Joel Frey

Dear Mr. Smith

Hello Mr. Smith. I hope this finds you well. Last night my dad, Gary Frey, worked his final swing shift at the FedEx Global Operations Control center. For the last 27+ years, he has been a member of your team serving in a variety of roles in GOC and Charters. He has had a remarkable run, traveling the globe and working on challenging and unique assignments ranging from the Flying Tigers merger to helping make sure that a panda bear was safely transported from China to the United States on an MD-11 wide body.

Today, his birthday, he woke up a retired employee of FedEx. I'm sure he and Mom, married now 40+ years, will reflect upon a number of memories in the weeks and months ahead, many of which would not have come to pass had it not been for his employment with your company.

So thank you Mr. Smith. Yes, for providing Mom and Dad the means by which they were able to maintain contentment for our family year after year, but more so for standing by the "People, Service, Profit" philosophy you have championed as founder and CEO of FedEx since 1973.

We wish you and everyone at FedEx continued success in the years ahead.

Sincerely,

Joel Frey

P.S. The future FedEx pilot pictured above is Lucas Glaeske, Dad's six-year-old grandson. He, too, is a raving FedEx enthusiast.

1974

For those of us who graduated from high school in 1992, the beginning of 2014 also marks the advent of our fourth decade. #40. For-tee. 4-0. 20x2. In 1994, Oasis' "Live Forever,"  was one of our anthems - a catchy, yet trite song we sang together in crusty dive bars before last call. Today, however, the wisdom we have attained since then exposes the fallacy of lyrics we foolishly clung to as kids. Hopefully.

Shortly after my 39th birthday, I took the advice my Dad gave readers of my book in its foreword and began "taking stock." Included in my calculus was a topic we all, regardless of age, tend to fret over especially so during this season of fresh starts and resolutions: health and well-being. While I was positive about this facet of my life and thought I was prescribing to habits that were on point - namely eating right and exercising regularly - my annual visit with Dr. Doug Cluff ferreted out a couple of signs that dispelled my rosy assumptions.

First, my cholesterol was on a steady climb that had begun in my mid-thirties. Prior to then, my "good" and "bad" levels were well within range year in and year out, but that was no longer the case. Both now were teetering. Secondly, at 6'3 and roughly 200 pounds, I was slightly overweight and no amount of cardio was helping me get below that number.

Already two or three years prior, Dr. Cluff told me that at this stage in my life, healthy living was "80% diet and 20% exercise." I tried to take that to heart and eliminated soda and fast food and kept cranking out miles on the treadmill. This was okay Dr. Cluff advised, but not ideal if I wanted to lower my cholesterol and lose an inch or two from my waistline.

"So what do you recommend?" I asked.

Dr. Cluff became excited. His eyes lit up as he told me about a diet that is anchored by plant-based foods: fruits, vegetables, seeds, nuts and beans. He also suggested a few books, namely "Eat to Live," by Dr. Joel Fuhrman, a champion of this "nutritarian" philosophy.

At its face, the "80-20" plan Dr. Cluff outlined made sense, but ran counter to societal norms that had been engrained into my thinking since I was in grade school. Namely, that foods derived from animals including "healthy" staples like chicken, fish, milk, eggs, cheese and yogurt should be considered in the same vein as red meat, sugary treats and salty snacks and eaten only in limited amounts.

"Grilled chicken is bad for you?" I asked.

"It has as much or more cholesterol than red meat."

"Milk?"

"Name any other animal that drinks the milk of another animal."

"Where am I going to get my protein?"

"You'll get all the protein you need and more from plant-based foods," Dr. Cluff advised.

I left Dr. Cluff's company quizzical, but intrigued. I downloaded "Eat to Live" and read through it in a few days. It drove home all of the basic tenants that Dr. Cluff prescribed, but went much further in outlining all of the benefits one enjoys when eating a diet that is plant-based.

Foremost among these was significantly reducing the likelihood of contracting heart disease and cancer. Those of us in GenX have witnessed firsthand our parents, grandparents and other important people in our lives struggle and succumb to these maladies. I thought about the next 40 years of my life and asked myself this question: "Do I want to spend more time in places with those I love or more time in doctor's offices with strangers?"

Toward the end of June, I started making changes in my eating habits. Instead of milk and cereal for breakfast, I switched to fruit and worked in a bowl of oatmeal once or twice a week. For lunch, I ditched the chicken wraps and tuna salad sandwiches for a meatless/cheese less salad comprised with as many vegetables as possible. I squeezed a lemon over the top of it rather than dressing it with vinaigrette. I stopped lingering around the candy bowls at work and kept an apple, orange or bag of nuts at my desk. If I ate meat, it was usually in the evening, but only once or twice a week.

What about coffee and alcohol? I didn't give either up, but tried not to drink more than two cups of coffee per day and one adult beverage per day. Admittedly on some mornings, I had an extra cup of coffee and on some evenings, I had more than one glass of wine or beer. But that was the exception.

I weighed exactly 200 pounds on the last Saturday of June. The following Saturday, I weighed 196 and in the ensuing Saturdays over the summer I lost anywhere from two to four pounds per week. Going through this process, I've learned that, for me, my ideal weight is approximately 180 pounds. There have been Saturdays where that number has been a little less and there have been Saturdays, such as the most recent one, where it has been a little more. (it was 183 in case you are wondering :)) However, I use the weekly weigh-in as a guide rather than a metric to obsess over. I know that as long as I continue prescribing to the "Eat to Live" lifestyle, I won't come anywhere close to 200 pounds ever again.

In October, I had my annual physical with Dr. Cluff and I was eager to have my blood drawn. A day later, I found out my total cholesterol was 149, down from 182 just six months earlier.

If you've made a resolution this morning to "lose weight," "exercise more," or "eat better," "Eat to Live" might be a book worth adding to your reading list. I understand that consuming more plants than animals is not for everyone, but it has helped me and I strongly believe given me a head start on the middle years of my life which will turn anew on May 11, 2014.

Healthier living notwithstanding, the reality is that we all likely know someone born in 1974 who won't celebrate a fortieth birthday in 2014. However sobering, the encouraging news is that for the vast majority of us, we've only reached a point somewhere in between. My prayer is that we all realize that there are bountiful - though not endless - opportunities to learn, love, share and, most importantly, serve over the next 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 and, yes, for a few, 60 years and beyond.

Happy New Year!

 

 

Hobby Shops & Historical Markers

One of the pros of moving to D/FW is living in closer proximity to my parents in Memphis, TN. Mom and Dad have made the eight hour drive west on I-40/30 twice in the last seven months - once in the summer when Dad's boyhood baseball team, the Detroit Tigers played the Texas Rangers in Arlington and then again two weeks ago for Thanksgiving.

As long as there is a newspaper to read, strong coffee, sweet nibbles, salty snacks, adult beverages at the requisite hour, hearty meals, Lutheran worship/fellowship and grocery shopping, my parents are low maintenance house guests. For example, over Thanksgiving they were perfectly content on Friday afternoon with a Trader Joe's/Specks daily double in Fort Worth followed by a Mexican dinner with extended family in Allen ending with a nightcap and a rousing game of dominoes around the dinner table.

On occasion though Dad will make a special request involving a visit to an aviation museum, a hobby shop and/or a historical marker. None of these populated the most recent agenda, but in August he did inquire about a hobby shop that he had researched on-line in advance of their trip, M.A.L. Hobby Shop on Lee St. in Irving.

As we got closer to our destination, I realized that we were traveling to old-school Irving, far removed from the neighborhoods of Valley Ranch and Las Colinas that are more frequently associated with the city today. After turning on Lee St. and getting my first glance at M.A.L., it dawned on me that we had hit the trifecta: a hobby shop/museum with its own historical marker!

The first fact that the marker points out is that M.A.L. (Model Aircraft Laboratories) has been in business since 1948, a year before my father was born. Upon venturing inside, we most likely inhaled 60+ years of dust. Ventilation issues notwithstanding, it was impossible not to be charmed by the unkemptness of the shop and the quirkiness of its proprietor, Mr. Edgar Seay, Jr. 

Dad and Ed hit it off immediately. As I thumbed through a few postcards and surveyed other pieces of random merchandise, the two hobbyists discussed a variety of model shows and conventions they had attended over the years. Dad also quizzed Ed on a couple of kits that he was on the hunt for. Unfortunately, they were not in Ed's inventory, but Dad did find a couple of items worth bringing home and bought me a few of the postcards, including one that Ed had photographed himself of a Braniff International Airways McDonnell Douglas DC-8-62 near D/FW Airport on October 29, 1973, not quite six months before I was born. He was even gracious enough to autograph it for me.

After hanging out with Ed for a bit longer, we said so long and headed home. It was easily the most memorable - and historical - visit to a hobby shop I had ever made.

Joyful bundles

On March 23, cousin Karena and her husband Jeff welcomed twins, Ida and Max to their family in Appleton, WI. On March 31, Karena's brother Chris and his wife Jamie welcomed twins, Ethan and Andrew to their family in Detroit. For those of you scoring at home, that's four new grandbabies for our Aunt Sue and Uncle Lance in the span of eight days. How about that for some cuh-razy family fun?!

Brother and sister

And the two brothers

Our family is humbled by God's continued blessings. We pray that He keep a watchful eye over these little ones and their sleep-deprived Moms and Dads.

BTHO 49ers!

As a young boy growing up in Louisiana, I was almost without fail twice annually subjected to the Joe Montana and Jerry Rice led 49ers absolutely pummeling the hapless Saints. On rare occasion, the Saints scored an upset, but overall the rivalry was decidedly one-sided.

One game, pre-dating the 49ers dynasty years, stands out. It was during the Saints unforgettable 1-15 season in 1980 and though I was only six-years-old, I still recall it. The Saints, led by Archie Manning, traveled to Candlestick Park late in the year sporting an 0-13 record. By then, the locals had notoriously dubbed the team the "Aints" and thousands of fans had taken to sporting brown paper bags over their heads on sojourns to the Superdome. The team had become a punchline and as the losses mounted from week-to-week, it seemed likely that the Saints were destined for the infamy of a winless season.

So imagine the delight of Saints fans young and old alike when on December 7, 1980 the team raced out to a 35-0 halftime lead over the 49ers. The streak was about to end! The revelers in the French Quarter could roam the streets with glasses held high! The Aints were about to win a game! But then the second half commenced and, unbelievably, the 49ers mounted a comeback, tying the game at 35 by the end of regulation.  I no longer recall the details of the overtime period, but the 49ers kicked a field goal, won the game 38-35 and sent the Saints back to New Orleans 0-14. (note: the next week the Saints squeaked out a 21-20 win over the Jets and finished the season 1-15)

Cast into separate divisions when the NFL realigned prior to the 2002 season, the frequency of Saints-49ers match-ups have decreased. The teams fortunes have as well. The Saints are just two years removed from a Super Bowl win while this is the first time San Francisco has even made the play-offs in a number of years. In fact, ESPN just informed me that the Saints have won the last six times the two teams have played.

My gut tells me that they will make it seven on Saturday though it will be tough. Between now and kick-off, the skeptical pundits will tell you that the Saints vaunted offense led by Drew Brees isn't as prolific away from the Superdome. Those same talking heads will also remind you on the Saturday morning pre-game shows that the Saints' three losses this year all came on the road, two against the hapless Bucs and Rams. At some point, they'll also mention that they've never won a play-off game on the road and that they were upset just a year ago by the 7-9 Seattle Seahawks. The ones who have really done their homework might even mention that the last time the two teams played early in the 2010 season on Monday Night Football, the Saints barely eked out a 25-22 win on the 49ers home turf.

I will tell you that all of these points are with merit. But I'll also say when it comes to the NFL play-offs, it's never wise to bet against the hottest team playing. The Saints, riding a nine game winning streak and a quarterback in Drew Brees who is playing in his prime, are that team right now. Yes, the 49ers defense is formidable, but I firmly believe the Saints will win on Saturday, once and for all vanquishing the memories of that aforementioned Sunday afternoon 31 years ago.

Final score: Saints 31, 49ers 16

 

Missing the news cycle

As a PR professional, my cohorts and I are constantly assessing the "news cycle." As it ebbs and flows from important and not-s0-important happenings and events, it factors into our discussions and planning everyday. Weather, politics, war, terrorism, and the economy are just a few of the topics that we compete against in our never-ending efforts to get journalists, news producers, bloggers and social media mavens to consider Travelocity for inclusion in a story, segment, post or Tweet.

As you read the rest of this, note that I've decidedly missed the news cycle on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. My plan was to follow the status quo and share my observations on that Sunday, but other priorities at work, home and church won out. Now, 10 days later,  the seasons are set to change and we have moved on to more pressing matters: taxing millionaires, airshow safety, the 2012 election, conference realignment and the latest iteration of everyone's favorite social network, to name a few. Though in the grand scheme, we likely won't reflect upon any of these topics 10 years from now.

As Sept. 11, 2011 came and went, I was surprised by own memories that surfaced. For example,  I vividly recalled the tennis match I played the evening before the tragedy. It was a long three setter against a guy named Sam who I had never beaten. We played to a third set tiebreak and I had a match point, but couldn't cash it in. When I woke up on 9/11/01, my defeat was the first thought that popped into my head.

I remembered the fall boots my colleague Judy Haveson wore to work and how she paced nervously up and down the hallway as the tragedy unfolded, anxiety covering her face. She was only days away from moving from Texas to New York and, suddenly, all of her plans were in doubt. But a month later, as the nation healed, Judy was in the stands at Yankee Stadium cheering on the Bronx Bombers as they valiantly tried to win the World Series. Today, she's still a proud New Yorker and mother to Jack, her own little Yankee fan. I thought about Pastor John Koelpin and the special service I attended at Calvary Lutheran Church. For a few weeks after the towers collapsed, worship and prayer were in vogue. Then, predictably, our post modern sensibilites awoke from their slumber and carried on as before. 

I remembered the first flight I took post 9/11, an hourlong hop from Dallas to Memphis on American Airlines. Not only was I nervous, I found myself sizing up my fellow passengers before we boarded.  After safely arriving to my hometown and having breakfast with my parents, I drove to Oxford, MS and cheered on Middle Tennessee State, my alma mater, as they took the field against the University of Mississippi, led by their All-American quarterback, Eli Manning. Fast forward to the present and he is the quarterback for the New York Giants and commercial airlines have taken me to countless places near and far, including LaGuardia, Newark and JFK.

Thanks for indulging my utter disregard for the 9/11 news cycle. I look forward to writing about more subjects that were yesterday's news as soon as the opportunity presents itself. If you have any thoughts, please share.  Cheers, ya'll.

 

 

Book Review: The Tender Bar

Cypress Walls has crowded my thoughts the past few days. First, Jerry Simmons of INDI Publishing Group, the gentleman who assumed the relatively impossible task of convincing retail outlets that my unknown book was worthy of shelf space after my first partner, Blu Sky Media, went belly up has been a constant in my inbox. A company called Midpoint Trade Books has ceased conducting business with him and, therefore, no longer wants to market and/or warehouse the remaining 392 copies of Cypress Walls in its possession. So those will soon make their way to El Paso and, unfortunately, I have to pay the shipping and handling. Hopefully, I can find 392 future college graduates who will give them homes. The price will be right. On a separate note, I'm contemplating an exhaustive feature story on the pros and cons of self publishing a book.

The Tender Bar by J.R. Moehringer is the other reason why my memoir has been on my mind. I finished reading it this morning though, admittedly, there were many sections that I skimmed. If you're unfamiliar, it chronicles the author's life from age seven to his mid-twenties and how a bar, first known as Dickens and later as Publicans, in his native Manhasset, NY shaped his journey from childhood to manhood.

I have mixed feelings about The Tender Bar. Moehringer is a crafty storyteller and there were parts that held my interest especially his account of being a copyboy at The New York Times in the mid-80s. At its core, however, I found the narrative nothing more than a celebration of drinking and getting drunk on a daily basis.  Had I read it 15 years ago, fresh out of college, disillusioned and swelling with pride, I probably would have loved all of the tales of boozing and brooding with fellow boozers because I was at the stage in my life where frequenting bars, running up ridiculous tabs and figuring out how to get home was highly entertaining. I wrote about several of those mis-adventures in Cypress Walls though the fondness I once held for those memories has faded.

Today, that kind of behavior just doesn't make any sense to me. Whenever Moehringer entered his hallowed grounds, I raced ahead to the next section, lacking the patience to read conversations that I found hard to believe considering how wasted the players were and all of the years that had passed from the time they occurred to the time the book was published.

As a fellow memoirist, that was my biggest point of contention with The Tender Bar. While I don't have any doubt that Moehringer spent a ton of time at Dickens/Publicans and forged unforgettable bonds with a host of interesting characters, it just didn't feel authentic.

When I wrote Cypress Walls, I went to painstaking detail to apply dates to the events I described. Most of the dialogue is pulled directly from letters and other correspondence which I catalogued. There are a few quotes and phrases that I drew from memory, but those are limited. Evidently, Moehringer took note of many of the conversations he had at the bar and then revisited those discussions with the barflies later as he wrote. I appreciated him mentioning this in the epilogue, but it didn't change my opinion of the work feeling sloppy. Had he presented the material as fiction I may feel differently.

Are my opinions tinged with jealously? One could make the argument, but The Tender Bar was marked for success and recognition long before it went to print. Moehringer is a Pulitzer-prize winning journalist, a Harvard fellow, and a graduate of Yale. He had access to the finest literary minds on the planet as he researched and wrote his book. A major publisher stepped up and backed him with a team of editors and a marketing budget. I don't begrudge him for his good fortune and I have no doubt that he paid his dues. I only wish that after accessing all of those perks, The Tender Bar offered the reader more.

1/28/86

Where were you on January 28, 1986? I was a sixth grader attending A.A. Songy Middle School in Luling, La. Shortly after lunch, I was sitting in a portable classroom getting ready for a French lesson when our teacher told us about the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding. As was the case for millions of Americans that day, time froze for a minute or two. Once the harrowing fact she shared sunk in a few of us wondered out loud, "Wasn't the teacher on board?" Eventually, a TV was rolled into the library and we saw the tragedy unfold for the first time before boarding the yellow bus home.

Later that evening, my mom, dad, sister and I gathered in our living room on Bernice Drive and sought reassurance from President Reagan. We watched the countless replays of the disaster over and over and over again. Twenty-five years later, those images - the fireball, the solid rocket boosters flailing away, the horrified crowd in the bleachers below - still resonate, along with the fateful quote "obviously, we have a major malfunction." At some point, way past our regular 9:00 p.m. bedtime, Dad turned the TV off and my sister and I headed upstairs and got ready for bed, knowing that we'd never forget this day.

The next morning, my classmates and I huddled around our science teacher, Mrs. Walker. The floor was open and our inquisitive eleven-year-old minds were fully in motion. "Would the Space Shuttle ever launch again?" "Did the astronauts die right away?" "Will they let another teacher go into space?" were a sampling of the questions that crossed our lips. Mrs. Walker didn't have many concrete answers, but it was reassuring to have her guide us through such a seminal moment.

Those are my Challenger memories. What are yours?

 

 

Cypress Walls news

If you haven't checked lately my book, Two Sides of a Cypress Wall, currently ranks #3,505,574 on Amazon, but a slightly more respectable #246,874 in the Kindle Store. I recently lowered the electronic price to .99 and since then I've had several people tell me that they've added it to their digital collections. Thanks to all of you.

Over the last 14 months Jerry Simmons of the INDI Publishing Group has worked on my behalf to broaden my reach. I received a tiny royalty check last summer, but not too long after that Jerry informed me that he was parting ways with the distribution company he was working with and that meant I'd have to find a new partner as well. Jerry researched several worthwhile options for me, but I decided that it'd be best for me to retake control of the inventory.  Sometime soon, the roughly 450 copies that have been residing in a Kansas City warehouse will be shipped to El Paso.

So in a way, I've come full circle. On August 31, 2007 I received the first of about 300 copies from Gary Johnson at Post Printing in Memphis.  As longtime supporters may recall, I sold those via PayPal on a pro version of this Web site. Thanks to family and friends, those moved fairly quickly, but shortly thereafter the reality of selling 1,000 copies of an unknown book from an unknown author set in. Between the first distributor I signed with, Blu Sky Media, (who went out of business about six months after I signed) and INDI Publishing another 300 or so copies have been sold to a variety of online and offline retailers. Now, I'll have the opportunity to find readers for the stragglers. If you're in a book club, my calendar is open and I don't charge an appearance fee!

 

 

Suffering and editing take two

Yesterday, I attempted to make the point that modern-day filmmaking suffers from insufferable story lines and poor editing. Though my opinion has not changed over the last 24 hours, I did want to offer up an example of a movie that I strongly feel defies these notions.

On March 31, 1981 Robert Redford's "Ordinary People," based on the novel of the same name by Judith Guest, won Oscars for Best Picture, Best Direction, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Supporting Actor (Timothy Hutton). I mention it briefly in Cypress Walls, writing "I am not sure if I have ever screened a movie so simultaneously powerful, delicate, and unequivocally sad." Given the tough subject matter - a teen's accidental death, his sibling's attempted suicide afterward and the seeming end to their parent's storybook marriage - one could argue that "Ordinary People" is as insufferable as, say, "Leaving Las Vegas."

But it's not for me mainly because the characters in "Ordinary People" are relatable and likable, despite the heartbreaking circumstances engulfing them. It's been a couple of years since I watched it, but I can't think of one scene that I could do without over the course of the two hour runtime. The suburban Chicago setting, a yuppie dinner party, a family Christmas and everyday scenes from high school all have aged gracefully, giving "Ordinary People" timeless qualities that hopefully will appeal to future generations of moviegoers seeking provocative fare with substance to accompany their ten dollar bucket of popcorn and five dollar soda.

While other writers and filmmakers have mimicked the framework of "Ordinary People" with success - think "Good Will Hunting," "American Beauty," and "In the Bedroom" - I maintain that pound-for-pound no other work of character-driven cinema over the last three decades measures up. I am, however, open to suggestions.