dramatically adding the dog to the bun as if a Tony Award depended on it. It was hilarious. For one customer, he even stood back and held the mustard bottle above his head, perfectly adding just the right amount to the top of the dog, which he held at belt level. Radar said, “Heck, I gotta buy one. I don’t even want to eat it, but I gotta buy one. This guys is just too awesome.”

All the other fans around us were laughing and applauding. I think the guy ended up selling about a dozen dogs just around our row. He even had his own baseball card, which he gave to Radar.  If you search for “hot dog guy Target Field” on YouTube, you can find all sorts of videos fans have shot of him. He must make the most tips of any vendor in the park.

After the game, we walked back to the hotel and finally admitted we are, indeed, old. We went straight to bed.

The next morning, we headed over to Woodbury. Barb had sandwiches ready for us, and the guys enjoyed looking around the house and seeing the memorabilia I have on the walls. Then we sat down in front of the new 65″ TV and watched “Fastball”. It’s a fabulous new movie about the science behind the most powerful pitch in the game, and it traces all the great flamethrowers from Walter Johnson to Goose Gossage, from Bob Feller to Bob Gibson, and from Sandy Koufax to Nolan Ryan. It’s a fascinating show, narrated by Kevin Costner. If you’re a baseball fan, watch it. If you’re a science geek, watch it. It’s fantastic.

Not a bad view, from the 12th floor at the St. Paul Hotel
Not a bad view, from the 12th floor at the St. Paul Hotel

Later in the afternoon, Barb got to join the adventure. Lance, Radar, and I drove to downtown St. Paul and checked in at the historic St. Paul Hotel, while Oscar rode with Barbara. We’d be joined by plenty of others later in the day. And the view from the room Barb and I got was fairly spectacular.

After we got to our rooms, the guys and I walked around downtown for a bit, making an initial beeline for the Herb Brooks stature outside the Xcel Energy Center. Do you believe in miracles?

We then walked through the tunnel to the lobby of the arena, and browsed through the Minnesota Wild’s team store, known as The Hockey Lodge. All the gates into the arena were closed, but one young security guy was seated next to an open area on a folding chair. I said, “Any chance I can show my buddies the arena? We’ll just go in and out.”

He said, “Well, there’s nothing going on in there, but sure. You can go look around.” We did just that, and as we left I thanked the young man again. He said, “Thanks for stopping in to see us!” The guys got a kick out of that.

When we got back to the hotel, we met in the lobby for a bit, and Lance watched a tall gentleman with a handlebar mustache walk through with his wife. He said, “I was going to say that guy looks like Rollie Fingers, but it actually is Rollie Fingers.” Sure enough, it was.

There was a big charity benefit in the hotel over the weekend, and Saturday night was apparently the big keynote event. Rollie Fingers was just one of many famous folks who donned tuxedos and formal gowns for the fundraiser.

We had dinner plans, however, so we couldn’t sit around and idly gawk at celebs. The guys were still pretty bushed from our hectic pace in Minneapolis, but Barbara and I wanted to meet our friend Lynn Blake in Lowertown, so we walked down there, around 6:00.

Lynn and Terry Blake are former neighbors in the old neighborhood, and are dear friends. They’re our former neighbors who are just finishing the process of totally and utterly downsizing, now that they’re about to be empty-nesters. They sold their big house around the corner from where we used to live, and rented a two-bedroom apartment in the Lowertown section of St. Paul, in a massive building that used to be the main Post Office. We thought we were adjusting by moving to this place. I don’t know how we could do what they’re doing, but I’m a little jealous of what they’ve done.

We had glass of wine with Lynn at a sidewalk cafe, and then walked back up the hill to Kincaid’s, right across the street from the hotel. And much fun was had by all. It was off-the-charts fun.

Terry Blake arrived to join his wife, and we also welcomed Joe and Mary Beth Gillis, while Scott Meehan tagged along as well. It was a mini-Marsh Creek reunion featuring Lance, Oscar, and Radar as official guests. Most of us haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

They put us at a private table in the back, which was probably a good thing for all the other diners, and we ate and imbibed while a major thunderstorm lit up the windows with lightning strikes, as the rain poured down on the streets. I had salmon, for those of you keeping score at home.

So, it was wonderful. I got to spend more time with my buddies, and we’re already talking about next summer. We’ve decided a Major League ballgame should continue to be a key part of the process, and right now we’re thinking of Seattle, San Francisco, or San Diego as 2017 options, but I’m sure there are other choices, as well, and we’re open to them all.

This time, it was really special for me to be able to have two groups of wonderful dear friends all join up for a great dinner and epic conversations. Like in “Ghostbusters” it’s not always safe to “cross the beams” like that, but I was confident our Woodbury friends and my SIUE buddies would all enjoy each other’s company, and it was a riot. Big thanks to everyone for spending the evening with us.

The only hole in the evening was that Neighbor Dave and Nichol couldn’t make it. Their daughter Alexa was in town with her hockey-player boyfriend CJ, and that was their completely understandable priority. Hopefully, we’ll get together with them very soon.

As for the book, yesterday was an unprecedented day. I had a great phone conversation with Whit Bazemore, in mid-morning, before I started writing. We enjoyed catching up on things and talking about our lives, what we’ve been through, things we’ve learned, and where we’ve come. Just a lot of great stuff with one of the more interesting guys I ever met in drag racing. He also connected a few dots for me, on things I remembered from our time together in 1996 but couldn’t completely nail down. Then I picked up where I’d left off with Chapter 25 and started writing. And writing. And writing.

Five or six hours later, I took a break. And I realized I’d not only finished Chapter 25, I’d just kept going and the last four or five pages were actually the start of Chapter 26! I’d never accidentally started a new chapter without realizing it, before.

So what does that mean? It means “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” is now into the Worsham years, and that’s really exciting. When I sat down, back out in Liberty Lake on the first Monday after the new year, the mountain I was about to climb was so stratospherically tall I had to force myself to not even think about it. I could only think of that first page, and that first chapter. Since then, I’ve been “going to work” four days a week to tackle chapter after chapter, always keeping the blinders on to focus on each week’s story. From childhood, to high school, to college, with baseball a constant theme until indoor soccer draws me in, it’s been page after page of memories. And then my first racing job at Heartland Park. Then working for the guy in New Jersey as his PR assistant, representing Mike Dunn and the late Chuck Etchells. I knew by then that my dream was to be a full-time PR rep and marketing guy for a top flight NHRA team, being fully responsible for my part of the organization while being trusted to do it all well. It was a dream I chased for many years, while a few detours kept me from it. The timing had to be right. The dream couldn’t be forced to happen.

In 1997, the dream presented itself to me. I’d still need to work hard and do well for it to fully come true, but it was right in front of me with the Worshams. Nothing would ever be the same for me, again. To now be writing about it, makes the hair on my arms stand up. I’m finally in the real home stretch, writing about the most important time in my life. And at the very start of it, in the spring of ’97, Lance introduced me to Barbara.

At the age of 40, I was entering the best and most important time of my life. And I finally get to put it all on paper.

Minny and Paul wish you a wonderful weekend!
Minny and Paul wish you a wonderful weekend!

Now, I’ll wrap this up and leave you with the vision of Minny and Paul, as they shake hands across the Mississippi, smiling as they oversee beautiful Target Field.

And I’ll turn my sights to the weekend. It’ll be very odd to not be in Denver with Dick Levi and his big group of friends, up on top of the hill overlooking the valley. But the chance to watch this race unfold on FOX this Sunday will be a day to remember.

It also looks like it’s going to be Denver hot out there this year. Over the years, we’ve gotten lucky a few times, but more often than not the July sun beats down on you up there on the mountain, before the afternoon storms roll over the hills. At that altitude, it can feel like the sun is about 15 feet above your head.

Next week I’m off to Sonoma and I got the great news last night that Barb can clear her schedule enough to come along. And, even better, we’ll be taking Vince and Mary Bienek with us, to get their first taste (and smell) of NHRA on Saturday. Another baseball reunion!

See you next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service with great friends all around.

Reunions Are Fun

HOME / Reunions Are Fun

July 14th, 2016

Hello everyone! This might be a bit of a short one on this Thursday Blog Day because it’s been quite a condensed week. I went to the Route 66 Nationals in Joliet over the weekend, then spent Monday through Wednesday dutifully writing Chapter 24 of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts.” Today, in just an hour or so, I’m headed to the airport to pick up former college teammate and roommate Lance McCord. It’s a good thing I fired the new chapter off to my editor Greg Halling already, because the only “work” left for me this week will entail fine food, a few glasses of wine, and the company of good friends. Plus a ballgame.

My first reunion, however, was at the race. When I went to Gainesville for a day, back in March, the tour was only on its third race of the year, so it wasn’t like anyone in the pits or the Media Center had even had time to notice I wasn’t around. This past weekend, the Joliet race marked the 13th race of the season, which is now in its sixth month. It had been a while.

I flew down on Friday, getting to my hotel in Bolingbrook just in time to open my laptop and fire up NHRA All-Access to watch the second qualifying session.  That allowed me to watch Wilk scream down the track in his Levi, Ray & Shoup Mustang to a 3.894 at a huge 330 mph. Much merriment was had by me.

On Saturday morning, I didn’t have to beat the sunrise to get to the track because the Joliet race has a unique qualifying schedule that starts in the late afternoon on both Friday and Saturday. I had breakfast and relaxed for a while, then headed down I-55 toward the track around 11:00 a.m. feeling like I was most certainly late. It’s weird going to the races but not in any official capacity. I have to remind myself that I can do whatever I want and go whenever I want.

When I got on Route 53 to head south to the track, I was surrounded by Funny Car teams in their tow vehicles, so I guessed I was right on time. I’m smart like that. I stopped at Credentials (another weird thing) and then parked my car on the grass lot right behind the pro pits. The lot was packed, so my bright brain also summarized that while I was on time in terms of when the pro sessions were, I was quite tardy in comparison to all the fans and officials who filled the lot. That was okay. A crowded parking lot is a good thing.

My first stop was the LRS pit area, since it was the first thing I came to when I walked through the gate. With Joliet being “just up the road” from Springfield, the Team Wilk transporter gets a primo spot on the end of the aisle. It’s a beacon for Wilk Warriors, and that’s what I am these days. A self-employed writer and a Wilk Warrior.

Best. Hugs. Ever.
Best. Hugs. Ever.

It was, as I knew it would be, wonderful to see everyone. Krista Wilkerson gives the greatest hugs in the history of the world. I dashed around and saw everyone as fast as I could, including all the crew guys, Tim himself, and a bevy of good friends from Springfield.

I had heard that Christopher Knight (aka Peter Brady from “The Brady Bunch”) was coming to the event, and on Friday he sent me an email to confirm that. Plus, world-class drummer Gregg Potter and Cathy Rich, the daughter of legendary drummer Buddy Rich, were also scheduled to make an appearance, so there was lots to look forward to in terms of special guests.

The best part of arriving at the track is the emotional feeling of it. For a week before I went, I felt just like I did before Gainesville. A bit apprehensive, a little unsure, and a bit worried. What would it feel like? Would everyone forget who I was? Would I feel like an uncomfortable outsider?

I had nothing to worry about. Quite literally, as soon as I walked in the pit and saw everyone, and especially when I was sharing that heartfelt hug with my best racing friend Krista, it was as if I had never left. Absolutely like I’d never left. It’s a wonderful thing.

I cruised up to the Media Center soon thereafter, but with it being still quite early in terms of pro qualifying many of my former peers (who are still great friends) weren’t at their posts. When I got back to the pit, Christopher was there with his fiancé Cara and her father. More handshakes and hugs.

Chris Knight is a really good guy. Considering his “child star” background, it’s just amazing how grounded and outgoing he is. And he carries no baggage about the show. People recognize him all the time and call him Peter, and he just smiles and chats and poses for photos. And here’s another thing… He is REALLY smart. He’s a sponge when it comes to technology, which is why he is captivated by Funny Cars and Top Fuelers. He’s drawn to the immensity of the power and the difficulty of getting it to the track without spinning those big round rubber things, and he’s constantly asking very detailed and very technical questions. Many of his thoughts and questions are completely and utterly over my head, but he listens to my “big picture” answers and appreciates whatever new knowledge he can glean.

Because Christopher Knight and photo-bombs. Epic.
Because Christopher Knight and photo-bombs. Epic.

Also, when you’re trying to take a photo with your buddy Krista, he’s not above the most epic photo-bomb in recent history. Who doesn’t want to have a selfie photo-bombed by Peter Brady?

When I went back to the Media Center a bit later, all of my former colleagues were there, in position, working away. It was phenomenal to see them all again. Todd Myers, who hasn’t been on the tour for a couple of years, made a comeback to sit in for Rob Geiger, who was on vacation, so I got to see that good buddy as well.  And Brandon Mudd, who has dealt with a few hospital stays and some heart repairs, was there too, in support of TJ Zizzo’s team. It was fantastic to see both of those guys.

From Kelly Topolinski to Sadie Floyd, from Elon Werner to Cody Poor, from Allison McCormick to Nicole Clark, and from John Byczek to Terry Blount, along with everyone else in the room, it was terrific to be back. It felt like home, but it was even better because I didn’t have to work.

And the additionally great news is that I won’t have to wait four months and 10 more races to do it again. It seems impossible, but the Western Swing starts next week and I’ll be heading to Sonoma for the middle leg of that trifecta. Can’t wait.

Here in the land of being a writer, Chapter 24 was a great one to write and it pushed me in a couple of ways. I didn’t want to let my condensed schedule get in the way of writing, so I diligently wrote as much as I could each day. No slacking for me. And, as much as I recalled a million great details about the time-period I’m writing about, I still needed some research materials. This chapter is big, because it’s about the nearly two years I spent as general manager of the Kansas City Attack indoor soccer team. It was a great experience, and I can still vividly remember all sorts of feelings and experiences, but I’d be lying if I said I remembered specific game dates, scores, and attendance figures.

The Attacker game program. And only two bucks!
The Attacker game program. And only two bucks!

Fortunately, after I left the Attack I clearly had a premonition that I’d someday write all about it, because I kept copies of the game program and Media Guide. Those two publications were my lifeline for three days of detailed writing.

The Attacker magazine was, I humbly believe, the best game program in the league. Everything about it was big league, thanks to a fantastic graphic artist we hired, by the name of Carl Fowler. Carl and I spent many long days and nights huddled behind his computer at his office, perfecting the layout of each page. What he created was terrific.

And the Media Guide, produced by my Attack PR Director Tyler Cundith, had more details and information than I ever could need. It was a wealth of data, and since I’m trying to drill down and provide a lot more detail than “there were a lot of people there” in these chapters, it was great to flip the pages and see that we had 8,610 fans in attendance at Kemper Arena, on October 29, 1994, when we lost a heartbreaker to the St. Louis Ambush, 10-9.

I also recall that our team owner didn’t fully understand how publications like The Attacker were funded. Just like newspapers, the actual sale of the magazine to the public is only a small part of the income generated. It was the advertising within the magazine that brought in the money. We only charged $2 for it at the gate, because I wanted to get as many copies as possible into the hands of our fans. Our sponsors and advertisers wanted exposure!

When I was sitting in a budget meeting with the ownership group, about halfway through my first season, the primary owner said, “It costs us close to three dollars to print this, right?” I affirmed that such a cost was close. It was, specifically, more like $2.75 per copy. He then said, “And we sell it for two dollars?” Again, I nodded. Then he said, “Well gosh, I sure hope we don’t sell too many of these things. We lose money on every one we sell!” I did calmly explain to him how it worked, but I gave him credit for being funny.

"Apparently named Fuzzington at birth..."
“Apparently named Fuzzington at birth…”

Within the magazine, I saw a story about our mascot, Fuzzy The Attack Cat, and that brought back a flood of memories. Prior to the season, as Tyler and I were working hard to come up with all the content, we struggled to write the bio about our big cat. At one point, I just said, “Let me take a run at this” and no more than 15 minutes later I had it. Rather than retype it, I’ll just leave it here. And you can enlarge it to read all about Fuzzy by simply clicking on it. What a great mascot he was.

Having this opportunity, to write this book, has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. I knew, going in, that I’d had an incredible upbringing and spectacular experiences in my baseball and business careers, but to put it all into words, chapter after chapter, made it all so much more vivid and made me so much more grateful. And I still have the Whit Bazemore, Del Worsham, and Tim Wilkerson eras to go. That’s a lot of material, and I won’t cut any corners, but after 24 chapters of childhood, baseball, family, school, and other experiences, it’s a rush to know I’m finally to the NHRA payoff at the end. If I could, I’d sit here nonstop for two weeks and just finish it.

Who knows, maybe I’ll do that. Okay, not nonstop, but I have a feeling that once our reunion weekend is over I’ll have an overwhelming desire to crank it up to a new writing level. And that will be cool.

Lance is in the air right now, and the other two former SIUE Cougars, Bob “Radar” Ricker and James “Oscar” Noffke are driving up. They’re currently just south of the Twin Cities in Albert Lea, Minn.

Tonight and tomorrow night, we’ll stay at the sumptuous Grand Hotel in downtown Minneapolis. Dinner at world-famous Manny’s Steakhouse is on the docket tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll hang out in downtown for a while and then head over to Target Field for the Twins game against Cleveland. Even after Manny’s tonight, I’m still assuming the hot dogs will taste great.

On Saturday, we’ll have a leisurely breakfast and then head east to Woodbury, so I can show the guys around our new home. Then, off to downtown St. Paul to meet Woodbury friends for a drink at The Bulldog, in Lowertown, before dinner at Kincaid’s. We’ll then stay at the St. Paul Hotel, and Barbara will be coming along for that.

If last year’s fantastic trip to Cooperstown and Washington D.C. is any indicator, we’re going to have a great time.

Now, time to go pick up Monsieur McCord at MSP. See you next week, with tales of fun and mayhem.

Bob Wilber, at your service and wondering if a job as an Uber driver is in my future. Probably not.

Memory Lane…

HOME / Memory Lane…

July 7th, 2016

For some unknown reason, I’ve had a slight flood of wonderful emails arrive on my laptop as of late. Mostly it’s longtime readers checking in to say they’re still out there and still reading, and some of them have brought back a fantastic series of wonderful memories, dating all the way back to the first days of the CSK blog on NHRA.com, so I figured it was time to wax poetic about all the marvelous things that have happened here over the last 11 years. Plus, it was time to dig out some old photos from blogs gone by. Photos are always important.

Back then, in August of 2005, this whole “blog thing” was new to everyone, and I was charged with the impossible twin tasks of writing it for a whole month while also writing it about my job and my life, in the first person. I was relatively certain there was no way to succeed.

Very early on, when the blog was just days or weeks old, I did my best to spread it out and keep the team involved with it, but it didn’t take long before the rest of the guys ran out of steam (or possibly interest.) So, I was on my own and I needed stories to tell. That’s why tales of travel, in the air and at the team hotel, were naturals for the blog. If the goal was to show readers what it’s like to be the Team Manager and PR rep for a Funny Car organization on the NHRA tour, travel had to be a big part of it, whether it was tales from airports or the view out of my hotel room window.

Pond Cam. A fun idea that basically went viral.
Pond Cam. A fun idea that basically went viral. (Click To Enlarge)

Another thing that happened early on was Pond Cam. I miss Pond Cam. I had shown some photos of our house and neighborhood in the opening weeks of the blog, and I noticed a sharp increase in email when I did so. So many people lived in the sunbelt, or in places where the weather didn’t change much, and they were fascinated by Minnesota, where all four seasons are vividly different. So, I took a photo of our back pond from our living room. And, Pond Cam was born.

It was a huge hit, and I made the commitment to shoot the same scene regularly so that folks in Texas or Florida or Arizona could watch the seasons change without actually having to put on a heavy coat and woolen mittens. It was fun, it was kind of whimsical, and it was very Minnesota. Watching the ice form, the snow fall, and all of the seasons come and go was something a lot of people enjoyed, and it was made better by the fact we lived in such a gorgeous area, with water out back and in front.

I think I liked it the most in the early spring, when the snow would finally start to melt and the ice would first turn to mush before leaving altogether. Watching spring “happen” in Minnesota is a fantastic thing, as the entire state comes back to life after another long cold winter. Seeing the first tulips pop out of the ground, and the ducks return, while the frogs and turtles are awakening from their winter slumbers, was a great way to feel energized for the coming spring, summer, and fall.

Let there be hockey!
Let there be hockey!

There’s no denying winter, though, and it has its own great charms up here in the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Neighbor Dave tackled the plowing and resurfacing of a hockey rink annually, until both Justin and Alexa were out of the house and on their own. That first day, when Dave would pilot the four-wheeler out there with its blade attached, was a key signal that winter had firmly and officially started.

For the first few years, after we arrived in Woodbury from Austin, Tex. in 2002, the Jacobsen kids were young enough to hit the ice almost daily. And out front, other kids in other homes had their private rinks going as well. You could sit in our living room and hear the sound of skates, sticks, and pucks coming from all directions, often late into the night with portable lights blazing.

Having just moved to the Twin Cities from Texas, I was wide-eyed and appreciative of how Minnesotans embrace every season of the year. Growing up in St. Louis, winter was something we just tried to tolerate while we counted the days until spring returned, and it always seemed like a very long wait. In Minnesota, whether it’s pond hockey or ice fishing, winter is greeted with a smile and a rush to be “out in it” most of the time.

Everybody loved Shasta
Everybody loved Shasta

The single biggest email-generating blog installment from the early years had nothing to do with the pond, or the weather, or yet another airport. I’d been showing and writing about our fabulous cat Shasta from the early days and, as he aged and slowed down drastically, I made a point of including him even more. He was a truly wonderful guy, and I can still vividly recall the almost imperceptible sound of his padded paws coming down the  carpeted upper level hallway and into the room each night, when Shasta decided it was time to go to bed. You wouldn’t think you could detect that, but Barbara and I were both fully capable of hearing him walking toward the room, making the turn through the door, and a second later feeling him land on the bed after jumping up to join us.

When Shasta passed away, while I was on yet another airplane coming home from Norwalk, I wrote an ode to him in blog form. I lost track of the number of reader emails I received, when the total passed 250. I saved them all for a very long time.

We mourned for a good long while, and one night as I laid in bed I heard him coming down the hall. I was wide awake, and completely cognizant and realistic about his passing, but it sounded so real. And then I actually FELT him jump up on the bed. The bed shook, just like it did when he’d come join us. It was so real I had to raise my head and take a look, just to make sure he wasn’t actually there. He wasn’t, but maybe he was just for a few minutes, to say goodbye.

One of the hundreds of emails came from a guy named Buck, who wrote me for the first time after the Shasta blog. He told me he’d been reading since the first day, and how touched he was by my Shasta memories. He also said, “I’m a stage actor in New York” and I thought, “Sure you are. You and every other bartender in Manhattan.” It wasn’t too long afterward that Buck Hujabre landed a gig with the “Jersey Boys” touring company. Great friendships happen in so many unexpected ways.

Just kittens then. We're lucky they adopted us.
Just kittens then. We’re lucky they adopted us.

After a few months had passed, it was time to think about allowing a new cat to adopt us, and the process started with an impromptu visit to the Woodbury Animal Shelter, as I was passing by. The very fact I pulled in told me I was ready, and I thought Barbara would be too. When I toured the cat area, looking into the various cages, I saw the two little fuzzy black brothers and fell in love. I took them both out and they jumped all over me, talking up a storm in their very vocal way. I had to get on a plane the next day, so I couldn’t take them home, but I talked to Barbara and said, “You absolutely have to go get those two cats. We need two, so they can keep each other company when we travel, and with them being brothers it will be even better. Please go get them. We must have them. They already adopted me!”

They made themselves at home right away, despite the “kitty colds” they brought with them from the shelter. Poor little Boofus was sneezing for days, and just as he started to get better Buster followed suit. They didn’t feel very well, but they bonded with us and are definitely bonded with each other.

They were also simply too adorable to ever ignore in the blog for more than one or two consecutive installments. I couldn’t help but document all the goofy and funny stuff they did, as well as the truly scary stuff like walking along the narrow bannister on the walkway above the living room or jumping over onto the window sill above the front doors.

They’ve been a huge part of this blog since the day they came home, and they will be for a good long while. They’re a little more sedate these days, sleeping in the sun or out on the porch, but at least a couple of times per day they become kittens again. The tails get fat, they bounce around sideways, and then they’re off, flying around the house at full speed before tackling each other and rolling on the floor.

Pretty classic...
Pretty classic…

They’re rarely bad, although fake plants attract them and eating those fake leaves makes for a few carpet clean-ups not too much later, but they remain so much like they’ve always been it’s amazing. Boofie has been a “Momma’s Boy” since the day he moved in, and he clings to Barbara incessantly. When she holds him, he can’t be still. He climbs up as high on her shoulder as he can get and rubs his nose and forehead on her nonstop. He also has a very different voice than Buster, and we can both tell who’s talking to us from across the house.

Buster is “Daddy’s boy” and he is the sweetest and most gentle feline soul I’ve ever met. He’s so sincere and so loving, and he loves to talk to me in a variety of ways. When he purrs and makes a noise that sounds like “Erfff” I know he’s at his happiest. He spends much of each day up on the top level of his kitty condo in the bedroom, and I make a point of stopping in there at least once an hour to say hello and give him some rubs. And all I have to do is get his brush out of the drawer and show it to him. He then heads straight to the living room floor and waits patiently for his brushings, flopping around like a fish on the dock so I can get him on all sides. They really are great boyz.

Ah yes. True winter fun...
Ah yes. True winter joy…

It’s already the height of summer here now, with all the trees full of brilliant green leaves while the yards need to be mowed weekly and the flowers on the porch need to be watered. When we lived in the old neighborhood, I would always stop and look around at the mid-point of each season, and marvel at how it was nearly impossible to envision what it was going to look like just a few months later. In July, surrounded by all this lush landscape, it’s inconceivable that we are mere months away from another winter, when the snow piles up along the side of the roads for months on end. In January, it’s just as inconceivable that it will melt and all of the white will be replaced by green. So I keep photos of the snow handy. And shoveling.

And then it will be February and time for Winter Carnival. There is no other frigidly-cold outdoor thing that is as much fun as Winter Carnival in downtown St. Paul. It was the first thing we fell in love with in Minnesota, since it was going on right outside our hotel on the first recruiting trip we made to come see the area and consider moving here from Austin.

Fabulous frozen fun
Fabulous frozen fun

We weren’t exactly sure what was going on, and we absolutely hadn’t yet bought the right type of apparel to stay outside for all of it, but the Torchlight Parade was way fun, and the campy atmosphere was brilliant. Hail the Vulc!

In later years, we didn’t always go to the Winter Carnival but I know we’ve been to it many more years than we haven’t. And we still root for the Vulcans to overthrow King Boreas, which allows summer to return. And we tour through Rice Park to see the ice sculptures and sit on the frozen royal throne.

And the people…  The single greatest thing about having written this blog for nearly 11 years is the fact I’ve met so many incredible people. Just regular folks who have become great friends. Interesting characters who added so much rich color to my life, like Kim The Lawyer, Crazy Jane, Scott The Pilot, Jim and Nancy Butler, Jon and Susan Cagle, and countless others. Plus my dearest best friend in the sport, Krista Wilkerson.

And the unique people who do neat things I can share vicariously, like Mike Hohler who produces the radio broadcasts for the San Francisco 49ers. He brought Neighbor Dave and Justin to the Metrodome one Sunday, to hold the parabolic microphones on the sidelines, and somehow neither one of them got run over by a wide receiver.

And Dennis Peek, a longtime music man from New Braunfels, Tex. down by Austin. I don’t even remember the first time we met, but we hit it off immediately and I get to pester him with all sorts of questions about music, musicians, and playing live. He always gives thoughtful answers. A good Texas boy if there ever was one.

And Nick Turner, who introduced himself to me on the final night in Pomona a few years ago. At the time, he was the drummer for a band called The Asphalt, and he ran over to me in the pits to say hello and thank me for the blog. He’s lately been playing drums for The Ataris and he’s on the Warped Tour now, as a sound tech. Very cool guy.

And the biggest rocker of all the musicians I’ve met, a big gregarious outgoing gentleman who came to the Brainerd race as a guest of CSK. We chatted for 45 minutes before I asked him what he did for a living and his response was, “I’m in a band.” Of course, I asked, “Oh, really? What’s the name of your band?” and he said “Bachman Turner Overdrive. I’m Fred Turner.” Well, you don’t say! Fred’s a fantastic guy.

Four wonderful and attractive people and some guy from a racing team.
Four wonderful and attractive people, plus some guy from a racing team.

And the aforementioned Mr. Hujabre. In case you’ve never known how to pronounce his last name, it’s sorta like “hu-ZHA-bear. Think Zsa Zsa Gabor and you’ll have the sound of it mastered.

We became email buddies immediately after he sent me the note about Shasta. Then, not long after that, when he’d joined the touring company, they came to Minneapolis and Buck left us tickets. After the show, we met him at the stage door and he gave us a quick tour around the backstage area, then we retired to a nearby bar for a couple of beers. Friends for life, ever since.

Buck and his wonderful wife Mary then lived with us when the tour came back through Minneapolis in 2011. They took over the whole lower level with son Gibson, who was just crawling at the time. While they were there, with us, Gibson took his first step. Now, Gibson and his little brother Hudson are growing so fast I can’t stand it. Great people. Absolutely world class. And it doesn’t hurt that Buck and I share a very warped sense of humor.

And let’s not forget that it was Buck who brought his cast-mate and buddy Nathan Scherich to the race in St. Louis, when “Jersey Boys” and NHRA were both “playing” in the Gateway City. Nathan made a habit of coming to the Englishtown race summer after summer, and he just wrapped up a long gig with the Broadway version of the show. He and his wife Allie have moved to Telluride, Colo. with their twin boys. The photos he shares of Telluride are breathtaking, and the boys couldn’t be any more adorable.

Just hanging around with Justin Verlander.
Just hanging around with Justin Verlander.

And athletes, both those I’ve met and those I’ve become friends with. Got to hang out with Justin Verlander for a day, a couple of years before he was both MVP and Cy Young Award winner in 2011. We had a nice time together, along with his mom, dad, and brother. Good guy, and a great pitcher.

And the guy who sat across the aisle from me and Neighbor Dave on a night flight back to MSP after the Denver race. At baggage claim, he spotted our embroidered shirts and he asked if we worked for a team. It was the summer of ’08, our last year with Del and the CSK team, and he was excited as all get-out to meet us and talk racing. He’d been at the race that day, too, with his dad. When it came time to ask him what he did for a living he said, “I play hockey” just as a Colorado Avalanche duffel bag slid down the carousel. He said, “I’m Jeff Finger” to which I replied, “Shoot man, I know who you are. I root against you at the Wild games!” We’ve been friends ever since.

And let’s never forget the night in Dallas when a large group of us dashed out of the track to make the drive up to the State Fair to see a certain band from Toronto. To stand in a backstage room and chat with Geddy Lee was surreal. I’m sure the guys remember it as vividly as I do, even the part where the ushers told us to leave our fifth-row seats because someone else had those tickets. I’m not sure how that screw up happened, but it livened up the evening even more!

The day Geddy Lee got to meet all of us!
The day Geddy Lee got to meet all of us! I’m sure he’s never forgotten this.

Since we had entered from backstage, the real “owners” of the seats had the tickets that had been scanned. The usher’s level of concern for us was about a 1 on 1-10 scale, until we casually mentioned that we were at the show as guests of Geddy Lee as we demurely pointed out our backstage passes stuck to our shirts. We were quickly relocated to equally fine seats, one section over. All of us but Jeff Arend, that is. He got to stay in his original seat for the show. When it ended, and 15,000 people exited at once, how is it that he emerged from that sea of humanity and bumped right into us?

The same thing happened a few years later at Rush show on the “Clockwork Angels” tour, in Anaheim, as Jeff and his wife Windy were in a suite while Barb and I were down on the floor in front of the stage. As the Honda Center crowd poured out of the exits, the first people we saw were Jeff and Windy. Eerie isn’t it? Must be a Canadian thing, eh?

So many fabulous people, and so many priceless memories, all thanks to a little writing exercise called a blog. I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

And my PR colleagues, over all these years. What a collection of wit, intelligence, and talent. Even you, Elon Werner. I stay in touch with so many of them, and can’t wait to see them this weekend. Even you, Elon Werner. Did I mention Elon Werner? He’s a PR guy for some guy named Force.

But the key to it all is this: None of this would’ve ever happened had I not been fortunate enough to be a manager and PR guy for Del Worsham and Tim Wilkerson. Being part of a team is what has driven me for most of my life, starting out as a baseball player, then running a few indoor soccer teams, and finally in the NHRA world with two fantastic organizations filled with great people. Talk about lucky!

Winning is good.
Winning is good.

Camaraderie is precious, and there’s none like it when you’re on a sports team. I’ve worked a few jobs outside of team sports, and yes it’s great when you and your coworkers band together and support each other as a team. But there’s something different and wonderful about being on an actual sports team, winning and losing with your teammates. Being mad when things go poorly, but celebrating like maniacs when those precious wins come along, there is truly nothing else like that.

And, I don’t think there’s anything in any other sport that’s as nerve-wracking and then totally jubilant as a win in the final round of a drag race. As the drivers stage their cars, you have no idea how it’s going to turn out but you know that in about four seconds you’ll be discovering the answer. When the win-light comes on in your lane, it’s a maximum release of joy and happiness all at once. It’s overwhelming. I never EVER got tired of it.

Then, after all the Winner’s Circle hoopla and all the photos, in all the different hats, it’s time to settle down and catch your breath, just so you can go out to dinner and bask in it. You soak it all in, you replay every round, you apparently enjoy the food but barely taste it through all the excitement.

In Seattle, when Team Wilk won that race 15 years in a row (OK, it was three, but who’s counting?) we headed to Black Angus to have a celebratory meal, with Neighbor Dave and I getting there first to get a large table set up. As the team entered the restaurant, I used my best radio voice to loudly proclaim, “Ladies and gentleman. Please welcome the Funny Car champion at this year’s Northwest Nationals…  TIM WILKERSON!!!”

The winner, watching himself win!
The winner, watching himself win!

The assembled diners all clapped and cheered. That was a fun moment, if by “fun” you mean it was priceless.

And then seeing the tape-delayed race come on the TV behind the bar, and having the pleasure of watching the surreal happen before your eyes as your boss and driver stares at himself being interviewed on the screen, after the win. Fortunately, we won again on TV. It sure would’ve been odd had we lost. The restaurant customers all clapped again. I think we made some new NHRA fans that night.

So…  Huge thanks to all of you have been reaching out via email and letting me know you’re still out there, following along. And thanks for reminding me of so many things that have made this blog so fun to write and create. Pond Cam, hockey rinks, great friends, and great neighbors.

It’s always been a privilege to write this. I never forget that, and I never take it for granted. It’s an even bigger honor to look back over all of it and condense the people, places, and things into one long rambling connection of dots I never expected to experience.

As I wrote earlier, talk about lucky! I’ve been extremely lucky. Extremely thankful, as well. And the stories will continue into the future, on many more Thursday Blog Days. Stick around!

I leave you with this, because why not?

That octopus is after me!
That octopus is after me!

See you all next week, if we can get Boofie out of that tube.

I’m off to Chicago tomorrow, to spend Saturday at the track with so many great folks. Can’t wait to see them all. Even you, Elon Werner!

Bob Wilber, at your service spinning yarns and telling tales.

PRO-gress…

HOME / PRO-gress…

June 30th, 2016

My wife Barbara and I are both big hockey fans. Like, huge hockey fans. And not just the games, either (Go Minnesota Wild!) but also the talk shows and highlights. And, since many hockey players and executives are Canadian, we get a big kick out of one of the most standard lines you’ll ever hear from a Canadian-born coach or NHL Network analyst, with a perfect Canadian accent. When things haven’t been going well but are starting to turn around, for their team or one they’re analyzing, they’ll say “There’s PRO-gress in the organ-eye-zation.”

Any time we’re working on a project, whether at home or at work, and we’re finally starting to see the finish line, we both say “Pro-gress in the organ-eye-zation” and laugh.

Well, in terms of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” and its long-running development, there’s been pro-gress since the first day I sat at my desk and started to write. But now, as June turns to July and I complete my sixth month of writing, it’s really heading toward the finish line and the biggest thing I have to keep in check is impatience. There’s a part of me that wants to strap into my office chair and work nonstop until I’m done. I’m getting that close, but that’s not the way to write. It’s not a marathon. It’s a series of short sprints.

Each day, when I’m writing a new chapter on Monday through Wednesday every week, I find four hours to be about the right amount of writing time. I can spend just as long fixing, editing, and tweaking things, but four hours of creativity is about right. When I write any longer than that, in one sitting, I start to get sloppy and see later that I have more “fixing” to do. After three days of that, I typically have around 20 pages done. Then, like today, it becomes Thursday and it’s Blog Day around here. On Friday, one more look and a few more tweaks, and then it’s off to Greg Halling for his input.

I finished the initial draft of Chapter 23 yesterday, and it focuses on my first job doing PR for professional teams on the NHRA circuit. That’s how close we’re getting. I wasn’t yet an independent PR rep at the time, I worked for a guy in New Jersey who represented a number of NHRA teams, but it gave me my first taste of writing press releases, pitching stories, and seeing my work appear in print, despite the fact we rode dinosaurs to work and sent out releases out via the Pony Express.

There would be a few additional detours in my career, as I consistently followed my heart and refused to stop and think, but the NHRA public-relations thing was imbedded in me, and would steer many of my dreams from that point forward. By the time Chapter 23 ends, I’m less than three years away from going to work for Del and Chuck Worsham. And I started this book writing about my earliest memories, when I was three years old. That’s a lot of ground to cover.

And while covering that ground, I’ve had to dig back into my memory banks to connect a lot of dots. Today is Throwback Thursday on social media, but my last six months have been one long TBT adventure. I sometimes blank out when it’s time to enter my PIN at the ATM, but I remember so many tiny details, spanning what’s now six decades of life, and it’s been a joyful thing to write all about them.

1982-ish. Alumni Game. Three former roomies, still so young.
1982 SIUE Alumni Game. Three former roomies, still so young.

A few minutes ago, I posted this gem on Facebook. I was looking for a particular magazine to come up with a certain guy’s name (it’s research, and I do it every day because I don’t remember EVERYTHING) and when I reached into the back of yet another box full of stuff we moved with us to Minnesota, I found this photo.

I’m 99% sure the year is 1982. From left to right, we have Bob “Radar” Ricker, Lance McCord, and a very young version of me. I was a scout for the Blue Jays then, hence my apparel. We were back at the ballpark at Southern Illinois University – Edwardsville for the annual baseball alumni game. We lost to the varsity, not surprisingly, and I’m pretty sure I went 0-for-4, but the fun was simply getting together with a bunch of former teammates and having a blast. There was also beer, after the game.

At this precise point, we were only three years beyond the last time we’d all lived together. Still so young, with so much ahead of us. So many experiences, good and bad, yet to encounter. And in just a few weeks, the three of us will be joined by another former Cougar and former roommate, James “Oscar” Noffke, here in the Twin Cities for our annual reunion. I can’t wait.

Nice hat! Heartland Park 1991.
Nice hat! Heartland Park 1991.

Keeping with the TBT theme, there’s this magnificent photograph. 1991 at Heartland Park Topeka for the AC Delco Heartland Nationals. I was the GM of the track, and I brought my parents over for the race. My mom took this photo of my father and me, behind the suite tower at the track. I am wearing a hat that is taller than anything any train conductor ever wore. And again, so young and so naive at the time.

Skip and Taffy had a great time, and the race was spectacular. We packed them in for four straight days, and I’m pretty sure we sent all of those fans home happy, knowing they’d seen a great event. I’m sure my dad was saying “Why do these cars have to be so loud?” in the photograph.

That year at Heartland Park changed everything. It was my first experience with racing of any sort, including NHRA, and before the summer was over I was convinced that I wanted to work for an NHRA team, doing marketing and PR. The funny thing was, I had never done any public or media relations to that point in my life. I think I saw myself as more of a marketing genius, but the PR thing ended up being the job I did best.

It took me a few years to make that dream of being part of a professional NHRA team a reality, but I never lost sight of it and I kept trying until I made it happen. I also went broke a few times, making the effort.

The wine is moved, and the racing wall is hung
The wine is moved, and the racing wall is hung

Here at the ranch, in Minnesota, we continue to make that pro-gress in our organ-eye-zation. Although we still need a second wine rack, we do have all the bottles safely tucked away and that allowed me to finish the “racing wall” in the lower level.

I have enough racing photos to fill a house of almost any size, but I made the conscious decision to follow a more minimalist formula. Instead of dozens of shots from various years, various cars, and various wins, I go with four frames that mean the most and cover my two-decade career. On the far left, a series of shots from the 2005 US Nationals and Skoal Showdown, when Del Worsham and all of us on the CSK team enjoyed our “double-up” win and the big oversized checks that came with it all. (Yes, as always, you can click on the photos to enlarge them).

In the middle is the single largest photograph I own, of Del doing his burnout in Denver circa 2002. It’s a great shot, but it has far more meaning than any standard burnout pic. In 2002, the year this was taken, Del won the race in Denver. But, I wasn’t there. It was the first race I’d missed since I joined the Worshams in 1997, and it was only because my father passed away just a day before I was supposed to get on a plane and leave.

In Memory...
In Memory…

In the photo, you can see the decal Del put on his side windows. It says “In Memory… Del Wilber”

The framed photos on the right are from my Team Wilk years. A great victory collage from Seattle, and Whit Bazemore’s unbelievably great photo of the LRS car lighting up the night.

I sent a FAX to the team hotel that Sunday morning after my father passed away, explicitly explaining my thoughts to my teammates. The FAX said “KICK ASS!” in large bold letters. The guys taped it up inside the transporter.

When they won, they called me from the Winner’s Circle.  More than a couple of the guys who got on the phone were crying. 100% of the people on my phone were doing the same. It was one of the more emotional wins of my NHRA career, and in such a sad but heartfelt way.

And that’s why I risked everything, on numerous occasions, to be a team PR rep. I wanted to be a part of a team. Of a family. I grew up in baseball, never dreaming of ever being in racing in general, or drag racing in specific. I never thought of it as a career path until I was hired at Heartland Park. And that’s when I knew I wanted to be on a team. I needed to be on a team.

I’m learning a lot about myself writing this book. As I piece it all together and go back over so many memories, so many things crystallize and become abundantly clear. Needing to be on a team is just one of them. And it needed to be a real team. A sports team. I’d worked a number of great jobs before I got to Topeka, and I always considered the people I worked with to be a team, but that wasn’t precisely what I craved. Winning and losing, as a sports team, is unique. There’s nothing like it.

Between baseball, indoor soccer, and drag racing I’ve been incredibly fortunate to be on a some phenomenal teams, and that’s not simply a case of winning. It’s the chemistry and the camaraderie. It’s winning AND losing. Having each others’ backs, supporting each other, pulling for each other. And when you do win… It’s incredible.

See you next week before I head to Joliet to see some former teammates.

Bob Wilber, at your service on Throwback Thursday.

 

A Good Month

HOME / A Good Month

June 23rd, 2016

There’s still one week left in the month of June, but by all counts it’s already been a good month in my life. For a lot of reasons. It’s been incredibly busy, frustrating at times, deliriously happy at others, and a good first taste of this new lifestyle we’ve adopted, wherein we live at “home” in Minnesota but Barbara maintains her executive position in Spokane. And it’s not over yet. It’s been…

A good month for “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts”…

June has been an enormous challenge for me, when it comes to “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts.” The cross-country move threw my routine out the window, under the bus, in the trash, and down the drain. Twice, during this last month, I’ve been forced to take entire weeks off because of that pesky thing called real life, but in the end it hasn’t really hurt my productivity. Surprisingly, the forced time off has made me more productive when I am allowed to have a week like this one; writing Monday through Wednesday, tackling this blog on Thursday, and then polishing, on Friday, what I’d written earlier in the week.

Chapter 22 is now in the can, and I’m not sure that would’ve happened in the same manner as it did had I not been forced to deal with things around the new house. Since January, I’ve had my routine down every week and found myself getting a little “writing tired” from time to time. Not burned out, just weary of doing the same thing each week. I’d often need to do mindless things on Monday mornings just to get my brain engaged.

When this Monday morning arrived, I was incredibly eager to get going but I had not one word written. That’s kind of a neat thing. I have the advantage of knowing what the subject matter is going to be for each chapter, because it is my life’s story in chronological order, but I rarely have a clue what the actual words are going to be. This week, actually starting last Sunday, whole sentences and descriptions were popping into my head and bouncing around like ping-pong balls. When I started on Monday, the words were ready to go. It was just a matter of getting them on the cyber page.

This chapter did present its own challenges in terms of ups and downs. The focus is 1991, the year I became the general manager at Heartland Park Topeka. I was coming off a very odd and strangely disappointing 1990, and ’91 gave me the chance to start fresh in a segment of the sports world I was almost completely unfamiliar with. Basically, at that time, you could say the vast majority of my experience in motorsports was watching the Indy 500 every Memorial Day. That was about it. I knew the names “Big Daddy” and Shirley and “The Snake” from Wide World of Sports, but frankly names like John Force, Mike Dunn, Joe Amato, and Gary Ormsby might have only been vaguely recognized. I knew Kenny Bernstein only because I’d been an attendee at the biggest sports-marketing conference in the country, a few years earlier in Chicago. Kenny was the keynote speaker at the large banquet lunch one day. I remember thinking it was neat to hear a guy speaking about sports sponsorships, but I wasn’t totally sure about what the whole world of drag racing was about. I thought he was well spoken, though!

So, in 1991 my life and my world changed. I was directly involved in a wide variety of motorsports at Heartland Park, from sports cars, stock cars, and motorcycles on the road course, to drag races on the strip ranging from local bracket cars to a Super Chevy Show, and from an NHRA Division-5 points meet to our biggest event of the year, the NHRA AC Delco Heartland Nationals in late September. It was all eye-opening, and it was a lot of work.

Fortunately, I had a terrific staff to work with. They all were dedicated and talented (that’s a good combination) and despite the fact we always seemed to have five different “most important things” on our plates at all times, we juggled those flaming plates to make every event run smoothly, with sponsorship, on time. They weren’t all successful, in terms of ticket sales, but we made it a priority to analyze why some of them failed to attract a crowd so that we could make adjustments in the future. If you hold a motorcycle race on the road course and barely sell 2,000 tickets, you don’t just hold it again the next year and hope it gets better. You have to figure out why. It was, and this is an understatement, a huge learning experience for me. It changed my life.

The key thing I discovered in Topeka was that NHRA events stood out clearly to me as the best possible piece of the motorsports pie. To be honest, we didn’t have a NASCAR Cup race and we didn’t host the Indy Cars, but we did have a stock car race with some NASCAR stars in it and we had the IMSA prototype Grand Prix race when IMSA was a big deal. Nothing, though, compared to the excitement, thrills, and packed grandstands of the NHRA national event. Compared to everything else we did, no matter how well and how hard we promoted the other events, the NHRA national event was in a different orbit. And starting that year, in January of 1991, I had never seen a drag race.

I wrote about how much of my staff accompanied me to Gainesville in March, to spend a few days at the Gatornationals shadowing the Gainesville Raceway staff to learn by osmosis. It was an eye-opening, lung-clearing, chest-pounding few days. If 1991 changed my life, the Gatornationals were a huge part of that. Here’s a snippet…

—————

When we arrived, sportsman cars were on the track doing their wheelstands and making what I thought was a lot of noise. I also thought they were going very fast. I had no clue.

I’d been warned about those wacky Top Fuel Dragsters and Funny Cars, and had seen them on Wide World of Sports, but no verbal warning would be sufficient when it came to preparing me for what I was about to see, hear, smell, and feel. The first time I watched a Nitro Funny Car warm up, I thought I was either in heaven or hell. The fumes were noxious, and bitter, and nearly asphyxiating. But, man oh man, they were cool!

When I watched the first Top Fuel car launch, from a solid 50 yards away, I was certain I could take the noise. With fingers planted firmly in my ears, it was still impossibly loud. But more shocking was the concussion that hit me in the chest and vibrated every ounce of me. It was pure sensory overload, and I was completely and utterly addicted. It was clear to me, in just one day, that NHRA Drag Racing was beyond special. It was a thing and an experience unto itself, and nothing in the racing domain could possibly compare to it. That was an assumption I made with very little racing experience. It’s one I’ve maintained and affirmed to this day.

—————

That trip to Gainesville was taken strictly as an observer. I kept my eyes open and my ears plugged, and I also asked a lot of questions. Six months later, when the NHRA tour came to my track, in the open plains of Kansas, it was personal. And it was incredible. I knew, before our national event was over, that NHRA was the place for me and that I had to find a way to be more involved at the team level. It wouldn’t be easy, and being broke trying to make it happen would be something I’d have to deal with, but I had the passion and the will to succeed. I just needed the opportunity and the time.

It was great fun to write about that tumultuous year. And yet there’s still so much more to go. As I said on Facebook yesterday, if this book were a drag race, I think we’re past the 660-foot timer now. That’s how far we’ve come. The finish line is in sight, and I’m putting my heart into the work to make the win-lights come on.

So the writing is rocking, and the process remains fascinating. To start a week with a time period in mind, but with little idea how the words are going to string together, and then to re-read it all on Friday, making a few punch-up changes, before putting it to bed and sending it off to Greg Halling, is magic.

And more about this month.

A good month for murder…

A few years back, my nephew Del Quentin Wilber took his career from successful to enormous, when he wrote and published the best-selling book “Rawhide Down” about the attempted assassination of President Reagan. This month, just within the last few days, he’s taken the next impressive step.

Can't wait to read this
Can’t wait to read this

“A Good Month For Murder” landed on my porch, from Amazon, just a couple of days ago. I’m eager to open it and start reading, but I need to hold off until the weekend. It’s hard to do that.

To write the book, Del (who my siblings and I still call Del Three, because he is Del Wilber III) immersed and imbedded himself within the homicide unit in Prince George’s County, which borders Washington, D.C. on the Maryland side. It was a brutal stretch of violent times, and he was there every step of the way. His writing style is perfect for this sort of book, just like it was perfect for “Rawhide Down.”

He writes precisely, and eloquently, but he smartly avoids flowery hyperbole. He draws you into the drama and makes you feel like you’re there. When you read his words, the physical book in your hands disappears, as the words travel straight into your cerebral cortex and create movie scenes in your mind. I can’t wait to dive into this book, and I know I’ll have a hard time putting it down.

The New York Times has reviewed it, and Del had some frustrated fun with that. The reviewer gave him high marks, for the most part, but complained about a couple of things. I think that’s because any NYT reviewer feels they have to criticize to earn a living, but to complain about the title was sort of ridiculous. The title is a direct quote from one of the detectives, reflecting the gritty detachment they need to have in order to do such a difficult and horrifying job. The reviewer also mentioned that the book is strictly a recounting of the author’s time with the homicide unit, as if it would’ve been a whole lot better if Del had veered off into fiction and fantasy. Silly reviewer. And hey, it’s a heck of a lot better to have a few nit-picks in your New York Times review than to be ignored by the paper. I can guarantee, to a 99.99% degree of certainty, that “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” will not garner a review in the New York Times.

Well deserved raves
Well deserved raves

As you can see here, the rest of the reviews have been fantastic. (As always, you can click on the image to enlarge it).

Proud of him? Oh my gosh, off the charts proud. This will embarrass the hell out of him, but I still see him as “Little Del” shooting hoops in the driveway at the Wilber home in Kirkwood, Mo. Or playing catch in the backyard of his family’s home, in McLean, Va. I watched as he went off to Northwestern to play some college baseball and pursue his journalism degree. I watched him land a job at the Baltimore Sun, and win accolades for his work. Then the Washington Post. And Bloomberg. And “Rawhide Down” which put him on the national map. To walk into a bookstore at the Las Vegas airport and see my own nephew’s book at eye-level, in the “Best Sellers” rack, well that would make anyone proud. His folks are amazing. His sister Lindsay is brilliant and wonderful. And Del Three is really something.

A good month for being home…

We’re continuing to juggle jobs, book writing, and settling (we’re settlers, son) and we’re also continuing to make additional headway. That’s a good thing, and it’s good to be home.

Racked and ready...
Racked and ready…

The lower level is about 80% complete, though I’ll admit that 19% of the remaining 20% is the one guest bedroom we haven’t tackled in the least. It remains a scary pile of bedding, pillows, knick-knacks (I had to look up how you spell that), and other “stuff” and it looks like a small version of Mount Everest on the unmade bed. Hey, we have to have additional challenges, and we’ll get to it.

Despite the original plan to leave all the wine on the floor until we decided what to do about racks for the wine room, I hit the point of no return over the weekend and simply had to do something. Over the course of a couple of sweaty hours, I filled our existing rack and moved much of the rest of it out of the way. Today, or maybe tonight, I’ll be storing the rest of the wine in the room, out of sight, and the final wall in the lower level will be adorned with framed art. It’s the racing wall, so I’m eager to get after it.

I do have some adjustments to make with a couple of the bigger pieces in the portion of the lower level that acts as my office, but that’s just a matter of taking them down, measuring a new height, and putting them back up. One of them is the large frame that holds my father’s old Twins jersey, and it’s a bear to hoist and hang by myself, so we’ll pick a time when we can both be involved. It’s not a priority. Getting the racing wall hung is an absolute priority.

Hello pears!
Hello pears!

Up here, we have a few of our original oil and multi-media pieces on the wall, including the huge piece we call “the pears” on the landing going down to the lower level. We’ve always had “the pears” in our formal dining room, but this house doesn’t have an area for formal dining, and we still have plans to add a hutch to the wall by the table, so we felt “the pears” needed a new home. This way, when guests enter our very beige house through the front door, the giant splash of color will grab their attention.  I think it looks fabulous there.

And it’s funny how perspective changes with phone pics. This thing is pretty massive, but it looks kind of little in the photo. It’s actually big enough to be so heavy it’s hard to lift, and it needs reinforced triple-nail hooks to hold it up!

A good month to be boyz…

As much as it’s great for us to be home, there’s no denying it’s also a great for Boofus and Buster. They haven’t completely settled in, and are still a little wary of new things, but they’ve managed to scope out and claim their new favorite spots in this house.

We put one of their kitty condos in our bedroom, right next to the window, and we thought we were just putting it there temporarily while we got the house organized. Silly us. Buster loves sleeping the afternoon away up on the top perch, keeping an eye on the birds outside the window while he gets his cat-naps in. There’s no moving it now.

It's a tough job, but some cat has to do it.
It’s a tough job, but some cat has to do it.

Boofus absolutely loves being out on the porch. I’m pretty sure Boofie would live out there if we’d bring him food and a litter box. Buster likes it too, and will spend hours out there with his brother, but he’s a bit more “husky” than Boofie and if it gets up over 80 degrees he gets hot and comes back in. Little Boofie just sits in the condo by the corner or stretches out on his white blanket atop the glider. Sometimes he just sits on the floor behind the rocking chair, because there are trees right outside the porch and the birdies flitter around the branches all afternoon. It’s like a cat version of a video arcade.

A good month to be a blog writer…

10 and a half years. That’s how long I wrote my blog on NHRA.com, and that’s how long it took to develop and attract a huge and loyal readership base. That’s how long I had the pleasure of seeing so many people at the races, who I never would’ve met had it not been for that blog, and Pond Cam, and Shasta the cat, and The Boyz, and travel stories, track stories, and complete and utter nonsense stories.

When I wrapped up my career last year, Phil Burgess was enormously kind enough to allow me to continue writing that blog until the middle of December, and as part of that he allowed me to promote this new “Bob’s Blog” in an effort to spread the word to my loyal NHRA readers, and help all of you migrate over here.

Many of you have. If you haven’t, you won’t be reading this sentence so I guess it’s not worth it to write “come on over and join the new blog party.” But it’s great to get emails and Facebook messages from so many people who are out there, still following this thing. I get surprises every single week, when I’ll hear from someone I don’t know, or I haven’t heard from in ages, and they tell me they’re still reading every week.

And the Thursday Blog Day routine has helped a lot in that regard. I had no real “plan” for how I wrote my NHRA blog. I just wrote whenever I had time or whenever I had the subject matter to put out there, and mostly all of my readers would just check the blog page to look for updates. Now, barring unforeseen circumstances, you know where to find these words every Thursday.

There’s always room for more at this table, though! If you read this, and like it, and look forward to Thursday Blog Day, please feel free to spread the word to your friends and neighbors. And don’t be afraid to “Like” this installment by clicking on the button at the top. Social media is a great way to spread the word, as well. Feel free to tweet, post, or Facebook. The more readers the merrier!

Since this is a private family site, I don’t make a penny writing this blog and you don’t have to wade through weird ads to read it. It’s just for fun. And great fun it is.

See you next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service during a good month for a lot of things.

The Summer Grind

HOME / The Summer Grind

June 16th, 2016

Currently, as I write this, the NHRA Mello Yello tour is in the midst of a very real summer grind. Six races in seven weeks are at the heart of it, but the bigger summer picture shows the classic crunch. The teams get a breather on either side of Joliet, then it’s off to the Western Swing for three straight, heading from the mountains to Wine Country, then up through the redwoods to Puget Sound. Blink when that’s over, and you’ll miss Brainerd. After Brainerd, it will be time for Indy.

Seriously, didn’t the season just start? It never fails to go this way, where Pomona kicks things off and the full season seems like such a long and insurmountable adventure, but before you can even conceive of it races are piling up and months are flying by like calendar pages in an old black & white movie. If that last reference makes no sense to you, it means you’re too young to remember that old cinematic trick to represent the passing of time.

So right now, everyone is gathering in Bristol, at Thunder Valley. It was always one of my favorite stops and tracks, although there was usually a price to pay. Flying into Tri-Cities Airport requires connections, from MSP, and it requires a larger hit to your American Express bill. Small airports don’t generate the passenger count or competition that might keep costs down, but there’s not much in terms of options when going to Bristol. I’ve used Asheville and Greenville-Spartanburg in the past, but they’re generally not much cheaper and then you have the drive to make after you land. One time, and one time only, I flew into Nashville because it saved me $100. The long drive through a tornado, on the way back, was enough to dissuade me from doing it again.

The hotel situation was never ideal in Bristol either, although we finally did discover a pretty nice place north of the track after staying in Johnson City for so many years. Still, it’s one of those markets where the rates on race weekends bear little resemblance to what they charge on a typical day when nothing big is going on. I can’t imagine what they charge when the circle-track guys come to town.

People often ask me what my favorite tracks are on the NHRA tour, and the usual answer includes Pomona, Gainesville, Charlotte, Las Vegas, Sonoma, Bristol, and a few others. But, if you factor in the overall difficulty of travel and cost, a bunch of those would fall off the list. Combine a long drive from the nearest airport with extraordinarily inflated hotel rates for lousy rooms, and notoriously horrible TSA lines when you’re flying back out, and it can ruin the experience when you do it for 20 years. Or, as I would also say, “If you fly me to Bristol (or insert other town) on your private jet, then helicopter me into the track and have a beautiful motorhome all set up and waiting for me there, that would be really great.” Surprisingly, no one ever took me up on that. Hard to believe, I know. I love Thunder Valley, but I never much enjoyed getting there.

So, here’s this year’s most popular question. Whenever I’m at a gathering of friends and neighbors, people ask, “Do you miss it?” That’s a really good and totally understandable thing to ask. I just don’t have a neat and tidy answer for it.

Do I miss the people? Yes, absolutely. Do I miss the camaraderie, with PR colleagues and teammates? No doubt about it. Do I miss winning races? Oh, you bet! Do I miss the smell of Nitro in the morning? Oh yeah, and I think it becomes a bit addictive after a couple of decades. Do I miss getting to the races, standing in lines at airports, driving rental cars, and staying in so many hotels? I gotta be honest. I don’t miss that at all.

When we instituted the cost-cutting move of having me work from home when LRS didn’t host hospitality, it was very weird at the beginning. Then, a few races into that, I was talking on the phone with Elon Werner and I said, “You know what? It’s weird not being there, but on Sunday we got eliminated in the first round and I looked around and realized I was home. That was pretty good, actually.”

And here’s a piece of trivia based on that prior paragraph. I have, indeed, been to Epping for a race. It was, however, an IHRA race back in  1992 or ’93. Kind of hard for me to remember the specific year. But, LRS never did hospitality there so I have not been back for any of the NHRA events in Epping. I find that kind of funny in a peculiar sort of way.

I still talk with Krista Wilkerson on a weekly basis (we just chatted yesterday, as a matter of true fact.) I text Tim during the races. I talk with Elon and share emails or social-media posts with many of my former PR colleagues. And, I join the rest of you watching on FS1 where NHRA’s ratings and viewer numbers are astoundingly great. All of that keeps me connected, and the Wally trophies remind me of the good times. Every now and then, though, when I look at my Delta page and see that I “only” have about 20,000 miles in the bank this year, I get that pang of “Oh no! I won’t even make Platinum, much less Diamond. What am I going to do?”

I’m going to not worry about it. That’s what I’m going to do. It was great being Diamond. There are a lot of perks that come with that status. But the price you pay in terms of wear and tear on your body and mind is a stiff cost indeed. To be Diamond Elite, your life needs to be overtaken by the travel. I knew I was over it last year, and I’m 100% sure I was right to take this year and just be a stay-at-home writer. It was what I needed to do.

Of course, yesterday I booked my flight to Joliet, flying into and out of that charming little no-stress airport named O’Hare (sarcasm alert), so I do have that on the horizon. And I booked a room for two nights at Madden’s Resort for the Brainerd race. And I might go to Indy. And I definitely will be going to St. Louis. And Vegas. And maybe Pomona. I just need to get the book finished first.

To that end, I now have 21 chapters done and I’m working on Chapter 22 this week. It’s a fairly monumental moment in the book, because this is the chapter in which I take the job as general manager at Heartland Park. My first foray into the racing world. It all speeds up from here! That’s a literal statement and a pun.

Most of the book, so far, has been upbeat and fun, because that’s the way I try to live my life and I’ve been fortunate enough to do that. There are a couple of chapters, however, that simply have to deal with some bad times, or some sad times, or some confusing times, and I try to deal with those stories honestly. I do, however, try to walk a fine line between dragging the reader through too much muck and glossing over it far too much. I just try to be honest. Sometimes that involves telling important life lessons learned through interaction with people I didn’t get along with.

I think one of the things I’ve learned about myself, through this writing process, has been the realization that I have rarely been able, and I’ve rarely been willing, to just put my head down and work when I’m around people who are miserable, mean, or disrespectful. I’ve been flat broke (and deeply in debt) a number of times because I’ve chosen to walk away from situations like that, without taking the time to set up my next move. But each time, I chose to believe there was something better for me, even if I didn’t know what it was. I just trusted myself to find the next answer.

With all that in mind, I’ve made the decision to not share a snippet from Chapter 21. It’s a chapter that needs to stand on its own, and any snippet would be doing it a disservice by removing the overall context. I’ll make it up to you in chapters to follow.

Neighbors, friends, good music, good wine
Neighbors, friends, good music, good wine. And remember, you can enlarge the pics by clicking on them.

So now, it’s time to write more about being home.

Last weekend, we attended a marvelous party in the old neighborhood, hosted by Mary Beth and Joe Gillis. It was a backyard party, with a fantastic performer who sang and played the guitar, on a perfect summer evening. It couldn’t have been better. But the best part of it was that we simply got the invite and we went. No airplanes, no travel, no trying to coordinate schedules or find someone to look in on the boyz. We just got in the car and drove over there. And we were surrounded by wonderful friends, just like we were the weekend prior when we attended the graduation party at the Blake’s house. It’s very good to be home again.

And, it’s good to be in a “home” again. Barbara had to spend this week out in Liberty Lake, so each day I’ve been trying to tackle one or two things in order to make this house feel like our home. I’m finally getting there.

My racing photos. Waiting for the wine to get out of the way so they can find a home on the wall.
My racing photos. Waiting for the wine to get out of the way so they can find a home on the wall.

I’m not doing much in terms of artwork on the walls in the main living space, on the upper level, because I need Barbara’s vision and input on that. But, since the main room in the lower level is mostly my new domain, I’ve worked hard down there. We still haven’t decided about racks for the wine room, though, so I’ve held off on putting any of the bottles away in case we decide to put in all new racks. That means those bottles and cases are still on the floor down there, in front of the big wall where my racing pictures will go. Those frames may need to wait until the bottles are moved, before they find their permanent spots on the wall.

The key to getting started down there was the installation of the new home theater. That happened this week.

Late last week, a new curvy console was delivered. It holds the sound system, the cable box, and our favorite DVDs. The television got mounted to the wall right above it.

It's all about entertainment.
It’s all about entertainment.

We made the conscious decision to get what we wanted, without fretting too much over price. I said “too much” not “at all”. I’m sure you can easily spend $10,000 on a TV and surround-sound system in a heartbeat, if money is no object. I suspect it wouldn’t be that hard to spend twice that, actually. We wanted something nice, something very good, and something that’s on the cutting edge of technology. But, yes, there had to be some sort of limit on the cost. We upgraded our surround system with a new receiver and some ceiling-mounted rear speakers, and we went with a 65-inch LG television with an OLED screen. It seemed like all the TVs at the store were great, but when you’d watch a normal LED screen next to the OLED one, the difference was startling. It’s the finest television I’ve ever had the privilege to watch.

A new office, carved out in its own space
A new office, carved out in its own space

Once everything was installed, I had my parameters in place to start decorating. I decided to do groupings of frames in different parts of the room, as well. Near my desk, in that separated part of the room, it’s all baseball and all my dad. I like having his old Twins jersey right over my shoulder, looking down on me at my desk. His DNA is on that jersey. It feels like he’s there.

Around the TV, it’s entertainment. My autographed “Jersey Boys” poster, our Chuck Jones animation art, and my autographed Rush lithograph of the “Power Windows” album cover. In front of all that, our white leather furniture that dates all the way back to when we lived in Austin. It’s just a love seat and a comfy chair, and it was in our sunroom at the old Woodbury house. We made a point to sit out there on Sunday mornings, reading the St. Paul Pioneer-Press over coffee. We didn’t take it to Liberty Lake, though. We left it here in storage knowing we’d be back.

The reason it’s acting as our interim seating for the theater is because we haven’t totally decided on what theater seats we want. We found some that are spectacular, but they’re incredibly expensive and they’re custom made in Norway. It takes four months to get them, and then there’s that whole pesky problem of even conceiving of spending more (a lot more) on the seats than we did on the TV. The old white leather stuff will just have to do for a while.

albumsOn the wall to the right of that, it’s all music. Another autographed Rush lithograph is surrounded by our five framed autographed album covers, ranging from Stevie Ray Vaughn, to Bruce Springsteen, Genesis, Queen, and (duh) Rush.

And last night, to christen the new entertainment system, the first Blu-Ray DVD I cranked up was the “Clockwork Angels” concert, by my favorite band. I didn’t get to see their final tour, last year, so the Clockwork Angels show was my farewell concert, and it was a fabulous way to go out. That was the show we flew down to Orange County to see at the Honda Center in Anaheim. Jeff and Windy Arend were there, as well, although we had floor seats while they were in a suite. Somehow, as 12,000 people exited the building together at the same time, after the show ended, we ran into them outside and Jeff excitedly shouted “Best Rush concert EVER!” I agreed. While the band is still mostly mum on ever playing live again, I suspect there’s a chance they might do a festival or a stand-alone show at some point. I’m just not banking on that, and if Clockwork Angels was my last slice of Rush onstage, it was a fantastic slice.

There’s still so much to do here, but it’s feeling incrementally more like home with each passing day. Both of the spare bedrooms downstairs are still a mess, though, with stuff just piled up wherever we could put it. The whole wine room issue needs to be settled. And next week our master bedroom will enter the world of clutter in a massive way. We’re having our custom closet installed in a couple of weeks, but before that happens the installers will come out and take away the white wire racks we currently have, then they’ll spackle all the holes that will be left behind. We’ll need to repaint in there before the new stuff arrives, and we’ll need to go pick up some temporary racks the company will loan us, to have something to hang at least a portion of our clothes on. We’re a long way from high-fiving each other when we know we’re done getting settled here.

This afternoon and tomorrow, I’ll be back to work on Chapter 22 with tales of my first drag race and all the things we did at Heartland Park. Some of it was great, some of it was weather-plagued. All of it got me started on the path that led to the last 20 years. It’s worth telling.

I’ll see you next week, for another Thursday Blog Day.

Bob Wilber, at your service hanging photos…