My two years with Uncle Sam was over, and I stepped happily back into my life in Madison Park. Up until that time, I had not taken kindly to orders and would rather have turned any criticism into humor.
In the early '70s, while working for a conservative engineering firm downtown, my superior asked me to join him in the conference room to discuss a difference of opinion I had had with a project manager. After reprimanding me, he paused and said, "Let's get lunch."
Over a turkey sandwich and martinis, he gave me his advice. I sat silently listening to his olive-induced wisdom. As he chewed on the green fruit, he asked, "How do you think I treat people?"
For him to turn this criticism of me into a heartfelt query was a complete turnaround. Showing respect, giving him credit, talking with him (not to him) and sharing our thoughts made it possible to decode his behavior.
MAKING A CHANGE
I had learned this form of communication from the beatniks of Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco while I was on leave from Fort Ord. Discussions of Eastern philosophy and political beliefs from socialism to libertarianism took place in coffee houses all around the area.
Signs of the beatnik culture began to appear everywhere. In our area, the Helix Underground newspaper was developed from discussions at the Free University of Seattle, an alternative college in the University District that spoke for the far-left.
I was forced to divide my lifestyle between joining the suits during the week and transforming myself into a nonconformist on weekends.
That all began to change when I decided to make a costume change: I grew a beard. What was mostly a crop failure on the top of my head grew thick and full on my face.
I was proud of my new look, but the company managers thumbed through the employee handbook, trying to find anything specific about beards. All they came up with was personnel had to have a neat appearance, so I trimmed my newfound identity and squared off the beard.
Soon, other beards appeared in the work place. Comments from the higher-ups were becoming more frequent, and we wondered when a bulletin might come out.
A dignitary from the L.A. corporate office stopped by, and as we took our seats in the conference room, we were very surprised to see a casual well-dressed, bearded gentleman walk in. This was the answer to the so-called problem.
While some firms allowed complete casualness, ours began to observe only casual Fridays.
Demonstrations were becoming the norm. One Friday, I left work early for a "dental appointment."
Others left early that day, too; and while it was acceptable to do so, as we did work some Saturdays, the art director asked one employee why he was leaving early. He replied, "To join Dick in the demonstration."
This was too blatant; hence, on Monday morning, management told us we were to inform them in advance when time off was needed. The problem was, marches were oftentimes spontaneous.
LEARNING FROM EACH OTHER
One Saturday, a few friends from Madison Park and I made a day out of buying food at Pike Place Market for a dinner party at my house. It was so successful that what started out to be a one-time weekend dinner party turned into a ritual.
On many future occasions, one merely had to stop off at Bert's IGA, purchase a delectable item and add it to what would eventually be a humongous feast in my front yard.
Lifting the big coffee table to the lawn and surrounding it with blankets and candles, we had ourselves many gourmet repasts.
Passers-by would ask what the celebration was for. After much cheering and laughter we invited the curious to join us.
So began a custom in the '70s in Madison Park. Deep discussions unfolded as layers of armor peeled away and toasts to our friendships and to life were made.
We lifelong friends continue to learn from each other. We are proud to have the freedom to have our own thoughts and make our own decisions.
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