A fond farewell
by Ed Shank
I went to work at University IGA at 25th and Hillside on my 16th birthday. I couldn’t wait to start and make real money. I had pestered the owner, Mr. Goering, for a job for weeks. He was a stickler for the rules and kept insisting I wasn’t old enough. Prior to “coming of work age,” I had been limited to throwing newspapers morning and evening and to whatever lawns I could mow in the summer, not to mention the babysitting jobs on Friday and Saturday. As a sacker at the IGA store I earned $1.25 for every hour I worked, and I worked 50 hours a week stocking shelves, sorting pop bottles, and sacking groceries. The only negatives came on Friday evenings, when I missed my high school events, and Sunday afternoons, when I’d be heading to work to face shelves and my friends would be heading to an area lake. But after taxes I earned $55 a week, which allowed me to buy my first car, a 1960 Hillman Minx, for $440. My car payments were $22 a month. I paid off my loan at KSB&T 11 months early.
Approaching 62 years of age I’ve worked full time for 46 years. I figure that I’ve worked over 10,000 days. I’ve been in the advertising agency business for the past 35 years, 22 of them at Armstrong|Shank.
Life has been wonderful so far. I’m privileged to spend most of my time around two of the people I treasure most – my life partner and wife, Kim, and my work partner and friend, Susan. Both have tolerated my quirks and eccentricities. Both have indulged my excesses and fed and encouraged my creative ego; when I was a young boy taking a long look at life through an adolescent prism fraught with insecurities and embarrassments real and imagined, I would never have believed anything so dear. I’ve been loved and liked way beyond what I’ve deserved or returned in kind. I’ve also experienced the joy of the company of two better copies of me than me – my sons Sylvan and Andrew. When they were children I worried at the end of every day what I might have done to screw them up. Now that they are mature men I’m relieved to say they are an important part of the hope for the future of mankind. They are making the world a better place. They are worthy of praise.
(An important side road: Something of no small importance that I’ve learned is that if a bird flies hard into a window and its neck is not broken it can often be saved. Usually after striking the glass the bird lies stunned on the ground below. If left in that posture it typically quietly passes away. Gently placing the bird on its feet will revive it more often than not. It might take 15 to 20 minutes for the bird to regain its senses and fly away, so be patient. As I was writing this morning a goldfinch flew into my window. I set her upright on a bed of faded leaves. Following a fretful wait of about 20 minutes she flew into the welcome embrace of a frost-covered yew – the sun is shining brighter on my keyboard now.)
I’ve always lacked confidence in my creative abilities. I’ve never felt good enough for the responsibilities with which I’m entrusted. Successful people retain Armstrong|Shank at handsome fees to make their businesses even more successful. Our employees entrust me with their futures; they depend on me for direction that will secure better futures for them and their families. That confession aside, what a lucky guy; people pay me to have fun every day. The problems we’re given to solve require a talented team of professionals of diverse abilities. Every day is different. Challenges are new and usually unexpected. We get to learn about virtually everything over time. On any given day we can name a new service, write an ad for a bank, or charity or Bible, counsel a client on the best response to manage a publicity crisis, have a creative meeting to design television spots for a national golf equipment company, meet the local newspaper editor for lunch, and review plans for modifying our own Web-based marketing service … whew. Fun, huh? When my boys were small and they’d ask me what I did at work all day and I tried to give them an honest answer, they didn’t believe me. They’d look at Kim and ask if I was telling the truth. She assured them that for once I wasn’t making stuff up.
At the end of February I will walk away from my life in advertising. I will move on to other things. To be good at what I’ve spent most of my adult life doing you need an insatiable curiosity. I’ve put off “some day” for long enough. It’s finally time for my time.
Here is the future: Picture a remote Irish cottage in the Flint Hills sixty feet above the west fork of Little Fall River. There is a low dam with a veil of white water just below the house. The water is clear because it is fed by springs pouring out of the limestone rocks. Two dogs, an Irish terrier and a miniature schnauzer, awake me at 5 a.m. each morning wanting my company and, to be perfectly honest, they want out to patrol. I make strong, black coffee and sip it while frying vegetarian bacon and planning my day. Following breakfast I will spend a couple of hours in my garden of organic vegetables nestled on a gentle slope in the side yard. The tall grass of the prairie is a few yards to my east and south and the dogs flush a covey of seven quail, with the terrier leaping five feet in the air in chase. Once satisfied that the weeds in the garden are sufficiently at bay, I will hike up our lane to continue work on a dry stone wall bordering the morning side of our drive. I will be following principles perfected in Europe over many centuries. Lifting and positioning the stones for the waist-high wall is hard on my back and regrettably I’m forced to stop for a simple lunch after only a couple of hours. The chilled crappie from our pond on a bed of fresh greens, with tomato, onion, and assorted herbs from our garden is a welcome respite. The crisp pinot is a nice accompaniment. Taking my fishing rod from the corner of the garage I beckon to the dogs. While eating I’d noticed the cows feeding at the farm below. The man who built the cottage was an accomplished outdoorsman. He taught me years ago that when the cattle are feeding the wildlife is feeding. Then is when you want to fish. So we head to the pond about a hundred yards through the woods. Using an ultralight rod and four-pound test on an open spinner reel I cast a Rapala® onto the still water. As I crank the balsa lure it runs about eighteen inches beneath the surface. When I’m halfway through the retrieve I see a spotted bass race from the depths to take my bait. It hits the fake minnow hard and immediately runs for the cover of the weeds at the edge of the dam. It’s a beautiful fish of about two pounds and will make a delicious dinner. I will dispense with further details of my day other than to say it will include editing a movie on my Mac, studying birds or other fauna, hiking with the dogs, improving my cooking skills, and likely gazing through my telescope after dark.
It’s a simple life, I know, and that is the way I like it. To me, there is no place more beautiful or wonderful than the prairie and the hills. I will miss advertising. I will miss collaborating with people of supreme intellect and skill. But I don’t want to overstay my usefulness. I have hired people better than me. It is time for me to move on. It is your turn. I hope you enjoy the ride. I certainly did.