The ONEOK BuildingHello friends,
I talked to a fella the other day who usta work for my father, well actually he worked for the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under my father. Now, let me describe my pop.
He is Caucasian, white hair, 6', 210 pound, college educated (University of Tulsa) engineer, and a WWII vet (Army Air Corp). He really doesn't say much, but when he does say something it has been thought out completely before he speaks. He is the smartest man I know. (I guess those brains jeans skip a generation) He is a mathematical whiz, but has common sense. He can figure out how much force it takes to move an object out of the earths gravitational pull and he can rebuild the carburetor on the lawn mower. He is a gentleman but doesn't take crap from anyone. He had a big office with a glass wall that over looked the lobby of the ONEOK building (which by the way, he was head engineer of the building of that baby).
Now, let me describe the fella I talked to. He is African American, 6'1", skinny, and high school educated. He is funny and a great guy. When he work with daddy-O his job was about at the bottom of the ol' corporate latter.
So, I called this fella up the other day and asked him for a favor, and needless to say he came through with fling colors. When I thanked him for doing the favor for me he said "I didn't do it for you. I did it for your father". I said "what do you mean?" He said "Your father always talked to me like he talked to everyone else."
I thought this was so cool. I was so proud of my pop. When I told my father about this conversation, he looked at me for a second, getting his thoughts in line I guess, and said "Well, how was I suppose to talk to him son?"
Well, there I stood with that stupid "I don't have an answer" look on me face that I have worn a gazillion times before. I said. Uh....well.....I just thought it was....I mean, thought that was...ahhh....you know dad, in this day and age and turbulent times, we find ourselves (I'm diggin' deep, trying to sound like this was well thought out) put in a position where society, or what we conceive as society, states (I can tell by the look on his face, one that he has worn a bazillion times before, that it ain't workin') that we, as a human race of humans, should live to the extremist formation (Christ, what the hell am I talkin' about?! He ain't buying it, but he ain't gonna stop me. He's gonna let me hang my dumb ass with my own damn words!) of the guide lines in which, we, as a society, have under tookin' (Under tookin'?!?!) as a whole, and as a nation. A nation of humans under God, with liberty pop, liberty! That's what I'm talkin' about" (My father must be completely baffled about what genetically went wrong with that whole reproduction thing) "Good Lord son, why is that such a big deal? Because I spoke to him?". "No...I mean, yes...no, wait a minute...because you were nice to him." I said. "Nice to him? Why wouldn't I be nice to him? (I'm giving him that 'look' agian) "Listen, I only know one way to talk. What should I have done, spoke Chinese? Sometimes son, I don't have any idea what the hell your talking about." (I got that one a lot, believe you me) But thanks to my quick thinking and dads hard hearing (Army Air Corp) I used pipe full-O-fun trick #14 to get myself out of this predicament. "Is that mom hollering? I think moms got dinner ready, it's meat loaf. You love meat loaf. I'm starving. I'll explain it to you after we eat pop, it's complicated" Ol' #14 always works...and he always lets me off the hook.
How cool was that?!?! It wasn't that he was being nice to the lowly employee or practicing good manners, he just talk to him. It never dawned on my pop that society had placed them worlds apart (Dad never really cared what "society" said anyway) It never entered dads mind that he was better than him or above him on some so-called social ladder. The fella was a man and dad treated him that way, like a man.
Pop had a saying " Son, you don't have to be a leader, just don't be a follower."
Chew on that one for a while.
I talked to a fella the other day who usta work for my father, well actually he worked for the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under my father. Now, let me describe my pop.
He is Caucasian, white hair, 6', 210 pound, college educated (University of Tulsa) engineer, and a WWII vet (Army Air Corp). He really doesn't say much, but when he does say something it has been thought out completely before he speaks. He is the smartest man I know. (I guess those brains jeans skip a generation) He is a mathematical whiz, but has common sense. He can figure out how much force it takes to move an object out of the earths gravitational pull and he can rebuild the carburetor on the lawn mower. He is a gentleman but doesn't take crap from anyone. He had a big office with a glass wall that over looked the lobby of the ONEOK building (which by the way, he was head engineer of the building of that baby).
Now, let me describe the fella I talked to. He is African American, 6'1", skinny, and high school educated. He is funny and a great guy. When he work with daddy-O his job was about at the bottom of the ol' corporate latter.
So, I called this fella up the other day and asked him for a favor, and needless to say he came through with fling colors. When I thanked him for doing the favor for me he said "I didn't do it for you. I did it for your father". I said "what do you mean?" He said "Your father always talked to me like he talked to everyone else."
I thought this was so cool. I was so proud of my pop. When I told my father about this conversation, he looked at me for a second, getting his thoughts in line I guess, and said "Well, how was I suppose to talk to him son?"
Well, there I stood with that stupid "I don't have an answer" look on me face that I have worn a gazillion times before. I said. Uh....well.....I just thought it was....I mean, thought that was...ahhh....you know dad, in this day and age and turbulent times, we find ourselves (I'm diggin' deep, trying to sound like this was well thought out) put in a position where society, or what we conceive as society, states (I can tell by the look on his face, one that he has worn a bazillion times before, that it ain't workin') that we, as a human race of humans, should live to the extremist formation (Christ, what the hell am I talkin' about?! He ain't buying it, but he ain't gonna stop me. He's gonna let me hang my dumb ass with my own damn words!) of the guide lines in which, we, as a society, have under tookin' (Under tookin'?!?!) as a whole, and as a nation. A nation of humans under God, with liberty pop, liberty! That's what I'm talkin' about" (My father must be completely baffled about what genetically went wrong with that whole reproduction thing) "Good Lord son, why is that such a big deal? Because I spoke to him?". "No...I mean, yes...no, wait a minute...because you were nice to him." I said. "Nice to him? Why wouldn't I be nice to him? (I'm giving him that 'look' agian) "Listen, I only know one way to talk. What should I have done, spoke Chinese? Sometimes son, I don't have any idea what the hell your talking about." (I got that one a lot, believe you me) But thanks to my quick thinking and dads hard hearing (Army Air Corp) I used pipe full-O-fun trick #14 to get myself out of this predicament. "Is that mom hollering? I think moms got dinner ready, it's meat loaf. You love meat loaf. I'm starving. I'll explain it to you after we eat pop, it's complicated" Ol' #14 always works...and he always lets me off the hook.
How cool was that?!?! It wasn't that he was being nice to the lowly employee or practicing good manners, he just talk to him. It never dawned on my pop that society had placed them worlds apart (Dad never really cared what "society" said anyway) It never entered dads mind that he was better than him or above him on some so-called social ladder. The fella was a man and dad treated him that way, like a man.
Pop had a saying " Son, you don't have to be a leader, just don't be a follower."
Chew on that one for a while.
Here are a couple of other do-dads pop had a hand in engineering.
I couldn't get the damn photos to upload. Stupid Blogspot. The stuff he was a part of were nothing big, just little things like the Saturne V rocket, the Boing 747, the AGM-28 Hound Dog Missile, etc....oh yeah, and me.
Thanks, pop!......you to mom.
My dad bought me my first electric guitar....well my first acoustic also...and one of those little plastic jobs when I was a little tot, anyway, I broke tradition and Smoke On The Water was not the first song I learned. This was the first song I learned. And I played it over and over and over and over and over. It must have drove him nuts. But he never asked me to quite.
Adios,
~e~
Adios,
~e~
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