Special words for the Class of 2013

By Jeff Orvis

Over the years as I have written columns in various formats, I've developed a tradition of writing pieces on specific topics at certain times of the year. As we close in on the end of May and the end of another school year, I usually make some comments, some reminders, for the graduates.

For many years, I had the pleasure of getting to know some remarkable students. Many of them were student athletes at the high school level. But some others may have excelled in other areas as they made that trek toward the high school diploma. As I worked in community journalism, I attended graduation every year. I could understand why teachers who had been associated with these students for four years or more may have shed a tear or two as they sent them out into the world. I could fully understand why most grandparents enjoy their grandchildren. As the old saying goes, grandparents have the opportunity to see their grandchildren for awhile, then give them back to their parents. The “parents” in this saying, the ones who had to cope with both the highs and lows of the daily lives of these students, would be their teachers. I would be the one who visited the school and interacted with the student for a story, then could leave, just like a grandparent.

One of the reminders I give to grads every time I write is to remember who got them to the point where they are crossing that stage and accepting that diploma. Remember to visit your teachers, or at least communicate with them, to thank them for all they had done and to let them know what they had accomplished. And don't just talk to the most popular teacher. My sophomore English teacher delighted in cultivating a climate of fear among many of her students. You knew not to cross Mrs. Hultgren. Of course, she was one of the teachers who taught me the most. Unfortunately, I didn't realize it at the time and didn't get a chance to thank her years later.

It's great to have one or two teachers you can relate to and who can help you during tough times. But sometimes some of the toughest teachers are the ones who mean the most to your ultimate success.

Members of the high school class of 2013 face some incredible obstacles I could never imagine. Many of you are heading off to a four-year college, where you will pay 10 times what I did when I was a high school freshman. If it had not been for various scholarships and grants, I would have never had a chance at college. That's the same for many incoming freshmen today. But the competition for those scholarships seems much more difficult today. In fact, gaining acceptance into many colleges is also tougher than it was back in my time.

The challenges that today's grads face seem far more difficult than those I faced when I was coming out of Pleasant Valley High School. The opportunities are there, but they are tougher to obtain. Thankfully, I've observed that many of today's grads are more mature and driven than my classmates were. They have to be. They work harder and, if some internet posts are to be believed, they play harder at some colleges.

So you've got your academics in order, you've chosen and been accepted at the college of your choice and have somehow lined up the funds to go there. One key ingredient to your success won't necessarily cost any money. It will, however, take some time and soul-searching. As you prepare to leave for school later this summer, many of you will be reminded to pack your Bible and find a church. Moms and grandmothers are good at making those reminders. But whether you can answer that alarm on Sundays to attend services or find time to crack open that Bible on a regular basis, don't forget to pack what I like to call your moral compass.

I was reminded of that last night as I chose to watch a couple of episodes of “The Waltons.” You may remember that TV series featured a big family growing up during the depression in the hills of Virginia. The large family was patterned from the real life family of Earl Hamner Jr. He created the show, wrote most, if not all of the stories and narrated each episode. Earl's character was the oldest son in the family, John Boy.

Naturally, after spending most of my adult life writing, I empathized with the John Boy character. My family situation was a lot different – I have just one sister instead of a houseful. We lived in much better circumstances than the Walton family, where grandparents also lived under the same roof. By the end of the show's run, there were four generations living in that house.

Of course, skeptics who watch an episode would be quick to point out that it is far from today's reality. The brothers and sisters would have their conflicts, but they were generally settled by the end of each episode. Unfortunately, fewer and fewer of today's households include two parents, let alone the availability of wise grandparents.

But watch closely with an open mind and you can usually learn some valuable life's lessons. As you embark on the next chapter of your lives, find someone you can lean on during tough times. Ideally, it will be a parent, grandparent or older aunt or uncle. It might be the pastor at your church. But it could also be one of those high school teachers who went the extra mile to lead you to success.

My best bit of advice is to find that special someone who can periodically tune that moral compass. Best of luck to the Class of 2013. Those of us who went before you are counting on you.

Learning new lessons on the job hunt

By Jeff Orvis

As I continue in this seemingly endless search for a job, there have been some highs and lows. It's been a real learning experience, although I feel like I've more than paid my tuition and am anxious to begin reaping some rewards.

Every morning, I wake up to a local talk radio station. It's a Fox News affiliate, which might surprise a lot of you who know my leftist leanings. But I figure if I awake to a nice oldies music station, I might just forget to get up until late morning. This way, I gain a little information, then when I get sick of listening to the right-wing half-truths, I turn it off and climb out of bed.

It seems that several times a week, I'm greeted with news of the federal government's latest unemployment numbers. A few short years ago, I never thought I would be a statistic, but at least if you subscribe to the saying that misery loves company, I guess there's some comfort in the fact that I'm not alone.

As I surf the internet for job prospects, I'm learning there are quite a few jobs out there I never thought of before. Many companies now have made it more convenient for prospective employees to apply by putting the application process on the web. This way, you don't necessarily need to spend a lot of shoe leather or auto gas, nor do you need to bother prospective employers unless they decide they want to see you.

I recently spent the better part of an afternoon navigating through the application process for a job at the country's major discount retailer. As I am a regular customer at this business, I've had the chance to encounter many of the folks who work there. I figured that with that many employees, there's sure to be some turnover. I also figured there had to be something there I could do.

This application process has been something new for me. This is where you figure you're never too old to learn. I don't think I've ever filled out an application for a job that I eventually won that was more than two pages. My first full-time newspaper job resulted from a promotion that began when I was a correspondent for the local paper while still in high school. I continued to work summers there while in college and when it became apparent that my college career was at an end, the editor said he figured if he didn't hire me full-time, he would lose me part-time.

My next stop, this one out of the Quad-Cities area, started with a phone call, as I answered an ad in the daily paper. The publisher invited me to visit for an interview and my parents and I made the 125 mile trip. That began an 18-year career over a 20-year stretch.

When that job was eventually eliminated by a new owner of the paper, a phone call from a local businessman convinced me to try my hand at being a publisher. That lasted a year before the economy swallowed us. But a publisher from a paper in a neighboring county, who had visited our office in his capacity with the Iowa Newspaper Association, remembered me and invited me to meet with him and his partners for a job as an editor at one of their papers.

That job lasted another 11 years before the new owners cut staff and I was one of the cuts. Once again, I was out of work for about four months before beginning a new venture as an on line local news editor. When the non-profit group that owned the web site was unable to sustain a full-time editor, I was once again looking for work a year later.

So I've been out of practice in the formal application process for many years. When I went to the web site of the aforementioned retailer, I was amazed at the volume of information I was asked to supply. They wanted to know what hours I would be available, what jobs I was interested in, what salary I expected, whether I was looking for full or part-time work and on and on.

The final kicker in this process was a 65-question test, where I was given one-sentence scenarios and asked to rate whether I strongly agreed, agreed, had no opinion, disagreed or strongly disagreed. I'll have to say that after encountering some of the folks that work at this store, I was amazed that they had the patience or ability to fill out the same application I did.

You had to be careful as you answered each of these questions, In one scenario, they asked if you agreed or disagreed that it was okay to take money from your place of work.

The human resources department at this company must be something special. They must employ psychologists to write these applications. Then they must have another department of people who pour over each application to try to find the right person for the right spot.

I just hope that all of this is worth it and that as I fill out other similar forms, I will give all the right answers and begin collecting a paycheck again. It's easy to get frustrated and wonder if it's worth all the hassle. But despite passing the big 6-0 milestone, I realize that it's a few years until retirement.

Good thoughts and prayers from my friends remain my greatest asset. Time to get back on the hunt.

My thoughts on a birthday milestone and Mom

By Jeff Orvis

How many of us have played that mental game, “If I knew then what I know now?” I guess birthdays are a logical time to think about that. Some folks, those who tend to often view the glass as half-empty, drag themselves down by wishing they had done things differently over a certain time span. Those of us who recognize that God is in control are sometimes given the gift of recognizing what He has done for us over the years, regardless of our current situation.

Some would say I have every right to be down in the dumps today. I just completed my 60^th year on this earth, am unemployed with an uncertain future and am about to observe my first Mother's Day without Mom. But there are certainly a lot of good things to think about, even with some of those dark clouds hanging around.

Fifty years ago, I was counting the days until the end of my third grade at Pleasant View School. It was a newer school and Miss Rabe was a nice teacher. But my one year at Pleasant View meant a bus ride every day. The fourth grade in the fall meant a return to the school within walking distance of home.

As my friends and I awaited three months away from the books, three months of adventures in the neighborhood and the nearby woods, we had no way of knowing that in a few short months we would all experience the national grief of the assassination of a president. A few years later, we would witness assassinations that would take a very popular political figure (Bobby Kennedy) and the soul of the civil rights movement (Martin Luther King). It wouldn't be long after that when we would wonder if we could afford the $3,500 a year it would take to attend a small private college or if we would have to settle for a state university at a cost of about $2,000. The young men in my class also had to worry about the draft, the draft lottery and possible education deferments, as very few of us wanted a trip to southeast Asia, even if Uncle Sam was paying the way.

In the next few years, there was the college experience and many of us began our careers. Three years after the end of college, I took the giant step of leaving the Quad-City area for my first try at independent living. That try came to an unexpected end four years later with a call from one of Mom's best friends, telling me that Dad had suffered a fatal heart attack in our driveway.

A few months later, I came home to live with Mom as she continued my dad's photography business. Two years later, the publisher of the paper I had left asked me to return, this time it was a 14-year association which only ended with a staff reduction. There was a short-lived experiment as a newspaper owner, more than a decade at a newspaper in a neighboring county and a year as a web site editor.

Each of those stops afforded me many memories, some of which I might talk about at another time. Personally, I saw my sister marry a preacher. They had two great kids and became grandparents a few years ago. Mom married a man she knew from church and they spent a few happy years together before he passed away at home. I finally tied the knot about 15 years after a lot of my high school friends. I inherited a ready-made family of two young boys and we had some very happy, challenging years together.

Years later, when the marriage had ended and the economy had claimed my job, I think it was God's way of telling me it was time to once again come home. With my sister and her family committed to life in Florida, I was glad to have a chance to once again be closer to Mom, aunts and uncles and cousins.

When the job market didn't produce any prospects, I devoted more and more time to doing what I could to help Mom around the house – shopping for groceries, doing a lot of the cooking and trying not to question her independence when she insisted on going to Christmas Eve church services across town in a blinding snowstorm.

August of 2012 is a month I hope I never have to repeat. I spent it at Mom's bedside in the hospital, at a rehab center and then back at the hospital as she underwent three abdominal surgeries in the span of less than 30 days. That grand celebration of her 80^th birthday in February would prove to be her last.

So Sunday is Mother's Day. Some would say they wouldn't blame me if I wanted to stay in bed, cover up my head and mourn. But I wasn't built that way. I suspect that Mom and Dad would find a way to come back and kick me in the butt if I did that. So instead, I'm going to get up, go to church, sing in our awesome choir and thank God for my Mom. I'll also thank him for the good report we received on my sister's recent surgery. Then I'll come home, pour a big glass of orange juice and toast Mom's memory as I smell the lilacs across the way and listen to the various birds we have in our neighborhood. 

Somehow, I think she'd understand.

A horse racing fan for a few weeks

By Jeff Orvis

In case you missed it, we are in the early stages of the time of year when many of us become fans of horse racing. On Saturday, a horse named “Orb” came from the middle of a pack of 18 other thoroughbreds to win the Kentucky Derby. What I like to call the “mass appeal horse racing season” continues in a little under two weeks with the running of the Preakness Stakes in Maryland. Then two weeks later, the action moves to the Belmont Stakes in New York.

I've been a sports fan for more than 50 years. I like to observe the major traditions of many sports, so I try to watch each of these three races. It's always exciting after the Kentucky Derby to see if the winner can win the second of the three Triple Crown events. On the rare occasions when a horse wins the first two events, the excitement mounts.

In recent years, I've taken more time for reflection on the sports I enjoy watching. It's mind-boggling to know that on any given Saturday afternoon in the fall, there are millions of people sitting in the stands watching college football. Toward the end of May, we will pause for an afternoon to watch the Indy 500 car race, while more than 200,000 fans help swell the population of the state of Indiana for the day.

I know very little about horses or horse racing. I've had the good sense not to attempt to ever ride a horse, but I have often admired these strong, beautiful animals from the safety of being across the fence. At Churchill Downs last Saturday, there were more than 150,000 fans who undoubtedly know much more about the sport than I do. There were even “Derby Day” parties across the country, as fans who didn't make the trip could gather, wear some outlandish hats and sip mint juleps as they awaited the two minute race.

As NBC so adeptly pointed out during its over two hour coverage, several of the underlying stories of the race involved the jockeys. There was an African-American attempting to be the first African American to win in over 100 years. There was an accomplished female rider attempting to be the first and a veteran jockey who came back to the sport after a seven-year retirement.

While I realize that there are many horse races across the country during the year, I wonder just how many folks ever watch a race after the three Triple Crown events are finished for the year. And I wonder how many of these part-time fans take the time to really watch the race and admire the athletic ability of the beautiful animals and their skilled jockeys.

I guess you really have to have a passion for the sport to own and groom a horse for these major races. It must take tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars to raise and care for these animals each year. A select few return that investment through purse winnings and stud fees. But I have a Facebook friend who forwarded an article from PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) calling for a boycott of the Kentucky Derby. The PETA folks claim many of the horses who don't win these big races end up in the slaughterhouse.

But to qualify for the Triple Crown races, the horse must be something special. I suspect that when their racing days are over, they are retired to the grass-covered ranches in Kentucky and elsewhere to live out a peaceful life.

I'm glad I never attempted to be a horse racing writer. I don't understand blood lines and all the rest. I only know that for about two minutes on the first Saturday of May, the best place to be is either in Kentucky or in front of a TV. The heart beats a little faster immediately before the start of the race as we all try to sing “My Old Kentucky Home.”

Spring floods bring one question: Why return?

By Jeff Orvis

Most of us have an idea of where we would live if we had our choice. It may be somewhere close to family. It may be a city that offers great shopping and opportunities to take part in great cultural events.

The late great singer, John Denver, convinced many fans that Colorado would be the ideal place to live. But those of us who are tired of snow probably aren't too keen on living in a place where it's still piling up, in the latter stages of April.

I've known people who seem most at peace when they get within a few miles of an ocean. Although it's been more than 40 years, I can still remember how my dad's mood seemed to improve the closer we got to a favorite lake in west central Minnesota where we sometimes vacationed, or north of Minneapolis, as we neared Duluth and the great Lake Superior.

These thoughts came to mind this week as we once again were visited by that nasty visitor who seems to sneak up on us this time of the year – spring flooding. As I write this on a Tuesday afternoon, River Drive in Davenport is under water at some stretches from Interstate 280 all the way to Interstate 74. In Illinois, residents are wrestling with the highest flood stage in the history of record keeping along the Rock River.

Hundreds of people in this area are being forced to leave homes along the area rivers and seek shelter on higher ground. Fifty mobile homes in a park in Illinois have been evacuated due to the threat of a breach in a levee. Rescue workers told the residents that if they didn't leave, their homes might be swept from their moorings and their vehicles could float away.

These scenes are repeated along various rivers all across the country every year. And in a majority of cases, the displaced residents wait for the water to recede and then return to their home, clean up the mess and start again. Only a few who were interviewed on local TV said that after experiencing this several times, they were giving up and making a permanent move to higher ground.

I have to say, it would only take one time for me and I would be looking for a place far away from the river edge. I grew up in the Mississippi Valley. But we lived on a hill, well above the river bank.

I had a brief first-hand experience with river bank dwellers when I lived Independence several years ago. A good friend finally moved out her parents' home and bought her first house a few blocks away, on the banks of the Wapsipinicon River. Much like our flood this year, the Wapsi rose rapidly one evening. I still remember walking hand in hand with her to her parents' house in knee-deep flood water in the dark to check on them. Then we went to her house and along with some other friends, quickly emptied her basement before the water invaded.

I realize that the river is a wonderful place to observe wildlife, to catch fish or watch barges go up and down the main channel. If you are a lover of nature or an avid fisherman, I suppose the idea of being able to roll out of bed every morning to a different view in the river's ever-changing landscape would be a draw. But we 

lived just a short drive down a hill to good fishing along Lock and Dam 14 at LeClaire.

For many people, like my Independence friend, it is a matter of economics. Buying that first house is usually a burden and you take great pride in ownership. But I could never see the wisdom in facing the real possibility that that investment could float away each spring.

Aside from the Boston Marathon bombing and the flood news in recent days, there was another disaster in Texas that boggles the mind. A fire and explosion in a fertilizer plant near Waco claimed 14 lives, injured many others and blew apart half of a small town. There were reports that there may have been more than a half-million pounds of ammonia nitrate stored at the plant, which was within walking distance of an apartment complex, at least one school and a nursing home.

Which brings to mind several questions: Who in their right mind would allow a plant producing some of the same material used in the bombing of the Federal Building in Oklahoma City to be built so close to a populated area? If the reporst of the amount of ammonia nitrate prove to be accurate, how many state and federal agencies are to blame for allowing this to take place? Texas is a big state. Why couldn't this plant be built a few miles out of town?

In the wake of this tragedy, there were a few lighter moments for those of who have some familiarity with agriculture as we heard those big city network news types attempt to explain what anydrous ammonia is used for.

But those lighter moments were few and far between as we continued to wrestle with what otherwise was a pretty grim week on the national local news front.

Shock replaced by resolve in the wake of Boston

By Jeff Orvis

Just over 24 hours ago, we heard the awful news of the bombing along the route of the Boston Marathon. And for at least a brief time, the economy, immigration reform, gun laws and all the rest took a back seat as many Americans came together in their thoughts and prayers for the victims and the loved ones of the victims of the attack.

With approximately 27,000 runners in the race, a lot of us knew one or more of the competitors. I immediately thought of a life-long friend who spent many summer nights of his youth running around our neighborhood just for fun. More than 40 years later, he's still running and cycling and cross country skiing just for fun. He is a veteran of the most prestigious marathon this country has to offer.

I am in awe of the great times he continues to post each year. One of the first pieces of tape I saw when I learned of the attack showed an elapsed time clock at the end of the race. I immediately wondered if that would be close to the time Terry would have posted. I owe him an apology. I underestimated him. When I hadn't heard that he was safe for a couple of hours, I decided to go on to the marathon official web site. I checked for his name. Not only did he finish, he apparently finished about 30 minutes before the bombing.

Thanks to the wonders of Facebook, his friends learned later last night that he was shaken, but okay.

More thoughts came to mind as I remembered several folks from Belle Plaine who are dedicated road runners. From contacts with a friend there, I learned that one of those men had not entered this year. But another young man, a member of the Iowa State Running Club and a Belle Plaine grad, was entered in the race. He had sent word back to his family that he was also okay.

This afternoon, Ryan was interviewed by a central Iowa radio station. The interview was posted on Facebook. The other members of his party had also finished well ahead of the blasts.

As local, state and federal officials begin their investigation on who may have committed this crime, one theory is that the person responsible was attempting to cause widespread doubt and fear in the hearts and minds of Americans. How misguided can a person or group get?

First off, what I've noticed about dedicated road racers is that they have tremendous determination. While they most certainly would mourn those lost and have concern for the injured, for many of them, it would only strengthen their resolve to run faster and stronger, perhaps as a tribute to the victims.

If the perpetrators thought they had an easy target in downtown Boston, they again were sorely mistaken. Almost every news report commented on the heroic efforts of emergency personnel and volunteers as they went to the aid of the victims. Government officials were quick to go before the media. Their set jaws showed the world they would not rest until the people responsible for this were brought to justice. You just don't mess with the people of Boston or the residents of Massachusetts.

Incidents like this remind us that this country is like one huge small town. We may be a diverse populace, but harm some of us and the rest of us take it personally.

Baseball questions on an off day

By Jeff Orvis

We're a couple of weeks into the new Major League baseball season and while I try to watch at least a little bit of every televised Cubs game, I'll admit that their slow start has caused my brain to wander a bit. After all, there's only so many bases-loaded, nobody out futile innings even a diehard fan can stand.

Even though we're only in the first month of the season, we've already had one ugly brawl incident that has prompted an eight-game suspension for one of the combatants and a lengthy stint on the disabled list for a high-priced pitcher.

One of the most enduring things about baseball is tradition. I suppose ever since the first guy picked up a ball and pitched to a guy holding a stick, there has been the potential for a brawl. The pitcher hits the batter, the batter somehow knows that the pitch was on purpose and suddenly, we have 40 or 50 guys spilling out of the dugout proving just why they chose baseball instead of pro boxing as a career.

In this most recent incident, everybody on both teams, even the relief pitchers, bullpen catchers and coaches jogged to the center of the field for the melee. Generally, these things are limited to heated words, pushing and shoving and finger-pointing. Sometimes, somebody gets hurt when the dust settles. That was the case this time, when the injured party, the pitcher who was attacked, broke a collarbone. But unless there was some way to determine he was the instigator of the fight, he will still get paid during his recuperation. This guy is one of the highest paid pitchers in the game. How would you like to be the general manager trying to juggle this budget?

I suppose there's no easy answer on how to curb these childish outbursts. But this is a different era. With the amount of money in salaries being floated around these days, something has to be done.

The thought of baseball tradition and practices brought to mind some other questions I've been pondering. Maybe it's because I never quite understood the intricacies of the game, or maybe it's because I'm sometimes a stickler for otherwise meaningless detail.

Have you noticed how, in the past few years, it seems like whenever a pitched ball is thrown into the dirt, the umpire hands the catcher a new ball? I understand that you don't want a dirt spot on the ball, since it might give an advantage to the hitter. But in the old days, the ump would simply rub the dirt off the ball and keep it in play. Time was when each of the balls was rubbed up with a specific mud from the Delaware River before the game to get the shine off it. Is that still being done? I wonder how many balls are used in a game on the average?

I suspect that some of the hardest workers on a team on game days are the bat boys. You usually see at least a couple of youngsters, ages 12-16, hustling new bats out to a hitter, etc. Do these guys ever travel with the team? I suppose that most teams who are on the road use bat boys from the city they are playing in, assigned by the home team. But maybe when school is out for the summer, at least some of the home team bat boys would also get a chance to travel with the team. And in this era of six-figure minimum contracts for the players, I would hope they would remember the guys who did the dirty work for them all season and tip them generously at the end of the season.

Speaking of road trips, I wonder if players still share hotel rooms on the road, or do they each get their own room? I suppose a few of the stars get their own room, or suite. But what about the guy who has just been called up from the minors?

When that pitcher I mentioned earlier in this piece is rehabilitating and getting ready for action, one of the exercises the trainers might put him through is something called a “simulated game.” You hear it all the time. Joe Blow looked good in his simulated game today and will be back soon. Does he face simulated hitters? Does he have to go through simulated plays when opponents are on base? Does a starter have to play a longer simulated game than a short reliever?

I'll bet that many fans haven't paused to consider some of these questions. Maybe when my Cubbies start winning, I'll tend to focus on the action on the field and not attempt to find something else to think about.

In closing, maybe these baseball thoughts are especially relevant today, as we observe the 65^th anniversary of the first day that Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier and became the first African-American to play in the Major Leagues. By all accounts, it was a tough road for him for at least a few months. But there are undoubtedly thousands of pro players of minority races at the Major League and Minor League level who owe him a debt of gratitude.

Dodger team owner Branch Rickey may have been the greatest visionary the sport has ever known.