THE BRO CODE

Perhaps inspired by the infamous Rat Pack of Sinatra, Dino, Sammy, Lawford and Bishop, but long before Vinny Chase hung with his Entourage of E, Turtle and Johnny Drama. Teamster Daddy had his posse of friends who would do ANYTHING and I mean ANYTHING (no questions asked if you know what I mean) for him.

The posse players were interchangeable at times: his Hartman cousins in the beginning, the Spurgeon Brothers from down home then Maxie Hatcher, Foghorn, Big John McMurtry, Richard Smithson; and with this group there was always drama. However, these loyal lieutenants would do whatever Teamster Daddy asked of them. They had fun carousing, hanging out at the lake telling fishing stories, thinking they were ladies men etc.

Then Bobby Reed entered the picture and everything changed. The posse went by the wayside and the BROMANCE of all BROmance's started. The silver haired chain smoking Bobby Reed was a little slicker, smoother, suave and debonair from the likes of say Foghorn and your average card carrying Teamster brother.

Teamster Daddy started dressing in the outlandish and groovy style of the seventies ... from lime green leisure suits to sansabelt slacks to silky unbuttoned shirts and gold chains hiding in his chest hair. Daddy and Bobby Reed were the Teamster version of two, wild and crazy guys.

His ride quickly upgraded to a Lincoln Town car ... Our house looked like a tricked out cabin of the Spanish Armada. Heavy wooden sconses, candelbras, plush couches, and the best stereo system with Peter Frampton blaring attracted all the cool teenagers to our house when Daddy was away.

Teamster Daddy even introduced Bobby Reed to the family hamlet of Possum Holler. The ultimate signal that he was something special to Dad. Bobby Reed set that corner of the lake on its ear ... He bought a strip of land next to the family farm and installed the NICEST double wide trailer on steroids that Stewart County had ever seen and introduced four wheelers, fireworks shows, massive fish fries and his spoiled kids to the country life. Situated across the country road from the Carl and Millie's Bait Shop ... to date the party gossip line has never burned hotter than when Bobby Reed pulled into the one horse (if that) town.

Teamster Daddy was a man's man. Around his friends he was always laughing, bragging, the ultimate of bad a$$, and looking to get into something. probably because he and his three sisters lost their own dad and brother when he was a little boy... these friendships were so important to him.

After a few years, the BROmance with Bobby Reed ran its course and the loaded double wide mysteriously burned to the ground (true story). Today, the only reminder is a driveway that leads to nowhere except the distant memory of the cook-outs under the stars.

The one true thing that remained intact throughout Teamster Daddy's life was the Bro Code. His commitment and dedication to his friends. He would never tell anyone "call me if there's anything I can do", he would simply show up when a brother was in need and start helping no matter the hour or the situation. He was always there for his friends. The Brotherhood was not just a catchy catch phrase for him. The Bro Code was his credo for life.

The Teamster Power of Love

It's been a while since I've written about Teamster Daddy. But today marks the day of our T-Parents, (T- Mom and T-Daddy's) wedding anniversary. So the Big Teamster in the sky has been on my mind all day.

It's bedtime now and I'm still thinking about the parents who would be Mr. and Mrs. T. (And I'm not talking about Bloody Mary mixes, but come to think of it, that's probably something he drank a lot of, back in the day.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew instinctively what the day had meant to them. I started thinking about how young they were back then and what it must have felt like when they put on their fancy wedding clothes. I thought of how fresh faced and naïve they looked in their black and white wedding photos.

The year was 1958 and it would be a few more years before Teamster Time would roll on in and change the course of their lives even further after they'd walked innocently down the aisle of a quaint country church. Teamster Daddy may have looked naïve back then, but T-Daddy had built in toughness in him all along. And tough was good makings for a young man who was destined to become a Teamster.

Also, you had to be strong AND tough and extremely understanding to be betrothed to a future Teamster. And let's just say, Teamster wife had the patience of a saint. But come to think of it, heart and soul were good ingredients to possess in both love and war. And, believe me, both of them had plenty of that too...

T-Daddy's passion for Teamster Mom was apparent in those early days of marriage. It was evident in a myriad of ways. Like the constant declarations of love he showed to her in a thousand different ways, at any given time, in front of anyone, anywhere. They loved to dance slow and steady in the kitchen when a favorite song came on the radio. And that was a personal favorite scene of mine and an image I still recall when I think of them happy and in love.

And speaking of love, let's not forget the annual box of super-sized Valentine chocolate candy. T-Daddy gave T-Mommy the biggest gifts he could afford as well as the little gifts too. In those days, the big Teamster just kept on giving.

Teamster Daddy was kind and attentive, nurturing and generous and his love for T-Mother was evident for many years before it came to an astounding halt. Back then, his love for her was full of natural spirit even when he was becoming a leader of a new kind of fleet. So it comes as no surprise that he had equal passion for the International Brotherhood until the very end of his days.

It's just too bad that his first marriage to Teamster Wife didn't last as long as his second. And I'm talking about his marriage to the International Brotherhood of Teamsters here, not of wife number two or number three. Come to think about it, Local 480 was his mistress long before the tramps drove into town.

Back before the days of Hoffa and Watson, the days were full of Buddy and Elvis. The calendar was full of trips to Possum Holler instead of trips to Biloxi Beach and the Southern Conference where grievances were aired by one and all from time to time about one issue or the other.

I guess the problems started when there were too many nights spent out on the open road. When too many meals were forgotten, and too many people needed him so much in such a short amount of time. But you know what they say about too much of anything. Too many conflicts fatigued even the toughest Teamster eventually.

Broken engines can be replaced, but let's face it, broken hearts are harder to fix than any broken picket line. And there were a lot of them, starting with T-Mommy and ending with TD3. But I would like to end this evening reminiscing about a happy occasion and traveling down Memory Lane on a good note in honor of the big day.

There are many pages in all the old photo albums that proved to us and all who know my father, that even though a Teamster's love may not have always made for a good marriage, it sure did make an awesome family.

We're all Mack Trucks dressed up like powder puffs. Tough and powerful, yet soft and sweet.

Just like T-Daddy.

Now that's what I call the Teamster power of love.

LIVING ON TEAMSTER TIME

For some odd reason, Teamsters have a strange and unusual sense of time. Ahhh...TIME. The age old philosophical concept.

So what is it that Teamsters and TIME have in common? And what's so special about Teamster Time?

For starters, Teamsters function in their own world, on their own time and no one really knows for certain where that sense of entitlement began.

Like Time, things in a Teamster World are mysterious. Like when the clock first strikes and the hands start moving and when things finally end.

Teamsters too, are their own mysterious entity. They puzzle even the most intelligent people who don't understand the meaning.

But most of all, Teamsters (especially Teamster daddies) seem to move on their own time, in their own way, with little to no explanation given as to what makes them 'tick'.

When I was younger, I often got tired of asking "What time will Teamster Daddy be home?" Because that time continually changed and was continually getting the best of me, moving too fast or too slow, depending on the occasion. One day, I finally gave up asking the question.

Teamster business seemed to always be far more important than taking care of most any other kind of business. So Teamster Family was often the last to know what time things were going to happen, like eating dinner or going to see the latest movie. We were often confused about the calendar. And when important dates really occurred. For instance, like which month we going to take the annual family vacation or what day we were going to get the next family pet.

But, rest assured. When the time rolled around and T-Daddy finally came home, it seemed like Teamster Time was better than anytime at all. Because living on Teamster Time with Teamster Daddy and T-Mommy felt like time had stopped and we were the only T-Family on the planet. There we lived in a time and place that was full of real love and family fun that other's couldn't touch. It was our Time. It was a grand Time.

And now that I'm older. I'm grateful for Teamster Time....a time and place where Time stood still. Sometime I wish it still did.

The Party Line

Every election day that rolls around, I cannot help but think of Teamster Daddy. Not just an armchair politico, our father was a man of action. He was campaigning long before it was the politically chic thing to do. I'm not just speaking about government campaigns but also campaigns for the union.

From sign painting to driving folks to the polls and just plain outspokenness on the issues, no doubt, he would have had strong opinions about this election. The issues facing our country today are issues that he felt strongly about and believed in wholeheartedly. As the breakneck speed of the final days of the election draws near one of the more lasting memories I have of him grows stronger and stronger and I can’t stop thinking of it. I know that he would have been watching the pundits and non-stop campaign reporting. I know he would have been active in his local community, talking politics, distributing the necessary signage, bumper stickers, buttons or direct mail pieces.

Also, he would have maintained an open phone line to our cousin, his niece, the political activist in the family who would keep him abreast of any of the latest campaign buzz she was privy to. But phone conversations were sometimes uncomfortable with him as he most likely get worked up about the latest issues or news report. But then true to form, the day before the election would be upon us and we could always count on the phone call to admonish to his children the same message every time: “Make sure you vote!”

Growing up in Nashville, our neighborhood precinct also happened to be at our neighborhood elementary school. When this day rolled around, we knew that no matter if it were the local, state or national election, it was an important day in our house. Teamster dad would take his three daughters to school on that day – an exciting event in itself and park far away from the front door of Margaret Allen Elementary School. Teamster Daddy would walk through the gauntlet of the encampments set up by the candidates’ representatives who were handing out buttons and bumper stickers and begging for your vote. (I often wonder now if it really makes a difference this late in the game, but traditions are traditions and sometimes maybe it is that last push for some that gets the vote.)

Once, I noticed a smile on his face as he walked confidently ahead of us as if he were the candidate himself and he knew his man was going to win. Folks on both sides of the school yard knew him and stopped him as he passed and many times he worked both political parties glad-handing and bantering about the issues and candidates and most times he knew more about the candidates and their platforms than the folks sitting in the November sun campaigning ever knew about them.

We stood quietly beside him and he loudly greeted the election volunteers who registered him. T-Daddy introduced us to them (he knew them too) and he thanked them for being there. My sisters and I were 7 years apart so by the time he took me to school to vote – they were off to Junior High. I felt like a big shot alone in his presence, so important. Because he took this so seriously and believe me, it was honor to get a personal civic lesson from you father. He taught each of us that you take your right to vote seriously and you never ever miss that opportunity.

While waiting our turn for a booth, T-Daddy again was talking to the kind gentlemen taking the white slips of paper – he was careful not to talk about the election itself – but instead would talk about the voter turnout or the college football scene. When our turn came, he would escort us in the voting booth and instruct us to close the curtain. I can still remember the gentle but strong touch as he put his strong hand over my little one and help me pull the heavy arm to close the curtain behind us. Then he would pick me up, hold me in his arms and take his time to carefully explain the choices in a low voice. It was no secret to anyone who knew our father how he was going to the vote- he was a dedicated member of his party and totally proud and outspoken about it. Although we knew he was going to vote the party line and not cross over the divide delineating one party from the next, he still took the time to tell us about the candidates and any referendums on the ballot.He would whisper in my ear and point towards the lever to pull and I proudly did it for each choice he made, knowing that somehow each vote counted towards something hugely important beyond our safe haven of our little neighborhood. When we finished, he would again help me pull the metal arm to open the curtains and to lock in our votes. I always felt a feeling of great accomplishment that I just helped my Teamster Daddy do something extremely important in not only his life but for the life of our country.

After he walked me back to my third grade class one year, I watched for him through the classroom window to emerge outside and walk back to his car. His swagger was full of purpose, I could see him as he walked back to the candidates’ encampments and again argued some issues, shook hands, gestured wildly to make a point (political I’m sure) and laughed along with members of both parties. I’ll never forget how proud I was that he was my dad.

Once in college I had the exciting experience of being an election pollster for a local radio station for the 1988 presidential election. We stood at the polls and waited as they closed to the voting public. Then as the precinct officials closed the school doors after the polls closed, it was exciting to watch them huddle amongst themselves and then listen with the other pollsters and campaign reps as they called out the results to us. Afterwards, we literally ran to our cars and squealed out of the parking lot in search of a phone booth to call in the results! After I finished that call, I immediately called T-Daddy to tell him how the precinct had voted.

I minored in political science and thought briefly about a career path in that arena, but now I watch the campaign from afar, yet still try to stay informed the best way that I can and read the news on the internet and watch the debates. I have been involved in one national campaign, but I’m not as politically loud as my father or other members of our extended family have been in their parties. Whenever I have moved out of my voting precinct, one of the first things I do is to change my voter registration. I would feel so guilty if I didn’t vote. I would feel as if I would be letting myself down and probably letting Teamster Daddy down too. I learned early from those days by my father’s side in the voting booth that voting is not something you take lightly. It is a privilege that in true Teamster Daddy words “you should never, I repeat, never take for granted.”

I’ve only participated in early voting opportunities once; I admit it was a time saver and a great tool in modern day elections. However, I prefer to go on Election Day because it’s a family tradition. There is something unique and exciting about participating in the buzz and rush that the whole nation is experiencing together. I don’t care if Tim Russert is projecting Tennessee as a red state or a blue state on Meet the Press, or what way it is being counted towards the Electoral College. It’s simple – I have to vote. Whether I’m voting blue, red, gray, (never green - Daddy would have had a cow) or otherwise, my vote counts and you’ll see me at the voting booth.

This year I’ll be a brand new face in my voting precinct and I will not know any of the faces of the election volunteers who register me or show me to the booth. I will, however, thank them kindly and be patient if there is a long line because that’s what my father taught me to do. They are giving up a day in our lives for us to exercise our right to vote. I will only smile and wave at the diehard campaign volunteers trying to sway my ideology to the bitter end of my very important vote, but I will not stop and debate any of them.

I’ve decided that the best thing I could possibly do to honor my father’s life and this important family tradition on Election Day on the anniversary of his death is to take my seven year old daughter with me to the polls. We will walk through the gauntlet of politicos, stand quietly in line to register and hopefully she will notice how many other people are doing it.
It is my wish that the magnitude of it all makes an impression on her like it did for me and my sisters. When it’s our turn to enter the booth, I’m going to let her push the button to close the curtains and lovingly hold her in my arms like he used to do with his daughters and let her push the buttons and cast our votes.

On November 7th, I’ll hope you’ll remember T-Daddy's famous words “Make sure you vote!” Because the Teamster Daughters and Granddaughter will be voting our conscience loud and clear.

(Deep down like my reluctance to buy non-union products for fear of upsetting T-Daddy's apple cart, I always think twice about crossing that party line)

The Notorious Work Ethic

Teamster Daughters learned early on that to succeed in life you gotta work hard for the money.

Never one to be lazy himself, Teamster Daddy had little patience for those who were healthy and able but had no drive or determination. His motto was simple: you had to to earn your way in life. The only thing that comes for free is the air you breathe. And even that had a price on it.

Maybe his strong work ethic stemmed from the fact that T-Daddy was left fatherless at a young age. His own father died much too young and left a wife and four young children behind. T-Daddy had to grow up real fast, so he was well prepared. Grandaddy Bub as his father was called was a hardworking man himself. He taught T-Daddy the things that made him a Teamster success. Any man, woman or child who was healthy and able, should work for what they received and in return, they would reap the rewards ten-fold.

Maybe Grandaddy B was the original T, even though he was never initiated into the IBT. He knew the meaning of hard work. He believed that to help your fellow man was a paramount deed and that it was a personal responsibility to help those in need. This lesson came from a man who'd lost a leg early in life to illness. His was quite a powerful example for young T-Daddy to follow.

Teamster Daddy made it a father's mission to teach his daughters to push and ride a mower (not just for fun, but to mow the lawn) to learn the difference between a hammer and screwdriver (in order to use them) and to change the automobile oil or a flat tire. Yuk. Even though I absolutely hate getting my hands that dirty, I'll try my best If I find myself there. He also showed us how to use a rake and a shovel, how to paint a dog house, how elbow grease was almost as good as WD-40.

There would be no lounging in luxury if you wanted luxury goods. He despised inertia and applauded motion. He told his T-daughters repeatedly, "You can do anything a boy can do and do it better if you try hard." The key word here was hard. Hard work was expected and rewarded. And the allowance reflected.

Now as I look back on the things T-Daddy taught me, I do what other's also do that they say they'll never do. Compare. But looking at the youth of the Nation up close and personal like I do everyday teaching at a major University, I am constantly frustrated by their sense of entitlement, their so obvious inertia. Their bodies are at continual rest and like to remain in bed until late afternoon. Never in Teamster House would this be tolerated. So if not in my teenage bedroom, then NOT in my classroom.

Many young men and women expect others to do for them what they could do but do not want to do for themselves. I'm not talking scholarship or grants here (those are rewards and rewards are earned). I'm talking about the breaks they want for bad behavior. The obvious gimme gimme gimme plea for the answer, the exam, and for the grade sounds like a bad cd skipping. This brattiness and priviledge for nothing notable behavior is unparalled to the behavior I learned at T-University.

The lazy responses in class, the pitiful excuses for absences, and most recently, the sarcastic, immature e-mail (because some aren't brave enough to whine in person) makes me want to give them an F for Forget the Promotion. One student sent an e-mail that read, " I can't believe I had to walk all the way to class dressed up for a presentation when it was so hot today." Teamster Daughter wanted to file a grievance for having to read such nonsense! If they would let faculty control the thermostat in the classroom, you better believe I'd turn up the heat. That's what T-Daddy would do. I bet your hard earned dollar he would.

So now it's up to Teamster Daughter to set a good T-example and show those 'lazy punks' as T-Dad would call them, that it's time to quit making excuses and stop slacking long enough to see and hear what success looks like. They'll be no lazy bones Jones' in my classroom. If they want to see an A - they'll have to earn it the hard way, by hard work and effort. What was good enough for T-Daughter is much better for them than where they are now.

And even though I didn't always want to mow the yard, dry the dishes, do my homework or study for a test...look who's at the head of the class...

A Horse is a Horse is a Horse of Course

I never knew exactly what the official Teamster logo of two horses heads and a wagon wheel meant and still don't know today, but I think I have a pretty good guess given the symbology of those vivid images. But for Teamster Daddy's sake, I think I'll make up my own version of the brand identity and treat it like it's my personal coat of arms.

So let's talk about horses. Those fine equestrian beauties have always represented strength and independence, stubbornness and loyalty to me, among other things. Four good attributes that T-Daddy and T-Daughter have in common with our four legged friends.

And there's the term 'horse-sense' to think about. And come to think about it, pun intended, Teamster Daddy and T-Daughter had more than their share of keen intuition. They knew a problem when it was far out in the pasture in front or sneaking up from behind. And they were always ready to charge when the time was right and knew when to stay at the bank and wait it out when the creek was too deep to cross.

One of their most favorite things in the world was just plain ole' horsin' around. T-Daddy loved to play innocent practical jokes and T-daughter still does to this day. Now his type of horseplay was a bit different from hers. He was 6'2'' and would try to ride a tiny shetland pony while she liked to surprise family and friends when they least expected it.

T-Daddy was always up for a game of horseshoes and to this day, I can still see him pitch a ringer at Aunt V's farm where we kept our barnful of horses. (ThunderBolt Lightning Cloud and Topper, just to name a few. There were also ponies named Peanuts and Popcorn that T-Daddy brought home in the middle of a dark Teamster night He insisted that we name them right then and there and afterwards the T-girls could go for a ride.

But one of the most significant rides of my life came when Teamster Daddy placed me in a Western Saddle for the very first time at the ripe age of 5. He loved horses so much and so did I, until I actually got on one. Well, let me back track for a moment. T- Daddy made sure I loved horses by lifting me up and placing me in that saddle before I learned how to ride my bicycle.

The moment of my first horseback ride would become one of the biggest lessons and longest rides of my life. Because it taught me many things about strength, courage but most of all--perserverence. When T-Daddy put me on top of Clover's back, he was a big, white horse and much too tall and too many hands for a wee T-daughter.
But Teamster Daddy showed me how to handle him and hold the reins and the horn of the saddle.

In an instant, Teamster Daddy popped Clover on the rump with his big T-Daddy hands and I heard his voice calling out from behind. These few words I still hear to this day: "Now, Don't Be Afraid T-girl...Don't be afraid. Because you can do it! You can Ride!"

I started crying, sobbing and screaming and Clover threw me off his back high into the Teamster sky.

Then came the big moment when I thought T-Daddy would pick me up and cradle me in those huge Teamster arms and make it all better. No more horses, no more fear, no more riding. But instead, to my surprise, he picked me back up and put me right back in the saddle again. You guessed it: TO RIDE.

His big Teamster voice told me in no uncertain terms: "YOUNG LADY! GET BACK ON THAT HORSE AND RIDE".

So I did, and I cried again, but this time Clover didn't throw me. And the next thing I knew, I was having fun, flying up and down. Clover was running fast and his tail was swishing back and forth and I could RIDE! I was T-Daddy's Girl! Never was a horse-lovin' T-Daddy prouder than at that moment. Teamster Daughter could ride!

Several years later I wrote T-Daddy a song.It's my song about life. Yes, L-I-F-E. Everybody's got one...mine is called RIDE. I'll give you one chance to guess what it's about. Now when I think there's something I can't do, I just think of Teamster Daddy and ask what he might do.

How's that for Horsepower?

Teamster Daddy's Extreme Living Room Makeover

One night during the height of T-Daddy's local union Teamster Years, Teamster Daddy backed a moving truck up to the front door and began moving out the matching nawgahide couch and armchair and and humble pressed wood twin endtables and coffee table and unloaded some much more impressive furniture. Mind you this was the 70s, but the furniture was not retro as you would probably picture, instead we like to call it T-Daddy's Spanish Armada period. Teamster wife had no say in the matter. It was nawghide out, Spanish Armada in. The haul was too massive to simply have mysteriously fallen off a truck, but perhaps the keys fell out of Bobby Reed's pocket instead.

"Bobby Reed," a shady friend, was like a Teamster Version of Burt Reynolds - or at least he thought he was that sexy and definitely had the ego to match. For some reason, T-Daddy ensconsed Bobby Reed in his very own weekend getaway pad in Possum Holler - but we'll save Bobby Reed and in influence on T-Daddy for a separate post all its own. The official T-Daddy line was that the Spanish Armada pieces came from Bobby Reed - they looked like they just got off the boat from Barcelona.

The living room was smoking! We had a plush grey wraparound couch - the first of the wraparound kind. Two white velveteen arm chairs trimmed with lime green cord and tassels. A heavy wood base complete with chains attaching each leg topped with a 150 lb piece of thick glass. An upgraded stereo with smoked glass sliding doors that sat atop our floor console. The icing on top came in the form of 2 sets each of heavy Spanish influence sconces that again were attached by chains. The sconces were so heavy that if they would have fallen on any of us it would have resulted in concussion or serious bodily injury.

The living room had become our own private lava lounge ala jungle room. For added effect, Teamster Wife and Daughters bought these deep glass bowls that we filled with water and had floating candles to finish off the look of the glass table.

That living room rocked. Sunday nights found us the hotspot for the neighborhood kids. If you drove down Wanda Drive you could hear the BeeGees, Peter Frampton, Barry Manilow, Rick James, and Donna Summer blasting from the stereo and the windows cast off a warm yellow glow from the floating candles and sconces.

For years our best friend Andy took turns with the Teamster Daughters helping us perfect our favorite disco moves. We all had our songs we sung solo on - it was an off week that didn't hold the weekly Sunday night dance session. The sconces were also great mood lighting for teenage seances, however, we also feared fire would engulf the living room so we didn't light them very often. Teamster Wife was right in the middle of us - she held court and to this day it was our special gathering place and provided the happiest memories of growing up at the T-Ranch.

The nawgahide furniture was shipped off to the McMurtry's home in the back of their General Store in White House (again another post). The true origin and the price tag for the Bobby Reed Spanish Armada furniture will forever be in question! As an adult, I was stopped in my tracks at Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley, because I recognized it was decorated with some of the same pieces of Spanish Armada design furniture and accessories in the game room at Graceland.

Teamster Daddy may have not spent much time in the Teamster Ranch during those years, but his crib was nicely decorated and definitely gave the jungle room a run for it's money.