A Brief History of my Presidential Election Voting Record

Next year, I will participate in my 11th Presidential election as an American of voting age. In the spirit of full disclosure, I have listed them below along with which candidate I voted for:


1976  Carter v. Ford.  I voted for Jimmy Carter who won with 50.08% of the vote.

1980  Reagan v. Carter.  I voted for Ronald Reagan who won with 51% of the vote.

1984  Reagan v. Mondale.  I voted for Ronald Reagan who won with 59% of the vote.

1988  Bush v. Dukakis. I voted for Bush who won with 53% of the vote.

1992  Bush v. Clinton and Perot.  I voted for Ross Perot who lost to Bill Clinton who won with only 43% of the vote.

1996 Clinton v. Dole and Perot. I voted for Dole who lost to Clinton who won with 49% of the vote.

2000 Bush v. Gore. I voted for Bush who won with 48% of the vote.

2004 Bush v. Kerry. I voted for Bush who won with 51% of the vote.

2008 Obama v. McCain. I voted for McCain who lost to Barack Obama who won 53% of the vote.

2012 Obama v. Romney. I voted for Romney who lost to Barack Obama who won 51% of the vote.


So, there you have it, my voting record. A few words of explanation.

1976 was my first vote. I was 18 and fittingly liberal. I liked Jimmy because he was an "outsider" and from the south. I associated Gerald Ford with his pardon of Nixon. Ford seemed old. Carter was a fresh face. Having zero experience living in the real world, Carter's policy prescriptions seemed fair and reasonable. After 8 years of Tricky Dick and his amorality, I was ready for a man of born-again sensibilities. I have no regrets for that vote. As horrible as Carter turned out to be as a President, there's no guarantee that Ford would have been any better.

1980.  It was difficult to admit that my guy had been a wretched failure, and there was alot to be suspicious of with Reagan, a B-List actor who was also pretty old. But after 4 years of amateur hour, I was willing to take a chance.

1984. Loved, loved, LOVED Renaldus Magnus, everything about him. Loved his style, loved his upbeat attitude and his will...and I wasn't alone. Reagan not only won a landslide in the popular vote, but won the electoral college tally by a crushing 525-13.

1988. Didn't much care for George H.W. Bush. He was the same age as my Dad and a nice enough guy, but a career politician if ever there was one. The Democrat in the race was an embarrassment..Dukakis?  Really?

1992. By 1992, my interest in politics was at it's highest level, from which it has never recovered. I was fully engaged and starting to believe that the country was in trouble.I didn't believe that Bush deserved another term, and there was something sleazy about Clinton. Ross Perot captivated me. After 10 years in business myself, finally, here was a tough-talking no nonsense businessman who I could relate to. In addition, he wasn't a lawyer ( a profession I had grown to loathe ) and he wasn't a politician. So I cast a ballot for Ross- Freaking- Perot...one of two presidential votes that I regret and
the only one that I am profoundly embarrassed by to this day.

1996. Which brings me to my second voting regret. As slimy a guy as Bubba turned out to be, and as certifiably nuts as Ross Perot turned out to be, I ended up voting for Bob Dole. In retrospect, Clinton deserved a second term, but I was stubbornly anti-democrat and for the first time in my life voted "party". A mistake.

2000. I had big-time reservations about George "frat-boy" Bush. Was uncomfortable with the legacy implications with his family etc.  But there was no way in hell I was going to vote for such a pathetic, stick up his behind, arrogant smuck like Al Gore. Gore's weirdness meter since having gone off the charts confirms that I was right about him all along.

2004. No contest. The French-looking John Kerry, who as we all were told a million times, "served in Vietnam" was a cartoon character from the left. The democrats couldn't have nominated anyone more aloof and out of touch if their lives had depended on it. Although by this time I was thoroughly disgusted with George, I overcame a huge temptation to sit this one out altogether. Voted for Bush wearing a hat, raincoat and dark glasses.

2008. I remember standing in the voting booth looking at the ballot and thinking that something had gone badly wrong with the democratic process. I had been reduced to making a choice between a far past his prime war hero who looked and acted every day of his 70 years, and a complete novice junior senator from Illinois who had never held a real job in his life and about whom the public knew virtually nothing. Voted for the war hero with absolutely no joy.

2008. This time when I stood in the voting booth looking at the ballot, I KNEW that something had gone wrong with the democratic process. Once again, the Republicans had nominated the man whose turn it was, a Morman millionaire who seemed like a decent enough guy, but with the people skills of Hillary Clinton. Still, Barry didn't deserve, in my view, another four years, so I voted for the stiff white guy. Sigh...


My record so far at picking winners stands at 6-4. No matter who wins in 2016, my life will go on as
planned on November 7. The one thing that these 11contests have taught me is that the quality and purpose of my life isn't affected by the outcomes of elections.

Coolest golf story EVER!!

So, yesterday I had a wedding to go to at 4, and since I had done most of my weekend chores on Friday afternoon, I had some time to kill. Against my better judgement I decided to go play 9 holes of golf somewhere. I figured my chances of getting on  as a single and without a tee-time on the weekend were slim and none, but even if I couldn't get on, I could at least  hit a bucket of balls. I couldn't even decide where to go...The Hollows, The Crossings, Hunting Hawk? At the last minute I took the right at Berea Baptist church and headed to Hunting Hawk.

The girl at the desk told me that a threesome had just teed off of number 10 and if I hustled I could catch up with them and play the back nine. From what I saw of them playing number 10 in front of me, it looked like I was in for a long nine holes. They were horrible. But they were also friendly and welcomed me with enthusiasm as I sank my par putt on the 10th green. On the 11th tee box they all began apologizing for their terrible play and asking my forbearance. One guy, Jim, admitted that he had lost 8 balls on the front nine on his way to a tidy 53! I reassured them all that I wasn't much better and besides, all I cared about was having a relaxing walk on this beautiful day. Then it got...weird.

I teed off first and bombed my drive right down the middle with a nice draw on the 502 yard par five. We had a breeze behind us and the fairways looked very hard and fast so as the ball disappeared over the hill, I was thinking I might have a shot at going for the green in two. Then each on of my new playing partners proceeded to hit similar bombs..right down the middle. Jim hit last and hit the "best drive of my life"..and joked that I should have joined them earlier. I was a lucky charm! When we crested the hill, there were all four of our drives within 10 yards of each other close to the 200 yard marker, dead center of the fairway. The casual observer may have come to the conclusion that we actually knew what we were doing. The first guy decided to lay up. The next guy plunked it in the water trying to go for the green. Then it was my turn and I too miss-hit it badly into the lake. Then Jim, he of the 8 lost balls on the front nine stepped up to his drive with a 5 iron in his hand from 185 yards away. With an awkward looking swing he lashed at the ball. It sounded great. It looked great, making a beautiful ark against the clear blue sky as it headed on a bee-line straight for the front right pin placement. We all watched it soar. The moment seemed curiously frozen in time like one of those super slow-mo replays on TV. The ball landed 18 inches from the pin, bounced slightly left and disappeared from view. This 20 handicapper had hit the two best shots of his life and I had a front row seat. It's the first and only time I've ever witnessed a double-eagle...a totally legit, awesome, transcendent double-freaking eagle!! As Jim was walking off the green he deadpanned, "All I know is I'm getting Doug's cell phone number! I'll never play with anyone else again!!"

What are the odds? If I go straight through the light at Berea Baptist, I end up at the Hollows and miss the entire magical thing. Jim's name along with mine will be in the paper tomorrow, double eagles being infinitely more rare than hole-in-ones. Amazing.

Graduation Ceremonies and the Police

Are there any adults left in America?  I ask this in response to a story out of Florence, Florida where a mother named Shannon Cooper was handcuffed and escorted to jail for cheering too loudly at her daughter's high school graduation. That's right ladies and gentlemen, lack of decorum is now a jail able offense.

Some background. For ten years of my life I was a volunteer in the youth group of my church. I taught mostly 11th and 12th grade boys. I went to summer camps with them, had them over my house for bible studies..that sort of thing. Our church had a Rather large youth group made up of kids from a variety of high schools. Because I became very close to many of the them, I would often receive invitations to their graduations. Over those ten years I estimate that I attended close to twenty such affairs, mostly at the Siegle Center. Every graduation service started out the same way,  the principle would welcome everyone, then make a statement something along these lines..."During the processional of graduates, we would ask that you refrain from cheering until all graduates receive their diplomas. That way, each and every family member will get to hear their student's name read. Please be respectful during this solumn occasion."  The program would usually also contain words to this effect. The results were also always the same. When certain students' names were called whole families would hoot and holler. As the ceremony dragged on, the outbursts would get louder and more obnoxious. There would be the inevitable shouts of .."You Da Man!!!", and the screaming of embarrassing nicknames like.." Atta boy Butt-Cheeks!!!". Some were worse than others, but somehow I made it through twenty of these services without witnessing the humiliating arrest of a parent.

I am not without sympathy for the desire of school officials to insure the dignity of their graduations. Time was that a high school graduation was indeed a solumn event, and it's importance immeasurable. 50 years ago the most common emotion displayed at such events would have been tears, not uproarious screaming and high fives. But 50 years ago the most popular show on television was the Beverley Hillbillies...uh..times have changed. In a more perfect world, parents wouldn't act like idiots at high school graduations. But in a more perfect world, administrators would come up with a better way of dealing with overenthusiastic demonstrators. A better way than a jail cell! As irritating as some of the over the top demonstrations were, I never saw anything worthy of an arrest, let alone the sight of a mother being handcuffed and frog-marched out by a cop in front of a thousand people. What administrator decided that THIS was the answer?? Again, where are the adults?

Free people make a deal with their governments. We grant them a monopoly on violence in exchange for assurance of it's judicious application. That "deal" seems sour when a policeman handcuffs a celebrating parent. The irony here is that for a country famous for it's devotion to freedom and liberty, we have become the most policed country on the face of the earth. From the FBI and Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms on the federal level, to State Troopers, County police departments, and city police precincts at lower levels even to mall cops and omnipresent private security..we are crawling with law-enforcers. As annoying as some graduation ceremonies have become, it disturbs me to see a Shannon Cooper hauled off by cop with the encouragement and approval of an administrator  given jurisdiction over the education of the young. This is the judicious application of force?  Somebody needs to go BACK to school!

Myrtle Beach Vacation.....Part II

Today was the very definition of what a vacation is supposed to be. The weather was glorious, clear and bright, low 80's. I woke up early, made myself some coffee and drank it out on the balcony overlooking the beach that was inhabited only by a few osprey. After getting dressed, I left my sleeping family, drove to one of the 16,000 golf courses in the area, Possum Trot, where I was delighted to discover a nearly empty parking lot. "Absolutely, darlin'," the girl behind the counter answered when I asked if she could fit in a single. Five minutes later I had been introduced to two other men with the same idea, Jim from Kentucky and Steve from California. So, having had no opportunity to hit any balls at the driving range, or gauge the speed of the greens on the practice green, I proceeded to belt my drive right down the middle, crush a 4 iron, then spin a 52 degree wedge within 5 feet of the cup. After sinking the putt for a birdie, I realized that I was in the strange golf universe that exists only when you are away from home and playing with complete strangers. I know what a horrible hack job I'm capable of when swinging golf clubs...but Steve and Jim only know that I just made a birdie on the first hole and made it look easy doing it. To them, I might as well be Tiger Woods. So, I decided to make the most of it. I continued my awesome impersonation of a serious golfer for the entire front nine, shooting a scorching 37, and thoroughly enjoyed being "the man".

After the turn, as sure as night follows day, I returned to form, placing a couple of drives in the woods, snap-hooking an approach shot or two, and generally playing like the 15 handicapper that I am. Still, an 83 in front of two strangers is always a delightful way to start a day. The entire round took 3 hours and 45 minutes to complete, a wonderful bonus. Somewhere on the back nine, after my poorer play made me more approachable, I got into a conversation with Jim, and discovered that his middle daughter, Courtney, 28, has Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and the prognosis isn't good. He described the two bone marrow procedures that she has endured, the heartbreak of learning that after the second time, the cancer returned. He had flown his wife to Myrtle Beach this week just to get her away from the pain and sadness for a while. I promised him that me and my family would be praying for Courtney tonight at dinner.

After a quick lunch back at the condo, I went down to the beach and spent the afternoon talking and laughing with my kids, and throwing the football back and forth like I've done every year for the past twenty. Tonight we will eat dinner out on the balcony, then head out for a severely contested game of team putt-putt. Patrick and I will dominate Kaitlin and Pam, but will show mercy and try to at least keep it close. The losing team will treat the winning team to soft serve. I prefer chocolate-dipped...in case either of you are reading this.

Myrtle Beach Vacation....Part I

Day three of the Myrtle Beach vacation '12 finally has brought rain. Listening to all of the breathless weathermen down here for the past several days, we half expected to see an ark floating down the street with downed power lines,cows flying by and martial law having to be declared. But alas, tropical storm/depression/really annoying storm Beryl was mostly a nighttime event that featured brisk winds  and some heavy downpours. Now that the sun is up, the rain has stopped, the wind is dying down and I think I see some blue sky south and west of here. In other words we have lost approximately ..um, er..zero hours of beach time. Oh wait, there were horrible RIP-TIDES. How could I forget the "potentially deadly" rip-tides? Meteorologists are great...weather geeks who get paid to bloviate hysterically every time an upper level disturbance hints at being formed.

So far we're having a blast. The weather has been great, the condo is perfect, and since it's still the month of May, Myrtle Beach is not yet crowded. We can actually drive down King's highway in the middle lane at 40 mph! Last night we pretended that it was Patrick's birthday since we missed his actual birthday a few days ago. Pam fixed him his favorite meal. The main course consisted of a colorful frying pan full of onions, yellow, orange and red bell peppers, stir-fried to the perfect tenderness, mixed with sliced and fried polska kielbasa and some other kind of smoked sausage. Along with this heavenly concoction, there were baked cinnamon apples, and home-made macaroni and cheese. To wash all of this down, Patrick had taken it upon himself to buy a ridiculously priced bottle of some Italian red wine he had discovered on his trip there last year. We all agreed that red wine tastes  like cough medicine no matter what country it's from, but he insisted that we all try it. He even served it totally by the book...only slightly chilled, waiting 15 full minutes after opening the bottle before it's poured etc..etc..I felt like those sherry-sipping Crane boys, Niles and Frazier! But, I must admit, it was excellent. Once again, I've had my sights raised by one of my supremely refined and educated children.

Today the plan is to head out to the Golden Griddle for breakfast. There will be no wine glasses anywhere to be found at GG. The only thing you'll have to wait 15 minutes for is a table. An ample-bossomed middle-age woman named Gladys will wait on us. She will refer to me as either "Honey" or "Darlin'", and we will be served three pancakes slathered in butter and maple syrup. The bacon will be the thick, smokey kind that one imagines was served on cattle-drives out west in the 1880's. The coffee will be thick and strong. There will be no  granola -yogurt- parfait- fruit cup nonsense going on here. Gladys will see to it that we don't leave hungry, and she will hand out coupons as we leave for "25% off your first by-pass operation".

After this late breakfast, despite meteorological guarantees that the entire day would be a washout, the sun will probably be shining. We will head down to what seems like our private beach to work off this 1,000 calorie meal by sitting in beach chairs for several hours. Then it will be back to the condo for showers and then out to dinner then we have front row balcony seats for the variety show at the Alabama Theatre. There are worse ways to spend a day.

My Animal House Office and the Nature of Friendship

For some reason I've been thinking a lot about the nature of friendship lately. I'm not even sure why.  Maybe it's because the older I get the more important it is to me. Maybe it's because I'm becoming aware of how rare it is. I am 54 years old and I know a lot of people, I have a boatload of acquaintances, but fewer friends, and even fewer close friends. Why is that?

Part of it is time, or more precisely, the lack of time. It takes time to build solid friendships. My best friend is a guy I grew up with. We were inseparable from roughly age 15 until 25. Then we got busy with our lives which started to travel on different paths so we don't spend a lot of time with each other now. But he's still my best friend. So, time isn't the only thing.

When I think about it, my wife is clearly my real best friend. But she doesn't count because she sorta HAS to like me. It's all a part of the "love and cherish" thing. The biggest reason that Pam and I are such good friends is because of the wealth of shared experiences. You have children with someone, raise them together, spend literally days in a car with someone for 28 years, then you either end up violent enemies or the best of friends. Luckily for me, after all of that, we're still pals.

Three of my best friends are the guys I work with. We're business partners. We see each other every day and have for the better part of 25 years. Our office is like a laboratory for human dysfunction. It's the Cooperstown of verbal invective, the place where mutual respect and decorum go to die. When strangers come and experience the glee with which we constantly toss around insults and put downs, they try their best not to look shocked. From snarky remarks about each others' personal appearance, to open ridicule of each others' intelligence, no subject is off limits. Make an honest mistake 17 years ago at a company meeting in Vancouver B.C., and you can be certain that it will be thrown in your face at any time at the slightest provocation. Miss a short putt on the 18th green to cost your team the match, well you might as well turn in your man card for six months. The trash-talking, non-stop smack down zone that is our office is the middle-aged version of being smacked on the ass by a wet towel in the locker room in high school. If you make a huge sale, you're the luckiest, most over-paid hack in the history of commerce. If you fall into a slump it's because you're a lazy, whining, soft democrat welfare queen looking for a handout. There exists nowhere on this planet a work environment with less concern for positive affirmation and self-esteem than my office. To many of you reading this I'm sure it sounds positively brutish. Some of you might even be tempted to notify OSHA to report this horrifying behavior. And, what does this have to do with friendship anyway?

Here's the thing. It's the not the job of friends to be rubber stamps for every stupid idea that comes into your head. Friendship is about having the freedom and standing to tell each other the truth. For all of the abuse we heap on each other, I know in my heart that everyone of the guys at my office have my back. Who do I want in my fox hole, who do I want in my corner in a fight? The smiley-faced back slapper who is constantly telling me how great I am...or the guy who knows every mistake I've ever made and can and will recite them back to me at a moments' notice and despite that, would run through a wall for me? No, if there's a crisis at 2 o'clock in the morning, I'm not calling Mr. happy face..I'm calling Doug Greenwood, Bland Weaver, or Lynwood Atkinson.

Oh, and by the way...on the off chance that either of you guys actually read this blog...you're still a bunch of pathetic morons.

Vacation Dilemma

Ever notice how worthless you become at work the last few days before vacation? Even though there's lots to do to prepare for being gone for 11 days, I'm finding it difficult to summon the necessary enthusiasm needed. Every item on my "to-do" list becomes an occasion for a raging debate inside my head that goes something like this..."Is it really critical that I take care of this now? I mean, will the world cease spinning on it's axis if I wait until I get back to do this?"

I could either be setting up annual review appointments with clients for the week I return, OR, I could be on the interwebs checking out where I'm going to be playing golf next Wednesday. Talk about your tough decisions, devising a strategy for dealing with a Greek exit from the Euro, or deciding which shows to see..Le Grand Cirque, the Legends Concert, or The Blue Man Group? I could either finish up this life insurance paperwork on my desk, or work out the details of which type of meat I'll grill for dinner the first night. Everyone knows how absolutely crucial it is to set the proper tone for a fun and frolicking vacation by nailing the first night's dinner. Seriously, is it even possible to over think dinner number one? I think not!

Since I'm in the trusted Financial Advisor business, every year at vacation time the most difficult decision is this...what kind of message to leave on my answering machine. For one thing, there are very specific rules for phone messages in my line of work. You can't just say any old thing. For example, you must always remind clients that they cannot leave trade instructions on the machine since they cannot be honored in that fashion etc, etc.. You also can't do any advertising in your message. You can't say something like..."Thanks for calling, and remember to ask me about the hot new Detroit Municipal Bonds paying a very high octane 18%"...or ..."Thanks for calling, and remember, only uncivilized people buy gold." But what about the all important message that informs clients that you will not be in the office until Wednesday the 6th of June? What happens if news breaks that Mitt Romney is dropping out of the Presidential race to pursue a relationship with Ralph Nadar, the love of his life? The stock market is down 500 points on the blockbuster news and my panicked clients call and hear....what, exactly?? " Hello, today is Saturday, May the 26th and I will be in Myrtle Beach with the wife and kids until Wednesday morning the 6th of June. In addition, I will NOT be checking this phone for any messages since the primary purpose of being on vacation is to get as far away from my office as possible. Matter of fact, as we speak, I'm most likely doing some body surfing or hitting the golf ball, and you guys are the furthest thing from my mind, so leave me a message and I will call you back when I get back in town, and not one minute sooner."

No, that message won't work. But, the thing is, I really want to be away when I'm away. My life is forever tethered to the global stock markets in all of their insane volatility. My vacation weeks are not immune from some catastrophic event that might cause them to gyrate in frightening ways. I remember one week when I was in Maine and couldn't have made a call to Richmond even if I had wanted to. The markets were down big every single day of my vacation, or so I was informed by the intrepid newspaper of record in those parts, the Rumford Falls Times. When I got back in town, I dreaded the deluge of phone messages I was sure were waiting for me.  There was only one, a client had called to inform me that I had left my pen on her kitchen table. Sweetheart was going to put it in the mail. It was laying there with my other mail. It was then that I decided that I wasn't going to spend any more vacation time worrying about stuff I had no control over anyway. I will leave a tidy message, optimistic and energetic, but reminding the world that I will not be checking the machine every 5 minutes. I'll be on vacation. It's about relaxation...you can look it up.