Archive » January 2020 » Columns

“Eyesore.” That’s how Albany’s journalistic community has referenced the century-old Central Warehouse in each and every depiction of it, in any form and every medium, over the last decade and a half. For good reason; take a gander at this Art Deco homage to structural decay and you’ll agree that “eyesore” epitomizes honesty in reporting.   

But bizarrely — and despite decades’ worth of developers proving relentlessly incapable of manifesting their visions — virtually every outlet in Albany County’s rich media landscape remains united in the persistent fantasy that there’s some solution to The Eyesore other than wholesale demolition.

There isn’t. No matter how many ideas abound, The Eyesore’s interminable dilapidation compels only one practical course of action: It’s time to knock down the old Central Warehouse. 

Constructed in 1927 and inimitable at 143 Montgomery Street, Albany’s 11-story, 508,000-square-foot Central Warehouse originally served as a refrigerated food-storage facility — ironically perfect for the post-apocalyptic world its current state suggests has already arrived.

Four years ago — after it had become abundantly clear that no one else was going to address the infected pus-filled pimple in the middle of Albany’s face — I took matters into my own hands, initiating a quixotic citizen’s campaign to rescue our city’s horizon from the repugnant atrocity holding it hostage.   

Over the course of several weeks, I contacted (and was politely dismissed by) a legion of both city and county officials, cold-calling every conceivably-applicable municipal agency until I was finally introduced to Albany-based Sunmark Federal Credit Union.

Before I get to Sunmark, it’s worth consolidating a record of the building’s owners. Concurrent with my forays through local government’s phone-tree labyrinths, I also began piecing together the puzzle of past proprietors in a gambit to figure out who deserved blame for the appalling hulk of concrete polluting our I-787 corridor.

Relying on dated local media and calls to former owners, I discovered that the building had changed hands four times in the preceding 12 years alone, and that each purchase had been plagued by plummeting asking prices in a cascading series of increasingly ludicrous transactions.   

In the early 1980s, it was owned by the eccentric Richard Gerrity, whom the City sued for ordinance violations posed by the massive biblical messaging with which he’d adorned The Eyesore’s walls. 

It stood vacant and disintegrating throughout the 1990s until, in 2002, a company known as Albany Assets bought it for $800,000. Northeast Realty Holdings owned it for a time, and then, in 2007, it was sold to CW Montgomery LLC for $1.4 million. 

I spoke with the owner of CW Montgomery back then; his ill-fated mixed-use ambitions were particularly awkward, in that they were so plainly impracticable. In a video business pitch he’d assembled, soaring drone footage of the building is interspersed with computer-rendered modeling evoking a lush and window-lit mall, complete with towering ceilings, an amphitheater, and even rooftop vegetation.

Reference to photos from a successful renovation of a dissimilar sister-building in Toronto was somehow designed to make the pipedream seem reasonable.

Inexplicably, the video boasts of the building’s acquisition for only $175,000 — substantially less than the reported $1.4 million. But — spoiler alert — that’s still $174,999 more than the current buyer deemed it worth.

Back to Sunmark Federal Credit Union, which purchased the property in September 2011 for $500K — a tenth of CW Montgomery’s original asking price — only to then turn around and re-list it for a still-too-inflated $199,000. 

When I spoke with Sunmark representative Glen Stacey in July 2016, he confirmed that the bank had finally executed an agreement in December 2015 to unload the property. But he dutifully refused to reveal the prospective buyer’s name. (That supposed transaction fell through, anyway.)

And that was it; I’d reached the end of the line. The trail went cold in the face of Sunmark’s intransigent unwillingness to disclose the buyer’s identity. Like so many before me, I, too, had failed to rid Albany of its preeminent physical disgrace. And thus did the Central Warehouse continue its plodding limp through history, sullying Albany’s opinion pages with all manner of unfeasible fiction as to its possible use.

But hark! There yet cometh news! 

In August 2017, a New York City-based artist operating an “architectural salvage business” purchased The Eyesore from Sunmark. Albany’s business and political classes were instantly seduced by Evan Blum’s flourishing promise “to do something for the community as opposed to counting beans,” by his depiction of the Central Warehouse as both “a blank canvas” and “a diamond in the rough,” and by his intended beautification of the building’s exterior and interior (which Enterprise readers accessing this column online can examine for themselves courtesy of a 2018 video tour filmed by an adventurous trespasser).

Unfortunately, though, Mr. Blum’s innovative approach to implementing his grand designs took the form of doing absolutely nothing. At all. For 30 months. And counting. 

Aside from repeatedly pledging to commence renovation, Mr. Blum’s only tangible momentum has been the mounting debt (over $400,000) he owes in unpaid city and county taxes dating back to at least 2011.      

Mr. Blum reportedly bought the long-vacant, long-crumbling warehouse for $1.  For $1, I, too, could have failed to register its address, failed to invest any money in its interior renovation or structural integrity, failed to file any applications for work permits or repairs, constantly misrepresented my intentions to government officials, and run up a half-million dollar tax bill. Indeed, I would’ve done all that for free.

Now, in a vicious cycle of rot, “Blum’s Blight” (please can we make that a thing?) drags down the neighborhood’s potential as it renders unrealistic any commercially viable use of the structure. Impressively, his proposed innovation of wrapping the building in banner advertisements would actually make the building even less attractive — a feat in its own right, I’ll concede — and I thus preemptively call for a boycott of any business that enables such lunacy.

This state of affairs isn’t new. In October 2010, Blum’s Blight caught fire and proceeded to burn for six days. Six days, ladies and gentlemen. The response?  TO LET IT BURN. Because even prior to the fire, the building looked as though it had spent most of the 20th Century consumed by a blazing inferno. 

But lest you deem indestructible an edifice capable of surviving a weeklong uncontrolled conflagration, take heart: Demolition of the building has been projected to cost a mere $1.5 million. And if that sounds like a lot to you, consider that Albany County will soon spend $1.9 million to replace a footbridge on the Albany Rail Trail in deference to the powerful “nature jogging” lobby. 

I support that decision, just as I support assembling community stakeholders to confront the challenges inherent to Blum’s Blighted Eyesore. What about a #KnockItDown GoFund me page? Or a community bake-sale carwash telethon dance-off?  Or maybe we could contact Miley Cyrus’s people? A public-private partnership committed to “KnockItDown” and the reimagination of 143 Montgomery Street would enhance both the value of the undeveloped parcel and our city vistas. 

At the very least, the status quo demands a feasibility study addressing detonation and remediation.  Surely there exist sources of financing (city, county, state, federal) or institutional grants we could apply towards demolishing that festering asbestos fiesta.

“Well since you mention it,” the chorus of contrarian devil’s advocates will no doubt righteously snort, “what’s your plan for environmental contamination? Blowing up that building could be dangerous.”

Got ya covered. In August 2016, Toni Galluzzo — Freedom of Information Law Coordinator at the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation for Region 4 — responded to my languishing FOIL request. The responsive records suggest that, as determined pursuant to a DEC inspection in 2008, environmental remediation in the aftermath of demolition might not be all that problematic or cost prohibitive, thanks to Clean Harbors Environmental Services, Inc., a local hazardous waste management firm that cleared the building of its major toxic concerns in 2008 pursuant to a $52,000 contract. 

As Mr. Blum is presumably discovering in tandem with his long line of predecessors, there’s nothing to be redeemed from this irredeemable property; those who fail to acknowledge such are complicit in preventing local government from imposing the warranted tax liens and coming to terms with what needs to be done. 

Yes, knocking down the old Central Warehouse will be challenging, it will be expensive, it will present environmental hazards that we will have to address. But for how much longer will we endure the alternative? Another decade? A century? 

Let’s stop talking about the obstacles posed by reinforced concrete walls and toxic insulation. Such concerns are the day-to-day purview of engineers and regulators who stand ready to assist as soon as we amass the social will necessary to make honest use of that property. 

Accept it, Albanites: The Central Warehouse has no retrofitted future. Forty years of catastrophically failed commercial prospects is enough.   

Nostalgia?  Knock it off. Then knock it down. For it’ll never be condos. It’ll never be mixed-use housing.  It’ll never be a mall, art gallery, skate park, or antiques showroom. It’ll never sport a rooftop bar, or make use of the bottom two floors, or be a rock-climbing gym, or serve as a breathtakingly beautiful graffiti canvas welcoming tourists to the Capital District.

Indeed, it’ll never again even be a warehouse. It will persist only as a malignant eyesore until we convert it into the only thing it was ever destined to be: a crater. 

In closing, contemplate the possibility that Mr. Blum is trolling us. He owns the Central Warehouse through the auspices of a New York limited liability company operating as “The Phoenix of Albany LLC” — and a phoenix first needs ashes from which to rise. 

He’s daring us to do it. It’s time we dispense with delusion and knock down the old Central Warehouse.

Captain Jesse Sommer is a lifelong resident of Albany County, currently deployed to Afghanistan with the U.S. Army’s 7th Special Forces Group (Airborne).  He welcomes your thoughts at [email protected].

In 1930, the small publishing firm of Jonathan Cape and Harrison Smith came out with the first English edition of Sigmund Freud’s “Civilization and Its Discontents.” The book was a kind of Dear John billet-doux to humankind.

Freud, the father of psychoanalysis — the man who sought to understand why human beings find enjoyment in repressing themselves — was wondering whether a civilization, a country, or any social relationship that’s in psychological trouble, can actually rid itself of the aggression that’s killing it.

Three years earlier, when his celebrated “The Future of an Illusion” came out, Freud asked the same question but on a “spiritual” level. He was wondering what kind of psychological succor formal religion can offer a person to get through the day; on a larger scale help that person find meaning in life; and on a still larger scale, help him understand the structural conditions, the social institutions that deny succor to some because of the way they look or think or maybe they’re not a boy or a girl. And the succor is always offered at a price.

I would not recommend “Discontents” to everyone because it contains a lot of mind-testing words from the Freudian lexicon, but the book’s persistent query is: Is it possible to live without aggression toward others (in word and deed)? Why do so many feel compelled to carry a six-gun?

I just finished re-reading “Discontents” to celebrate its 90th birthday this year. The odd thing is, I feel Freud could have written the book about the United States of America today where aggression runs so high that half of the population can’t talk to the other half without waving a stick or carrying a six-gun.

Freud said the questions about discontent and how we might free ourselves from its ravages are “fateful,” that is, they affect the way we live now and well into the future.

He said the “the human species” may never reach a point of “cultural development,” that is, develop the necessary tools, to respond to “the disturbance [that’s affecting our] communal life.”

We’ve “gained control over the forces of nature,” he said, and some people seem ready to use that power to exterminate “one another to the last person.”

I’m sure his tone was affected by the late-1920s Austria where the political left and the political right clashed in the streets. A right-wing paramilitary group, the Heimwehr, decked out in Tyrolean fedoras, could be seen, gestapo-like, parading through Vienna seeking to destroy socialism. A “revolt” took place in July of ’27 where 89 protesters were shot and killed; five policemen died; it is said 600 protestors and as many policemen were hurt.

History tells us Freud was right in using the word “extermination.” In Germany’s September 1930 election — the year “Discontents” came out — the Nazis won 107 seats on the German Reichstag.

On the day parliament was seated, the 107 came dressed in brown military shirts. When the roll-call came to them, each shouted “Present!” punctuated with “Heil Hitler!” Every Jew in Austria could feel the coming Lebensraum.

I’ve been in conversations where the topic turned to people’s likes and dislikes — “I like vanilla ice cream better than chocolate.” “The Yankees are better than the Mets.” “Black and white movies have it over color.” — and, when appropriate, I have asked someone: Do you hate anybody? And if you do, do you do it without guilt?

A reporter recently asked the Speaker of the House of Representatives of the United States Congress whether she was telling the truth when she said she prayed for the president, a man who makes fun of her face and calls her crazy. Does she hate him?

Nancy Pelosi blared: How dare you! Christians do not hate; the basis of our religion is: We deal with disrespecters with dignity. She did not mention Gandhi’s: “Do not fear; he who fears, hates; he who hates, kills.”

If Freud were analyzing the insidious neurosis afflicting the United States today, he’d say its people lack tools, interpersonal tools to get along with each other, and psychological-insight tools to envision a future without aggression — a place where everybody benefits, where everybody’s needs are treated like everybody else’s.

I once was a mediator in the Albany County courts, the small-claims division. When contestants accepted the offer of the judge to go off and reach a mutually-satisfying agreement face-to-face, they and I went to the jury room next door.

I sometimes felt like a marriage counselor for a couple whose righteousness had blinded them to the point they saw each other only as an abstraction.

Minutes before in the courtroom they were saying: Your honor, my opponent is a fool, and the fool would respond: Your honor, talk about fools!

In the mediation room, I quickly had to establish rules that disallowed using words that denied the other’s worth, indicating that mediation works when each person agrees to speak to and listen to the other as an equal.

In almost every case, as happens most times in mediation, things got worked out but I could see that the contestants never really bought the equal-value notion. They just didn’t want to go back to court and have the judge make the decision.

Of course every being can speak and every being can listen in some way but speaking to and listening to another as an equal requires a sharper set of tools, laser-sharp analytical competencies.

In restorative-justice sessions, when someone wishes to apologize to another for the pain they’ve caused, it sounds ridiculous but they have to be taught how to speak, to understand that what they say might cause further harm. The examples are endless.

Three years after “Discontents” came out, the Nazis started burning Freud’s books. Herr Professor told his colleague-friend and later biographer, Ernest Jones, “What progress we are making. In the Middle Ages they would have burned me. Now, they are content with burning my books.” Therapeutic irony.

It’s in the last paragraph of “Discontents” where Freud alludes to the possibility that human beings might “easily exterminate one another to the last man.” He said the fear of that causes “a great part of [our] current unrest, [our] dejection, [our] mood of apprehension.”

He said it comes down to whether Eros — Love — will be able to muster the “strength ... to maintain himself alongside of his equally immortal adversary,” Thanatos or Death, which manifests himself in the degrading way we speak to and act toward each other. Ladies and Gentlemen et al, America is not a happy place.

Freud felt compelled to add a final sentence to “Discontents” in the 1931 edition, “Aber wer kann Erfolg und Ausgang voraussehen?” Bob Dylan translated it in his 1967 anthem “All Along the Watchtower”: “There must be some way out of here ... There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.”

It is becoming so redundant to report about Tuesday mornings being the time Mother Nature shakes out her bad weather for the day or week for those of us on the Hill. This past Tuesday was no different.

On Jan. 7, the Old Men of the Mountain met at the Middleburgh Diner in Middleburgh and the drivers for the OMOTM had to be a little careful at 6 or 6:30 a.m. in getting off the Hill.

Some went over the mountain because they didn’t want to meet those white and blue blinding headlights, and some went over the flats and they had to put up with those very dangerous headlights. Why these headlights are legal, many drivers, not only the OMOTM, don’t know.

The OFs discussed change, not that the OGs are against change; they have lived with change for many years — and here comes the “but.” BUT, it should be for the better and not worse.

So much technology moves so fast, and much of this technology is changing right in the middle of getting used to technology that is already in use. So we OFs generally feel the old way was better. Not always but many times.

“If it works,” one OF said, “why mess with it? If the change makes it easier, go for it, but if the change just adds confusion to get to the same point, why bother?”

Disasters

The OFs discussed Puerto Rico and the earthquakes on top of the recent hurricane — what a mess. We go back to Irene and what havoc that storm did to our area, and these poor people seem to be going through the same type of event on a routine basis. This earthquake was the worst to hit Puerto Rico since 1918.

Then the people in Australia have been having record-breaking bushfires since September. One OF said we have problems with California burning up but even though the California fires are bad they are nowhere near what Australia is going through.

To add to this, the western coast of Canada is having its own problem with fires. The business to be in is building fire trucks.

One OF thought of all the animals that are burning up. Another OF said the ones that live in the treetops may have problems but he thinks some of the ones on the ground may make it, and the burrowing animals and snakes might be better off.

This OF’s reasoning was that the fires move so fast, and they are roaring through the brush and trees so that those critters that live underground might be spared. Anyway it is looked at, it is not nice.

Then one OF said, “Once the fire goes through, the land should repair itself quickly, even the trees.”

This OF used, as a point of reference, something that happened locally about seven or eight years ago. It was then that the gypsy moth cleared the whole side of the hills looking west going down Route 145 from Middleburgh to Livingstonville and beyond. Not a leaf left on a tree. Then came the next year and the whole hillside appeared like nothing happened.

Square-dance fashionistas

We then managed to segue into a happier discussion. Some of the OFs were square dancers and line dancers in their younger years — say in their sixties to seventies, maybe some in their fifties. 

To take part in this hobby (not rigidly applied), it was kind of expected to wear certain apparel and most of the time the partner’s outfits matched. Of course the ladies would not like to be seen in the same outfit from one dance to another so square-dance-outfit shopping trips were common, and the guys had to match their cohort.

Quite often, it was an event and some couples would get together, plan a date and go shopping. As one OF said, “Don’t forget finding a place to eat; it was an outing.”

This little adjunct to the dancing had the OFs taking part accrue quite a collection of square-dance clothes. Some of the OFs still have them and claim these outfits take up two and three closets, or a big section of their basement. Others have given them away, and others managed to have the Salvation Army take them, especially the men’s stuff.

Feeling taxed

Around this time of year, most of the OFs get their tax bills. This prompted a discussion on taxes and New York State.

One OF suggested that one of the reasons for New York being the highest taxed state are the sponges. The OFs talk about this topic a lot but the sponges as a reason had not come up. The sponges are New York City and its five boroughs, Buffalo, and Rochester.

This OF thinks these cities just suck up tax dollars because a large portion of the population in each city does not contribute. The other factor may be that the New York State Legislature is made up mostly of lawyers and money to them is not a problem.

They think everybody makes a hundred-thousand dollars a year, so they just go ahead and make another tax, create another fee, or generate another mandate and for all of this just utter a whole bunch of words that don’t mean anything.

They say that they are thinking of us, when in essence all they think about is how to get re-elected, because, if they don’t, they will get caught in some of their own hair-brained schemes.

If there was anything that the OMOTM agreed with, it was this OF’s thinking, although one OF said that not everyone fits in the Albany cesspool, they just got caught when the toilet flushed. Wow! Some of the OGs can get wound up.

The Old Men of the Mountain who (we must say it —again) made it to the next restaurant in order, and this time it was the Middleburgh Diner in Middleburgh, were: Bill Lichliter, George Washburn, Roger Chapman, Roger Shafer, Robie Osterman, Rich LaGrange, Russ Pokorny, (this scribe thought he was being clever and placed all the “Rs” together), John Rossmann, Wally Guest, Marty Herzog, Harold Guest, Jim Heiser, Ken Parks, Glenn Patterson, Joe Rack, Mark Traver, Lou Schenck, Mace Porter, Gerry Irwin, Jack Norray, Mike Willsey, Warren Willsey, Elwood Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen, and me.

In the last year, we went from having two grandchildren to having five. Of that number, four are under age 2 and all four of those spend more than a little time with us every week (some every day). It’s what you might call higher-order grandparenting.

When you spend that much time with tiny humans you’re related to, you begin to understand any number of things except one: time and its fluid nature. For instance, when a five-month-old infant with a touch of colic is screaming at you because her tummy hurts, it seems as though time pretty much stands still. Of course, once she burps, poops, or otherwise rights her innards, you soon discover about three minutes have passed, not three hours.

Conversely, when said persnickety person is happy or sleeping, you get the impression time’s fleeting only to discover she’s been out for two solid hours. I guess you get so focused on their situation, you forget your own, which is not a bad thing these days. Tiny humans are incredibly helpless compared to most baby mammals and you never really consider that until you have to care for one.

Now, I have raised children before and dealt with babies, but it’s been more than 25 years since it was a daily thing. A lot has changed in that quarter-century from what are now termed best practices, to my energy level. Let’s face it, I can’t pull off at age 55 what I did when I was 30.

And my lovely wife, who recently retired as a teacher (librarian) is actually the lead in all this grandparenting, so she’s the one who gets up at 4 a.m. to help with a certain screaming banshee (as she has been named by her father).

Oh, and just to be clear, we have one granddaughter who will be 2 in February, a little guy who is 10 months old and twins who were five months old on Jan. 1. Happy New Year!

The twins live with their dad and his fiancée next door, the toddler is with us five days a week, and the middle guy is here at least one day per week, so like I said, we’re hip deep in diapers, bottles, cribs, strollers (we currently have five) and baby clothes. And rolling those strollers around the village, we see other grandparents doing the same. We should form a club.

I’m not complaining, but it is a great deal of work to deal daily with that many little folks. The truth is, we’re frequently outnumbered, which also contributes to the time dilation effect.

I recall having the toddler solo one morning as my wife was out and her dad was occupied with the twins. I was scheduled to have her for about three hours, which felt like an entire day by the time it was over. I mean, keeping someone two feet tall with unlimited energy and no fear alive becomes quite a challenge. And did you know toddlers have Olympic-level speed?

It turns out that ,if you look away from a toddler for 1.7 seconds, she is fully capable of going from one floor to another up a full set of stairs or from the back porch to the front of the house. It’s certainly helped improve my sprint speed and also my research into leashes for toddlers.

She is fun though, and endlessly happy when she’s not screaming in frustration because you won’t let her eat an entire cake or six dozen cookies. She also can’t fathom why you won’t allow her to dive into a mud puddle or snowbank. Thus is life at 23 months.

But when all the dust, diapers, and dirty laundry clear, and they’re all asleep or gone home, you can rest easy knowing you did something useful with your day. I was never a huge fan of children, probably due to being bullied and having less than ideal memories of childhood.

But being a grandparent is a very different role and a very nice one. When I was growing up, my grandparents on both sides lived far away, so I maybe saw them once or twice a year. These little ones will grow up truly knowing us and I think that’s a good thing.

We’re able to help their parents and enrich the lives of the little beasts. We’re calmer, more experienced, and less stressed than young working parents with not enough time in the day.

Let’s face it, childcare in this country is a joke, like so many things that have to do with helping normal people. Having family nearby is now almost required for young families to do well. But I’m not going to get all political here; that’s for another time.

As I write this, my granddaughter is asleep in her little chair here in my office. She’s snoring quietly, perfectly happy, safe and warm. Her parents are happily asleep with her twin brother next door and all is right in their world. And isn’t that the whole point of being a grandparent?

Editor’s note: Michael Seinberg has been a grandparent for the past 13 years. The fifth one is 13 years old, lives on the west coast, and visits once or twice a year.

Tuesday! Oh,Tuesday!

The Hill this time had an ice, sleet (in some cases) and snow storm all at the same time on last Monday night into Tuesday morning. Off the Hill, in many places, it was just wet. In some areas on the Hill, the ice was ¼- to ½-inch thick, and branches were down all over the place.

Late Tuesday morning into the afternoon, it was possible to hear the branches snapping — one right after another. Once off the Hill, it was definitely a ride to Pop’s Place in Preston Hollow over the flats.

The Albany Times Union had pictures of what it was like just a short distance from this scribe’s home and the homes of a few of the OMOTM. However, from the direction listed by the photos, it would be hard to spot these spots.

These places are not in Altamont! The shots that were shown are in the town of Knox. Barbers Corners is at the junction of the Knox Cave road (County Route 252) and Pleasant Valley Road (County Route 254) and Pleasant Valley Equisetum (Gallery) is just a few hundred feet south down Pleasant Valley Road from this corner.

The unfortunate part of this is that the town of Knox does not have a post office. It is serviced by Altamont, East Berne, and Berne — and they are all miles away from Knox.

None of these post-office mailing addresses are anywhere near Barbers Corners, or the Pleasant Valley Exquisitum. However, regardless of the address, the ice found us, and so does the rest of the weather.

OMOTM Hilltown local geography lesson for today supplied to keep visitors from getting lost and wandering all over these hills trying to find this or that.

Living wages

When the OFs who were not on the farm started working, the average hourly wage was 75 cents per hour; in 1956, it went up to a buck an hour.

One OF mentioned he made 88 dollars every two weeks, and everything was taken out of that, and the OF purchased a nice home on that money and at one time even owned a Jaguar. Pensions were based on figures like that.

After working 30 or 40 years, this brings the OFs into the 1990s with the hourly wage somewhere in the range of $6 to $7 per hour. The OFs had worked their way into better positions by then, but the pension programs still did not offer that much, nor did they have to based on projections.

At that time, no one dreamed gas would be $2.50 a gallon and a pound of coffee would be about an hour’s wage.

Schools in the 1940s and early ’50s did not teach much about money, only saving a portion of what the OFs made in a savings plan at the bank. What a difference it is today when there are even classes on just money and investing.

Yet many of the OFs did well and it was basically on hard work and catching on to personally investing in one project or another.

Another advantage, or disadvantage in some cases, was the time when the OFs first started working. Then companies were in the game for the long haul.

One OF mentioned, when working in our area, we had our choice of what company we would work for.  There was the railroad, American Locomotive, General Electric, the state, or a number of large companies we could choose from.

Working for these companies was for the duration of how long anyone was going to work. It was a career more or less. Then along came World War II and everything changed. Now companies come and go, loyalty of company to employee or employee to company is long gone.

One OF blamed it on Harvard, and the numbers guys who turned employees into numbers themselves. No longer did employers consider employees as people, but as numbers.

Today, one OF said his son told him the number employee/employer relationship has a formula that goes something along the line of skill required and years. If someone is a new hire, four years in a skilled position is reasonable by the employee.

This gives them a year or so to learn the job, and two to three years to pay back to the company. From then on, the employee owes the company nothing. It is hard for the OFs to understand this.

Some OFs say they are glad they are out of the work pool now.

Another OF said, “Hey, let alone the work pool, I am glad I don’t have to go to school. Everyone kept telling me I had 10 fingers and I kept telling them I had 11. They kept telling me I was wrong, so I would count them. I counted my left hand, I would go with their system, pinky, 10; ring, 9; index, 8; pointer, 7; thumb, 6, and the five on my right hand and tell them 5 plus 6 is 11. So I am really glad I am not back in school.”

We bet the teachers are glad this wise guy doesn’t have to go back to school now either.

To those Old Men of the Mountain who were low enough in elevation to miss all the ice and made it to Pop’s Place in Preston Hollow, we say congratulations, and they were: Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Rick LaGrange, Joe Rack, Russ Pokorny, Mike Willsey, Gerry Chartier, Elwood Vanderbilt, Rich Vanderbilt, Fred Crounse, Harold Grippen, and not me.