Leveraged Intelligence

The Birthday of My Uncle Con

The name Conrad in my family has been passed down through many generations, beginning in Germany in 1737.  This is my Uncle Con – Edwin Conrad Hake – for whom I am named.  We each carried as our first names the names of our fathers; Edwin in his case, Joseph in mine (although my father is actually Joe, not Joseph … and, no, I am not a junior).  We each have always been called by our middle names, although Uncle Con was called Ed in the US Air Force, in the service of which he lost his life as a bomber pilot over Germany in 1944, I believe on the day that we lost more pilots than any other, a day when it is reported that a cross appeared in the sky.

He would have been 89 yesterday, had life turned out differently, and I always wondered what it would have been like to have known him as my uncle.  I think it would have been marvelous from everything I have heard.  He was an amazing athlete (all-state basketball player) and a natural leader, the type of man who quietly commanded respect by his behavior, not by his insistence.

Clearly a very handsome man, the above picture was taken of him reading a newspaper in England during the war.  The women absolutely loved him.  He could have been arrogant with his qualities of physical attractiveness and athletic prowess.  Not to mention the status of becoming an air force bomber pilot.  He obviously had the top coin in the realm of American popularity.  He could have gotten away with mistreating those “below” him.  But, he didn’t live life that way.

My father, his younger brother, became frustrated at some teasing when they were young and popped his older brother in the nose – bloodying it!  But, Con didn’t cry, didn’t retaliate.  He laughed!  And, told my dad that was a pretty good shot.

Editors note: like with most family stories, there will be some details about this one that I don’t have quite right, LOL.  However, I think this is substantially accurate.

My point is this: I never got to meet you, my namesake.  I was born five years after your death, Uncle.  All I know is this – I would have loved knowing you!  I also know that your loss was SEVERELY felt by your family.  While it is normal to idealize those we lose so young, I think there is a lot of substance to your legend.

I have one last bit of knowledge about you that you would love – I know that you were not EXACTLY six feet tall!

Carly Turns 20!

This is timed to release at the precise minute Carly turns 20.

Happy Birthday Carly!!

The Son of a Good Father’s Dilemma

Yesterday, as you know, was my father’s birthday and we had a great time on the phone discussing whatever came to our minds.  But, what I didn’t bring up to him is just how difficult it is to be the son of a fine man:

Happy Birthday, Dad!

My father is 84 today!  And, I will admit that this is not a recent photo for he was just 82 when this picture was taken.  Still, he hasn’t changed much.

Look at the eyes!  Anything you need to know is in the eyes in this picture.  How the hell did he get eyes and a focus like that?  Well, to start with, he was born in the middle of a Kansas winter.  This past Monday night in Kansas, it was 13 degrees Fahrenheit, –10.5 Celsius,  because that’s how December in Kansas is.  And he was born at home, weighing  between 2 and 2 1/2 pounds – about a kilo for those across one pond or the other.  Since it was cold and he was a preemie, he needed an incubator.  So, they turned on the oven and set him on the door, a good idea considering that he was turning a little blue!  At that point, a theme for a life was set.  To quote a famous man, my father himself, “I’m a survivor, baby!”

And that’s just what he has been ever since.  Every place he’s gone, he has led.  Of course, part of that is because he really isn’t made to follow, something the Army found out on occasion.  Part of that is because he never cared much who was following, because he was just doing what he was going to do.  The rest of it was always having a very clear sense of himself and his purpose.  He was a successful coach, a successful Principal, a successful teacher, a successful meter reader, a successful road gang worker and could have been a successful lawyer, preacher or businessman.  The kids, teachers and parents loved him.  Show him a need and he has always exceeded it.  Give him a nut and a wrench and that sucker was welded!  But, I’ve got to tell you, play poker with him at your own risk!  Show him a rule and … well, he might follow it if it makes sense anyway.  But nothing goes out of control.

Dad’s a specialist at living life and some of my best formative years were spent talking with him about – well, about anything.  Nothing was or is off limits.  We talk religion, we talk politics, we talk events, we talk sports and we always talk meaning.  He never has taken time out of his life to talk with me, he’s always wanted to do it and a kid can tell the difference.  His kids at school could, too.  So could a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses, LOL.

He’s had a pretty good knack for making choices in his life, too.

And, you know the best part of all.  He isn’t living his life looking in the rear view mirror.  He’s living it like he always has, moving ahead, with a purpose and glad to be alive!  Survive, baby!

Happy 84th!!

Thanks For a Fantastic 60th Birthday!

I have a fun – for me – take on getting old coming up later; but today, I just want to let you know what my family did for me for my 60th Birthday!

First, the entire day was set up as a surprise!  I had no idea what was coming and Carol rolled me out at 6:00 to get ready to leave the house by 7:15.  She drove me to San Francisco and I actually just enjoyed the ride and scenery – we live in the middle of a set of postcards after all! – and had no idea where we were going.

When she parked at a garage and we started walking down the street, I took a quick picture walking past the Buena Vista, home of the World’s Best Irish Coffee – yep, Grannymar, they actually beat the Irish themselves for the title:

Down the street we went until we turned in to this place:

Sweet!!!  This is the big surprise.  I get a Segway tour of San Francisco!!   Yeah!!!  But, first, I’ve got to learn how to control this thing:

But, of course, as you can see from this picture … I’m a natural.  Actually, laughter aside, I did pick it up quickly and passed each of my benchmark tests the first time.   So, we all took off on the tour, 19 of us in two groups.  Let me show you my first souvenir from the day:

I don’t know whether I was drifting to the right or whether the guy to the right of me moved to the left, but the tours go 2X2 down street right in San Francisco traffic – and we rubbed wheels together!  I kicked left and hit the ground in no time.  Actually, I was glad it was me, because I’ve fallen enough in my life that I have learned how to do it without breaking myself.  We were only two stinkin’ blocks into the tour.

We checked everything out, I was back on my Segway and we were back on the tour!  I would have told them I was fine if I only had a stump left, believe me … and this is what the tour turned into:

The above is the Palace of Fine Arts:

Paul Blart in front of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Like one of the guys in the group, who was from Houston, told me, this is an icon recognizable to the entire world.  I will include the full set of pictures in an album at the end of this post.

After two hours out on the Segway tour, I got back together with Carol to go to the Buena Vista for lunch and an Irish Coffee when I got my second surprise of the day.  My daughter, Carly shows up with her fiancee!  She had flown up from San Diego yesterday morning.  Here they are eating lunch with us at another place since the Buena Vista was too full:

It just so happened that the park across the street from where we at was called:

Since my full name is Joseph Conrad Hake, we thought that was pretty cool.  I mean just because he was an offer doesn’t make him THAT much more important!

Then, of course, we went back to get my Irish Coffee at the Buena Vista:

Man, I’m getting me a bottle of Tulamore Dew!  That was one fantastic drink.  If you are near the Fisherman’s Wharf, get one for yourself!  Seriously.

Then I took the family on foot to the Aquatic Park where we went out on the pier with our Segways to show them the view from there and we came up with a few more souvenir pictures:

I think you recognize all the players here, Carly, Carol and me.  Bridge in the background, sailing boats all around.  This is what weekend in San Francisco looks like.

We got home in time to change clothes, for my son, his girlfriend, and my granddaughter to show up and go out for a fantastic dinner at a French Restaurant in Freemont called Papillon (Butterfly in French):

I had Escargot and Rack of Lamb.  Clay had oysters and Rib-Eye Steak.  Carol, Carly and Monica had chicken Cordon Bleu.  James had Calamari then Veal.  Crystina, the granddaughter had Spaghetti and sauce.

Then they brought out the desserts.  Here was mine:

That Creme Brulee was to die for!  Mango sorbet.  Chocolate.  Fruit.  Now THAT is a dessert!

The waiter took a picture of the gang to top it off:

Top row: Monica, Clayton.  Bottom row: Carol, me, James, Carly, Crystina

Isn’t that nice?  That’s what it’s all about anyway.  Family!

Carol and I were both asleep on the couch by 10:30.  She’s only middle-aged … but I’m old!

Thank you!!!

View Full Album

Grandpa Would Be 100 Today!

I asked my mother to write up a piece on Grandpa to celebrate his 100th birthday!  She wrote a beautiful remembrance, beautiful in its humanity and honesty as much as in the love it shows.  It’s such a middle-American story from the mid 20th Century that it is well worth the read.  It’s quite a story:

Hi Con,

I’ve been thinking about September 3, 2009, being my Dad’s 100th birthday, had he lived so long.  Really, with the life he did live I’m surprised that he lived to be 75.  He was a person with many sides.  He was a Mama’s boy and you never got him anything that would spoil for Christmas because he always managed to get home so that he and his mother could open their gifts together…..after we finally got to the place where we had enough money to buy gifts.  He was a poor but really handsome man (until fighting changed the shape of his face and nose) that came from "the wrong side of the tracks" and married a very pretty girl (until she ate so many beans and potatoes that she got fat) from "the hill" but still gave his strongest allegiance to his mother (his father left the family when he was young and he and my Uncle Frank took on the chore of taking care of Mama and the kids).  They had 9 kids but two of them died as babies….Frank was the oldest and my dad was third in line.  When he and my mother were married, her father gave them money to buy a house…..which they did and moved into it with Grandma and the kids.  My mother put up with Mama until I was three years old and told him that she wanted a home of her own……that was when he went to a tax sale and bought three lots for $3.00 each and Dad, Frank and Uncle Gene dug out a VERY LARGE hole and built us a place of sorts to live in.

     When you think about it it was pretty well thought out.  The whole south side had windows above ground so we had air in the summer and sunshine in the winter.  The walls were railroad ties covered with wall board and the floor was really hard packed dirt covered with Persian rugs donated by my mother’s mother (who never once set foot in our house),  Our cook stove was a small wood stove with an oven so we had heat and mom could cook and bake with it.  She baked bread twice a week and I always thought she baked me my own loaf of bread or cake in a jar lid (it was really her thermostat to tell her when the oven was ready for whatever she was baking that day, lol.  You entered through a ground level door that had a small shed like building that gave you access to about 10 steps that took you down to the door that entered the living area.  The shed had a place for wood and coal and a barrel for water in the winter time in case the well froze and we couldn’t pump water (don’t ever stick your tongue on to a pump handle in the winter….Mom had to heat water to get me loose).  My folks had a trundle bed and my brother slept in the part of it that slid out and I slept on a cot spring that sat on a chair and another barrel that was cut down to match the chair (I didn’t turn over much because I’d fall out).  It was a bit like Opey sleeping on the ironing board when Andy and Aint Bea had company, lol  Anyway, the dugout kept us warm, dry and healthy until Mom’s father, Christopher Columbus, remodeled his milk house and brought it down to give us an "upstairs" of sorts (I was in the 4th grade by then).

     I never knew my dad to be without work of some kind.  He worked for the local politicians, drove a cab, worked for the county driving a truck until it fell through a bridge and the county could not afford another one, worked on a garbage route with his younger brothers, drove a truck all over the country picking up fruit and vegetables for a produce company and during WW11 was the Assistant Fire Chief at Camp Phillips.  When the camp closed they wanted him to transfer to Iowa but he didn’t want to leave Salina.  He had during all these years managed to fill up the dugout (which he should have used for a basement) and built a small house on the back of the lot and they lived in it until he got the big house built (I was 15 by then and had met Joe and figured that as soon as we finished school we’d have a house of our own).  We decided that we’d like to get married when I was 17 (he’d already asked for my hand and given me my engagement ring) so one night I woke the folks up and told them that if we could figure out how to live on $135 a month we’d get married.  My dad told me that he guessed he could finish the attic into a couple of rooms and make our kitchen in the room at the bottom of the stairs if we could live in that.  In three weeks the attic was finished; the kitchen was cute as could be with a two burner hot plate and orange crate cupboards; all fresh paint and wallpaper; and, instead of Joe moving me out, I moved him in (I think to his mother’s dismay).  We paid 1/2 the utilities for rent, lol, and dad always bragged to anyone that would listen that his son-in-law paid his rent right on the first of every month.

     My Dad was a good man but I did not realize how good until he and my mother moved back to Abilene after he retired from the Rock Island Motor Transit in Denver where they moved (when I was 28 and Joe was a school principal) so he could start the Piggy Back Operation for Rock Island (they moved truck trailers on the railroad from Denver to Chicago until the railroad sold out).  When you see the rail cars rumbling down the track with double-decker cars loaded with truck trailers, my dad had a big part in getting that part of railroading on line.  My mother developed diabetes and he had had to have part of his stomach removed and they moved back here so we could help them in their time of need. 

     The two parts of my dad that I could hardly tolerate were that he was a weekend alcoholic (from Friday night until Sunday night) and he loved to fight (not for the love of fighting but for the love of hurting someone).  If he couldn’t find anyone else, he’d look Uncle Frank up (unless I had sent my brother after Uncle Frank) and they would go at it.  He had times when he would try Joe’s patience but I think he knew that if they ever fought, he would not see much of us or his grandkids…..even in his foggy times.  My brother told him (after he came home from Korea) that if he ever touched my Mom again he’d have him to answer to as well as Joe and that ended that problem.  He always took pride in my brother, me and especially Joe (because he had two college degrees, lol, and would put up with him…drunk or sober).  Con (another college degree) and Viki gave him joy you could not believe and their kids lit him up like a Christmas tree.  He never took a drink or had a bad word for anyone that I know of after they moved back here.  He told us that he finally was living like a person was supposed to.  He would call me (after I retired) and tell me that he’d make the coffee and furnish the poles if I’d furnish the sandwiches and go fishing with him.  I’d laugh and tell him I had a pole and the sandwiches were frozen and ready to go and we would fish a lot of the ponds up around Manchester…..he’d get on the pond by telling the owner that Joe Hake was his son-in-law and that did the trick.  I enjoyed those last too few years with my dad and wish he could have lived like people are supposed to all his 75 years. 

Thanks, Mom, that was marvelous!  And here’s a toast to you, Grandpa!  You left me with a lot of good memories.

A Life Magazine Moment…

I grew up loving to go to my grandparent’s house on the weekend and looking at Reader’s Digest..and Life Magazine!  The pictures still stand out in my memory as some of the best chronicling of the Zeitgeist!

Here is the cover on the day of my birth:

And, speaking of births, literally the “girl next door” is 23 today!  Yeah!  Happy Birthday, Sarah!  In celebration, I would like to offer this Life Magazine moment on your birthday, the picture we took when you were a little dink and we had a hole in the fence and our dog Trapper was as curious as you were:

I can just imagine it in the current issue right now…

Sarah and Trapper by Conrad Hake is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.levintel.com.

Happy 50th Barbie

My sister sent this to me to make the situation a bit more reality based.

And Jean Browman has requested an aging Superman, so I give you:

the aging superman.  He’s done with us hassling him.

Like a retired cop, he just wants to curl up with his favorite pastry and let the world take care of its own problems for awhile…