My Name

My full name is Paul Maurice Earl Moorman. As names go, I’ve always been happy with mine, unlike some folks that wish their first and middle names were reversed, or not the same as five other people in class or just because there is just no good nickname to be had. My parents liked short, traditional names and never gave us a nickname or variation. In other words, they never called me Paulie. While I like my name, it’s not a good fit for the current fad of abbreviating stars names like J-Lo (Jennifer Lopez) and A-Rod (Alex Rodriguez). Mine ends up as P-Moor. Not cool in the least.

Each of my names comes from somewhere and has its own story.

I’m been told that Paul comes from the name of a highly regarded friend of my parents, Father Paul Schaaf, a missionary and religious leader. Father Schaaf served as a missionary in Chile, working among its rural population, among many other positions before retiring in 2002. He passed away in 2007.

Paul only has one spelling, so everybody gets that right, very much unlike my last name. But Paul is actually fairly hard to pronounce clearly. It starts with the hard and fast consonant “P”, which is similar to a “T”, and then trails off to the very soft “L”. People quite often think my name is Tom when they hear it, particularly over a phone. I’ve had to learn to very clearly pronounce Paul, or just use my middle name, which people seem to hear better, albeit have more trouble spelling.

Maurice is my mother’s father’s name and my favorite grandpa, but to be fair my other grandpa, Leo, died when I was five years old. Maurice died on my 14th birthday, one of the saddest days of my life. I have so many memories, going back to his Dayton house on Oak street where he had a train set that spanned two rooms and I loved watching the engine poof smoke as it travelled over the tracks. He was also a big cigar smoker and his garage was stacked with empty boxes. His house in Beavercreek was the focal point of most Sunday’s, with my family and my many aunts, uncles and cousins regularly converging. We kids mainly played outside, both for the lack of room inside and the choking cloud of smoke, as it seemed everybody smoked back then. But it was the best of times.

Earl, my confirmation name and my father’s name, is the only name I got to pick for myself. My dad grew up in west Dayton, served in the Navy, graduated from the University of Dayton with a degree in engineering and worked at General Motors, mainly Frigidaire until it was sold, until he retired. Unlike most engineers that I know, my Dad was a cheerleader at U.D. and an actor. He met my mother, Rose Marie, while performing with the Dayton Blackfriars Guild, most noted for actor Martin Sheen. I think that combination of the left-brain engineer and right-hand actor defined not just myself but also my siblings. Our father died at 62 and our mother at 64, far too early in both their lives and ours.

Moorman is German, which I’ll get to in a moment. It’s not a name that most people are familiar with, which leads to spellings like Morman. But I’ve learned over the course of time to spell it for them using “M-double-o-r-pause-m-a-n”. The double-o helps them get the two “o”’s part, but the critical piece is the pause. The pause makes them think about what I just said instead of listening for more. During the pause they comprehend the double-o part, just about the time they’ve finished the “o” and are just about to write the “r” and skip the second “o”, which I think their brain would just skip over if I said “o-o” instead. The “man” is pretty normal, so they almost always get that right.

The German spelling is Moormann and that’s how it’s spelled on my great-great-grandfather Franz’s tombstone in Saint Henry's Church Cemetery. Franz and his wife Maria immigrated to America in 1854 from Oldenburg, Germany, settling in Mercer County, Ohio, a favorite place for my ancestors to land. Franz and Maria gave birth to John Henry, and he and Anna had Leo, my grandfather. Leo and Walburga conceived Earl and he and my Mom, Rose Marie, over a ten year and one day period, had Greg in 1952, myself in 1955, Mary Rose in 1957, Martin in 1960 and David in 1962. During recent research into my heritage going back four generations, families with the names Eggenschwiller, Geis, Kastle, Leimeister, Liddy, Little, Maria, Meier, Otto, Overman, Paulick, Reichert, Schneble and Siemer are great-great-grandparents. If you have one of those names in your family tree, we might be related somehow.

But the person that truly defines “Moorman” was Franz’s first son, August Moorman, who fathered 21 children. Can’t think of anyone who represents a “more man” any better than that.

Otto Picnics

The end of summer signals the start of a new school year, the changing colors of leaves and the inevitable first snow. But in years long past, the Sunday of Labor Day weekend brought a most exciting time, the annual family reunion (Mom’s side) at the Otto farm. My aunt and uncle moved to the farm, located in Beavercreek, Ohio, as their family expanded to six boys and three girls. It never seemed to rain on that Sunday, even if the forecast said so. Seemed like divine intervention to me. Let me relate a few of the memories that stand out to my little boy self.

Soon after we arrived in the early afternoon, and sometimes before, a baseball game would be organized, with both adults and kids participating. Always seemed to be a big debate on what the score was at any point in time, which might have been that most people just enjoyed playing and the score was secondary to them, or maybe the keg of beer influenced that. Baseball generally led to volleyball and for the hardcore few, a determined game or two of basketball. By dinnertime we were a sweaty, happy mess.

Dinner was laid out on a few picnic tables and filled with fried chicken, baked beans, potatoes of all sorts, salads and desserts. We were starved by all the exercise and ate at least two plates full. One of my favorite, and very unique, selections was a piece of buttered rye bread topped with sliced white and red radishes and green onions. But what made this awesome was bacon grease, dripped from a large chunk of scored jowl bacon held over the fire pit until it sizzled. Truly yummy!

During one of the later years, when I was a Dad and my kids had been introduced to the yearly ritual, the usual fried chicken was augmented with a whole pig roasted on a spit. Most of the kids had never seen an entire animal being cooked like this and they all stared in amazement. Then they were asked if they would like to try some cracklings, the fried skin of the pig. You can learn a lot about a kid’s personality when they are presented with something entirely new and foreign. Nobody leaped at the chance, but with some coaxing one brave kid decided to give it a try. When they approved, a few others came forward to try. It was amazing to watch the concentration on the kid’s faces as they tried to make their decisions. Most finally succumbed, the most risk-averse simply caving into young peer pressure.

After dinner a large wagon would be hitched up to the tractor and hay rides began. Usually took 2-3 trips around the farm to accommodate our large family. Then as the sun began to set, the marshmallows would be roasted to a golden brown on sticks, or simply lit on fire by those not paying enough attention. But unless they fell in the fire, they were eaten. The night fell upon us, we talked and stared into the fire and talked about how we couldn’t wait until next year.

Funny, I can’t remember the ride home. I suspect the day’s fun and a full tummy put this little boy to sleep in the car the moment we turned off the gravel driveway and onto Patterson Road.

Cost of College

I’ve been living a lie.

Took me over forty years to realize it.

What was once very much a sense of pride is now gone.

But there’s a longer story involved, which I’ll relate before getting to the punch line.

I started college in 1974. My plan had been to follow my older brother’s lead and attend General Motors Institute in Flint, Michigan. That was a co-op program where you went to school half time and worked at GM the rest, working to pay for college. But I was not successful at being accepted at GMI, which led me to Wright State University, which I’ve been forever grateful. I worked twenty hours a week when in school and forty hours a week when not. I made enough to pay my tuition, buy my books and have a little left over for a pizza or a movie with my girlfriend. I didn’t do drugs, didn’t drink and party, and never had a fake driver’s license. Why waste these years self-destructing and not taking full advantage of learning cool stuff. That all seemed very natural to me.

My son considered college in the 1990’s, so I ran the math again. The twenty/forty work and tuition equation still worked. He could pay his way through if he wanted. It wasn’t his lack of work ethic that led him away from college. He’s one of the hardest working people I know and I’m very proud of him for that. And even more proud that he’s a really good person and owns his own business.

There’s been a lot of press lately around the cost of education and the piles of student debt being accumulated by young adults. This isn’t just kids that go to Harvard or medical school. This is happening to average folks going to regular universities. So I decided to do the math once again. But this time all the 20/40 hard work doesn’t cover tuition and books, but about sixty percent, with nothing left over for pizza.

What happened? Has the cost of college in the last twenty years outstripped wage inflation that much? That’s part of the story, as universities have competed for students by offering tons of costly amenities. But the shocking part for state universities like WSU is the dropping level of state funding. In my college days, state funding accounted for about 75% of their budget, with tuitions like mine making up the remaining 25%. Restore that funding and the equation not only works again, but you can occasionally take your girlfriend to a nice restaurant, the kind with cloth napkins. Perhaps that’s how state funding should be determined. Those that work hard should be able to go through a state university debt-free. That’s not the path everyone would have to take and it would be their decision to either “work now” or “pay later”.   

I now know I didn’t pay for college. That’s the punch line. Thanks mostly to the taxpayers, I received a quality education and was not racked with debt at the end of it. Many thanks to my parents who allowed me to live at home, fed me and paid for my car insurance. And a girlfriend that liked a simple pizza.

Remembering Moses

I have only bought one pet, for myself, in my life. I was around forty years old, living in an apartment by myself, and decided that a cat would be the pet for me. I traveled quite a bit back then and it was not unusual for me to be out of town for a week or more. I didn’t want fish, birds, or a guinea pig, and a dog wouldn’t work. But a cat, with enough food, water, and litter can easily be left alone for long periods of time. Not that they like that, but after a few minutes of admonishment when you return, they’re your friend again.

 

But all cats are not the same. Some are overly aloof, providing little companionship. Others are mean, some hide all day long and others get fat and lazy. Some spend their waking hours plotting to escape and feel good about leaving you despondent, or better yet, crying your eyes out. Picking your perfect cat is a combination of knowing what you want and finding a cat to match. Not an easy task.

 

My cat journey started at a local SICSA (Society for the Improvement of Conditions for Stray Animals). I spent forty-five minutes meeting a variety of cats, some mean, some sleeping, most not adorable. Then I spotted a black and white cat perched all by himself up on the platform. I went over, and he immediately let me pet him and he started purring. I found out that he was one year old, which was perfect as I didn’t want a kitten and all those challenges. Took a while, but I found my cat. 

 

My daughter and I picked up the cat a couple of days later to take him home. He had some kind of generic cat name that I didn’t like. So we talked about names for a bit and my daughter suggested Moses, a name from the song “Jessie” (by Joshua Kadison) that she was listening to on the radio. I was immediately smitten by this unique pet name. Very classy. I could nickname him “Mo” (although I rarely called him that), just like my middle name, Maurice, can be nicknamed “Mo”. And his black and white hair reminded me of Charlton Heston when he played Moses, as he came down the mountain with the Ten Commandments. 

 

Moses started out as an apartment cat for the first few years. He would spend the days lounging in the sun or curled up on a couch. He always met me at the front door when I got home. But what was special was bedtime. The routine developed where I would get in bed, Moses would hop up, I would pull the covers up, he would go in head first, turn around and snuggle on my shoulder as I tucked in the covers. He purred, rapidly at first, then gradually slowed over several minutes. On a few occasions, we woke up the next morning in that exact position, but more often he would extract himself after ten or fifteen minutes and head off to whatever cats do all night.

 

Moses loved to explore. After we moved out of apartment living and into a rented house, Moses found a way to get into the walls. He would spend an hour or more crawling on the ceilings and ductwork, eventually finding his way back out, covered typically in gray dust, which would take him hours to lick off. On three of these explorations, he came back with a dead mouse, presumably of his own doing, given the number he found and killed in the backyard. But how he could do all this in the darkness of the interior of a house is the most amazing to me. 

 

Perhaps the craziest thing I saw Moses do was be the family protector. One day my daughter was in the living room on one side of the couch. Max, a dachshund of advancing age prone to bite people, was on the other side. Moses was making his way from the kitchen to the living room when something outside caused Max to bark. Moses, obviously thinking Max might bite my daughter, flew across the room, jumped up on the couch and began to slap Max faster than the dog could see. After a flurry of punches, Moses leaped down, convinced he had saved the day. And for the next week, every time Moses and Max met, Moses would slap him a few more times for good measure. 

 

Moses lived a long, good life and now rests under a tree in my former house in Bellbrook, where I buried him amid a stream of tears. 

I still miss my “little buddy in the purring business”.

Paulishing

I've moved this blog from the generic blogspot.com domain to my own ... paulishing.com.

Paulishing is a term I made up at NewPage Corporation where part of what I did was review documents and presentations for spelling, grammar and clarity, basically polishing up documents.  So Paulishing is just a twist on polishing, and reflects my love of writing.

The old blogspot link will redirect to the new.  The direct link to the new name is:

http://lifeexperiences.paulishing.com/

You Said What?

At one or more times in your life you will hear something that stops your tracks and you question “They said what?!”. At other times you’re the source and others stare at you. Sometimes you’re unaware and innocent. For me, it’s usually because my brain runs faster than whatever mechanism is responsible for closing my mouth. So I offer a collection of three of my favorite stories. I hope they they give you a chuckle or three.

Back in the 1980’s we used IBM impact printers to create multiple-part forms, for example, pack lists and shipping documents. In order to save money, the Mead Products division bought a number of used printers and had all sorts of problems with getting the correct lineup. But the worst problem was wasting forms when printers would just skip a form in between without apparent cause. We all got in a big meeting to understand the problem and get a team working on finding the root cause and see if anything could be done. I summed up the problem concisely with the statement “So what we have here is a case of premature page ejection”. He said what?! But they had to agree, as I tried to stifle my own laughter.

The second is nothing of my doing and I hope to accurately tell the story as told to me. First, let me set the stage with a definition. In IT, a pilot is as short project to validate a design before doing a full implementation. Got that, ‘cause it’s important. The Mead Corporation was blessed with two awesome 7-seat corporate jets and an equally awesome group of pilots. The Aviation department met with IT to discuss a project that would automate one of their functions and IT thought that would be a great idea. The leader of that IT group, Grace, who has been a friend forever and is a beautiful, tall redhead, wanted the project to go well and declared “First we have to do a pilot”. The Aviation leader, Fred, eye’s widened with a “She said what?!” look. “Doing a pilot” meant something completely different to Fred and wasn’t proper business discussion. It was all sorted out and all was good. I never heard exactly what shade of red Grace’s face turned. But I’m sure it complemented her hair.

The last story developed over a 4-day, 4th of July holiday. It rained for 3 straight days and then into a fourth, and my wife was getting bummed out. Finally on the fourth day the rain started letting up a little, so I suggested we just get in car and go somewhere. We decided to go to a farmers market about 20 minutes away, look around and maybe buy a few vegetables. Then I suggested we head over to a bar named Chammp’s and have a beer, which we did. My wife started feeling better. We drove home and took a nap. Later on she said she was very appreciative for getting out of the house and in less than a split second my reply was “I just did what you did with your kids when they young and restless. I drove you around, gave you a bottle and put you to bed.” He said what?! But before she could get mad she realized that accurately described our afternoon adventure.

And could only laugh.

The Best of 2015

This is my fifth year of publishing a list of my best experiences of the previous year. 2015 was not the big year for travel to exotic places that 2014 was, but was still chock full of memorable good times.

10. Baseball All-Star Game in Cincinnati

My son took me to my first All-Star game ever. A short Hummer drive down I-75, we arrived several hours early to a driving rainstorm, which we neatly avoided getting wet. We made our way to The Yard House, which I was surprised we could even get in the door to enjoy a few pre-game Kilkenny beers. The pre-game activities were really cool, with the announcement of each team’s all-time top players, their “Franchise Four”. The Reds Franchise Four, Johnny Bench, Barry Larkin, Joe Morgan and Pete Rose, were introduced on the field to thundering applause. The finale was the on-field introduction of the four "Greatest Living Players," Sandy Koufax, Johnny Bench, Willie Mays and Hank Aaron. Seeing these living legends put goosebumps on my arms and a lump in my throat. The game itself was mediocre, with the American League winning 6-3, with little drama.

9. Ohio State Football Winning the First Four Team National Championship

The most improbable ending for a Buckeyes team that played, at best, OK compiling a 11-1 record, including a bad early loss to Virginia Tech and a double OT squeaker at Penn State. Hope was low on making the four team playoff, and even more so after losing their second starting quarterback, JT Barrett, to a leg injury during the Michigan game. Third-string QB Cardale Jones made his first start and led OSU to an absolutely stunning 59-0 shutout of #11 Wisconsin in the Big Ten Championship game, impressing the selection committee enough to make the top four. Nobody gave OSU a chance against Alabama, and after falling behind 21-6 in the second quarter, it looked bad. OSU then scored four unanswered touchdowns to take a thirteen point lead in the third quarter. Alabama finally answered, closing the game to within six points. But late in the fourth quarter Ezekiel Elliott flat out outran the entire Alabama defense for an 85-yard touchdown and a final score of 42-35. The championship game against Oregon, also a supposedly faster team than the Buckeyes, was a close affair until Elliott ran for the final three touchdowns of the game and a lopsided 42-20 victory.

8. Tour and Dipping Bottles at Maker’s Mark

I’ve been a member of the Maker’s Mark Ambassador’s Club since 2008 when my son nominated me. The first benefit of the program is a creative Christmas gift. In 2015 that was a Maker’s Mark headband which I’ll use in the hot tub. One year it was an ice cube tray which made four, two-inch diameter spheres, perfect for chilling bourbon without diluting it too much. The second benefit was having my name burned into a barrel of Maker’s Mark (along with dozens of other ambassadors) and getting the purchase two liters of bourbon from that barrel. It took seven years for the bourbon to age but finally the day came to make the trip to Loretto, Kentucky, take the tour and hand dip my bottles myself. I also picked up and dipped a special Cask Strength bottle for the holidays.

7. Steelers Game at Heinz Field

Since I started dating my wife we’ve made numerous trips to her native Pittsburgh to see her family and have seen many sights, but not a Steelers game at Heinz Field, which has been on her bucket list forever. We enlisted one of her son’s help and he reached out to a friend with family on the Steelers staff and snagged us a pair of tickets, and a great parking pass, for the November 1st game against the Cincinnati Bengals. With other commitments in September and October, we just couldn’t make an earlier date and we expected a very chilly, if not downright frigid, game. But things worked out exactly the opposite and we had a gorgeous, sunny, mid-70’s day, nice to walk around outside before the game. Other than being beat by the Bengals, it was a perfect day.

6. Catamaran Ride to Isla Saona

A nice spring vacation to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic was highlighted by a trip out to Isla Saona, located off the southern coast. The trip started with a shuttle ride, transferred to a large bus, then moved on to a boat trip, where we jumped into calm waters looking for starfish. Then completed the journey to the island on the powerful catamarans. It was a partying crowd that bounced across the Caribbean Sea, dancing and drinking to the music. Lunch and beach time on the island before taking the long trek back to Punta Cana.

5. New Kitchen

The last, and by far the largest, home project was a complete reimagine and rebuild of the kitchen, a real relic from the late 1950’s. Everything was replaced, even the kitchen window. Custom-built Amish cabinets, new appliances, stone flooring and granite countertops were installed. The dual-fuel, double oven range was the real highlight, giving us a gas stove top with a real power burner, true simmering burner and griddle, along with independently controlled large and small electric ovens. Next best was the the Uba Tuba Leathered granite countertops. The leathering provides a textured feel in place of the typical smooth granite look, and hides fingerprints very well.

4. Pirates vs Cubs at Wrigley Field

Wrigley is the place to watch a baseball game. An old-time neighborhood stadium filled with nostalgia and Cub-crazy fans. While I’ve been to a few games there, including one seen from the Wrigley rooftops, my wife’s brother got us tickets to a late September game five rows behind home plate, a little bit on the third base side, and again on an absolutely beautiful day. That view totally immersed me into the game and watching pitchers throw fastballs so quick they’re hardly more than a blur gave me a new appreciation of how good major league batters must be to make contact with the near-invisible baseball. Pirates won 4-0, making my Pittsburgh wife happy but over 40,000 local fans not so much.

3. One World Observatory in NYC

We went to New York City for a black-tie wedding in October, yet again, in awesome weather. We had already bought Priority tickets to the One World Observatory, which sits atop One World Trade Center, the beautiful replacement of the two towers destroyed by the 9/11 terrorists which I had visited many years ago. We grabbed a cab for the ride from The New York Palace Hotel to Lower Manhattan, entertained by the street savvy cab driver, so much so that we arranged for her to take us to the Newark airport the next day. The choice of spending the extra money for Priority tickets was a good one, as the line was long for the regular tickets. With the Priority tickets we bypassed the ticket line and the regular elevator line and within five minutes were atop the building. We rented an iPad which pointed out all the various buildings and points of interest, and tell stories about them. Aside from the beautiful views of New York and New Jersey, it was gratifying to know firsthand that those terrorists were the biggest losers of 9/11, and America will always rise above them, and the clouds.

2. “Book of Mormon” Play in Chicago

My wife’s brother and sister-in-law took us to see “Book of Mormon” in April at the Bank of America Theatre in downtown Chicago. For those who are not aware, this play pushes the boundaries of comedy when related to religion and race. Written by the creators of the TV show “South Park”, very much known for its political incorrectness, I guess that should have been expected. But with the appropriately open mind about such things, the play was absolutely hilarious, and one you walk away from saying “I want to see that again”.

1. Zac Brown Band Concert in Columbus

As great as 2015 was, crowning the #1 experience was easy. Zac Brown and his band put on the best concert I have ever seen. They played all the big hits including “Toes”, “Knee Deep” and “Chicken Fried”. They had an acoustical segment, like an “Unplugged”, that was beautiful. But what put goosebumps on my arms was their performance of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”, every bit as good as the original.