Alan C. Fox

Now that my pogo stick resides in the trunk of my car and the memory of it dwells in the file folder of my mind, I feel a bit at loose ends.  What will I write about this week?

Last night I lay in bed musing and just as I fell asleep it came to me.  A question.  Do you have B.O.?

No, I’m not talking about body odor.  Do you have Boundless Optimism?

I founded my company, ACF Property Management, Inc. on March 1, 1968. We will celebrate our fiftieth anniversary this coming Thursday, March 1, 2018.  It’s been a wild ride.

We’ve survived three major recessions. Those were difficult times when tenants were pleading for rent reductions every single day, and investors were distressed because their monthly cash distribution checks were severely reduced.  Our properties have survived earthquakes, hurricanes, and floods. As of tomorrow morning, we will have met 1,200 consecutive payrolls.

In short, we have thrived through good times and bad while facing many challenges.  I used to complain about the challenges to my father, who will be 104 years old in July. Every time he said to me, “Alan, if your business didn’t have problems then they wouldn’t need you.”  It took me years to hear Dad’s message and stop whining to him.  While he did not appear to be sympathetic, he was quite helpful.

Every single time a problem arose – the need for an expensive new roof, the bankruptcy of a major tenant, the departure of a valued employee – I always said to myself, “I can solve this.”  Often I didn’t know exactly how I would solve the problem, but I was always sure I could.  My mindset has always been one of Boundless Optimism.

I believe it was Samuel Johnson who wrote years ago, “A man’s second marriage represents the triumph of hope over experience.”   How about a fourth marriage last year when I was 76?  My optimism remains boundless, and the result has been spectacular.

I know that there are times when each of us can feel hopeless, beset by excessive worry. As Shakespeare writes in Hamlet, “There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

I wish you many happy thoughts today, together with an endless supply of B. O.

Alan

P.S.  A video of my short-lived pogo stick escapade is below:

It seemed like a great idea: get some exercise by jumping on a pogo stick. But it expanded into a series of blogs in which I’ve tried to explain why I have not yet bounced to the moon on my professional-style pogo stick. Last week I promised this week would be the do or die. (Poor choice of words, perhaps.)

I will now answer the question that all of you are asking. Did I actually bounce on my pogo stick?

My answer is a hearty YES. And a feeble NOT REALLY. To paraphrase President Bill Clinton, “That depends on what the word ‘bounce’ means.”

First a bit of flavor.

During the week an attorney friend of mine spied my pogo stick in the trunk of my car. He asked why it was there and I told him.

“Don’t do it,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “Now I can say I refused to bounce to the moon, upon advice of counsel.”

Yesterday Sprite and I visited our friend Ed in Tucson.

“I follow your blog,” he said, “so I drove to Costco and bought some bubble wrap for you. It might save your life.”

Sure enough, he gave me a large green roll of the stuff. The bubble wrap seemed like a great idea. Take a close look at the photo. That’s me on my white pogo stick, with green bubble wrap taped around my torso. I loved the crackle when I popped some of the bubbles.

I thought that grass would be a safer surface than concrete on which to fall, so after celebrating our first wedding anniversary at breakfast, Sprite and I drove to a local park. There were no strong young men around to hold me steady while I mounted the darn thing, so I found a tree. An older man getting out of his car stopped to watch. He waved and said, “Good luck.”

With my left hand I seized the pogo stick and with my right hand I clutched the tree. Then I climbed aboard and slowly began to bounce. Yes, my life has always been full of ups and downs.

YES, I was bouncing. But NOT REALLY. The pogo stick never actually left the ground because, well, it didn’t seem like a good idea.

Whew! I feel like I dodged a bullet here. Would anyone like a very slightly used pogo stick? It’s in the trunk of my car.

As we were driving home, Sprite mumbled to me under her breath, “Glad that’s over. Now maybe you’ll be around for our second wedding anniversary.”

I refrained from revealing to her my next hobby – elephant jumping.

Alan

P.S. By next week I plan to give you the link for the video of my 28 second pogo stick ride.

P.P.S. I’m not planning to go into detail on elephant jumping, because I don’t know if the elephant is supposed to jump over me, or I’m supposed to jump over the elephant, or the elephant is supposed to jump with me on top. But leaving that aside, even a small elephant won’t fit in the trunk of my car.

Since I suffer from the terminal condition of being a man, the best I can give you is my personal answer to this question, entirely from a male perspective.  I believe, however, that most women would reach a similar conclusion.

Who will say the words “I love you” first in a relationship?  I thought about this a lot when I was a teenager, and my answer then, as now, is simple.  I am willing to say it first, and, in so doing, I am willing to risk the possibility of rejection.

This is true even though I am very sensitive to rejection. I tend to take any rejection, real or imaginary, personal or impersonal, as a direct rejection of me. I have even felt rejected because I was unable to make an online reservation at a restaurant.

But “I love you” is as personal as it gets and my emotional risk is far greater than it is with a restaurant.  I can easily dine somewhere else.  So why is it I am willing to take the leap in love despite the much higher emotional risk?

When I was single and in my thirties I had one date with Sheila.  I thought our date went poorly and was not planning to ask her out again.  A few days later I received a note that said, “Alan, I had a wonderful time, and I’d like to spend more time with you.  I’m giving a dinner party on Friday, and if you’re as interested in me as I am in you please be at my apartment at six pm.  If not, please do not reply to my note and do not show up.  I love you, Sheila”

I was surprised, but appreciated her honesty.  I didn’t show up, but as I think about this experience more than forty years later I still have a mental picture of Sheila preparing dinner, having other guests arrive, then waiting for me.  When did she realize I wasn’t coming?  Did she cry that night?  I don’t know. We each deal with rejection in our own way.

Sheila went first.  I applaud her for that.  And Sheila did exactly what I decided to do when I was in my late teens – say “I love you” first.  I have never said this a day or two after a first meeting, and I have not always received the hoped for “I love you too” in response.  But I think it would be a shame if my fear controlled me, and a promising relationship failed to blossom simply because neither of us was willing to take an emotional risk and say “I love you.”  Someone has to go first.

In the play The Rainmaker there is a scene in which the deputy sheriff, who is single and lonely, breaks my heart.  He says, “When my wife was leaving me, I knew she would stay if I just said, “Please stay.  I love you.  And I need you.  But my pride got in the way.  If I had it to do over I would ask her to stay.”

I suggest that we always be willing to go first, even if we’ve been married for fifty years.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Love,

Alan

P.S.  My pogo stick has migrated to the trunk of my car.  This week I promise to mount the monster and take a wild ride.  Video next week.