Document Management

When I was in 7th grade, I studied math with the 8th graders at Valley View Junior High in District 66 in The O.  Yes, I was a mathematically-advanced young man.   (I balanced that out with a healthy fear of girls.)

Teacher Dave Thronson (Mr. Thronson to you) sat me in the back row between Tyler Schropp and Jason Wills to break them up; they cut up too much for Mr. Thronson’s liking.  One Friday we had a sub, and Mr. Wills made me take his seat so he and Mr. Schropp could jack around.  The following Monday, Mr. Thronson caught me at the door, and this exchange ensued:

Mr. Thronson (in stern voice):  Dan, what kind of problems did we have on Friday?

Young Dan (in happy-to-help voice):  Math problems, Mr. Thronson?  Well, we worked on …

Mr. Thronson (in very stern voice):  YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!  THE SUBSTITUTE TEACHER SAID DAN ALLEN AND TYLER SCROPP WERE DISRUPTIVE THE ENTIRE PERIOD!

Young Dan quickly calculated whether not getting detention was worth a meeting with Mr. Wills’s fists.  Silencio was the decision.  Just gonna gut this one out.

Mr. Thronson looked me in the eye and calculated a bit, too.

WILLS!!  GET OUT HERE!  ALLEN!  GET IN THERE!

 

That same school year, I was sitting in my Dad’s easy chair one Friday night watching “The Dukes of Hazzard”–as I did each Friday night at 8.  (Recall the girlophobia.)  My brother Bill and his 9th grade buddies were in the basement planning their evenings.  (They were girlophiles.)  Our parents were out on the town.

Suddenly, I heard “Fire!  Fire!” followed by a massive explosion that rattled the living room windows.  I ran downstairs to find smoke pouring up the stairs.  Back upstairs to get the fire extinguisher and medical kit.  Back down.  Smoke had cleared enough to see 4 or 5 guys face down with heads covered foxhole-style.  They appeared graveyard-dead.

DA:  Are you guys making bombs?

BA:  No, Captain Obvious, we’re knitting afghans.  Of course we’re making bombs, you idiot!

One guy had poured  a bunch of gunpower into a piece of foil (think a giant Hershey’s Kiss made with explosives, not chocolate).  After topping it with a fuse, he was sealing it–WITH A BURNING CANDLE.

Moron accidentally (we think) lit the

and, instead of just pulling out the fuse, screamed “Fire! Fire!” and bailed into the next room.  All others followed suit.

Gladly, no one was hurt.  Except a bunch of tax returns my Dad prepared for clients.  Great.   Now what?

Bill’s master cover-up plan included Dad’s copy machine, a box window fan, and 3000 gallons of Lysol.  Mom and  Dad came home late, and we awaited the fate that would arrive big time on Saturday morning.  I did not sleep well, and I was a sleeper.

We told them that story when we were in our 20’s.  Bill’s master cover-up plan worked.  They were clueless.  Nice.

 

Now something useful.  People frequently ask me about document management.  Here’s a good source that briefly covers a few bases.  Thanks to my friends at Lutz & Company for the info.  The final sentence is very important.

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11 Comments on “Document Management”

  1. Bob Moragues says:

    The booming voice of Mr. Thronson… Remember it well.

    He started my career in Computer Engineering that summer.

    In terms of the bomb, this same scene happened at my (previous) childhood home after we left that neighborhood and moved to 105th.

    The perps were not as lucky in their caper.

  2. SAR says:

    My 7th grade advanced math/algebra teacher in Oak Harbor, WA (Mr. Fakkema) hated me ever since I drew a caricature of him akin to a Gary Larson cartoon with the title “Chicken Lips Fakkema.” Anyhoo, we did a pretty complex hands-on exercise where 1” x 1” ceramic tiles were to be 1/16 units of measure (due to the imperial system of measurements). We have all these tiles scattered over the common table and for some reason, I take a tile and smash it on the floor. Ol’ Chicken Lips scurries over and says, “Robinson! What is this?” [as he picks up a small shard of tile] To which I coolly say, “That is 1/64th, sir.”

    Back to the Principal I went…

    Unrelated story – I took four years of Spanish in high school at Papio. I was ‘deported’ to the French class my Senior year for close to a week due to the fact I was deemed disruptive by Mrs. Cortez. Hardly the case, I was in a ‘target rich’ environment…there were only four guys out of a class of 26! It was hard to not be disruptive when each day we had to ‘converse’ with a different partner. Each day I would inquire if that particular girl (if she had her own car – and most girls did) would give me a lift home after school. It worked 80% of the time, 50% of the time.

  3. The DA Blog says:

    Please educate us about “80% of the time, 50% of the time”. Explain, son.

  4. SAR says:

    “They’ve done studies, you know. 60% of the time, it works every time.” [cheesy grin]

  5. Roger Sahs says:

    Once again I plead the fifth amendment when comparing notes about high school antics…as I believe the statute of limitations has still not run out since my personal record of events 1974-78.

    • The DA Blog says:

      Like the 4th of July story you told me some time ago (when you were 16)?

      • Roger Sahs says:

        Ah yes…a dude (on probation at the time for MIP who shall go nameless as he’s probably still making small rocks out of big rocks) buys us mass quantities of beer for we minors and we proceed to almost blow up 1/2 the farmstead and have some fried chicken to boot by shooting pop bottle rockets and roman candles from nearby the fuel tanks into the chicken house.
        Oh….Did my head hurt the next morning. Your Grandma Erna sensed that I had too much jocularity the previous evening so fixed a heapin’ breakfast full of greasy bacon and eggs and to top it off, wash ‘er down with whole milk (milk that poured out like 10w-40 on a zero degree morning) She says, “C’mon, suck it up and move it, move, move it! You’ve got 500 bales of hay to throw into the barn today!”
        I wish I had committed harakiri at that moment…

      • The DA Blog says:

        Sweat it out, son. Sweat it out. I seem to recall you saying that you passed out on the hay bales 3x but felt like a million bucks after an hour passed.

        Good times …

      • Roger Sahs says:

        Yea, Grandpa Sahs told me to sweat it out and I did manage to survive, although I was close to EKG straightline for which seemed an eternity. By 10:30 am, I felt reborn…a new man…ready for another evening of excess jocularity.

  6. […] was fairly advanced in my math education.  Revisit the topic here if you wish.  Yup, I’m a […]


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