Fathers, Sons, Missing Socks in the Dryer and Other Mysteries of the Universe

I am an avid fisherman. I have been since I can remember. Fishing for me is a deep passion, sometime bordering on obsession. Being on and around the water re-energizes my soul. Fishing is as important to my existence as food, air and water. It is only in my later years I have come to understand this relationship.

In the late 60's when I was still in grade school, everyone looked forward to June. June meant summer vacation, playing with friends late into the hot evenings and long days at the neighborhood pools. For me, there was something really special to look forward to: the yearly fishing trip with my Dad. I knew it would be sometime toward the end of July would force myself to be patient and let him suggest it. Usually at Sunday dinner, he would casually ask “So, where do you want to go this year for fishing?”. I seemed like I would always in choose Hat Creek in the Lassen National Forest. We had gone to a number of different reservoirs, rock fishing on the coast, but Hat Creek was the best!

I usually had to count down days with high charged anticipation. The weekend would come and I would always have all the camping gear and the all important fishing gear staged in the garage for quick embarkation. My mother would buy the groceries for our adventure. Friday morning would come and I was usually too excited to eat breakfast. We would pack up the Travel-All and and head north to 4 days of Trout fishing my Dad in the cold streams of Northern California. We were going camping and fishing; guy stuff, no girls allowed! Just after breakfast we would load up the truck and get on the road for the long drive to Mt. Lassen. The long drive through the flat, hot and dusty central valley would be interrupted by lunch at one of the unique, out of the way restaurants that my father seemed to know about. We would arrive at the Hat Creek campground mid-afternoon.

As always, the first order of business was setting up camp. With that being done, we would grab our rods and tackle and catch the evening bite. I would stay close to my father and he would instruct me in the art of trout fishing. My father 'hunted' trout. He seemed to know where the wily fish would be in the creek. He taught me how to read the stream, how the trout would stay in the slower back currents and eddy's formed by rocks and holes by the bank. We would fish for a couple hours and catch tomorrows breakfast. Dad always seemed to have more fish on his stringer.

Dad would make dinner. We had a Coleman stove, a couple of pots and the ubiquitous #8 cast iron skillet. He would cook up these marvelous concoctions in that skillet. I guess due to the fact my father love to eat, he knew how to cook. After dinner clean up, we would go out on a short walk in forest. It seemed like he knew the names of all the different pines, flora, birds and animals. Returning to camp, we would build a fire. He would show me the proper use of a hatchet, how to split kindling and the proper technique for building a campfire. As the sun set and the fire grew we would talk about all sorts of things. That first night, we would speak mostly about school and work. He would tell me about what was happening at his job, and I about school, vacation and the up coming year. We would usually turn in early. Dad always seemed to be tired. This was no surprise. Ever since I could remember he worked 2 jobs. Being a child, I had no idea what it cost to maintain a household. The family was always fed well, and we had nice clothes to wear. We always had a family vacation at the end of the summer. I knew Dad's trade, a ship fitter/boilermaker paid good money, but I think he wanted more in the bank for safety.

Dad would always would rise first, at the crack of dawn. I would wake up a little later to the smell of frying bacon, trout, potatoes and camp coffee. The vision of my Dad bent over the Coleman stove is one that I cherish. He would always say something along the line of “About time, thought I would fish alone today!”. At the other end of the picnic table sat a stainless steel bowl and a pot of hot water to wash up in. I would wash up and the set the table for breakfast. At breakfast we would decide what part of the creek we would fish. I would have my customary cup of camp coffee. Strong and black. I would be wired for hours.

Rods and tackle in hand, we would set off to the creek. We usually fished with in sight of each other. With in 15-20 minutes, I could see a trout on my Dad's line. Then another one. It wouldn't be long before I would walk down to his spot and ask him what he was doing. My father had this unique smirk that was part empathetic and part laughing. He would then begin another lesson in the art of trout fishing. This day the water level had raised a bit from the snow melt off Mt. Lassen. The higher water level changed the structural dynamics of the river. The rocky bars that were exposed yesterday are now congregating areas for the fish. He explained that trout work from a place of maximum energy efficiency. The trout will place themselves in an area that requires little energy to hold position, but offer exposure to food sources. The way the current breaks over the top of rocky bars indicates the position. Changes in water volume changes types of food sources. To explain this phenomenon, Dad gutted a trout he had just caught and opened up the stomach. Inside was a small earthworm and grub of some type. Food sources washed out of soil. We usually came ready with a selection of live bait and an assortment of lures. Though we didn't fly fish, we did have an assortment of tied dry flies, wet flies, nymphs and larva. In this particular situation, he set me up with an earthworm and he tied on a hellgramite pattern lure. He stood right behind me, took the rod and flip cast the hook exactly where it should go. The he place the rod in my hand and had me repeat the action. First cast was long, second too short but my last effort landed the hook and worm right in front of the rock and and it instantly started to flow down stream, swirling in the current, flowing by the sunken bar. He had me hold the line loosely in my fingers to feel the light bite of the trout. I instantly felt a light tug on the line and my reactions were like a bear trap! I snapped back so hard, I pulled the hook out of the fishes mouth! One more lesson: trout usually take bait lightly and you have to allow the fish to 'mouth' the bait. A long 2 count then set the hook lightly. After that lesson, I moved down stream about 20 yards and test my new found skills. An hour or so later, I had 1 rainbow and 2 brook trout on my stringer! With a prideful smile I showed him my catch and he thought it was pretty good work to!

We went back to camp for a light lunch and to put our catch on ice. Dad always wanted to take a nap in the afternoon and this allow me time to go off on my own to practice my fishing skills. A few hours later, I would see dad, up from his nap, somewhere on the stream. We would fish until late afternoon when a new technique would come about: dry flies. As the sun would start to set, flies of all types would appear. One would land on my dad's arm and he would hit it. He would then inspect it closely, then open his fly box and hand me a fly to tie on. This time it was a may fly. May flies hatch in the evening and live only a couple hours. They find a mate a die. For trout, it's an all you can eat feast. Our creek was so narrow that it was easy to flip cast a fly on a spinning rig. We both caught a number of trout. We through back the smaller ones. I think I had 4 and dad had 6

We cleaned our catch and headed back to camp. Trout was always for breakfast. I would help dad prep for dinner. While he was cooking, I would build the campfire. We would eat, clean up and we would go for a short hike. He would point out animal tracks and tell me what made them. Back at camp, I would stoke up the fire and we would talk.

Remembering my dad's face in the flickering red-orange of the fire light. He had a rectangular face with high cheekbones. A high forehead with grayish brown hair he always combed back. He always had a forelock due to a habit of twisting his hair when he was deep in thought. His eyes were an expressive light blue that, most of the time, could tell me what was going on inside. He was a man of large stature. He stood 6'3”, large boned and broad shoulders. He had extremely strong arms; those of a ship fitter. His hands were massive and strong. He spent 21 years in the Navy and retired a Senior Chief Machinist Mate (Marine Engines). He was the type of man you knew entered the room. He had the presence of a leader. I remember him with others and I always seemed that dad was the one the others looked to for what to do next. He had that air about.

My father was born in 1924 on the Idaho panhandle in a small town named Orofino and grew up on the Columbia river in Washington. He came of age in the Great Depression. He quit school at 16 to join the the Conservation Corps. My granddad had be come ill with asthma and emphysema and could not work. It was up to my father to bring money into the house hold. This experience gave him a strength of will and toughness that is not often seen this day and age. His time in the C.C's was spent in Bitterroot mountain range in Idaho building roads and felling trees. I have never seen a picture of him at that age, but I have seen ones from that era. Tough men hacking out a living in hard scrabble times, wielding axes and crosscut saws. Lumber hauled by mules and horses. He spent a couple years in the Civilian Conservation Corps, then joined the Navy in 1940.

My father started a family later than most. He was 30 when he married, 35 when I was born and 40 when my sister arrived. He was usually 10 years older than the parents of my peer group. When many men are still trying to 'find themselves', my father had solid roots. Dad was a strict, but fair disciplinarian. He had a well defined moral compass. I believe his uncluttered values came from a simpler time. One doesn't lie, cheat or steal. A handshake was a promise and all promises and commitments are kept. To the best of my knowledge, Dad never lied to me.

As the logs burned, they would shift and fall sending a swirl of sparks into the smoke column that would climb like fireflies. I would ask Dad to tell me stories about growing up on the Columbia river, what his interests were, what was school like, etc. He would relate some funny anecdotes and events that stood out in his mind. He told me of the boat the his father had that they would use to net Salmon for food and trade. My grandfather was always referred to as 'Pappy'. I guess with his given name, Faye Charles, Pappy was the better choice. Like many sons, I was interested in my father's relationship with his. When I would ask, I would see a subtle change in his face; a darkness if you will. He would talk around the topic and he tried to make a point of never saying anything negative about Pappy. It wasn't until later in life would I come to understand their relationship. I found out from step mother that my grandfather was a harsh and rash man who beat my father. She also told me that he would never allow himself to discipline his children in anger.

As he talked I would whittle with the sharp sheath knife I would be allowed to wear on my belt during these outings. Never did understand the purpose of whittling, as I watched the curls of white pine peal off the stick and flip into the fire. It did seem enjoyable though. The fire would die into embers and it would signal time for bed.

Awake again at dawn to the smell of a camp breakfast. Clean up and off to the creek for more fishing lessons. Once again the water level had changed some. Dad pointed out different washes and where the fish would be. He also pointed out areas of big rocks that created large slow pools. He flipped his bait into the fast water edge and it swirled into the pool. I could see something has taken the bait do to the way he tensed up and pulled more line off his spool. All of a sudden, the rod shot back and the was a nice size trout standing on its tail! He reeled the fish in and he had a very nice brown trout. He took out his ubiquitous 5” jack knife and gutted the fish. Opening up the belly he could see remnants of small fish. He had me tie on a Colorado Spinner and showed me how to work it. I caught my first brown trout that day. They were a much tougher to catch than the planted rainbows. I was quite please with myself. Dad was never too far away. Every so often I would just stop and watch Dad. It was one of the few times I would see him at peace. The immense burdens that he always shoulder were gone for the briefest moment. It was Sunday and the last day of fishing. We would go out for a couple hours Monday morning, then back to pack up the truck for the ride home. Through Dad's tutelage, I was becoming a worthy fisherman. During the morning and afternoon, I would do my best to put to work all the lessons I had learned. I still missed strikes or loose a hooked fish, but I didn't mind too much. I had four days with my dad; without interruption or distraction. Writing this sounds selfish. I think being 10 years old, I was allowed to be selfish.

1970 would be the last trip for to Hat Creek. The early '70's would started a erosion of my family, ending with the divorce of my parents in 1975. During this time, I started to use drugs and alcohol as a coping strategy with the emotional difficulty of home life, adolescence and high school social strain. I would wrestle with with substance abuse for a large part of my adult life. The divorce was like a bomb landing. I stayed with my father in California and my sister went with my mother to Connecticut, her home of origin. I finished my senior year of high school then joined the Marine Corps. My father and I grew distant, mostly due to my emotional disconnection.

Along with substance abuse, I was emotionally troubled by the disjointed relationship with my mother. These issues wreaked havoc on my own relationships and amplified patterns of self destruction. I developed a mindset of feeling like I was a disappointment to my father. It wasn't until my 40's when I found long term sobriety. After a great deal of therapy and a 12 step program, I finally realized that it was my disappointment with myself that I projected onto my father's opinion of me. Unfortunately, much of this self awareness came after his passing in 2000.

I miss my father. I was crushed by his death. He was diagnosed with cancer in January of 2000 and died in May. What still troubles me today is I never said good bye. I didn't get to be with him at the end. He died in the night alone in the hospital. My step mother didn't even see it coming. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about him. I have also been able to resolve my relationship with him. I don't think there is a son that wants their fathers approval and pride. I finally have taken to heart that I have always had my fathers. I dawned on my that he wasn't disappointed with me having addiction problems. He was proud of me fighting the good fight. I would get knocked down, but always up again. I also know that he was very aware of my intelligence and put it to good use as an electronic technician. I also know how much he loved me. Just for who I am.

I had always hoped that Dad and I could have had one more fishing trip, but that was not to be. I still fish often. It is a source of solace, rejuvenation and pure enjoyment. I live in Minnesota now and have lakes instead of the cold mountain trout streams of California. Fishing is fishing. It still brings out the child like wonder and excitement of my soul, perhaps bring back the joy of my youth. On the calm quiet mornings, I can feel my father behind me, his hand on mine showing me the mysteries of the waters.

I think Norman Maclean summed the relationship of fishing and man in his short story “A River Runs Through It”

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.”

I too am haunted by waters.

The Employment Unlevel Playing Field

Starting from Behind...

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the current unemployment rate is somewhere's around 6%.  That's the US average.  State wise, it can be much higher.  I have quite a number of friends, who have careers or a viable trade that seem to have been looking for work for much longer.  The statistics don't cover those people who's unemployment has run out or just have given up looking.  I would say that at least 15% of the people I speak with are either underemployed, stopped looking and working day labor or have just given up completely.

I know others that have created a whole new class: the very hard to employ.  I have a number of friends who have had substance abuse problems, have cleaned up and now find themselves unemployable due to various reasons e.g. gaps in employment, ugly terminations, etc.  Many of my acquaintances  are felons.  Though they have paid their debt, the post-9/11 world is very unforgiving.  FBI record searches now go beyond the standard 7 years Now they are going back to age 18.  Most companies have boilerplate rules against felons no matter what type of crime. I have a good friend who is a casino slot technician and will never get back to his trade.  In the '70's, he was convicted of "felony unlawful use of a vehicle", did his probation, paid the fine and it was done.  He became a slot technician in Reno and worked in that field for years.  Post 9/11, his background checks started popping up this felony from '74 and he cannot get a gaming license.  He went as far as getting a lawyer, having the matter expunged and sealed and still comes up when he applies for a state gaming licence.  I has been 5 years and the FBI still hasn't cleared him off the books!  He finally gave up and took a job with Walmart.  True, it's a job but he barely gets by.

The one group I have the most empathy for are veterans.  They have served their country, given more than most of us can imagine (I've been there!).  They are often troubled by emotional and mental issues due to PTSD and come home to an America that is much different than it was.  Many military occupations don't translate to the civilian world well.  Some do make it work.  Many don't.  Alcohol and drug abuse tends to be the coping strategy.  Been there too!  Seems like there are more questions than there are answers.

This is not about shaking my fist at God complaining how unfair the world in right now.  The world has changed and the question is how do we adapt?  In the Marines one of the popular axioms in the infantry was Improvise, Adapt & Overcome.  An objective has to be taken, it never seems like there's enough manpower or support.  The Warrior Mindset is to study the tactical situation, find weakness and exploit them.  That has been my quantum shift: I have to step back and re-assess.  I have to chosen to take a different approach.  I cannot allow the job market dictate how I make income, I am going to find opportunity and capitalize on it!

Turning the Tables

I have mentioned in my previous posts about some of my physical issues impeding my ability to earn.  Telling your boss that I need a mid-afternoon nap doesn't go over well.  So I have had to get much more creative with my income streams.  My primary income streams are from Elite Drop Shippers  which we built the eBay store with,

and an Amazon Store.  Both are good money makers.  Something my wife and I discovered is that diversity is the key!  If one source slows down, there's another that will probably still be producing.  All the work we do now is from home.  She is on disability and I am really not up to a 'go to' job.  Working from home on your own computer seems to be the future for us. Also think that it can be a great opportunity for many of those who are having any type of problem finding work.  On line sales does have some drawbacks.  I does required some up front money.  Our Amazon store is part of their Fulfilment By Amazon system.  We create the listings, pack up the items we want to sell, ship them to Amazon.  Amazon warehouses them and when an order is sold; they pick, pack and ship.  A sweet set-up, but there are draw backs.  There are fees for everything and if you're not careful, you'll get fee'd to death!  Choosing items that are competitive on price point and carry a large margin (800% +), you can make money.  I made about $500 from going through my library and selling books.  Books tend to be a good money maker.

The biggest issue that appears with almost any "Work from Home" (WFH) system is an initial outlay of money to buy into a given system.  Not too many of us have 'spare' money.  Next is what is my return on investment?  Am I going to see money fairly fast?  Is there a monthly membership fee?  Do I have to continually 'buy up' for some other part of the system that has some kind of promise of more money?  This where making a list of questions and get solid  answers before you join.  If you keep getting boilerplate statements without any details: Caveat Emptor! I have found there seems to be a boat load of  'Get Rich Quick' schemes.  Many of them are just getting rich from selling the worthless program to the next unsuspecting dope.  Like the old 'Get paid to stuff envelopes' trap.  It's easy to search the program on line and see what others have said about it.  I found a lot of posts about WFH systems that are a scam.  This site Rip Off Reports is a great source.

Marketing systems that are basically a huge testimonial make me suspicious.  The all seem to littered with stock photos of happy people at their computers.  Reading how someone went from nothing to $10000 a day within a week is very hard to swallow.  I tend to follow "If it sounds too good to be true.........it most likely isn't!"

So what do you choose....

Some of the jobs I have found on line that do seem to be legit are:

• Data Entry 
• Answering Surveys
• Free Lance Writing
• Resume Writing

Data Entry and Surveys don't make a lot of money.  Freelance writing and resumes require a skill set not all of us have. I have tried a great deal of different WFH systems and the only one that has produced a reasonable return on investment is selling product.   You will have to accept some lag time from opening a store to seeing sales, but the faster you fill your store with products, the faster you will see sales.  The part I do like is the commute: bedroom-coffee pot-computer.  No bosses and my earnings are all my doing.  I do have a whole community on a Skype group to answer questions and keep me pointed in the right direction.

I am sure there are still many WFH business out there.  I have only scratched the surface.  If you have a viable WFH business system, I would love to hear about it.
 

This Marine's Take on "One Bullet Away"

"The Making of A Marine Officer"

I first heard of Nathaniel Fick watching one of the Nimitz Lecture Series on You Tube.  UC Berkley hosted a series of lectures of current events given a variety of speakers.  I was intrigued by this young Marine officer speaking about his experiences in the Middle East.  I later found out he had written this book "One Bullet Away".

I started into the book and was sucked in.  I thought his prose crisp and detailed without getting too bogged down in the details of military life.  His personal view of Officers Candidates School and The Basic School; retrospective of 'how's and why's' very insightful.  Having been enlisted, I really didn't know how an officer is cultivated.  Much of his focus was not so much we did this and then that, but how the Warrior Mindset was developed. Critical and tactical thinking, continuous self appraisal and critique, making mistakes and learning from them.  Moving into the fleet as a freshly minted 2nd Lieutenant gave me a very interesting perspective being on the end of things.

The period from joining 1st Battalion, 1st Marines to arriving in Afghanistan full of interesting anecdotes, especially because ship board life can be pretty dull.  His description of life in the field under combat conditions was palpable. I could smell the stale sweat and bad breath; feel the chaffed shoulders, aching muscles and semi-conscientiousness due to lack of sleep.  I guess that's due in part to having lived it.  No matter what, he kept his mission and his men forefront whether the mission made sense or not. 

The move through Recon school and then the build up to O.I.F kept a good pace.  The drive through Iraq, keeping the morale of his command together through questionable orders and the general chaos of war was a real tribute to his solid training and dedication.  I understood his desire to leave the Corps after O.I.F. Combat wrings something out of a man's soul.  I appreciated his honesty about his 'ghosts' and how he dealt with them.

I found the book an excellent read and would recommend it!  It is a very  good window to life in the Corps and an excellent biography.  If nothing else, I found it a complete antithesis to Anthony Swofford's "Jarhead", which I loathed!  Nate Fick is an officer I would gladly serve.  He and others like him guaranty the Marine Corps for a long time to come.

One Marine's Boot Camp Experience

Why Join the Military?

There's a number of sides to that question.  My father spent 21 years in the the Navy and retired a Senior Chief.  He joined during World War II for the obvious reasons.  He retired when I was young, but being in and around the military was very familiar.  My father and I often spoke of serving our country.  To enjoy these freedoms, we have to pay for them in one way or another. In 1975, my parents divorced.  I was a junior in high school and having my family torn apart was devastating.  It was decided that I would stay in California with my father and my younger sister would move to Connecticut with my mother, where she was originally from.  My senior year was spent drinking a lot of beer and smoking pot.  I managed average grades, stayed out of trouble, held down a crappy high school job and did all the prerequisite senior stuff.  I went to the prom, senior breakfast, etc.  My father and I just kind of passed each other in the house.  As long as I stayed out of trouble and under the radar, everything was good.

During finals, the recruiters came in and pitched their respective branches.  The Army never interested me, I really thought the Air Force guy looked like a door man, I respected the Navy but the Marine made me take notice.  He was wearing what I later learned was 'Dress Blues Bravo'.  Blue trousers, long sleeve khaki shirt and tie.  The other services extolled the merits of their service, but the Marine made it sound like they selected you.  It stuck with me.

Blues Bravo

I went and took the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery), the standard military placement test and scored pretty high.  It was final's week and to me it was just another test.  I graduated high school (barely) and then spent 3 months in Osaka, Japan as an exchange student.  Japan was a real eye opener!  The culture and people was so different.  The experience left me with a real desire to explore the world.  I returned home and for lack of any other direction, started at the local junior college.  It took about a month for me to realize I had enough of school for awhile!  It was time for something different.  I want to get a degree in engineering, but had no idea how to fund that.  I remembered one of the perks the recruiters spoke of was schooling with the G.I. Bill.  One day I just decided to drop by the recruiting station.  I was considering the Navy, but something pulled me into the Marine office.  I sat down with the Staff Sergeant and discussed possibilities.  He looked at my test score and said I could do just about anything I wanted to.  I said I was interested in electronics, he said "no problem!".  I was old enough to sign, but he said take it home, discuss it with my Dad and read it carefully.  I took his advise.  That evening at dinner I popped the news to the Old Man and he laughed!  I thought he might be disappointed that I didn't go Navy.  He said "You have to live your life, I thinks it's a great choice!"  I read through the contract and it said I would be in electronic something, nothing specific.  I signed it.

Marines or Nothing...

MCRD

A month later, a olive drab van appeared in front of the house at 7 am.  My dad had got up to see me off.  He had taken me out for pizza and movie the night before for a send off.  I asked him if he had any advice.  He said "Keep your mouth shut, bowels open and don't volunteer for anything!"  Actually as I look back, pretty damn good advice.  Myself and about 5 other guys drove to AFEES, Oakland, CA about 30 miles from my house. AFEES is Armed Forces Enlisted Entrance Station.  Welcome to the world of acronyms!  We spent about 7 hours waiting, filling out reams of paperwork, final physicals and the swearing in.  Pretty solemn stuff.  After eating a crappy lunch and waiting some more, we trundled over to Oakland International Airport and took the 1 hour flight to Lindberg Field, San Diego.  The Marine Corps Recruit Depot (MCRD) sits right beside the airport and we could see all the 'boots' running, marching, etc.  All of us were pretty excited!  We de-planed and there was a sign "MARINE RECRUITS" with an arrow.  Learning to follow signs is a primary skill.  So is 'Hurry up and wait!'  We ended up in a lounge area looking at each other wondering what's next.  A Marine Sergeant in 'Charlies' (short sleeve khaki shirt and green trousers) appeared behind the counter.  "PUT OUT YOUR CIGARETTES AND SPIT OUT YOUR GUM! YOU ARE NOW IN THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS AND YOU WILL ACT ACCORDINGLY!!!" he yelled at about 90 decibels!  We looked at each other thinking the mutual thought "what a dick!"  I kind of thought he was putting on a show.  All of us had seen the movies with the recruiter: the Drill Instructor calling cadence as he marched the troops, scrutinizing a detail on the on uniform and adjusting it, giving fatherly advice to a trainee.  All would be cool we got to our platoon.

The part of the terminal we were in was a wing unto itself.  We had been cut off from the civilian world.  We enter a strange limbo of no longer civilian, but nor Marine.  We were 'Boots' which ranks some where's between slime mold and flat worms.  An olive drab school bus appeared at the door of the terminus and the prick Sergeant yelled at us to get on.  We got on quickly and the bus drove off.  A 5 minute ride and we saw the infamous gate: MCRD San Diego with a large relief eagle, globe and anchor.

First Stop in Dante's Inferno

We stopped at the side of some building that had all the famous yellow footprints.  We had been up for about 12 hours and pretty tired and disoriented.  We had passed into Terra Incognito.  As the bus came to a stop, we could see three Sergeant's with the infamous Campaign Cover.  The door sprang open and this Sergeant that must have a worn a size 48 jacket leapt from the ground to the top step:

"WHEN I GIVE YOU THE WORD....YOU DISMOUNT THE BUS AND STAND ON THE YELLOW FOOTPRINTS.............MOVE!!!!!"

Again at 90 decibels.  Everyone fell over each other trying to get off the bus.  The 2 other troop handlers (not drill instructors I later found out) were busy screaming at everyone.  It appeared no one was standing on footprints correctly.  We all queued up in corridor and the next stop was the barber shop.  The infamous haircut took about 10 seconds!  The barbers were fast!  We were told if we had a wart, skin tag or something else we didn't want lopped off, put your finger on it.  I waded through the ankle deep hair for my turn in the chair.  Zip Zip Zip  "GET OUT"  "Please" and "thank" you aren't part of the parlance.  As everyone moved down the 'cattle line', we were all rubbing our heads.  My long, hippy tresses were gone!  Next came stripping down and inventory of our personal items.  We had to empty our wallets and one the troop handlers noticed a 5 year old condom I put in my wallet.  I think it was petrified.  He grabbed it, yelled 

"YOU WON'T NEED THIS SWEETPEA!  THE ONLY PUSSY YOU'LL GET IS SALLY PALMER AND HER 5 SISTERS........IF YOU'RE LUCKY" 

I had no idea who Sally Palmer was.

The next few hours were a blur.  I have know idea what time we finally got to lie down but it seemed like as soon as I shut my eyes, the over head lights came on again and those asshole Sergeants were yelling "REVEILLE, REVEILLE, REVEILLE" throwing G.I. cans.  We got dressed in the issued green uniforms and fell outside to go to chow.  It was still dark.  There weren't any clocks.  We still had our street shoes.  This was the '70's and platform shoes were still in fashion and I really felt bad for the guys who wore them.  My recruiter said to wear tennis shoes.  We were referred to as a "Mob".  "Forward Mob, Stop Mob, Turn Right Mob, etc."  We didn't march because we hadn't been instructed how to march. It was insulting and I guess meant to be.  We would see the more advanced platoons marching around the base; like well oiled machines.  We were envious.  I wondered if we would every get there.  I wondering if I would make it through the day.

Our first meal was like everything else...fast.  We went here, then there, fill out more paperwork, get shots, piss in a cup, eat chow, etc.  The first week, indoctrination was a blur.  Beginning of the second week, we were in our final barracks.  After noon chow, the series commander, 1st Lieutenant Heider introduced us to our Drill Instructors.  Heider was rather humorless and had a pockmarked face.  Our Senior Drill Instructor was a Staff Sergeant named Pruneda.  The only other person I have seen that even resembled his temperament and personality is Lee Ermey of 'Full Metal Jacket' fame.  Lieutenant Heider explained that we were under the care and training of our drill instructors for the next 72 training days.  Finally, we got rid of those asshole troop handlers.  Salutes were exchanged and the Series Commander left.  The first statement Pruneda made was:  

"THE FIRST WORD OUT OF THAT FILTHY HOLE UNDER YOU NOSE WILL BE SIR; THE LAST WORD OUT OF CUM HOLE WILL BE SIR!  DO YOU DICKHEADS UNDERSTAND?"

He explained it was his mission to "weed out the limp-dick's, non-hackers, commies and other slime who didn't pack the gear to be in his beloved Corps!"  The next 3 hours was an unrelenting torrent of insults, taunts, slanders, libels, indignities and abuses.  One of the few movies about Marine Corps Boot Camp that got it right was "Full Metal Jacket".  I did something that incurred the wrath of Senior and he punched me in the gut.  I wasn't in great shape, but not bad either.  I swear he hit me so hard his fist touched my spine.  I could not get my breath!  Training had begun....we moved into a lower depth of hell.

Begin First Phase

Boot camp is broken in 3 four week increments.  First phase is learning Marine Corps history (you're tested on it), heavy conditioning, rank and customs, terms, first aid and basic drill.  The Marines are a maritime force and have close ties to the Navy, so many of the terms and customs are nautical and the same.  I am not going to go into all of them, follow this link if your interested Terminology Everyday, except for Sunday involved 2 hours of callisthenics, strength training, a 3 mile run and at least 3 times a week, the obstacle course. Basic drill started out about as rudimentary as it can get.  Drill Instructor would say "Forward" the platoon would repeat back "Sir, take a 30 inch step with the left foot, Aye Aye Sir!"  Everything needed to be learned was broken down to it's most smallest detail.  Kind of like human cubism.  The Marines treated as if you didn't know a damn thing. Many guys didn't.  We had one guy from somewhere in the south who was dropped to a medical platoon because he had such a hard time with wearing boots!  We were taught how to brush our teeth, shave, shower and dress.  We spent at least 2 hours a day in the classroom.  As I mentioned, the Marines are very proud of their history.  Names, dates, battles, what this symbol means, why we do this, etc.  Days started at 0500 and lights out at 2100.  I still remember that ancient, scratchy recording of Reveille

About the second week of first phase, the culling of the herd began.  One recruit took a swing at Pruneda.  After his 'attitude was adjusted' (got the living shit beat out of him!) he was brought up on charges and sent to the Correctional Custody Platoon.   CCP lived in the Brig and spent the day busting up foundations with a sledge hammers or digging useless holes.  The would eventually recycle into training.  Some were given a General Discharge as unsuited for military lifestyle.  Some came back with a dirty drug screen...gone!  Lied on enlistment....gone.  We were told of some of the creative ways recruits tried to escape.  One story; a recruit made over to Lindberg Field, crawled up into a wheel well of a jet.  He supposedly froze in flight and fell out when the plane came in for a landing, falling through a roof of a house.  Our numbers were dropping.  I wasn't going to give up.  I wanted that Eagle, Globe and Anchor!

The physical aspects of Boot Camp are tough, or at least they were when I was in.  A large part of condition came through 'punishment exercise'.  One screws up, all pay.  Push-ups, sit-ups, mountain climbers, bends and thrusts were a large part of every day.  It was the emotional and psychological part of the training that was wearing me down.  Nothing was ever correct, enough, high enough, fast enough, etc.  If the Drill Instructors found some kind of interesting physical or personal characteristic, they would hammer on it.  Humiliation and embarrassment.  I'm 6'4".  I was a head above and a favored punching bag.  We had a 'Gomer Pyle' in our platoon.  He was from some farming community in Illinois.  He just could not perform under pressure or remember anything.  The 'Hats' (Drill Instructors) ground him down.  I kind of felt bad and on the other hand, didn't.  If they were working him over, I was out of their gunsights!

For some insane reason, I was selected as a Squad Leader.  I still have no idea why, but I am certain it wasn't due to my stellar leadership skills.  I was quasi-responsible for 10 recruits.  I still think it was just another excuse to grind on me more.  Half way through first phase, we were assigned our rifles.  We spent a great deal of time on the 'Grinder'.  The Grinder was a gargantuan piece of asphalt for drill.

The Grinder

Though it was January, southern California still reached the mid-eighties.  We baked.  As you can imagine, a great deal of time is spent learning everything there is to know about the M-16A1.  We learned the Rifleman's Creed We began learning the Manual of Arms and for most of us was initially awkward and clumsy. More PT (Physical Training, the euphemism for punishment).  One day were drilling and I guess my version of port arms was unsatisfactory.  Pruneda grabbed the muzzle of the M-16 smashed the front site assembly into my eyebrow. A 3 inch gash was laid open and I ended up with with 8 stitches and a huge shiner.  I had told the doctor I had fell.


The '70's had been very hard on the Marines.  Many of the vets coming back from 'Nam were drug addicted and had serious PTSD issues.  There wasn't much help being offered and for the most part, just being mustered out.  All of our Hats were Vietnam vets and in hindsight, had PTSD.  Around 1975, a recruit named Lynn McClure got his head beat in with a pugil stick.  Congress and the public at large thought Marine basic training was too brutal. The Corps contended that to make Marines, they had to be left do it as they always have.  At one point, there was talk of turn basic training over to the Army.  That went over like a turd in a punch bowl!  All Drill Instructors were terrified of allegations of abuse.  From day one, the Hats told us that we take care of 'our own' in house.  You did not want to be labelled  an 'Alligator'  I told the doctor I had fallen.  I can say from that day on, my Port Arms posture was always correct!

At the end of first phase, a series of tests are given.  Individual practical knowledge, which is a 'go-no go' and the platoon drill and manual of arms.  Pruneda, as he put it had a hard on for drill.  "Drill is discipline and the Corps IS discipline!" was his favorite adage.  There were 4 platoons to a company and 3 companies to a battalion.  We were platoon 3013, India Company, 3rd Battalion Recruit Training Regiment.  All the platoons were very competitive with each other.  We would often face off with them in with pugil sticks, hand to hand combat, physical training, etc.  We managed to take first place in the drill competition and that pleased the Senior to no end.  He lightened up on us a little.

  Phase 2

Phase 2 consisted of marksmanship training, mess duty and infantry training.  We packed up a seabag and made the short trip to Camp Pendleton.  We were in a sub-camp called Edson Range named after "Red" Mike Edson, the famous Marine Raider in WWII.  We spent a week leaning basic marksmanship.  One of the exercises is called "Snapping In".  We dry fired in a circle with a 55 gallon drum in the middle.  The drum had targets painted on about the size we would see at a given range.  Week 2, we started firing live ammo.  We would spend 4 days practising then on Friday, qualify.  Like everything else, training was detailed and complete.  I just did what I was told and I was getting pretty good.  There were range coaches who walked up and down the firing line and would give tips and adjustments.  They were just Marines assigned to do just that; teach marksmanship.  What was really nice is they spoke to us like human beings, no yelling, PT, etc.  The Hats really backed off us too.  In hindsight, I think there were 2 parts to that: One, rifle qualification is everything in the Marines.  Many shortcomings can be over looked with a good qualification score.  One of the motto's drilled into us was "Every Marine a Rifleman".  We were told stories about WW1 and the Marines at Belleau Wood in France were knocking down Germans at 800 yards due to marksmanship skills.  The second part is that we had live ammunition!  I think they were afraid someone would pop a bolt and shoot one of them.

Qualification day came and we went to morning chow.  There was a board that had the recent highest range score posted.  A perfect score was 250.  There was a 250, 247 and 238.  I was nervous.  We marched over to the range and took positions at the 200 meter line.  We would fire from 200, 300 and 500 meters.  There were 3 target types: the Alpha, a standard round target; the B Modified a silhouette of the head and upper chest and the Dog target; a block like silhouette of the head and full torso.  The range master gave us permission to commence fire.  By the time afternoon came, we were done.  Our shooting log was compared to the judges in the Buts (where the target trolleys were) and I had fired a 228.  Sharpshooter.  I was happy but I wanted Expert.  Everyone did.  The mindset of being the absolute best was seated in the psyche.

We packed up and headed back to MCRD.  What we did the next week was determined by your range score.  Experts went act a as 'runners' at Battalion HQ.  They basically had very light duty for a week.  Sharpshooters when to the Permanent Personal chow hall and the Marksmen, got the worst of it; Main Side chow hall.  Mess duty in the Marines is about the same as a Roman Slave Galley!  We report at 3 am and work to 8 that night.  In the Fleet, it was possible to get either 30 days of guard or mess duty once a year.  Guard duty is just boring.  Mess duty is agony!  Mess week passed and back again to Pendleton, this time to Camp San Onofre; home of the Marine Corps School of Infantry, West.  We were assigned barracks away from the Fleet Marines.  These guys were the real deal.  We would watch them in the morning as we stood in formation.  The marched to famous cadences carrying huge loads on their backs.  Machine guns, mortars, anti-tank weapons marching 20 some odd miles to an exercise.  We still wondered about graduating.  After the rifle range we lost another guy.  He was caught taking a UA (Unauthorized) smoke.....NJP....gone!  We were given the famous '782 gear. Packs, sleep bag, body armor, etc.  We were instructed on the basics of infantry manoeuver. A large part of the days were spent 'Humping'; carrying huge loads across the hills of Pendleton.  There are a number of infamous hills that have to be overcome in the boot camp experience.  Most notable: Mount Motherfucker.  It's appropriately named.  We would 'force march' (sub running) 10 miles and dig fighting holes.  The saying goes that 'Fox Holes' are for hiding in so Marines dig 'Fighting' holes.  Of course, the was a course on digging a proper fighting hole.  One day, we were digging in and 2 guys a couple holes down suddenly jumped out of the hole they were digging.  They had broke into a rattle snake nest.  During this week, we had to experience the 'gas chamber'.  It's a Quonset hut that is with tear gas burning. There were Drill Instructors in the chamber that would make sure your gas mask was on correctly, and you didn't run.  As we waited in que to go in, we had quite a laugh at the guys coming out, snot streaming walking around blind.  Then it's your turn.  I walked in with my mask on, it was checked and then I had take it off, give my name, rank and serial number and walk out.  I got through the exercise, got out the door and ran into a tree!  Nuclear, Biological and Chemical warfare was a very real threat!  We were still facing a possibility of going to war with the Soviets. We finished up infantry training and back to MCRD.

Beginning of the End

Third phase was all about the final drill competition and final inspection.  Pruneda had his eyes set on 3013 being number one in everything.  The Hats had backed off considerably.  A funny instance I remember; I pissed off the Senior some how and he punched me like he did on the first day of training.  The funny part was he hit brick!  I didn't even feel it.  I was hard and mean. That's what the Corps wants, a hardend killer.  Look at our history and the results are obvious We were a unit and moving outside of fear.  I remembered this one day marching the grinder and seeing an indoctrination 'mob' stumbling around.  I allowed myself a smile.  I wasn't too long ago the positions were reversed and I knew exactly what those guys were thinking.  Daily PT was not tiring, just part of life now.  We had been issued our Alpha's and the fitting finished.  At that point, any free time was spent on getting uniform ready, polishing brass or dress shoes.  The dress blouse (jacket) had to have all 'Irish Pennants' and imperfections.  Polish brass and shoes is now a lost art.  We were issued 2 web belts.  One buckle and belt tip would be for everyday wear and the other would be inspection brass.  The other item was an EM buckle worn on the blouse belt.  Starting somewhere around the end of first phase, we started the long, tedious process of turn lead in to gold.  First, the buckles were soaked in ammonia to remove a preservative called "Quartermaster".  Starting with coarse grits of sandpaper, the casting marks were slowly sanded off.  By the time you were using 1000 grit, it was time to start the polishing.  A standard white terry towel was folded in quarters length wise.  One end was secured between the footlocker lid and based, stretching along the length.  It was pulled tight a possible and sat on, leaving about a 1.5 foot length to work with. A tiny amount of Brasso was poured on the towel and the rubbing along the length began.  This is continued over and over. By the time for final inspection, the brass had deep luster.  It was really beautiful.

Dress shoes had a similar discipline.  The shoes as issued, looked like shit!  First task was give them a heavy coat of black shoe dye.  Next, they were buffed for a couple hours.  Then the shoes are gone over with 400 grit sandpaper and buffed again.  On goes the first coat of Kiwi Shoe Polish and buffed.  About 5 coats of polish then the tips and rear quarters are ready for 'spit shine'.  There isn't any spit involved.  This process involves a men's linen handkerchief and a tin of Kiwi.  The lid is filled with a small amount of water, just enough to re-moisten the handkerchief.  A pocket is formed in the corner of the handkerchief and the first 2 fingers are place in it.  The remainder is twisted tightly, then pulled tight over the hand and wrapped around the wrist folded into a slip knot.  The finger tips with the cloth are lightly moistened and gently pressed into the polish.  The ratio of polish to water is the key.  After 30 solid hours, the shoe tips looked like patent leather!

Our platoon somehow took first in drill and inspection, second in PT.  The last few days were very light and the prospect of graduation was felt by all.  For some reason, Pruneda chose me for a meritorious promotion to Private First Class.  I was really surprised!  My Dad and girlfriend came down to see me graduate.  The final formation, the Senior made the speech:
"Today, you are Marines!  You have joined a fraternity reserved for a select few.  You will always be a Marine and every other Marine your brother.  There are no ex-Marines.  This will be one of the proudest days in your life!
Platoon 3013.........DISMISSED!"

Looking Back

It's been more than 35 years since I graduated boot camp and it still stands as one of the proudest achievements.  Memories are still vivid!  The most important lesson I learned if I could make it though boot camp, I could do anything.  I am a United States Marine and surrender is not in my creed! is a mantra that has taken me through some dark times, one being the Hepatitis C treatment.  I have a number of hats with the EGA or 'Marines' on them.  I will be out and about and someone will pass and say 'Semper Fi'.  Brotherhood is strong with Marines.  I have been in a couple jams in a bar and I would call out "Semper Fi" and at least 2 or 3 would stand and join my side.

Why was it so important for me?  I was needing something when I was 18.  My family had fallen apart and I needed one.  Marines became it.  They still are.  I have been to the VA a number of times and find myself in conversion with a Marine.  The conversation often wanders into the question "Why are Marines so loyal and close?"  We do more with less.  We have a long proud history.  We just are.

Being a Marine still gives me purpose for the Marines of this generation.  I volunteered at the local VA to work with Marine vets coming back from the middle east.  Even though we are different generations, we are Marines. 

The Intangible......

The Proper Mindset

It seems like all the great entrepreneurs those successful in their respective fields in history has/had a some solid foundation in a intangible belief system.  Almost all our founding fathers were Freemasons.  The great scientists and visionaries like Newton, Einstein and Heisenberg believed in a definitive connection between science and matters of faith.  Zig Ziglar was a Christian and often wove his beliefs into his speeches.  Dale Carnegie believed deeply in the human spirit and it's innate desire to move beyond itself.

Something that I immediately keyed on with Cesar Ramirez was his desire to grow personally.  He also has this 'pay it forward' attitude.  This really resonates with another group I am involved with.  Their adage is 'you have to give it away to keep it'.  I don't claim to be a 'spiritual giant' or 'guru', that's why I try to surround myself with people who are.  What I have learned from them is that a relationship with a being greater than ourselves, whether it is Allah, Jehovah, Budda, Christ, Elohim or Ted the Mechanic, it's a living, growing thing.  Like all living things, if it's not fed or watered, it will die.  The food and water for me is reading and listening to those who have have had personal success.  Success is one of the aspects of wealth I think important.  The description of success I gravitate to is attaining one's goals.

I can safely say that none of us start out in life striving to be a failure.  I think for many of us we get discouraged and give up.  I know I have hit doldrums; I hit a wall or have so many set backs that attaining what we set out for seems out of reach.  This are the times where I need my friends the most and when I need to go back to the those teachings and writings that give my soul rise and hope.  I have a number of books and authors I turn to.  Some famous spiritual teachers, others just common men and women who have overcome innumerable hardships to rise above. Through Elite Drop Shippers , I have found a number of new books to read and digest.  In many of the corporations I have worked for there has been a mind set of "If your not growing, you're dying!"  I think there's a truth to that on a personal level for me.

I have had a great deal of difficulty accepting the fact that my career as an electronics technician is a closed chapter.  I was very successful!  I went about as far as one can go in the field.  Much of the difficulty has been of my own making.  I am tenacious to the point of being stubborn and blind at times.  There's a Marine mentality of never surrender.  Objectives have to be taken.  Thankfully I have people in my life who, when I can listen, tell me something else is at hand.  I was beginning to think that because I could no longer find work in my profession, I had failed.  My friends have pointed out to me that something new is been laid before me.  Pick it up and see where it goes.

New Horizons

The biggest problem facing me with this business is that I hadn't any idea of how it worked, therefore it scared me.  I don't like being  scared much less admitting to it.  I had been at the top tier for so long, not much was new to me.  Now I am in the business of sales.  Sales and marketing operates on a set rules based on human habits which is a long way from my comfort zone, physics.  Since sales are centered around humans, that indicated I would have to work with them.  That part kind of scared me!  I do o.k. in a small group, but to just put myself out there had a terrifying element to it.  I guess in many ways I was the stereotype electronics geek who was socially inept.  I tell this to people and based on my what they see in me, they find it hard to believe.

Instead of diving in head first, I opted to move into the shallow end.  I took a job with a local sportsman's outlet over this Christmas holiday.  I wanted to go into the fishing department but instead placed in footwear.  I learned the product lines and went out to the sales floor.  I found it very easy and even enjoyable talking to people.  I listen to what they wanted and suggested something from our line.  I realized that I wasn't selling anything.  The already were ready to buy (or close to it) by the time they entered the store.  All I had to do is help them to refine their choice.

First lesson: Listen to your customer!

The sales floor experience started to dry up after Christmas, which I knew it would.  I really didn't want to be in retail, I wanted the experience of working with people one on one.  Now I felt like I was prepared to get into Elite Drop Shippers with positive mindset and focus.  Next I dug into some of the books that were recommending reading.  Napoleon Hill's Think and Grow Rich and Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends and Influence People have been sales technique text for the better part of a century.  I haven't read them cover to cover, I just allowed myself to pick them up and read a chapter or two.  This e-books are part of the EDS back office, which is available when you join.  There are a number of videos available too.  The one that really took me aback was The Secret.

My wife had been after me for quite some time to watch this.  Since was something recommended by EDS, I though 'why not'.  Initially, I was kind of resistant.  It at first came across as some new age psyco-babble, but the longer I watched and listened to the 'words behind the words', it was really striking a chord.  The secret spoke of in the video is the 'Law of Attraction'.  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.  As I looked at my life, especially in the last 10 years it appeared to be filled with a considerable amount of change.  I married in 2004 (received a daughter in the process), almost died from Hepatitis C, lost my house in the economic upheaval of 2008, lost and regained my sobriety, had our daughter basically disown us and was jobless for a large portion of that time.  To accept this concept of Attraction, I had to accept responsibility for my life.  This didn't mean sitting on a rock like Job asking God why he was doing this, but to see that what I had attracted in my life had a power gift for me.  What I was reminded of is how I can have a choice in my attitude.  I can make choices and not dominated by a fate.  I have dealt with electromagnetism for a long time, it's one of the principle laws of electricity.  We can make magnetic fields do alot of things, but the one thing we can't do is prove it.  We can prove of it.  There is a significant amount of theory of matter/energy on the sub-atomic level; but it is just that-theory.  One of the theoretical physicist I hold in high regard is Michio Kaku is striving to prove string theory.  That matter/energy is made up of strings vibrating a certain frequencies that make them behave like they do.  This is a tough field to be in.  I asked myself: "Why can't I choose what I attract?
 

Tightening Up the Compass Heading

Seems almost every sales type course has a chapter on "Handling No's".  I think some do a good job, others, not so much.  I am not so much on changing someone's mind as I am seeing the benefits of what we are doing at Elite Drop Shippers.  I am also looking for people who are as motivated and excited as we are.  The goal is quality, not quantity.  I know there's been a considerable amount of 'bad rap' about multi-level marketing in the last few years.  Well, much of it goes back to Amway and Shacklee in the '80's.  The programs were very hard sell and many of the marketers had the 'I drank the kool-aid' trance.  There have been others that have done very well like Primerica.  Though they say they're not an MLM, the structure looks pretty close.  I gave Primerica a shot back in '10.  It required a level of energy I couldn't muster.  If I was 25 years younger, I probably could have done better.  My mentor was a great guy, truly believed in the products and honest.  I really liked that about him.  For every legit program, there seems to shady one.  It's hard to pick and choose.

With EDS, there isn't any juice, potion or singular product to be stuck with.  It's simply drop shipping.  Give us a look, you might be surprised.  If you would like to see what you would be doing, take a look at our eBay store:

Where to from Here.....

Working from Home

Searching for a job in 2009 sucked!  There wasn't much to be had and even less for someone with a 2 year hole in their resume.  I finally caught a break working for a computer repair sweat shop.  The government could take lessons in security from them!  There were cameras everywhere, you were docked 15 minutes for being  1 minute late punching in or coming back from break.  That lasted about 2 months.  We mutually agreed that I would be better suited working somewhere else.  A couple weeks later, I secured a position with a medical device company.  It was a great job!  The manager I worked for was the best, the project was exciting and I had great co-workers.  The wheels came off when I got into a huge argument with the department manager and he fired me.  I was hired by a huge generator manufacturing company testing their military generators.  They were far behind schedule and we were working 60 hours a week!  The work was very physical and my health was taking a toll.  I just did seem to have the 'bounce back' like I did before that HCV treatment.  It seemed pretty obvious that I wasn't going to get hired as a full time employee and though the money was good, my immune system was wearing down. I took another job with a company that said they would place me a little closer to my skill set: a engineering liaison to service department.  Well, as usual, I was told one thing and ended up with another.  When I first started in the work force, people were generally pretty honest.  Now it seems like deceit is a way of business.  It became quickly apparent that I traded one stress for another and getting paid less.

Learning How

My wife and I talked it over and she suggested that I quit and help her with her business.  I know she was doing something on line but I wasn't quite sure what.  She had become involved with an affiliate program.  My first thought was a Pay Per Click deal.  I had tried that back in the '90's and I basically had a web site that was a billboard for all these affiliates.  Didn't make a dime!  This was put together in a little different fashion.  Actually, it was a course that taught you how to make money with drop shipping.  I looked into it a bit and it wasn't quite the scheme I thought it was.  It seems like this day and age every time you turn around some one has a system guaranteed to have you making 5 figures in a week!  The fundamentals were sound!  This guy Cesar Ramirez had found a loop-hole in eBay and was using it.  The system is called Elite Drop Shippers Being the chronic skeptic that I am, I dug into Elite Drop Shippers and Cesar Ramirez to see what I could find.  Strangely enough, I didn't find any dirt.  That's odd this day any age.  Most of the 'testimonials' I found were rather down to earth.  No 'seeing a messiah', 'holy grail' or the like.  Most of the people who I listened to said if you use the tools, follow directions and just be teachable; you will succeed.  Fair enough!  Something I did find about Cesar, I got the feeling this guy really likes to help people!  That's something hard to find these days.  Takes a lot for me to trust people.

Nanci started with EDS April of last year and by January, was making about $1500 a month.  Of course, the biggest obstacle I had to overcome was accepting that my wife was able to do something with computer better than I could!  She was using eBay as the sales venue again, I have sold a bunch of stuff on eBay  so I knew all about that and had a list of items she thought would be great sellers.  I looked at the list and immediately concluded that no one would buy this crap, I decided that I was going to do this the way I thought it should be done.  I listed about 80 items that had to come down the next day because.  I realized that my attitude and ego was going to sink the ship if it wasn't changed in short order.  I found myself uttering the magic words: "I don't know, can you help me?"

I missed that one prerequisite, "need to be teachable" So I sucked it up and listened to what my wife and a lot of others had to say.  Seems like there are a lot of others who are making money.  I figured if I followed them, there was a good chance of success.

Tools at Hand

Unlike a number of systems I worked with, Elite Drop Shippers has a gamut of tools at hand so the new person doesn't just end up foundering.  There's a Skype channel dedicated to the team where answers to questions can always be found.  There's also a 'chat room' atmosphere that tends to generate a sense of camaraderie.  There are weekly webinars which always seem to be informative.  Probably the most important piece of the tool set is the mentor or sponsor.  Your Sponsor generally has had some success and can be a great source of how-to's and keep you going.  This isn't a 'get rich quick scheme'.  There's work to be done!

The 9th Circle of Hepatitis C Hell.....

For most of my adult life, I played pretty hard!  I was an avid fisherman, boater and backpacker.  This lifestyle usually involved copious amounts of alcohol and other chemical accoutrements.  I partook of more than my share.  I arrived at my late 30's and realized that I was out of control.  I decided to get sober and turn over a new leaf.  I found a new purpose in life, re-grounding my life in my spiritual beliefs. It seemed like life was moving forward again.  I had mentioned in '98, I had been diagnosed with Hepatitis C.  The doctor has said that many people live out their lives without any problems.  I wasn't to be one of them.

In late 2005, I had what I thought was the flu.  After 5 weeks when it didn't seem to pass, I decided to see a doctor.  He did the usual blood work, etc. and he told me that my viral load was above 18 million and probably my HCV had become active.  He gave me referral to GI doctor, who happened to be one of the best in the world.  This liver doc explained to me that I would have to go through a course of treatment that would last about 48 weeks.  I would be taking 2 types of very high powered antivirals, Peg-Interferon and Ribavarin.  The Interferon was an injectable I would do every week and the Ribavarin were pills I took by the fist full 3 times a day.  I was on the highest dosages allowed due to my weight, virus genotype and being male.  I was also told that It would be like a 'mild case of flu'.  Wonderful understatement!

I started the treatment in August of 2006.  The first 4 months I was more or less functional.  I was given a lot of slack at work.  After Christmas, I took a leave of absence and then in February, I was let go.  I had to move all my medical to the VA, which was fine.  Minneapolis VA has one of the best HCV clinics in the world.  January rolled around, my body was showing a lot of wear.  My hair was falling out, I had ulcers on my body and inside of my mouth, some teeth were coming loose, I had chronic insomnia and my cognitive functions were really compromised.  I couldn't make sense of what people were saying to me.  I had lost about 75 lbs. and had to force myself to eat.  Half the time it came up anyway.  My balance was really messed up and I would fall down a lot.  The sites I had to inject myself with the Interferon would get very bruised and mottled.  I dreaded Saturday morning when I had to give myself a shot.

My wife, who was trying to deal with an adolescent daughter and my illness was working a full time job, hoping she wouldn't come home finding me at the base of the stairs with a broken neck.  May of 2007 arrived and I was seriously wondering if I could make it to June.  My course of treatment had to go for so long due to the particular genotype of Hepatitis I had. It was 1-A.  The most difficult to eradicate.  At that point, life went on minute by minute.  I never knew you could feel this bad and live.

I bucked up and made it to the end of treatment.......almost.  I didn't take my last shot.  I really didn't feel much different for about 2 weeks.  I had gotten to the point of forgetting what feeling other than miserable was like.  One morning I woke up from my usual restless sleep and I was a new man!  I felt a capped well spring of energy had blow off!  I started in with some mild exercise, walking and just feeling like I had a new lease on life.  I latter realized that this is the calm before the storm.  Summer of 2007 was great!  Early fall I started to see a funk roll in like a fog bank.  I fell into a slump I couldn't get out of.  I was just white knuckling it hoping it would pass.  It didn't, it seemed like it was getting worse all the time.  Then I didn't what no alcoholic should do...I drank.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.  All I wanted was reprieve from the hell hole I was in.  What that got me was more drinking.  What was worse, my personality had changed with alcohol.  I used to be the 'life of the party', a fun guy to be around.  I had turned into a violent, angry drunk and my wife was the one taking the brunt of it.  This lasted until about January of 2008 and I opted to get into the partial psychiatric hospitalization program with the VA.  The performed a battery of test on me and found out the medications I was on for Hepatitis C really messed me up.  The popular label is "Chemobrain".  The program was 4 weeks worth of group and individual therapy, developing cognitive and memory skills.  I have to admit, it helped considerably.  During this time I was introduced to a psychiatrist who got me on the right medications to deal with the depression and bipolar disorder.  I finally started to function with a modicum of normalcy.

It's been over 5 years now since the 'treatment'.  I have lost a considerable about of myself in the process.  Though I have marked improvement, I still suffer from side effect's of the antivirals.  I still have bouts of insomnia, early onset arthritis, diabetes, short term memory loss,  chronic depression, mental stamina to name a few.  I still go in for a PCR (virus count) to see if I am still remission and so far, so good.  I guess it's a lot better than being on a waiting list for a liver transplant.  Holding down a job has been difficult.  I just don't have what I used to.

This You Tube discusses the salient points of HCV:

Now for the next step......