Frank and His Big Screwdriver

                                                                 Frank

                                                       by Wilbur Witt

     During my time at Sears Holdings as a Customer Solutions manager I took thousands of calls from customers trying to resolve various issues arising from purchases they had made at Sears, or the coordination of repairs of item so purchased,  but one call in particular stands out to me. It was in the middle of summer, heat waves were baking the northeast, and especially New York City. Air conditioners, strained beyond their capacity were failing all,over the city, and we were having to work very hard to route technicians to each call with the waiting list as long as two weeks in some cases. 

     I received a call one afternoon from an elderly lady living in New York. Her one window air conditioner had stopped working. I was on what they called the "third tier" which was a special group, only in Austin, that got escalated calls where at least three Sears employees had failed to satisfy the customer's needs. This woman's needs were simple. She was over eighty years old, lived on the third floor of am old brownstone, on a crowded street, and the men who had been dispatched didn't want the hassle so they were consistently marking her as a "not at home," and she continued to bake in a three room walk up that was never designed for this kind of heat. 

     As I looked at the list of work orders that had not been completed she began to tell me everything about her situation. I already knew it was bad, old lady in an apartment with ninety plus heat, but she told me that a year ago her husband of over fifty years, Frank, had passed away. 

     "I don't know how to do this. Frank always handled things. He bought the insurance from Sears and everything. Should I go and meet them in the street?  Frank always took care of everything, and if her was here with his big screw driver he'd already have fixed this." Then, she began to sob uncontrollably. I asked her to allow me to put her on a brief hold. 

     "You will be back, right. All the others put me on hold and never come back.". I assured her I would most certainly return. Being on the third level wielded a certain amount of power. There were only a couple hundred or so of us, but we sat very near the source of power at Sears, and we had an entire tool box we could use to solve problems, or exercise pressure. I was a task master at the political end. I would use real rules, arm twisting, and outright bluffs if need be. 

     I called the unit in New York City and got the manager. I began cordially by letting him know that this lady had been passed over at least three times. I reminded him that she had a protection plan on her air conditioner. He started to give me all the excuses about the overflow of calls, the heat, her location, the difficulty of access, and I cut him off. This Yankee thought it was hot in the Bronx, try Austin, Texas. 

     "Oh, silly me, I guess I didn't make myself clear. Ok. If there isn't cold air blowing on Miss Edna by six o'clock tonight I'm going to deactivate the crew that has the work order I just struck, after I deactivate YOU!"

     Long silence. Of course, he wanted my name, location, and division. I gave it to him. Another long silence. ""Ok. I'll get it done."

     "Have the tech bring another unit with him. It's a small '110' air conditioner. My fifteen year old grand daughter could carry. That way I won't have to expect her to wait three more weeks for parts."

     He told me he would arrange that too. "And, one more thing, make sure the guy takes a big screw driver, make sure Edna sees it."

     "Why."

     "Don't question me, just do it!"

     "I'm going to file a report on this."

     "I'm sure you will."

     I went back and told Edna to alert the person in her lobby about the arrival of the repairman. After that I went to break. Sears had an elite team of senior techs who oversaw all repairs nationwide, and yes, they are in Austin, too. The call center is built around them, literally! They sat in the middle of the building, and all the rest of us were positioned around them. The public was never allowed to speak to them, and that was a good thing because most of them were a bunch or grizzly old bikers who had worked construction all their lives. I had coffee with one of them and told him what had just transpired. He told me to send him the case and he would watch over it after I ended my shift. If that unit manager in New York thought I was an asshole he just hadn't met Gary yet!

     The next day was my midweek day off, but when I returned on Friday I immediately checked Edna's work order. I was very pleased to see that it had been completed. I left Sears right after that, but I think about Edna now and then. By now I suppose she's passed on, but I know as she goes through the gates of heaven Frank won't be too hard to find. He'll be waiting for her, with his big screwdriver. 

All The Eggs In The World

                                              All The Eggs In The World

                                                            by Wilbur Witt

     Back in '94 I got up one Sunday morning in my office on Westend Avenue in Nashville. I'd done a show at Pennington's Lounge out on Briley Expressway the night before, and ended the night, or rather welcomed the morning, at the Nashville Palace eating catfish. My Nashville experience was dragging along like so many others. I had an album, but is was comedy, and I was still going head to head with the heavy hitters on Music Square. I hadn't come to the realization as yet that the album I'd cut as a joke would end up being my saving grace. My serious songs simply would not sell, and I simply would not accept that. The people on the Square wouldn't even accept a copy of my latest love song, but they would PAY for a copy of my funny ones. 

     I left the building and began to work my way down Westend to Shoney's where they had a cheap breakfast, which was nice because it fit right in with songwriters like me. As I walked I heard the bells from the Westend Catholic Church ringing in the distance, and the line from an old Johnny Cash classic came to me, "Down the road I heard a lonely church bell ringing." As I crossed the street there was a little park, near the Country Music Hall Of Fame, and in that park, just like the song, there was a man swinging a laughing little girl. I stopped. 

     The man who brought me to Nashville had two daughters. They were both under five years old. The older one was chubby, and made great sport of pushing her younger, smaller sister around. He lived just off Music Square so I easily walked over to his house and asked if I could take the youngest to breakfast. Soon she was riding on my shoulders on her way to Shoney's. When we got there I sat her down and told her she could eat anything she wanted. Her older sister would steal from her plate at every chance. She looked around and saw the food buffet. 

     "I want eggs."

     "That's all?" I asked her. 

     "Yes."

     "You can have anything you want."

     "I want all the eggs in the world!"

     She ate eggs for an hour. I took her home. Time and years went by. In 2010 this same little girl was living with me. She had a horrendous marriage to my son which cost her all of her children. The emotional roller coaster ride had landed her in the state hospital. She had lived in alleys in Detroit, and mansions in Austin, but to look at her you couldn't tell it. After the kids, her husband, and my wife were gone we found ourselves living together in the lonely big house in Berry Creek  she called it a "Pretty Prison." She had been quite successful on Youtube, but by now the muse had fled, and she was a broken, lonely young mother, missing her life  

     One morning I decided to treat her. I told her I wanted to take her to breakfast at IHop!  She'd never been to an IHop, and was very excited. She even got dressed for the occasion. A girl that ate at a country club was beside herself about a trip to IHop!

     We walked in and she looked at the menu. I told her the cafe was famous for its pancakes. What would she like?  She looked up from the menu and said, "I want all the eggs in the world."

     "You remember that?"

     "Yes."

     I sat there and enjoyed watching iJackie eating, "all the eggs in the world."

     

Crazy, or The loss of literacy in the technological world

                                                              Illiteracy

                                                        by Wilbur Witt

     Ok boys and girls this is pet peeve Monday, and I have a pet peeve that just gripes my ass! Illiteracy, moreover, ignorance, and more than that, simple comprehension, that when absent displays rampant stupidity! If you got past those  introductory lines you are one of the special few, and I put them in there to weed out the people who will never understand this article. Shall we continue?

     Now, I don't mean to brag, but I'm a pretty literate guy. I've made some change writing songs which means that I am versed in making my point in about sixteen lines and they have to have meter, and they have to rhyme. If you transfer that ability to prose you can quickly see that I can communicate with my readers on a level that is clear, entertaining, and articulate. When I write an article such as this I will read, and re-read it many times, checking for such things as punctuation, spelling, the basic idea, and, oh yes, the dreaded auto-complete that stalks us all in this modern era. I sent a text to a young lady last week where I THOUGHT I'd said, "You need to spread your wings and fly," and what she got was, "You need to spread your legs and cry!" GoodBYE girlfriend!

     We are all aware of the shortcuts in texting such as LOL, or TTYL, but that's not what I'm talking about here. What irritates me is people who cannot read with comprehension, causing me to have to restate the simplest ideas over and over again. Example of this (and this JUST happened) is I text a girl telling her, "He is in a state of big time denial and reality is going to wake him up." Now that's pretty straight up, or at least I thought it was. I'm making a simple observation about a man who is not accepting facts as they truly are, and, as with us all, the reality of the situation will come upon him. I get a response back, and folks, I'm going to quote here, "Big Time What?" I had to text her back three times explaining what the word "denial" meant!  This lady has words reserved on her iPhone so that she doesn't have to type much. One of the words is "crazy," and that's her usual response to everything. I say, "They arrested so and so," "Crazy." We may go to war in Syria," "Crazy." "It looks like rain today," "CRAZY!" So, you can clearly see when you send a three syllable word, such as "denial" to such a person, right away you run into problems . . .crazy! 

     We have degenerated down the food chain from, "I would like a Big Mac, order of fries and a Coke," to "Ug, Grog need food!" it goes further than that. I told this certain person that men get paid so much for doing a particular job, and she comes back with, "Who gets paid!" OMFG! She is so dim witted it defies logic, and I'm going to be up front with you, I rarely use any composition rules beyond what I learned in Miss Hornbuckle's eighth grade English class. And she's not the only one. In simple speech I will have to do the same thing. I will patiently explain over and over again until I lose it, turn on my best Rush Limbaugh voice and say, "I'm going to the store to buy BEER."

     I think there should be a test you have to take to join any social media service. You need to prove you can understand simple commands. My DOG can do that. Come, go, don't piss on the floor, things like that. You should be aware of your surroundings, the world, and state of affairs. A little knowledge of history would be nice.  Simple questions like, "Who is Hillary Clinton, and who is she married to?" Or, "If you have five rocks, and you smoke one, how many do you have left?" Another, "What was the race of Malcolm X?" We won't even touch the Gettysburg Address because it's more than 64 letters long and contains multi-syllable words and it would be unfair to put that much on them at one time. 

     Maybe there will be a resurgence of literacy, and understanding, but I'm afraid until then it'll all just be. . . "Crazy!"

     

     

The Back Porch

                                                   Back Porch Concert

                                                          by Wilbur Witt

     I do t want to be cleche, but I had a wonderful Saturday night. My nephew came over, brought some beer, and all the kids were here, along with my ex, and her husband. My husband in law made the most wonderful Mexican plate, and when we finished eating, my nephew and I broke out a guitar and gave everyone a show. Sean, my nephew, is a virtuoso on the guitar, and gave an excellent performance. I, on the other hand, tend to have a simpler style, but I have written so many songs no one ever notices. At any rate we filled two hours and everyone enjoyed enjoyed the concert.  As we played the children danced all over the huge back porch. Children under seven are always fascinated by someone pulling out a huge wooden box and music coming out of it. In spite of all the technological advances over the years the sound of an unamplified Fender guitar retains its magic. 

     Over forty two plus years I have learned to sing, and I've mastered drinking beer and remembering the words to my songs, which is always nice. Combine that with little explanations of why I wrote each song, and the evening had a magic glow about it. The funny thing is that the evening wasn't planned. We just drifted from, "Let's get some beer," to, "Mexican would be nice," to, "Uncle Billy, do you still have that Fender?" We didn't know it had been a good evening until it was over!  No camera, no amps, no problems. 

     Life is like that. The best things are always free. The children will remember it forever. I still remember a porch party where my Uncle Charlie made peach ice cream, and us kids had to go get the peaches from a tree! I was five years old, and some of the children at that get together have died of old age! Some people, especially organizations try to create such evenings. You cant! God dispenses evenings like that.  I guarantee you that somewhere else in the world a group of people gathered last night and some children will remember eating something that only a grandfather, or uncle could whip up in his own special way. A friend of mine told me once that he was watching his grandchildren for a day and when it came lunch time he found that nothing was thawed to cook. He had a good supply of large cuts of meat, but no "kid" stuff. So, he took out some potatoes, some garlic and an onion, fried it up and told the kids it was his "world famous potatoes!" They were ecstatic!

     Tomorrow the news will grind out the stories that piss us all off. Jodi Arias will try to convince her jury she just had a bad hair day, Hillary Clinton will try to convince John McCaine SHE had a bad hair day (who's the bigger sociopath?) and Obama will try to convince us all that HE'S the president, but for a brief time, on a back porch in Texas, a family so diversified a Hollywood screen writer couldn't have dreamed it up, got together, and children danced. Happy Mothers Day, everyone!

What Is One Child Worth?

     I want you to do something for me. It's a simple experiment, won't cost you anything, in fact it will save you money. Tomorrow I want you to get up and not eat breakfast. Maybe a little toast and tea. For lunch have a banana. Skip dinner altogether, instead drink a couple glasses of water to settle your hunger a bit. The next day I want you to see how you feel. That's how a homeless child feels every day! On that next day sit down to your usual breakfast. That's how a homeless child feels when someone reaches out!

     While the shakers and movers in the world ignite wars, orchestrate clandestine operations, and pass legislation we all disagree with, homeless children all over the world quietly stave to death. The cost of one drone would feed hundreds, and I'm not exaggerating, HUNDREDS of starving children. When you go to breakfast at Denny's, the bit you leave on your plate because you are full is gold to a little girl in Africa. She would stick her little tongue out to catch the crumbs you toss to your cat!  

     You want to know where terrorism comes from?  You want to know what motivates a suicide bomber? Look no farther than your dinner plate. If you, and your family were homeless, unclothed, and starving, what would you do if offered all these things all you had to do was put on a vest, walk among the people you perceive did this to you, and pull the string? 

     Time was when we could look at their drawn faces, their bloated bellies, and just change the channel, but friends, those days are gone forever. There are people with agendas in this world with a ready supply of willing volunteers to wear that vest! Children living life in alleys with death tugging at their elbow every hour of every day. No child should live like that, and it is a war crime to create a situation that forces any child to endure such conditions. 

     I won't bore you with statistics. The numbers mean nothing. When you rattle off the mortality rate the millions cloud the mind and become if no consequence because the problem becomes insurmountable.  So, let me reduce it to a manageable number  On planet earth, in the year 2013 one child is one too many!  The very idea of a three year old not having a bowl of Cheerios is absurd. The very idea of children starving for the want of a few miserable shillings is insane! 

     What is the solution?  How do we eat this elephant?  One bite at a time.   How many meals do you eat in a given month?  Single out one, just one, and put that money to good use. God, and your waist line will thank you for it. You will never miss it, in fact, you may skip breakfast, lunch once a week, and a child will live. One. Just one. What is one child worth? What is Nelson Mandela worth? What is Steve Jobs worth? What is Barak Obama worth! All of these men were "left on a doorstep." 

     If everyone skipped that meal, and dedicated the money that would have been used we could eradicate hunger. And friends and neighbors, maybe someday those vests the terrorists are offering  won't fit so well, and on that day the skies will be bluer, God will smile, and a little girl,will say, "Thank you."

Sandwiches vs Drones

                                                    Sandwich vs Drones

                                                           by Wilbur Witt

     This might be the most important blog I've ever written, in fact I'm going to start a new thread just for this, it's that important. We, here in America, fight the war on terrorism all over the world, and it's a very confused effort. President Obama, like others before him, has bought into to idea that the terrorists around the world are some very sophisticated, ultra organized incorporated group of pseudo intellectuals with money and materials sufficient to attack us at any time, anywhere. The administration would have us believe that the terrorists are at least as organized as they are because they have to justify their bloated budget and perpetuate the administration and it's goals.  I don't believe that, and if people like Eric Holder believe it then they are as crazy as a shit house rat! 

     I grew up in extreme poverty. We were so poor that me and my friends thought that people who had floors and sheet rock on the walls were rich. When we went out to have a good time our idea of a great evening was a quart of Borden's chocolate milk. Girls in my town tried to marry a soldier as soon as legally possible just to get away. We thought the world was flat because when people left town they never came back. Chicken and rice was a chicken flavored soup that had some rice in it, and we were always sick! 

     The Killeen police department took over the duties of law enforcement when my hometown of Simmonsville was incorporated into the city. In due course the department theorized that we were some vast mini-mafia because a few hubcaps turned up missing, and whiskey was sold to soldiers on Sunday. Nothing could have been farther from the truth, but as these idiots picked us up, and told us how organized we were we learned well. First thing we learned was that the police department would feed us in jail. That was job one. The next thing we learned was that any information we gave them would quickly translate into freedom. Third thing we learned was how to get the hell out of Simmonsville and move to Austin where we could make money and have all the chocolate milk we wanted any time!

     Fast forward to the Middle East forty years later. I see the same dirt floors, the same starving faces, the same bozos saying these people are this, that, Al Quaeta, El WhatEver!  We spend billions of dollars dropping atom bombs on ant hills. And every time the administration comes up with another theory, another press conference, some starving bunch of kids in Afghanistan say, "That'll work!" They stitch together an IED and we hit em with a drone, and it looks like a war. 

     What to do?  First, get the f#¥k out of the Middle East. I hate to be the first one to tell you people this but these guys love to fight. WE loved to fight back in Simmonsville. Wanna know why the real Mafia never hooked up with us back then? Because we were too damn violent and we consistently robbed them. Come into our little corner of the world with a suit and a new car and see how that works out for you. Hell, we stole the hubcaps off of POLICE cars! Were we organized? Hell no!  There were three distinct sections of our little hamlet and brothers and sisters let me tell you, we weren't politically correct! If I left my house on Grider street to go to the store for my mom, and was stupid enough to cut down 42nd street the black kids would whip my ass and take my mom's cigarette money quick, and I had it coming. That was the Simmonsville Stupid Tax! I first met Jr Mitchell when he helped me get to the store one day with the help of a sling shot and a sack or .45 caliber lead balls. How's THAT for a childhood, Dr. Spock?

     You catch more flies with sugar than you do with vinegar. Now this solution won't end all the bullshit in one master stroke, but it's a start. I have this kid from Africa who talks to me on Facebook. He has no parents, no real bed, and most of all, no food. I don't know how he gets on the net, but I suspect he hangs out at some Internet cafe, and I know I'm not the only American he's talking to because he's starving!  He hit me up for money. I tell everyone "over there" to forget about getting money from me because I'm not buying bullets to shoot at our boys serving our country. But I will send a sandwich. If he can send me a reliable address I will go to HEB, and I will put together a package that will feed him for a month for about fifty dollars. We do this for my son who is serving in Afghanistan all, the time. He has us always include a liberal number of Hershey bars for the kids he meets, as a matter of fact, he has a herd of goats and shares meat with a neighboring village. 

     I'm going to do this on my own, without the Christian this or that, or any save the children because I consider them to all be thieves and every dollar you send them gets funneled to whatever fat bastard is running that country at the time.  And is isn't instant coffee. One sandwich will not save the world. But, in time, the idea will grow. Al Qaeda didn't give you that sandwich, Mohammed didn't give that sandwich, one AMERICAN gave you that sandwich! 

     I know this sounds simplistic, but I'm a simple man. People here in this country forgot what it's like to just be hungry. I hear all these people screaming about Detroit, or East LA, but you grow up in PoDunk, Texas and then you come and tell me about it!  I invite your comments, hell, I could be wrong. I was wrong twice last year, but I don't think so. 

http://youtu.be/RmzW3mAEk-A