Heavy Weather or deja vu and the evolving business plan

Part Two: Hurricane Hanna

As we boarded up windows and organized the house, our thoughts we’re on the AARP Convention in Washington, D.C. The flight was due to leave on Wednesday morning, and Gustav was scheduled to arrive on Monday. If it wasn’t a direct hit, we’d likely be fine; if it was, we’d be stranded. We decided to pack for evacuation and the AARP Convention. That night, Sunday, we drove to Mobile, Alabama with another couple and rode out the storm there. We got heavy weather even though Mobile was about 150 miles from landfall (hurricane outer bands are known for generating lots of rain and tornadoes). We came back home on Tuesday afternoon. There was some fence damage and broken branches and the cable was out (that was tough). We were lucky.

I looked over my business plan that night. The trick was to find the break even point and then determine whether the theater could make more. Because of my second grade math skills, it took awhile to get the numbers right. Some days my mistakes turned the project into a huge money-maker; other days (the "no mistake days") the theater was in the red from day one. I kept working on it. First I added light meals to the equation--sandwiches and wraps. The numbers were better, but we were still losing money. Then I included beer. There’s a local brewery nearby and the margin on draft beer is good. When I was done tinkering, I had added $5.00 of profit for the 20% of our customers that would have a meal and a beer. That did the trick. After two years of losses (the second year was close to break even), the third year showed a decent PROFIT. This was good news. I felt much better as I boarded the flight to Washington, D.C. We had survived Gustav, beat back (for now) the specter of hurricanes past, and wrestled the numbers into submission. Life was good.

And there we were in the nation’s capitol staying at "The Second Best Address"--the Mayflower Hotel. My convention experience started at a breakfast meeting with Marci, who had guided us through the whole process, and the other "Dream Job" winners: Jenette, Deborah, Kathryn, Darryl, and Stephany. Deborah and her sister Mary Ann told stories as we ate breakfast and kept us laughing while we talked about the convention. Our only duties were to discuss our dream jobs at the "Water Cooler" and take part in a "Life @ 50+ panel discussion, the University Session, hosted by JC Hayward, a TV news anchor in DC. These "duties" were more fun than work, and speaking of fun, not only were we staying at a legendary, lavish hotel and being wined and dined at a top notch restaurant (Acadiana), we were also given tickets to concerts each night of the convention--talk about dream jobs. It was a "Queen/King for a few days" experience. We were given opportunities to discuss our dream jobs and make valuable contacts (Darryl Lee, a DC business consultant, contacted me at the University Session and offered to critique my business plan for free, which he did last week). We also were able to meet the people who helped and supported us and get to know the other dream job winners.

But it all went by so quickly. Before we knew it we had come to Saturday, the last day, which was to be a rest and relax and see the city day, culminating in a Paul Simon concert. However, we woke up to what was left of Hurricane Hanna, strong winds and rain, and decided to stay close to the hotel. We went swimming at the YMCA down the street and shopped at a nearby discount clothes outlet. By evening Hanna had moved north, so we headed to the Convention Center and Paul Simon, who looks like my brother and who is also an accomplished singer-songwriter. Music has played a major role in my life. My Uncle George played accordion and was the leader of a popular band in the 40’s and 50’s; my mother sang with his band for a brief time during that period (she had an old 78 record to prove it). My brother and I grew up surrounded by music: the big band crooners of my mom and other relatives, and the radical, long-haired sixties rockers we listened to. My memories tend to be tied to songs.

For example, I remember playing Paul Simon’s "American Tune" for my brother in my mom’s condo when There Goes Rhymin’ Simon came out. He lay down on the floor between the single beds, cupping headphones to his ears, while I paced in front of the sliding closet doors. When he finally surfaced, he handed me the headphones and walked out; there were tears in his eyes. This was a familiar experience for both of us. My mother cleaned the house every Saturday morning when we were growing up. But before she began cleaning and vacuuming, she’d load a six inch stack of LP’s on the spindle of our ancient hi fi--Tony Bennett, Sinatra, and her favorite, Judy Garland. There was always a moment during those Saturday mornings when she would turn off the vacuum, sit in her chair, and weep. More often than not her tears were inspired by Judy Garland’s heart-wrenching singing on Live at Carnegie Hall, usually "The Man Who Got Away" or "I Can’t Give You Anything But Love."

But there were no tears at the Paul Simon concert. Four songs in, Simon looked out at the immense crowd sitting in rows and invited them to leave their seats and dance in the aisles. And we did. My wife and I worked our way near the stage. We danced and sang along, whistled and clapped and laughed, both of us sensing this was the perfect ending to a perfect vacation. The hall was packed with white-haired hipsters, latter day "sirs" and "ma’ms," whose well-worn synapses took in the "Sounds of Silence," "The Boxer," and "Graceland," songs like road maps, evoking memories in every note. Simon’s first album came out when I was in grammar school, and his music has been with me ever since--behind the relationships, the multitudinous jobs and apartments, the "love-ins" in San Francisco, and waiting tables in New York City and New Orleans. I listen to his music as my mom listened to Judy Garland, for the memories and emotions and to find a still and lasting place amid the din.

That night after the concert, my wife and I packed our suitcases in our room at the Mayflower. The TV news was on, the sound off, we felt overloaded and spent, but also fortunate and grateful. As I zipped up my luggage, my wife called out and pointed to the TV. There was a new storm in the Gulf of Mexico, Hurricane Ike, and it was heading for our town.