A Book Launch Experience

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to launch the new book you've spent weeks and months writing? And then spent weeks and months attempting to find a publishing home for it?

If you answered Yes to the first question above, let me see if I can explain what it's like. But first, let me note what it isn't like:

• It's not like childbirth. How, you ask, do I know? Well, nobody's dressed in scrubs and there is no beeping fetal monitor and there are no medicinal or distinctive other odors. And nobody is shouting, "Push!"
• It's not like winning the lottery. A lottery ticket has a far better probability of paying off than does a new book becoming a blockbuster bestseller.  
• It's not like launching the D-Day invasion. There aren't as many moving pieces to a book launch, the noise levels are far lower, and the spectre of violent death is generally remote .

So, then, what is it like? Well . . .

• It's tense. Will readers like it? Will they talk about it? Will they buy it?
• It's busy. Are all of my sites updated, to include website, social media, blogs, etc.?
• It's sobering. Will I be able to handle it if it does poorly? Or if it does spectacularly?
• It's exciting. My author name is out there now, potentially all over the world. Good, bad or indifferent.
• It's fun. It's great fun. It's the payoff for a lot of hard, sometimes lonely work.  

There you have it. But don't take my word for it. Write and launch your own book and see for yourself.

And you'll find that it doesn't lend itself to easy description. It's an experience unlike any other. You're bringing something new and unique into the world, with your artistic DNA all over it. You've labored long and hard, and the moment finally arrives. It's not an end, but a beginning. You might even shed a few tears with family and friends.

Welcome to the world, you beautiful, gorgeous Dare Not Blink.

(Oops. Does that sound a bit like childbirth?)

My New Book Cover - Dare Not Blink

This is the front cover of my soon-to-be-released novel Dare Not Blink

Birthday of the Marine Corps

On November 10, 1775, the Second Continental Congress authorized the creation of the U. S. Marine Corps. Two battalions were eventually raised from young men recruited from places like Philadelphia's Tun Tavern, the very first recruiting location of the Corps.

Hence, on November 10, 2012, the Marine Corps celebrates its 237th birthday.

Those Members of Congress could have little imagined what they were authorizing in 1775, apart from an immediate need to turn back the British Redcoats by force of arms during the American Revolution. No small concern, that. But they couldn't have foreseen the growth of the Corps over the coming years, and the expanding role Marines would assume in the defense of the nation. They knew only that the risks were great, the stakes extraordinarily high, and the plight of the fledgling country growing more desperate by the day. They needed men who would fight with tenacity and skill, who would stand their ground and man their posts even when all seemed lost, and in so doing honor and inspire the young nation with their examples of courage and commitment. What they needed were Marines.

And that's exactly what they got.

Those Members of Congress in 1775 put into play a military force that, almost a century later, would earn additional battle streamers during the Civil War. A half-century after Appomattox, a larger, harder-hitting force of Marines would take to the field in Europe during World War I and become known as "Devil Dogs" by incredulous Germans who could only slow, but not stop, their repeated, aggressive assaults. In World War II, Marines would fight a bloody, relentless, island-by-island campaign that would soon thereafter become the stuff of legends. The Korean War was likewise bloody, with the Pusan landing and the Chosin Reservoir adding to an already illustrious history. The Vietnam War would produce more Marine Corps casualties than did World War II, with places like Khe Sanh and Hue becoming famous for Marine resolve and bravery.

More recently, Marines have seen action in Kuwait and Iraq, and today remain in harm's way in Afghanistan. The young men and women who have worn the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor during the War on Terror have honored the county with their service, as Marines always have, for what is now 237 years.

Those patriots who were Members of Congress created things that would endure, like the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of Confederation. And, thankfully, a Marine Corps to ensure their continuity.

Happy birthday, Marines.

Semper Fi.

Dare Not Blink - Chapter One

This is a sneak peek at Chapter One of my new novel "Dare Not Blink" which is currently scheduled for a November release.

CHAPTER ONE
The office door was closed, hinting that something was stirring, something big and essential and not widely known—something only for those privileged few who were deemed worthy to hear in advance.

"The Old Man’s got cancer, and it’s spreading out of control."

Jeff Wylie, president of Atlanta-based Elerbee Engineering, a consulting engineering firm, took an ominously deep breath and exhaled slowly. His two closest associates, anxious and close-mouthed, sat across the big desk from him.

It was April, 2002.

Wylie cleared his throat and took a sip from a plastic water bottle. He looked over each of the two men carefully, deliberately, knowing full well that his own demeanor was likewise being closely scrutinized. He quickly glanced at his open laptop, then at some scribbled notes on a legal pad atop his desk before finally removing his glasses and straightening in his thick leather chair.

"I can’t be much more specific than that, except to add that it apparently started in his lungs."

His two associates were dumbstruck. The firm’s vigorous, indomitable, sixty-six-year-old founder and chairman, Langdon Elerbee—the Elerbee in Elerbee Engineering—had been such a forceful presence for such a long time that the very prospect of his sudden, permanent departure seemed highly implausible. It defied all that was customary and natural, akin to a Federal Reserve proposition to drop the U.S. dollar and adopt the Norwegian kroner as the new monetary standard of value.
"It doesn’t look good, gentlemen. The time line’s in days and hours, that’s how quickly the disease is overtaking him."

"My God!" gasped Jim Ogden, a senior executive and Wylie protégé. "How did you find out?"

Wylie shrugged. "I’ve known for several weeks that something wasn’t right. He’d had some problems, underwent a series of tests, and then his mood changed, almost as if he’d suddenly lost interest in an entire lifetime of work. His coughing was nearly constant, and with his shortness of breath, his arriving late and leaving early, I knew something was up. His wife called last night to tell me he had been hospitalized, that things were serious and that, well, the doctors were now advising things were moving toward a bad outcome."

Don Burroughs, another corporate officer, could only shake his head in disbelief.

Wylie took another sip of water, then fidgeted with a cell phone on his desk. Ogden leaned forward, alternately glancing at his boss and his feet.

Burroughs shook his head again, his face a bright crimson, his shoulders sagging heavily, his mouth forcing a self-conscious half-grin. "What the hell happens now?" he asked in a voice unintentionally louder than usual.

Wylie turned and stared out a window to the side. "I think it would be an understatement to say we’re in for some challenging days ahead."

Ogden sighed loudly. "No kidding. Who else in the firm knows?"

"Nobody, although Grace Elerbee did ask me to contact Dave Paige and Larry Collier to make sure they understood the severity of the situation."

"Have you done that?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

Wylie turned and glared at Ogden before sharply replying, "No."

Ogden and Burroughs were suddenly bewildered and unnerved, as much by Wylie’s tone and body language as by the news itself.

Wylie reached up and opened the top button of his starched white shirt, loosening his red-striped tie—an uncharacteristic move that hardly slipped the notice of his two hyper-attentive colleagues.

"I should tell you both that I’ve been planning for and anticipating this very opportunity, which incidentally I’ve shared with no one else, not even my wife," Wylie added. "Langdon Elerbee had a plan for the continuance of this firm after his eventual retirement, of course, but now his departure seems likely to occur before his final imprint can be put into place. And I should also tell you that my plan differs considerably from Langdon’s, especially with regard to the people that he and I see as vital to this firm. He has his preferences, and I certainly have mine."

"But the Board’s already approved Langdon’s plan to name Dave Paige as Executive Vice President," countered Burroughs after a weighty silence.

Wylie’s expression hardened. "I’m well aware of that, thank you. Do you not remember that I sit on that same Board?"

Burroughs swallowed and looked away.

Ogden leaned closer to Wylie’s desk. "What the hell’s going on here, Jeff?"

"What’s going on here is simply that a rare moment of opportunity has arrived, and I don’t intend to squander it. Langdon will soon enough pass from the scene, leaving an obvious void at the very top of the firm. I will be elevated to Chairman and C.E.O. by a Board of Directors that I will now lead. I will then proceed to put into place an organizational structure of my own design, and with people of my own choosing."

Wylie hesitated a moment before adding, "Let me say once more: I do not intend to let this opportunity pass, gentlemen."

Wylie then sat back and watched. He carefully studied the faces of Ogden and Burroughs as his words were absorbed and comprehended. His two associates were experienced veterans of the intrigue and stealth warfare so common to corporate America, especially at a headquarters level. Wylie’s own arrival two years prior had brought with it a sort of ruthless, zero-sum, internecine style that the traditionally conservative Elerbee Engineering had yet to fully emulate or widely embrace. The gentlemanly, consummately professional approach of Langdon Elerbee still remained the behavioral model throughout the vast majority of the company. Wylie understood all too well that his detached and secretive management style was distasteful to most of the old Elerbee hands, but he also knew that many of the firm’s top executives could be easily browbeaten with a string of smoking-hot expletives or a strategically arranged display of temper.

Wylie also knew that only one top manager, Dave Paige, could not be so easily cowed. But he would deal with Dave Paige in his new plan, in his own way, and on his own terms.

The reckoning for Paige would come on day one, page one, paragraph one. It was all in the plan. Things would come roaring at Paige like a runaway locomotive, at once so swift and powerful and unexpectedly that an instant replay would be needed to reconstruct exactly what had transpired. Jeff Wylie could not, would not tolerate the presence of Dave Paige in Wylie’s new order of things. Again, it was all in the plan. And for all practical purposes, it was the plan.

That rarest of moments will soon arrive, Wylie now knew, filling his head with a dizzying array of rich possibilities, accelerating his pulse like an astronaut’s on the launching pad, triggering his predatory impulses like a tiger stalking its prey. The day would soon be his to win or lose.

And he had every intention of winning.

Wylie suddenly rose, and as he did so he buttoned his collar and straightened the knot of his tie. Ogden and Burroughs also stood, not knowing what else to do.

"Enough of the preliminaries, gentlemen," Wylie said, his hands now resting upon his hips, his words coming faster than usual. "Like myself, you are about to hear a knock on the door. If you are bold enough to answer, you will find yourself face-to-face with a magnificent and unequalled opportunity of a sort that, if you are indeed fortunate, will come along only once or twice over an entire career. If you choose to ignore that knock, you will most likely lose your one and only chance to make some serious noise in this company. And I mean serious noise, gents, with all the influence and prestige and remuneration that the term signifies. The decision is yours alone, but the rules are such that you will be required to make it in the next three minutes."

Wylie stopped and stared at his two associates, sensing the shared tension in the deathly silent room, shifting his icy gaze from one man to the other, feeling his own heart rate quickening inside his chest.

"Are you gentlemen hearing me loud and clear?"

Both nodded their understanding, each then cutting a quick glance at the other.

"Good, because you two are the only people in this firm—hell, on the planet earth!—that I’ve revealed my intentions to. I am going to take control of this organization and drive it to places it never dreamed it could go. There will be new service offerings, new acquisitions, new markets, and unprecedented levels of revenue and profit. I am going to do what I came here to do and overturn the institutional reluctance to take risks and stir up the industry. I am going to reinvent this firm, to change its culture, to put it on a fast track. And I’m going to need a team around me who sees what I see, feels what I feel, wants what I want. And you two are the very first members of that prospective team that I’m approaching. But you must keep silent about this conversation, as I have thus far, for to do otherwise will result in all manner of unpleasantness crashing down upon you. There are those on this executive team who absolutely do not need to hear about this. This has the potential—no, the certainty—that a lot of feelings will be hurt and a lot of careers altered before all is said and done. Be that as it may. I’ll do what needs to be done, you can be sure of that. But I will be the only one to make the decisions as to who needs to hear and who doesn’t. Am I making myself crystal clear?"

"Yes," they both said in unison.

Wylie then glanced at his watch. "Time is up. I need to know here and now. And then, either way, I will need your silence until I instruct you otherwise. And if you’re thinking that I’m asking you first because I value you and want you with me, well, you’ve guessed correctly. That is why I’ve called you here. That is why you’re hearing this."

Wylie then smiled slightly, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Gentlemen, your moment has arrived. You’ve heard the knock. Now you must answer."

Wylie nodded, his slight smile still attached, his eyebrows arched.

"So, are you with me?"

Huh? A Business Thriller?

Have you ever read a thriller about the business world? The what, you say? The business world? Really? Somebody’s done that?

As Thomas Magnum, Private Investigator, so famously observed, “I know what you’re thinking.”

There is no such genre, right? A business thriller? Who in the world would write such a thing?

Well, as Todd Rundgren so famously crooned, “Hello, It’s Me.”

My new novel Dare Not Blink (Navigator Books) is currently scheduled for release in November. It’s a story about an Atlanta-based company who suddenly finds itself in the midst of a vicious internal struggle after the sudden death of its beloved founder and majority owner. For those who have been a part of the rough-and-tumble of corporate America you will find much that is recognizable—from the strengths and flaws of the characters to the cutthroat maneuvering of some of the top executive operators. It’s a fast-paced read with plenty of twists and turns, and the reviews from beta readers (including a CEO) have been excellent. I’m really looking forward to its release into the marketplace.

In the next few weeks we’ll be finalizing the cover and getting everything in place for publication. I’ll give you an early peek at it soon.

So yes, there is such a thing as a business thriller. And I’ve written one. By golly.

As the proper English gentleman (and Magnum antagonist) Jonathan Quail Higgins so famously uttered, “Quite.”

10 Ways to Get America Back on Track

1.     Get rid of reality shows like the one featuring those pathetic, miserable fools sisters and replace them with more inspiring subjects. Gabby Douglas and Missy Franklin come to mind. The U.S. military also has an abundance of worthy subjects. Hollywood celebrity worship is to a healthy culture as a dog-poop topping is to  pizza. Neither is improved.   

2.     Create a massively funded legal juggernaut to oppose the ACLU, with great vigor, especially on matters of religious freedom.  Maybe Donald Trump could lead it (but not make it into a reality show!).

3.     Break the public unions. Taxpayers will be well served. It’s a nasty cycle of political bribery and cronyism. God bless Scott Walker.

4.     Begin some type of ethics training for middle and high schools, and especially into undergraduate and graduate programs. The number of crooks now in our public and private sectors is worrisome.

5.     Find the right bi-partisan balance in regulating market activities, especially in the financial sector. Not overly burdensome, but smart and with plenty of bite for the offenders. And by all means don’t house the convicted offenders in minimum-security prisons. Let them experience for themselves what they did to others.

6.     Consider our national security as the primary objective for securing our national borders. Then work backwards from there to create a fair immigration policy.

7.     Enact term limits for members of Congress. Say, three terms for a representative and two terms for a senator. Stop the pattern of going to Congress and staying forever, dodging the tough votes, and retiring a multi-millionaire. Really, how much good is Harry Reid doing this nation? Your witness.

8.     Don’t gut the military. We have Islamist extremists who want to murder us by the tens of thousands, and the Chinese are building their military to control the Pacific region. We draw down at our own peril.  

9.     Address and fix the debt issue, with everything on the table.

10. Elect a president who has experience in the private sector, and preferably who would have a running mate with budget experience.

Those are my 10. What are some of yours?

A Lasting Friendship

Many years ago I had the great privilege of being Executive Officer (XO) of Battery M, 4^th Battalion, 12^th Marines, 3^rd Marine Division. We were stationed on Okinawa but made two training trips to Camp Fuji, Japan, near the base of the beautiful, majestic Mt. Fuji. We were commanded by Captain Robert L. Adams (above, right), a splendid CO who had earlier been seriously wounded in Vietnam, and who knew his business as an artillery professional. I was Captain Adams’ second in command, frankly a job I still consider to be the best I ever had.

We trained hard, and if I do say so myself Mike Battery was the best firing battery in the entire Marine Corps during our time.  We were the envy of our battalion, the equivalent of playing on a championship team. It was heady stuff for a twenty-something lieutenant in a unit of one-hundred Marines. And we found time to enjoy Japan—its sights, its culture, and especially its people. It was a terrific education.

As is tradition, Marines refer to captains as Skipper, and so for me Bob Adams was then, and remains so today, Skipper. The bond we developed enabled us to remain in touch over the many years since we were together in uniform. Skipper continued in the Marines until his eventual retirement, and I went on to a career in the business world. We raised kids, traveled the world in our respective careers, and managed to remain in touch.

Skipper and wife Leah visited my wife and I in Atlanta not long ago. When we started reminiscing it was almost like we were young and back in Japan again. The names of our troops didn’t come quite as easily as they once did, but it was amazing how much intricate detail we could recollect after forty years. We even joked as we did years ago about how Japanese often struggle to pronounce L-words like “village,” which hence becomes “virrage.”  And to be fair, my command of the Japanese language has improved nil since we were there.

I also found out that Skipper had become a woodworker of some distinction, with a gorgeous grandfather clock to his credit. To my surprise, a box arrived on my doorstep this week. Inside was a bird house, expertly crafted and made of cedar, and with my name (sorta) inscribed across the front.

I can only hope that the birds who take up residence will have as much fun living in it as I did in receiving it.

Semper Fi, Skipper. Stop by if you ever get to Atranta again.

  

Hard Drive, RIP

I recently had a tech support person with a hard foreign accent deliver the hard truth that my hard drive had crashed. I even paid for that diagnosis, while all along my instincts had been telling me that the hard drive was finished. Once confirmed, I had to consider the next steps.  

So what now? Buy a new hard drive and replace it myself? Buy a new computer? Shrug it all off and catch the next flight to Costa Rica?

Well, I bought a new computer. On balance, I think I made the right choice. I can only hope it all works out. Here's a bit of the summary: 

Good news: I saved the most important files only an hour before the crash.
Bad news: I lost all my work-related Outlook folders and emails.

Good news: My wife and I kept up with emails and texts from our amazing new iPhones.
Bad news: We never talk anymore since we're busy doing amazing iPhone stuff.

Good news: The 330 songs I had purchased from iTunes were saved.
Bad news: The 700 songs I had added from my own CD collection weren't. (iCrap!)

Good news: I'm learning Windows 7.
Bad news: I miss Windows XP (sorta like I'd miss my favorite watch; it was comfortable).

Good news: I've now got a new, updated computer.
Bad news: It wasn't free.

I would prefer not to hear the phrase, "Your hard drive has crashed," for a long time to come. But of all the "crashes" that could have come my way, I suppose this one was probably the least destructive.

iGrateful, iThink.

I Still Miss John Wayne

The Duke, John Wayne, died 33 years ago this week. I miss him, still. And I still enjoy his movies, especially those World War II films where he and the good guys would always win. He was greatly popular with U.S. Marines, and there were at least two C-ration items named in his honor: the John Wayne can opener and the John Wayne cookie. Why? Beats me. We Marines didn’t question.

I read a biography about Duke several years ago and discovered the interesting tidbit that he really didn’t like horses. For an actor who arguably did more to popularize the Western film genre than anyone else, not liking horses came as a bit of a surprise. I suppose it would be akin to discovering Mario Andretti’s dislike of fast cars or Bruce Springsteen’s dislike of loud music. Or Bill Clinton’s dislike of a gorgeous, um, bacon cheeseburger. It just didn’t seem to fit.

John Wayne came along at the right time. He was an unabashed American patriot at a time when patriotism was widely understood in simpler terms than is apparent today. He smoked cigarettes, drank whiskey, and killed the bad guys in his films. He was gentle toward women (except Maureen O’Hara, with whom he had an extraordinary on-screen chemistry and off-screen friendship). Occasionally he would die a hero’s noble death at the end of a picture, which was never pleasant. And he would almost always provide a worthwhile life lesson somewhere between the opening and closing credits.

His friends in the entertainment industry spoke often of his loyalty and generosity as a friend. As big an international star as he became over a long career, he could poke as much fun at himself as he could others. Comedian Rich Little did a splendid impersonation of Wayne, from his voice to his gestures to his walk, and I can remember Duke roaring with laughter as he sat with Johnny Carson and watched Little’s hilarious routine. And the laughter was authentic, as was much else with Wayne.

That was then.

Now we’ve got the pretty-boy actors who spend a disproportionate amount of time doing little more in their films than eating. And their causes are rarely conservative anymore. Or often hardly even patriotic. Was John Wayne the greatest film actor ever? Nah, I won’t go that far. But he was darned good, and his screen presence was always infinitely more commanding than these contemporary lightweights.

Thanks, Duke, for all the great work you’ve left for us to enjoy.

Semper Fi, good sir.

A Memorial Day Remembrance of the Sullivans

There were five Sullivan brothers: Depression-era, Catholic Irish-American sons of Tom and Alleta Sullivan of Davenport, Iowa. George, Francis, Joseph, Madison, and Albert Sullivan discovered that when Pearl Harbor was attacked on December 7, 1941, one of their friends was aboard the USS Arizona. In their desire to avenge a friend’s death, they did what so many other Americans did in the aftermath of that devastating attack. They enlisted in the armed forces.

They chose the U.S. Navy and insisted that they be assigned to the same ship. The Navy had a policy against such assignments, but it was loosely enforced. By August, 1942 the brothers were aboard the light cruiser USS Juneau and participating in the Guadalcanal Campaign. On November 13, 1942, their ship was hit by a torpedo and withdrew from the naval engagement. The Juneau was later hit by another torpedo which detonated near the ammunition magazine. The ship exploded and quickly sank.

Letters from the Sullivan brothers suddenly stopped arriving at their Davenport home and the parents grew worried. Letters were the lifeblood that connected anxious American families with their sons in harm’s way.

On January 12, 1943, as father Tom prepared to leave for work, three naval officers arrived at the front door. Tom knew immediately that the news would not be good.

“Which one?” Tom asked.

“I’m sorry,” one of the officers replied. “All five.”

In addition to the parents and sister Genevieve, the survivors included Albert’s wife and young son.

The loss of a single service member is a devastating event for a family. We’ve seen it repeated across the nation for the past ten years with wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Many of us can still remember the losses from Vietnam. It’s always heartbreaking, always painful and gripping.

But five?

Can you imagine the shock and inconsolable despair the Sullivan family felt on that day in 1943?

No, of course not. Only the Sullivan family knew the pain, the numbness, and the utter disbelief in losing all five of the brothers. The blue-star flag in the window, indicating sons serving in the military, would now have five gold stars. FDR would send a condolence letter and resolutions honoring the family would be passed by state and local governments. Later, a U.S. warship would be named after the Sullivan brothers. But nothing could bring those boys back.

On this Memorial Day weekend, we honor all the gold-star families who have lost sons and daughters in service to our nation. If not for the willingness of our citizens to serve and sometimes sacrifice, American history would have charted a far different course. That willingness is still on display, from the distant battlefields to the blue-star flags in the windows. Thank God for those magnificent Americans in uniform, and those equally magnificent families supporting them.

In the movie The Fighting Sullivans, made in 1944, Tom watches with pride as Alleta christens the new destroyer, the USS The Sullivans

. As the ship sails away, Alleta turns and says, “Tom, our boys are afloat again.”

Mark Zuckerberg, Can You Spare A Dime?

Facebook becomes a public company this week. It’s expected to make a google of top executives and employees wealthy, so much so that Facebook is concerned about being able to retain many of its people once they discover the condition of great wealth. CNBC Squawk Box co-host Becky Quick retweeted this week that Facebook’s chief exec Mark Zuckerberg, who turned a ripe old 28 this week, could spend an after-tax $300,000 per day until age 80, and still have money left.

Should I take the stance now in vogue in some quarters that such a huge new concentration of wealth is nothing short of obscene? And in need of regulation? And unfair at its very core? And among such young, technology-savvy people?

Heck no. On the contrary, I think it’s terrific. Someone develops a product used by 800 million people, over 10% of the world’s population, and it would appear to the untutored eye that they just might have a value proposition to take to the marketplace. Investors will elbow one another in the temples and push their grandmas out of the way to get a piece of this one. And somebody’s gonna make some big money. Ya’ think?

My twenty-something nephew told me recently that those of my generation are technology-immigrants. Those of his generation are technology-natives. And what about those who are coming along in the next 15-20 years? Interesting, huh?

Zuckerberg’s success will encourage other young Americans of the technology persuasion to keep innovating and developing. As long as our tax and other policies won’t discourage wealth building (and, importantly, wealth keeping), we’ll continue to see enormously bright and talented people bring products and services to market that will make all our lives better. Does Facebook make our lives better? Well, that’s debatable, at least to me. But social media won’t be the only business sector affected by this success story.

I can easily foresee technological innovations transforming such industries as transportation, manufacturing, and energy. Medical information and recordkeeping is another sector on the cusp of major new leaps. As a writer, technological innovation has all but turned the publishing industry on its ear.

Don’t be surprised to see Mark Zuckerberg become a major philanthropist as he grows older and thinks of ways to give back. Just like Bill Gates. Just like many wealthy Americans have been doing since our nation's founding. It’s part of our tradition, a reflection on who we are as a people. The fortunate help the less fortunate. That’s why we need more fortunates, not less. People who can spare a dime very often do.

Mr. Zuckerberg will be able to spare lots of dimes, and my guess is he’ll put most of ‘em to work in the right places.

Congrats, Facebook.

The Tim Tebow Phenomenon

Unless you were hibernating last winter or stranded on a U.S. airport taxiway awaiting takeoff, you’re no doubt aware of the attention surrounding Tim Tebow, lately of the New York Jets.

Tebow is arguably the biggest draw in the NFL, America’s premier sports league. His jersey sales are among the leaders. He is discussed in minute, excruciating detail on the sports channels. And his larger-than-life celeb status has his photo in all the magazines of choice for those who follow the gossip.

However, there are plenty of vocal critics who denigrate his throwing motion, who question a team’s need to build an offense suited to his specific (and some argue, limited) skills, and who foresee his likely inability to become a bona fide NFL quarterback over the long term.

Others detest him for his religious displays and his kneeling in prayer on the field, a fad now popularly known as “Tebowing.” Many find it offensive that he uses football to take his message beyond the playing field, which he does enthusiastically and unapologetically.

He is both loved and reviled for his religious displays and beliefs in a nation where there seems to be little or no middle ground remaining.

Why is Tebow such a polarizing figure? After all, he’s a willing role model, a good citizen, and a man of faith who is building a children’s hospital in the Philippines. His good works are authentic and numerous.

Mothers (and probably many fathers) would want him as a son-in-law. Some would prefer that he leave football and enter politics, eventually seeking the presidency itself.

And he’s a winner. Americans love winners, right? Tebow was a part of two BCS national championships at the University of Florida. He was awarded the Heisman Trophy in 2007. He’s in the conversation as being perhaps the greatest football player in collegiate history. In the pros, he lit a fire under a lackluster Denver Broncos team and took them to the playoffs last season, defying the naysayers and validating his standing among his growing legion of followers. According to Twitter, immediately after his 80-yard touchdown pass to beat the Pittsburg Steelers in the wild-card playoffs, 9,420 tweets per second were generated.

I confess to being a Tebow admirer. I certainly didn’t like it when his Florida Gators were beating my Georgia Bulldogs in all but one of their meetings, but I always admired Tebow. And I still do.

As for the controversy, is one man kneeling in prayer, humbly and sincerely, really such a threat?

The Power of Prayer

My wife and I had three robust, healthy children, who all reached full-bodied adulthood and went on to have children of their own. We have been blessed with eight grandchildren, who are all vibrant and in good health in their own right. Two of our grandchildren, however, arrived with problems at birth: One developed pneumonia and underwent months of breathing treatments; another arrived with a cleft palate which was surgically repaired 6 months after birth.

Nothing, nothing quite pulls at a grandparent (and I’m sure a parent) like a baby in the throes of a struggle. Thanks to lots of prayer, the 24X7 attentiveness of their parents, and some wonderful doctors and caregivers, both boys are today physically strong, willfully strong, and acting like, well, just like boys are supposed to act. And we are grateful beyond words, to say the least.

This week one of my daughter’s dearest friends, who is pregnant with her second child, received word that all may not be well with her baby. Recent tests indicated that the baby is at high risk for Down syndrome. Accordingly, a more specific series of tests have been performed, and this Friday they will be told whether the 5 chromosomal disorders have been detected. As you might expect, a young couple’s world has suddenly been turned upside down.

I’m asking my blog friends, my Facebook and Twitter friends, and anyone else who may read this piece to say a prayer for our friends. I am a believer in the power of prayer. So, too, is this young family. I’ll leave the parents unnamed, but since they are both loyal St. Louis Cardinals fans, we’ll call the baby Baby Redbird, and if you mention Baby Redbird in your prayers, at a time and in a manner of your own choosing, I’m quite certain that God will sort it out in his own infinite wisdom. And there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that He will answer those prayers, in His own divine way, and provide encouragement and strength to this family at a time of need only a few among us can really understand.

I sincerely thank you in advance for this young couple, and you certainly have my own appreciation.

Alma Mater

I traveled to Athens yesterday for a visit to my alma mater, the University of Georgia. The occasion was the Bulldogs annual spring football game, G-Day, where admission is free and the families bring throngs of excited kids attired in red-and-black. Along with 40,000 of my closest friends, we all enjoyed the game, the weather, and our unflagging expectations for another great season from our beloved Dawgs.

The daughter of one of our parking-lot regulars had been accepted to UGA and with great excitement she was looking forward to reporting to campus in the Fall. It reminded me of how I felt when I got my acceptance, and how the cycle of excited incoming freshmen has been repeating itself since 1785. The enrollment has grown by three times in the forty-plus years since I began as a student, and there are lots of new buildings that have been thoughtfully added to the lovely landscape. But there are enough of the old buildings and old trees and familiar road names to confirm to me that I am in a place I love and revere.

I was the first member of my family to have an opportunity to go to college. The first one, ever. The University of Georgia was my choice, and it was one of the wiser decisions I’ve made in life. UGA was plenty challenging, and my fellow accounting-major classmates still stand out in my mind as some of the brightest, most able people I’ve ever encountered, anywhere. I learned I had to work harder to compete with so many gifted, ambitious people. UGA left it up to me to make those choices—work hard and compete or fall behind; work hard and compete or always be prepared to settle for the leftovers; work hard and compete or just go home. They cared little about my self-esteem or my modest means, but only about my demonstrable grasp of the material. It prepared me for the Marine Corps, for graduate school, and for life in the rough-and-tumble of the business world. They gave me something that I needed far more than a mere understanding of balance sheets and income statements. They gave me a lesson in life.

And I am forever indebted.

I am deeply proud of my alma mater, grateful for what it did for me, for what it now means to me. The University will have my devotion and loyalty for as long as I live. I will never tire of returning to that beautiful space, breathing that refreshing air, and allowing the many memories of long ago to take me back to my youth, however briefly. I remember telling my late father upon my daughter’s UGA graduation that he should be proud of the legacy he and my mother began. And I could tell from the look on his face that he was profoundly satisfied that his children and grandchildren would all be college graduates. He was proud just like I was when my own kids graduated, just like my parking-lot friend will be in a few short years. It truly is a very special place.

Go Dawgs!

A Trip For The Ages

My wife and I recently concluded a group trip to Israel that was remarkable in this sense: I’ve never visited any other place that was so dense in human history, so diverse in language, culture, and religion, and so determinative in the origins of my own Christian faith. Too, I have never been in a land where such a perceptible spiritual presence was always hovering, unobtrusive but always there for the taking, like a refreshing, restorative breath of mountain air. It truly was a trip for the ages, and I’ll be grateful for the rest of my earthly days that I could walk where Jesus walked (even with my still floppy foot from recent back surgery).

For those of you who have yet to visit the Holy Land, nothing I could write here could adequately describe the experience in actually viewing what one has read about, been taught, and seen in pictures since childhood. I suppose it’s a bit like seeing for the first time your own newborn baby—its effects are profoundly affecting and indescribable, and only when experiencing it for yourself do you then begin to comprehend its significance. Such was my visit to Israel.

My pastor son was a co-host, together with another talented young American pastor. Our Israeli host was steeped in the history of Israel and added richness and texture with his explanations of Jewish culture and tradition. My son had a gift of providing just the right words of his own with exactly the right verse of scripture to provide context and illumination to the sites we visited.

There were many highlights, and these are but a few:

• Saying a prayer at the Western Wall (that’s me in red in the photo, hardly an Orthodox look). The 2,000-year-old Wall was itself not part of the ancient Temple, but instead a massive retaining wall. I also placed a prayer on a slip of paper into a crack between the massive stones. Jewish custom holds that as soon as the paper touches the Wall, the prayer is sent. The cracks are cleared of the written prayers several times a year, and buried with reverence in a Jewish cemetery.
• Looking out at the Sea of Galilee, hearing the water lapping at the rocks on shore, breathing the air, hearing the birds, and seeing the same surrounding hills that Jesus saw so often, along with Peter and the other disciples.
• Looking over at Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, across the Kidron Valley, at the Temple Mount, the Lions’ Gate, and the surrounding Old City. It is firmly fixed in my mind as the single most grand and moving geographical sight I have ever before witnessed. I could have stood there for a week, contemplating its significance, its idiosyncratic (and sometimes competing) vibes of both reverence and tension, even its uniquely complex and sprawling beauty. As well, the nearby Garden of Gethsemane is equally mesmerizing in its own quiet way.
• Visiting an old synagogue in Nazareth where the stones on the floor and walls dated to the time of Jesus. He was here, I kept thinking. He played on these stones as a child. He listened to and was taught by the rabbis here. When my son read from Luke 4: 16-31, where Jesus had returned to this same small building as a minister in his own right, I’m quite certain the hair on my arms stood up. He is here, I now thought. It may have been the singular most powerful moment of the trip for me.
• Taking communion at the Garden Tomb. An empty ancient tomb, Golgotha “the place of the skull,” and the remembrance not only of a crucifixion, but also the celebration of a resurrection that forever changed the world. And me along with it.

What an experience. What a trip. Writing this makes me want to go again.

Shalom, y’all.

Get Up Offa That Thang

It’s been an interesting year thus far.

Long story short: A week before Christmas I had pain that radiated from the lower back through the hip to the leg, and eventually settled into the lower leg and foot. The pain was relentless, and sleep was scarce. I sought the help of a chiropractor whose treatments eventually moderated the pain. Then my foot dropped and became floppy (in technical medical parlance: not a good sign). I saw an orthopedist that ordered an MRI and soon thereafter advised that my back was, as we say in the South, a mess. So, in early February I underwent back surgery to relieve the compressed nerves. And the surgery went well.

Already on my schedule was a trip to Israel, the trip of a lifetime with the tour being guided by none other than my eldest son.

Yep, now I’m in a real mess.

So, less than a week after surgery I decided to start walking to strengthen the muscles in my leg. I really want to make this trip. My doc’s withholding judgment until my two-week follow up visit. The walking is physically taxing but tolerable, but the aftermath the next day hurts. I mean, really hurts. So I walk some more. And it hurts too.

I came upon a hawk in the road ahead on one of my walks, a gorgeous, golden, powerful creature, and he was busily studying something in the asphalt and paid me little heed. Finally he ascended to a nearby limb and waited for me to limp on by. He then looked down at me and made a calm, restrained noise as I passed, but since I don’t speak hawk, I greeted him in English, tipped my cap, and moved along.

It took a while, but I think the hawk was telling me, “No pain, no gain. You’re doing the right thing.”

Get up offa that thang!

At the follow up visit, my doc said he loved my motivation but didn’t want me to overdue things. After all, he had cut into the muscles in my lower back, and as you’ve already noticed they’ll bark loudly when stressed. My back is otherwise structurally sound, even though the feeling has not yet returned to my foot. He also said that if I felt like I can tolerate the trip, then he’d leave it up to me to make the decision.

So I walked some more. And the pain began to lessen. I knew my friend the hawk was right all along. And so was James Brown.

I’m going to Israel.

Shalom.

Ali - Still the Greatest!

Muhammad Ali recently celebrated his 70th birthday. He has been, and remains, my favorite professional athlete of my lifetime.

I remember when, as a 22-year-old challenger to heavyweight-champion Sonny Liston, young Cassius Clay danced and jabbed and frustrated Liston, the prohibitive favorite, to such a point where the champ remained on his stool for the start of the 7th round. He became the ex-champ in an astonishing upset. “I shook up the world,” shouted the newly crowned Clay, the Louisville Lip. And I loved every minute of it.

I remember listening to the weak signal of my hometown Atlanta’s WSB Radio from Lawton, Oklahoma for a round-by-round recap of the first Ali-Frazier fight in Madison Square Garden in 1971. I hated it when Ali lost.

I remember when Ali was stripped of his title for failing to enter the Army in 1967. I remember when he fought and defeated an outclassed Jerry Quarry in Atlanta in 1970 to begin his quest to regain the heavyweight championship. I remember his rope-a-dope strategy to defeat a younger, stronger George Foreman in Zaire in 1974. And the 3rd fight with Frazier, the Thrilla in Manila in 1975, was perhaps the bravest athletic exhibition by two competitors I’ve ever seen. I loved it when Ali won back his championship belt.

I remember how sad I felt when Ali’s skills deteriorated to a point where he began losing badly in the late Seventies and early Eighties. He was getting hit in the head a lot, and at times it was almost too ugly to bear. It made me feel my own mortality in an odd way that I’d never experienced before, and in that odd way I felt for both of us.

I remember Ali walking out of the shadows with the Olympic torch in his trembling hand to light the flame for the 1996 Summer Games in Atlanta. My wife pointed and shouted, “It’s Muhammad!” With tears in both our eyes, I realized that Billy Payne, the Atlanta Olympics chief and a classmate of mine at UGA, had gotten it exactly right. Billy’s choice to light the flame had been spot-on perfect. The most famous person in the world was once again on a world stage, and I’ll never forget it.

I didn’t agree with Ali’s politics; I didn’t agree with his stance on serving in the military; I didn’t always like the way he taunted opponents in and outside the ring. But he has the heart of a lion, still, and I love that about him. Like it or not, he stood up for what he believed. He never flinched, never took a step backward. He paid a heavy price for his stance, but then he fought his way back to the top of his sport.

There’s been no one like him. He is truly an American treasure.

You’re still the greatest, champ. Happy birthday.

Captain of the Ship

Like many of you, I’ve been struck by the news of the recent cruise-ship fiasco off the coast of Italy. If the stories are indeed accurate about the behavior of the captain after his ship’s grounding and incapacitation, then his name may become synonymous with cowardice in the same sense that Benedict Arnold’s is identified as traitorous. And cowardice may be the least of the captain’s problems before all is finally settled.

How could such a man be entrusted with an expensive vessel and hundreds of lives in his care? Shouldn’t something in his character have been noticed along the way which would’ve raised a red flag about his fitness? I’m guessing that the red flags were there all along. Maybe not, but I’d bet that clues will surface suggesting this guy was a loose cannon. And just as likely, we’ll find that nobody in a position of authority did anything about it. Now, lives have been lost, property has been destroyed, and the threat of an environmental disaster is looming.

Captains stay with their ships.

Did no one ever teach this guy that age-old maxim? Can you imagine the chaos that would’ve followed if a panicked Capt. Sullenberger had immediately elbowed his way out of the cockpit and jumped into a lifeboat after the airliner he was piloting crash-landed in the Hudson River?

The Marine Corps taught us as young lieutenants that officers eat last. When the troops have been fed, only then do the officers eat (and only if anything is left). It’s all about responsibility; it’s about being in charge and looking out for your people. Commanders stay with their men. Captains stay with their ships.

The marketplace will not be kind to the cruise-ship company. And it shouldn’t. The company had a buffoon in its employ whose judgment was suspect in normal times and whose spinelessness was tragically evident in a crisis. It was a recipe for disaster, and a disaster is what they got. It’s virtually guaranteed that other cruise-ship companies are reviewing their ship captains’ records of performance, at this very moment, looking for those red flags.

It’s sad that this one slipped through the cracks only after his ship was on its side and he was elsewhere.

Year of the Dragon

Did you know that 2012 in the Chinese New Year is the Year of the Dragon?

I kinda like that. There’s something powerful and mysterious about a dragon. Dragons usually appear with a body like a huge lizard, or a snake with two pairs of lizard-type legs, able to emit fire from its mouth. The European dragon has bat-type wings growing from its back. An American dragon might be seen in a New England Patriots cap and holding a bolt-action rifle. Hence no need for the fiery breath, or the wings. Or anything else European, for that matter.

I think 2012 will be a great year. Here’s why:

• Novel #3 will be released later this year through my new publisher, Navigator Books.

• My eldest son will guide a tour of Israel for a group that will include his mom and dad. My middle son’s non-profit will start benefiting orphans who at this moment have no hope. My daughter’s small business will start acting mid-sized.

• I’ll get another terrific annual treat and get to see my grandkids play baseball and soccer.

• My sciatic nerve will stop being angry with me, my wife’s knee will be scoped and fixed, and we'll celebrate being pain-free with a Mexican dinner in Marietta.

• My kids and grandkids will fight the successful fight with the allergies that so exasperate them.

• The Atlanta Braves will give Chipper Jones a National League pennant and a chance for a World Series ring as his fabulous career comes to an end.

• The Georgia Bulldogs will win the SEC and get to the national-championship game.

• The U.S. economy will gain even more traction and put more Americans back to work.

• There will be a national election in November (Thank God!).

Here’s hoping the very best for you and yours in 2012!