Taking Stock

On the morning of June 14, 2007, I sent the following e-mail to my boss, Marci, two time zones away in San Francisco.  The subject line read, "September 14, 2007": 

Good morning, Marci, 

September 14, 2017 is: 

- Three months from today. 

- Exactly twenty-four years and two days from my hire date. 

- The day I'm going to hang it up. 

John  

Up until that moment, the only Wells Fargo colleague ("teammate" in corporate speak) who knew of my retirement plans was my secretary ("administrative assistant," if you will) of fifteen years, Pam, whom I'd told the day before.  To the extent I may have "looked good" in my job performance during those years, Pam was a big factor and I felt she deserved the heads-up.

Things went more or less as planned during those final three months.  I turned down the offer of a fancy schmantzie Windows On The World retirement party in the IDS tower during my final week and instead opted for a beer bash at Glueks.  Good decision!  The party was on the company dime, and was well attended at least in part because it was also on company time.

The reason I wrote "or less" above is that, on my last day, I ended up working until 6:10 p.m.  (The traditional last day exit time is roughly 10:30 a.m.)  I was trying to iron out the last minute details on an ag lending deal for one of my Des Moines banker-clients.  The lawyer who was scheduled to take over my office started moving his stuff in about 4:00 p.m.  We were tripping over each other's boxes.  What a circus!  It wasn't until a gathering at Bunny's later that Friday evening with family and friends that I felt truly relieved and retired.

So, if you've connected the dots to this point you now know that today is the ten year anniversary of my retirement.  If I were more eloquent, poetic or contemplative, I would be able to craft a post which would do justice to the thoughts swimming around in my little noggin.  But, as the saying goes, you've got to play the hand you're dealt, so I am going to keep my epistle limited to two general thoughts which have occupied my consciousness lately.

Believe it or not, the first has to do with a hockey coach, a peculiar notion given the fact that I have never played the sport -- unless you count broom hockey.  I think of retirement as having a lot in common with graduation.  Starting a new chapter, turning the page, and so on.  As a former student, parent and veteran teacher, I have attended many graduation ceremonies.  I could count on a couple of fingers the number of times I have thought about any one commencement speech more than twenty-four hours after its delivery.  The big exception was a speech given at a Benilde-St. Margaret's High School commencement exercise, circa 1996, the year of Gina's graduation.  Varsity boys' hockey coach Ken Pauly was chosen to speak.  A lot of what he said was standard, something like "the world is your oyster," "go forth and do great things," "you can accomplish almost anything if you set your mind to it," etc.

But here is where Ken's talk rose above the usual message.  He said that when a kid graduates from high school, she tends to envision her future in a known world with her then-present family and circle of friends.  He said he felt the same way when he was eighteen.  What opened his eyes is that two of the most important people in his life, his future wife and his best friend, he did not even meet until he was in his twenties or thirties.  His message was something like this: Cherish the people you currently know, but be open to meeting, befriending and possibly caring deeply for new people who just might become key players in your adult life.

His words certainly ring true for me.  As of the date of my retirement I was fifty-nine years old.  Although I had known Luke ever since he and Michael became classmates and buddies in sixth grade, I never would have guessed that he would marry Jill eight years after I left Wells.  Also as of September 2007, I had never met either Gina's future husband, John, or Michael's future bride, Lindsey.  In many ways my three kids are like Mary, but in at least one important category they followed their father's lead by marrying a wonderful person.

The icing on the cake are our four beautiful granddaughters, Rosie, Winnie, Lulu and June.  When June was born two months ago I sent a boastful e-mail to three of my Domer friends.  Referring to the little girls I wrote, "They are always on my mind. It's hard for me NOT to think about them -- a good problem to have."   Ken Pauly's prognostication is proven correct.  I am gaga over those four little peanuts who obviously were not around in 2007.

The second general thought can probably be reduced to one word: luck.  There is an old bromide that one makes his own luck.  I'm not sure I buy into that, at least not totally.  Sure, it starts with Mary.  If it were not for the Viet Nam war I would have never found her; different topic for, maybe, a different future post.  Suffice it to say that we have been married for forty-one years, and I know I am a very lucky man.

Connecting the concept of luck to my retirement goes beyond what I wrote above.  There were five or six Wells Fargo lawyers who were a couple of years older than I and who retired during the two year period immediately preceding my exit.  When they'd return to the office for a visit, their evaluation of retirement was unanimous: "I'm so busy I don't know how I managed to perform a full time job."  They were clearly loving it.

But there was another Wells lawyer, Margaret, who was several years younger and retired in the spring of '07.  (She and I both started working for Norwest in 1983, when there were only six attorneys in the Law Department.)  She was single, the only child of New England college professors who owned a quaint cottage on a small lake in New Hampshire.  Carlton College had drawn her to Minnesota for her undergraduate studies, and she remained here for her career.  Peg kept a picture of that cottage, her next home, on her desk, and was known to say many times to people who entered her office, "If you're looking for me in the future, this is where I'll be."  No one talked about and anticipated life in retirement more than she.  Yet, less than a year into her retirement, she was stricken with cancer and passed away shortly thereafter.

Although Peg was not a close friend of mine, her passing was shocking to me.  Why was she denied that for which she had worked so hard to achieve?  Why have I been lucky enough to still be around a decade later?  Not only that, but Mary and I have enjoyed relatively good health, all of our kids live close by, and to coin a phrase, life is good.  As I wrote above, this is one of the things I have been thinking about lately.  I especially think about it when I go to church.  I don't go for the music -- there is none -- the scripture readings, the homilies or any of the folderol.  I go there to pray.  I have a lot to be thankful for.