Category Archives: Characters

SECRETS DARK AND OLD

by John Jonelis

“I still say da guy deserves what he got. He ran down dat poor animal on purpose! Hates squirrels. Says so in da papers.” So proclaims Loop Lonagan regarding Alderman Brookins of Chicago’s 21st Ward.

“Is not true! Right here in Chicago Tribune, it read—how you say—kamikaze squirrel.” Donatis Ludditis thumps a stout digit on a newspaper headline and continues in his broken English. “Creature attack alderman. Throw itself into wheel of bicycle in suicide attack! Here is proof, see?” He points to a photograph—a photograph that Brookins took himself. It shows the murdered animal lodged in the spokes of his ruined bicycle. “Newspapers in whole country print story.” says Ludditis. “Not one say alderman cruel to animals! Not one time!”

Photo by Alderman Brookins

Lonagan clutches his brow for a long moment. “So yer tellin’ me dat ever’body believes dis guy’s story?”

The Brookins story has re-surfaced in news outlets because the man is up and taking nourishment after recovering from major injuries. At the time of the accident, he was credited with some rather peculiar remarks. Apparently, because of his vigorous opposition to the eastern gray squirrel and his call for the extermination of the species, the local underworld of tree dwelling rodents staged a coordinated and premeditated suicide attack against their arch nemesis. Now he’s on his soap box, again garnering support for his cause. It makes me wonder if this guy read too many comic books in law school.

Lonagan abruptly pounds a fist against my desk. After an involuntary flinch, I roll back my chair to examine the man from a somewhat safer distance. “Okay, lemme tell you a story ‘o my own,” he says. “One fine day, I run down some neighborhood kid—on purpose—’n’ he gets stuck behind da front wheel o’ my Cadillac er Lexus, er whatever politicians drive deeze days. So whaddaya think I do?  I climb outa da driver’s seat and snap a pic o’ da corpse ‘n’ post it online. Den I say, da kid launched hisself at my car’s front wheel in an effort t’ kill me, ‘cause I been crakin’ down on neighborhood gangs.”

“I object! Loop, that’s just awful.” But I’m too late to squelch the horrid image.

Lonagan raises both arms, palms open. “See? You’se is never gonna get anybody t’ buy a story like dat. What makes dis squirrel any different?”

“I not know,” says Ludditis. “Back in old country, if you damage party member limosine, you pay! No matter how it happen. Is politics!”

Howard Brookins speaks to the medea – Nancy Stone, Chicago Tribune

During this exchange, Jim Kren’s face—never a pleasant sight—screws up tighter and tighter in what I always take as a combination of anger and spite. I’ve been watching him and waiting for an explosion. It begins with a slow leak. “You two judicial giants know nothing whatsoever of the true ramifications of this matter,” he says. “I can tell you a thing or two about the eastern bloc squirrel. Some of it will curl your hair. People know they are astoundingly cunning rodents, but there is more—much more!”

Kren looks to be on a roll. “This eastern bloc squirrel represents the most monstrous and pernicious plot against humanity since the fluoridation of water! We face a much larger threat than that posed by the proliferation of common vermin. These squirrels are more capable than rats and possess a much higher intelligence!” Kren gets increasingly loud and shrill. “Eastern bloc squirrels look out for their kind and know who is persecuting them! If you thwart their plans, they figure a way to take care of the problem! Nothing can stop them from getting what they want!”

Lonagan takes a seat, shaking his head in hopeless abandon. I’ve heard Kren utter such a sentiment before, but never an inkling of this political angle. The man bears watching.

Greedy Guts the Squirrel

“Agents of sedition started smuggling these iconoclasts to our shores decades back!” shrieks Kren. “And they now represent the dominant species! Think of it! Squirrels in your own back yard—the place where your children play! Your children! Talk about infiltration! And they remain there all night, listening to your every word! They meet in secret, pass on intelligence, and formulate plans!”

“So,” says Lonagan with a smirk. “How d’ya figure they listen in on City Hall?”

Kren doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t be so naive, MISTER Lonagan! In an era of central heating, do you actually believe they cannot gain easy access to any building they choose through the HVAC system? Certainly, gentlemen, it is child’s play for the eastern bloc squirrel to monitor a city council meeting and plan a counter-attack! I could show you one of their secret websites! It disseminates information about these scheming rodents to their craven human allies! It’s written in a code—a code colloquially known as poetry—a cryptic language few speak any more. Let me show you an excerpt.”

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There are secrets dark and old

Things that make the blood run cold

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Facts that twist the human brain

And plunge the mind into pain

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Knowledge that is from long ago

That man was not meant to know

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But the squirrels know

Don’t have a problem with it

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.See video performance by Bob Badpoet

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“Gentlemen, what to you say to that?!!!” Krens interogatory smacks of satisfaction—like he’s busting out with a SO THERE! “If you truly want to gain an inside knowledge of the malicious nature of these animals, here is this!”

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.I am the rodent of your discontent

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From the bushes I listen as you vent

I know what you said and what you meant

For I am the rodent of your discontent

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For my services I charge no rent

I encourage every argument

Behold the rodent of your discontent

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What I do earns me not a cent

But your anger has a sweet scent

Savored by the rodent of your discontent

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Gnawing on your house until my strength is spent

Just to add to your torment

Despair of the rodent of your discontent

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I would follow no matter where you went

So that new troubles I could invent

Fear the rodent of your discontent

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See video perfomance by Bob Badpoet

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Kren leans forward and speaks in a more secretive tone. “Most do not know that these eastern bloc squirrels plotted world dominance long before the era of modern totalitarianism. Men are putty in their paws! Have any of you read the squirrel manifesto? No? It is the most outrageous collection of hate and bile uttered by any animal since the beginning of time! I keep an excerpt with me—it is written in the same foul poetic code.”.

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I come seeking nuts and seeds

To get them I do dark deeds

Fear the squirrel

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I take what I want in food

Even if it hurts your mood

Fear the squirrel

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I sneak into your house at night

At your groceries I bite

Fear the squirrel

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Many wonder how I know

Where it is your food you stow

Fear the squirrel

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Such knowledge is not hard

After all I live in your yard

Fear the squirrel

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I know secrets lost and deep

I gather them while you sleep

Fear the squirrel

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I whisper dark knowledge in your ear

Tell you what you don’t want to hear

Fear the squirrel

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Madness stalks the dreams of man

It is all part of the plan

Fear the squirrel

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Or you could leave out some sunflower seeds

Up to you

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See video performance by Bob Badpoet

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Lonagan opens his eyes wide and his nose almost touches Kren’s. “So I take it you’se is sidin’ with da Alderman?”

“Yes!” says Kren, squaring his shoulders and pushing back. “I take the good Alderman’s side on this issue—and not without reason! I know!  The eastern bloc squirrel is alien to everything we stand for! I can no longer permit alien infiltration, alien sedition, and the international eastern bloc conspiracy to sap and impurify our entire way of life!”

Time for me to pull rank. “Gentlemen,” I say. “Let us repair to the front room for some refreshment. I have another matter to discuss.”

The front room of our magazine offices is Ludditis’ bar.

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Go to Part 1 – TAKING ONE FOR THE TEAM

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Source Material & Links

Kamikaze Squirrel Gets Revenge on Ald. Brookins

Chicago Tribune

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Alderman, victimized by squirrel, still fighting trash-seeking furry rodents

Chicago Tribune

 

Bob’s Bad Poetry

You Tube

Bob Badpoet

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This magazine fully endorses Bob Badpoet but the remarks by Kren, Lonagan, and Ludditis do not necessarily express the opinions of the editor or this magazine.

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Graphics and Other Credits

Poetry by Bob Badpoet

Dead squirrel photo by Ald. Howard Brookins

Photograph of Howard Brookins by Nancy Stone, Chicago Tribune

Bob Badpoet graphic by Jennifer Jonelis

Wildlife photography and Tavern graphic by John Jonelis

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Chicago Venture Magazine is a publication of Nathaniel Press www.ChicagoVentureMagazine.com Comments and re-posts in full or in part are welcomed and encouraged if accompanied by attribution and a web link. This is not investment advice. We do not guarantee accuracy. Please perform your own due diligence. It’s not our fault if you lose money.
.Copyright © 2017 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved
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Filed under Characters, chicago, city, Conflict, Innovation and Culture, Jim Kren, loop lonagan, public servants, the chicago machine, The City, the great outdoors, the machine, Whack jobs

THE JOB INTERVIEW WITH WILLIAM SHAKES

by Mark T Wayne

We’re here to interview some reprobate named William Shakes for the job of special correspondent. I do not know why I’m a part of this. No sir! Perhaps it’s the strange nature of the recruit. Perhaps it’s because Jonelis recommended this particular…person, and does not entirely trust the judgement of Jim Kren, his assistant editor. (Shakes bears an uncanny resemblance and must be related in some way—maybe) Perhaps it’s because that execrable Lonagan creature is the only other help Kren could muster. But we need more writers, so here I am, eager and helpful as always, ready to lend any assistance within my power.

Mark T Wayne

Kren consults a wrinkled scrap of paper. I believe he’s reading questions from a list. “So, uh…your name is William Shakes. Is that right? Tell me about yourself.”

What kind of softball question is Kren pitching? There sits Shakes in frilly regalia, looking like something out of an Elizabethan play. He probably came here straight from an all-night costume party, roaring drunk, and Kren asks a fool question like that. Wait, I believe the man is transparent enough to respond to such utter inanity.

  • “What’s in a name?” he says with dignity. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. We are such stuff as dreams are made on. But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.” Spoken fluently and with aplomb! And in a well-modulated voice!
  • Loop Lonagan looks at the man slack jawed. After a moment I hear him whispering to Kren. “What didee say?” Kren fiddles with his paper and mutters to Lonagan, “Idiot! I was gonna ask you that!”
  • My value to the proceedings is now clear. Not to mention that I recognize the true and somewhat illustrious identity of this candidate. “Gentlemen, Mr. Shakes expresses the sentiment that his name and his fame do not matter; that he brings to the table a strong imagination and boundless creativity. He’s proud of his accomplishments and liable to brawl with anyone that displays the audacity to criticize his work. (Also, gentlemen, notice that the man carries a sword.)”

“Why,” Kren asks testily, “didn’t he just come out and say what he meant?”

I express the opinion that’s precisely what he did.

Lonagan shrugs and grins at his boss. “Ain’t got no problem with it.”

William Shakes

Kren reads the next question:

  • “What is your greatest accomplishment?”
  • Shakes sits there in that hot scratchy outfit, seeming at ease. “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them,” He says. “The play’s the thing. Thirty Seven there be, wherein I catch the conscience of the king and posterity.” The man runs off these lines without breaking sweat.
  • More muttering and both Kren and Lonagan turn to me. I clear my throat. “He’s considered the supreme writer in the English language and highly respected throughout the known world. Among other things, he produced 37 highly prized major works of written material that have captured the attention of world leaders.” (Privately, I take violent exception to the widely-held belief regarding his supremacy as a writer.  Such accolade is more aptly applied to myself. But I refuse to squabble.  Honour is at stake. Yes sir! I will do nothing to lampoon this interview!)

A brief dumbfounded silence. Then the barely vocalized sounds of approval indicate that these two examples of lower life are suitably impressed by the response. I warm to the task! Kren scans his page of questions.

  • “What major problem have you had to deal with recently?”
  • Shakes: “A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool. It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves. We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”
  • I immediately translate: “He says he’s learning not to underrate himself. As a result, he never shirks a task, even if he feels inadequate. Because of that, he’s consistently surprised by hidden talents.”

Lonagan finally gets up the nerve to ask a question himself:

  • “Are you one o’ deeze team players?”
  • Shakes: “Prithee, it be thus. Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”
  • Me: “Ditto that.”

Loop’s dog Clamps. No known photograph of Lonagan exists, but they look a lot alike.

Lonagan again:

  • “What’s yer biggest weakness?”
  • Shakes: “If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?”
  • They both sit there stunned, so I venture another paraphrase: “He says he’s only human, subject to the same vices of body and character as you two.”

Kren throws up his hands, then with an obvious effort, composes himself, and manages to appear grave and somewhat skeptical. Then he plods on.

  • “How do you think you can add value to our magazine?”
  • Shakes: “There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our venture.”
  • Lonagan: “What didee say dat time?”
  • I happily translate: “He says the magazine could go on the rocks due to poor staff and lousy management. But we’re at a critical stage right now and must take full advantage of it while the opportunity is ripe.”

That last answer emits a bit of grumbling between the two louts. Those fellows have no idea who they’re dealing with. Lonagan asks what I can only assume expresses the issue that bears most tenderly on his feeble mind:

  • “How much money d’ya want fer dis gig?”
  • Shakes: “While I am a beggar, I will rail and say there is no sin but to be rich; and being rich, my virtue then shall be to say there is no vice but beggary. If money go before, all ways do lie open, but the comfort is, you shall fear no more tavern-bills.”
  • I immediately insinuate myself: “He says he doesn’t come cheap, but he never pads the expense account.”

Kren utters a deep sigh and hits him with what I am sure is his final payoff question:

  • “Why should I hire you?”
  • “Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.”
  • I try not to bust out laughing. “He says, don’t be a ninny.”

Kren and Lonagan stare at each other. Face it—they botched the interview. There is nothing remaining to discuss. No sir! Jonelis wanted this relic on staff. These goons found no reason to reject the man.

Kren shrugs. “Show up tomorrow for work. Eight o’clock sharp.”

Shakes gives a bow and a flourish. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

As William Shakes nobly marches out, I can barely contain my mirth.  But tomorrow, the man will stand on the sidewalk for hours.  Our office rents space in the back room of a fine establishment and Ludditis doesn’t open the bar till the potato pancake connoisseurs crowd in for lunch.  Kren’s revenge.

 

Read the first in this series – TO BE OR NOT TO BE HACKED.

Image Credits – John Jonelis, Public Domain
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Chicago Venture Magazine is a publication of Nathaniel Press www.ChicagoVentureMagazine.com Comments and re-posts in full or in part are welcomed and encouraged if accompanied by attribution and a web link. This is not investment advice. We do not guarantee accuracy. Please perform your own due diligence. It’s not our fault if you lose money.
.Copyright © 2017 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved
.
.

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Filed under angel, angel capital, angel investor, Big Corporations, Characters, Chicago Startup, Chicago Venture Magazine, Chicago Ventures, Entrepreneur, Entrepreneurship, Jim Kren, loop lonagan, Mark T Wayne, Startup, startup company

TO BE OR NOT TO BE HACKED?

by William Shakespeare,

alias Moises J. Goldman and John Jonelis

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Hamlet—To be or not to be hacked? That is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of phishes, gouged by creatures who boast no scruple, nor affect any purpose higher than foul destruction—and by opposing, end them?

[Editor’s translation—Hackers are a bummer. This is war.]

 

William “Moises” Shakespeare

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Or may say ‘tis wiser to remain in dungeons rank and old—to sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub. For in that sleep, what dreams may come? The internet makes cowards of us all.

[Editor’s translation—Should I upgrade the robustness of my internal infrastructure and firewalls?]

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Horatio—But soft, me lord, to think upon the many turns a kindom make.

Betwixt two means shall we choose to take.

[Editor’s translation—There are two good options.]

 

Hamlet—Ay, the dilemma. To guard an angry pack of dogs that tear and rent and hack away till strength and blood be spent—or flee? How wouldst thou fight, Horatio? I would not hear your enemy say you could do it. Nor shall you do my ear that violence.

[Translation—Don’t feed me a pack of lies. If we encrypt all sensitive data and cyber-secure our network we still can’t achieve fail-safe.]

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Horatio—Hear me lord; I make my case:

Should bits and bytes habitate high Cloud

A kingdom’s gold to free?

No arms, no knights, no castle wall to tug a purse’s string so proud!

‘Stead exult in markets, foul of hogs and sheep and goat?

Entice the sorcerer to play in darker art, in unknown moat?

To raise a legion—conquer lands anew beyond the sea?

And so extend a kingdom’s reach?

[Option #1: The Cloud is cheap.  Save your money for marketing, R&D, and expansion.]

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Hamlet —Methinks this boy hath soundly grounded thought. He makes PaaS-ing SaaS at learning dearly bought. It takes no brain to buy his train of thought.

[Seems like a no brainer. The Cloud.  Platform as a Service—Software as a Service. Let’s do it!]

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Horatio —But soft, me lord, I fear foul play!

This Cloud by wild winds be cast astray.

It boasts no force to hole such gauze with tumult and in fray,

And by doing so, steal treasury of intellect away.

‘Tis best, to build yon castle walls of stouter stuff, some say.

Keep bytes and treasure close and spend on fodder and on hay.

[Option #2: The Cloud is way too vulnerable to attack. Update your in-house network.]

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Hamlet —Wouldst thou squeeze gold from a lark? Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. But harken thee—where may best advantage be? What odds see ye?

[That equipment’s really expensive! What’s the probability of getting hacked either way?]

Horatio —Sorcerers be that wouldst draw

Straight crook from snarled oaken saw.

[Mathematicians use probability trees.].

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Hamlet —O cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right! 

[I hate math!]

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Horatio —Of haste take not. Outcomes be but three.

Take heed of which I shew to thee.

[No big deal. There are only three probable outcomes.]

Hamlet—Hold, varlet! A fourth ye lacked—that one repent and not be hacked.

[Hamlet has noticed a missing variable: An enterprise upgrades internal systems and yet escapes hacking.]

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Horatio—‘Tis true M’lord, yet is it moot?

Foes be met; nought ground ‘neath heel o’ boot.

Complication wears poorly on thee.

There be no guarantee.

This outcome we call 1-P3…….(1)

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Hamlet—Ha! There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

[Maybe I’m not as dumb as I look.]

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Horatio —‘Tis sooth, my liege—I seek not to deceive.

Perchance I draft a map—deeper knowledge ye may tap.

Yon magic shall appease;

Thy grace’s ire set at ease.

[I’ll make it simple, so even you can see. Take a look at this probability tree.]

 

M’lord do you see?

If systems new and hacking lacking,

Probability is simply 1-P3.

[The probability of an internal network not getting hacked.]

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Hamlet—What make I of this wonder? To ask a fool is to blunder.

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Horatio—Magic formula ye seek, to make right your decision?

Fortunately, Shakespeare knows it with precision.

[Be cool. I got this.]

Look here, dear Ham, and spy yon enterprise,

Floating on the Cloud ’tis wise.

Not to hack or nick sharp blade.

We dig our likelihood with spade.

‘Tis thus: P1+(1-P1)(1-P2)=1-P2(1-(1-P1)………(2)

[The probability of not getting hacked on the Cloud.]

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Hamlet [Aside] Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go. A screw is loose. He rhymes like Dr. Seuss.

[Horatio’s gone bonkers.]

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Horatio —But hark—magicians work dark secrets in a day

That mortal man can plumb no other way.

I spell it in a cypher so you see

The final answer to this mystery.

[Here dummy, I’ll spell it out for you.]

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Hamlet—Indeed, this must I see.

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Horatio—Floating on a Cloud,

Yon enterprise two chances escape plunder,

To hide from doom, not hacked asunder.

The Cloud foul Russian must attack rapaciously

Before cursed knife shall reach its mark with certainty.

[If your enterprise is on the Cloud, hacking is a two-stage process. The Cloud may get hacked. But even then, your enterprise may escape damage.]

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To ride the Cloud in skies of blue, equation (1) must be less than (2).

Hence:  1-P3<1-P2(1-P1)…….(3)

We boil down that poison thus, and there we gain the clue.

If fates would their due, we sing this song,

Our enterprise will float along.

And thus:  P3>P2(1-P1)

 [This is the absolute condition for an enterprise to go to the Cloud.]

 

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Hamlet—Dost thou think me easier play’d on than a pipe? For ‘tis sport to have the enginer hoist with his own petard, an’t shall go hard.

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Horatio—M’lord salves the ego with a threat.

Is this the way your friends are met?

But hear me, sire, ‘tis plain to do.

I will write it out for you.

Be ye not a foe to the way the numbers go.

Ye shall recall the probability of hacking free be 1-P3.

If wise man, on gauzy Cloud his merit bent,

To the tune of 80%,

The numbers shew:  1-P2(0.2)

[Here ya go, Mr. Bigshot CIO—if the probability of not getting hacked on the Cloud—P1—is 80%, then 1-P2(1-0.8) hence 1-P2(0.2)]

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Hamlet—Still it be Greek to me.

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Horatio —Here, my lord, I will unravel

The way that ye must travel,

To the ending of thy quest.

Be in knowledge, not in jest.

[Gotcha!]

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Hamlet—Get it over before I die.

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Horatio —Here’s an end so ye may rest

Like bones inside a chest.

If P3>(0.2)P2 be true,

To the Cloud get ye hence,

Else makest equipment new

And play yon cards close to thy vest.

[This is how the CIO makes the decision.]

Hamlet[Aside] This be a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He rhymes obtuse like Mother Goose. Yet I shall the effect of this good lesson keep as watchman to my heart.

[Translation—Good! Let’s get some pizza.]

[Curtain]

[DOWNLOAD ARTICLE IN PDF FORMAT]

.Read the sequel – [THE JOB INTERVIEW WITH WILLIAM SHAKES]

NOTE – This example follows similar logic and Decision by Professor J. Sussman used in his lecture to the Engineering Systems Division entitled, DID BELICHICK MAKE THE RIGHT CALL?

[READ BELICHICK PART 1 – PDF]

[READ BELICHICK PART 2 – PDF]

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About the Authors

Dr. Moises Goldman is uniquely involved with STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics). He is a member of several advisory boards at MIT and is a founding member of the TALENT program at IMSA.

John Jonelis is a writer, publisher of CHICAGO VENTURE MAGAZINE and NEWS FROM HEARTLAND, author of the novel, THE GAMEMAKER’S FATHER. BFA, MBA from Kellogg.

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Photography and Graphics – John Jonelis, MS Office

Chicago Venture Magazine is a publication of Nathaniel Press www.ChicagoVentureMagazine.com Comments and re-posts in full or in part are welcomed and encouraged if accompanied by attribution and a web link. This is not investment advice. We do not guarantee accuracy. Please perform your own due diligence. It’s not our fault if you lose money.
.Copyright © 2017 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved
.
.

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HAT TRICK

20161220-20150207-_jaj5090tby John Jonelis

He can feel it, hear it—his heart—beating hard, beating fast. Pounding above the din of those big nubbly tires and the blast of snow hitting the wheel wells. Is it anticipation? Fear? Primeval blood lust?

How will it feel to gun down a living animal? Can he really pull the trigger?

Today, Loop Lonagan joins seven seasoned hunters and four highly trained dogs to indulge in what his editor calls one of the great joys in life—slaughtering a few of God’s creatures. He’s a last-minute stand-in and rounds out the party to eight. Two hunters per dog. Perfect! How did he let himself get roped into this?

20140201-12-20140201_152524

Seasoned hunters?

Loop is a man that loves a brawl—loves it more than anything in the world. He still uses his fists when he gets a chance, but he’s never taken the life of a fellow creature—at least nothing bigger than a cockroach. Today, for the first time, he will attempt to kill pheasant with a shotgun—and for some reason it makes him itch.

Pretty soon, the storm gets mean and he wonders if it could be the weather that’s crawling under his skin. Both highway and horizon fade to white. Only a stray stop sign proves they’re even on a road. And the driver tools along as if nothing’s the matter. Loop shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “Dis is ridiculous. Gotta get myself under control.”

20140201-20140201_125119

White out

“Hmm?” Jonelis flips on the wipers and smears half-frozen slop off the windshield. “You say something, Loop?”

“No—no, nothin’ John” Loop goes silent. No way he’s gonna slobber all over the boss with his stupid fears. Just look at the guy! He’s barely touchin’ the wheel. He’s wearin’ that big satisfied grin like he’s in some kinda bliss. What’s he thinkin’?

Wind buffets the truck. Loop looks mournfully out the window.

Finally he can hold it all in no longer. Pointing to the GPS, he shouts, “Dis don’t look much like Route 47 to me, John boy. We shoulda oughta turn back.”

20140208-20140208_165652

What road?

The driver squints out the corner of his eye. “Turn back? TURN BACK?” He raises his voice to a roar. “WHAT ON EARTH FOR?”

Loop goes silent. He’s stuck here. He’s gotta tough it out.

“C’mon Loop—don’t pout like that. It snows in Chicago—every year it snows—you noticed that, right? And this whole bottom end always gets hit worst.

No response.

“Thirteen years, and my F-150 still gets me where I wanna go. It’s made for this weather.”

Still no response.

John suddenly cranks the wheel hard.

The truck swerves.

The faint white horizon flashes past the windshield at sickening speed and Loop grabs hold of something, anything.

When the truck straightens out, they’re again pointed the way they started. A 360 degree donut maneuver. Jonelis drives down the snowy path grinning and placid as if nothing happened. The guy’s gone psycho!

“Man, I love winter. Here, I’ll show you again.”

“NO!” Loop breathes fast and hard. “ARE YOU CRAZY?

“Sorry Loop. I guess I just enjoy being immune to the elements. This front is supposed to be headed east in a narrow band. We’ll probably break out of it soon.”

Loop shakes his head, grunts, and takes his hand off the sissy bar. Certifiable—the guy’s certifiable. On pure reflex, he balls his powerful hands into fists and utters a silent prayer for a different ride home. But what’s he gonna do now—walk? He drops his chin to his chest and quietly moans.

John reaches across and pats his shoulder. “Loop, you’re a bundle of nerves. Get control of yourself or you’ll be useless during the hunt.”

20140405-20140405_140316

Soggy bottom

Further south, they break out of the winter storm, just as forecast. The sun bursts through the clouds. Now it’s leftover snow banks and soggy ice-water puddles.

So they’re gonna live after all.

And Loop’s brand new Gore-Tex boots will prove a good investment today. He likes good investments and for the first time feels a twinge of optimism about this excursion.

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At the Club

Everybody’s in the clubhouse. But Loop still sits in the parking lot, staring out at a field, trying to ease his racing heart.

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Hunting field

All his life, he’s feared nothing, but that truck ride riled him up bad. Now he tastes bile. He swallows hard. Slows his breathing. Gotta focus on what happens next.

He goes over his fears one by one. What if he can’t hit what he aims at? What if he accidentally shoots another hunter? Or worse, a dog? These guys might forgive the first, but never the second. They spend way too much time training those little mutts.

Funny—none of that seems like such a big deal any more—not since the boss pulled that donut stunt. For the first time, Loop cracks a smile.

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Zeke on point

When he steps out of the truck, his new boots sink into mud and gravel. This sure ain’t the streets of the big city. He opens the tailgate and rummages through his gear, slips on a borrowed blaze orange hat, a borrowed blaze orange hunting vest, and dumps a borrowed box of twenty five high-brass #5 shells in the big pockets.

Slowly unzipping a soft camo gun case, he hefts a borrowed 12-gauge side-by-side, replete with elegant scrollwork and Turkish walnut stock. This is a heavy and absolutely gorgeous field piece. It’s gotta take guts to lend $3,500 worth of the gunsmith’s art to a sloppy amateur.

He works the safety and practices loading shells. Loop has never actually fired a shotgun and his doubts run wild. Sure, he aims a rifle or maybe his favorite Smith & Wesson Shield at stationary targets. But from what he’s heard, this sport sounds more like baseball or maybe even golf than the gun range.

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Practice

He practices mounting the shotgun one last time, swinging the muzzle past a nearby stand of trees, following through after each imaginary shot—just like they told him. It feels smooth and surprisingly natural. The stock fits him well.

“Okay, dat’s DAT! Time t’ face da music.”

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Clubhouse

Inside, Loop joins the party lounging around a big table. Introductions fly by him like dry leaves on a high wind, and in this cloud of new ideas he forgets every single hunter’s name. Strange—he remembers what they call all four of the dogs. Loop loves dogs.

Then one of them lays out the ground rules and mechanics of the hunt. It sounds a whole lot more organized than he imagined and he wonders if his 85 lb bull terrier Clamps can be trained to do this.

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Clamps

A sweet gal sits at the table and slides across a mug of beer. “Initiation time!” she says. “We don’t drink before a hunt but you’re new. You get one beer—just one. Afterwards I’ll allow you the pleasure of buying the first round for the rest of us.”

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Some gals hunt

Loop slurps off the foam and downs the lager with relish. He wipes a sleeve across his mouth, and sighs.

Another group of hunters come in from the barbeque grill and offer a plate of pheasant tamales. Loop bites into his. Delicious! Like nothing he ever tasted before.

Now he’s leaning back in his chair. No more pounding heartbeat. Yeah—everything’s gonna be fine. Time for da hunt.

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Killing Fields

The group’s got two large fields today—one next to the other—all to themselves. They form a line and slowly march side-by-side, spaced well apart, dogs running all over the place, sniffing for birds ahead.

It’s almost impossible to see a pheasant running through this grass. But when one hunkers down in the brush, the dog finds it and holds its point until a hunter flushes the bird. A good dog will hold its position till the shot is fired.

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Hunting formation

Today each hunter will log 5 miles over broken ground, rocks, holes, tall grass and brambles, and slog through wet snow and water, but these little dogs each put in at least 15 miles and get wet doing it. They never seem to tire out.

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Exuberant dogs

Loop’s realizes that his bull terrier would plop down for a nap after half a mile. If he ever retrieved a bird, he’d crush and shake it until it was no longer fit for the table. But hey—Clamps is at home in the city, where he belongs. Every dog has his job.

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Clamps in his element

The guy next to him (Rick, Gregg, Bob?—Loop can’t recall) moves ahead of Shiloh’s point, flushes a bird, and fires. The pheasant drops a leg and flutters down about fifty yards away. When the dog retrieves it, the bird is wounded but still alive. The hunter immediately breaks its neck to stop any suffering. All done so precisely. Very neat and clean.

Loop gapes at that rooster in awe. This is what they’re hunting? The color of its plumage takes his breath away. And look at the size of that thing—there’s gotta be alotta good meat on that bird.

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The beautiful pheasant

When the hunter slips it in the game sack at the back of his vest, they continue their march. Loop looks at his elegant field piece and something changes inside of him.

Maybe it’s the sight of blood.

Maybe the finality of the kill.

As boots crunch through the brush, instinct takes a firm hold and his fear and doubt fade to the background. He zones in on his surroundings with a focus more intense than he’s ever experienced. The bite of fresh air. The array of indescribable wild smells. Four dogs running, leaping. Subtle pheasant prints in the snow. A sparrow flock bursts skyward to his left. A hawk circles high overhead. But most of all the dogs. He tries to keep them all in sight. Impossible.

Mud sucks at his boots, and looking ahead, he sees the field entirely drown in snow melt. No way around it. He utters a silent prayer of thanks for Gore-Tex boots, checks the line of his fellow hunters, and adjusts his position.

They slog on to the next snow bank.

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Dry feet

“Duke’s on point! Hey Loop—your turn!” He sees Duke in thick cover just ahead—nose down, teeth clenched, saliva dripping from his mouth. The animal can barely restrain himself. Wow, do these dogs love to hunt! Loop knows a bird hides somewhere within 20 feet.

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Duke on point

He makes his approach and a huge gaudy rooster flushes, cackling as it flies.

He mounts his gun. Swings the muzzle to shoot. Suddenly two dogs run into his sight picture, chasing under the bird. Nope—can’t risk a shot over them. The pheasant glides safely beyond the tree line. Yeah, those dogs broke training, but after all, they’re excited, just like he is. So what? He might still get another chance today. And maybe somebody will take that bird later.

Just like investing, hunting is lots of hope.

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Upland game field

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Hat Trick

One guy is shouting at the white dog named Jack. That one ranges too far and finally breaks with the group to sniff out an area hundreds of yards to the side.  Loop likes Jack best of all the dogs and breaking from the line of hunters, follows him.  He feels one with him and shares the joy of the hunt as if he were an extension of the animal.

When he gets close, the dog is already holding point. Without warning, a rooster takes wing!

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Jack on point

Without stopping to think, Loop swings his shotgun and fires. Bird #1 tumbles into high grass.

Beginner’s luck.

He’s about to search for it when Jack goes on point again. Loop moves ahead of the dog and kicks at a tangle of brush, then he tries another clump. It seems impossible that a big colorful bird can hide here, but Jack’s still holding that point.

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Flushing a pheasant

The pheasant flushes behind his back.

On pure instinct, he wheels and shoots. An explosion of feathers—the bird drops straight to the ground. Loop fired way too soon—way too close. A real waste—not much meat left on that carcass. He chalks it up to inexperience and tells himself to slow down. But that’s bird #2.

Both barrels empty, he pauses to re-load. But Jack is on point again!

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Jack on point again

He moves ahead of the dog, eyes wide open, searching, wanting the kill. The pheasant erupts from the brush and into the sky. This time, he waits for some shooting distance, then the muzzle roars. Bird #3 down!

Three shells, three birds—all in the space of a couple minutes!

A hat trick!

Jack retrieves one bird, then another, his tail wagging. Loop stuffs both in his vest and picks up the one he pulverized by shooting too soon. He glances at his hands, smeared with blood from the ruined bird, and amazingly, it doesn’t bother him. A couple hours ago he wondered if he could pull the trigger and now he doesn’t even want to wipe his hands clean. He reflects that the blood of these birds is a gift. His game pouch bulges out behind and he enjoys the weight of it. He can hardly believe that he gets this privilege—to experience this primal sport and come away with real food. Again, he utters a silent prayer of thanks.

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One for the Road

Giddy from the hunt, Loop heads back toward the group, all his misgivings gone, every emotion urging him to break into dance. For the most part, he restrains himself. Zeke joins up with Jack, and Loop closely watches those two dogs.

He hears hunters call to each other in the woods.

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Jack and Zeke

Two shots! He pivots toward the sound. Two more shots in rapid succession! A pheasant flies out of the trees, fast as it can go, well out of range of the barrage of pellets aimed at its tail.

Before it can fly past him, Loop swings his gun, leads the bird, and fires.

A head shot! It instantly falls out of the sky.

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Zeke retrieves

Zeke retrieves the bird and Loop stows it, feeling a deep satisfaction he’s never known. That’s bird #4—and he’s spent only four shells! Plenty for the day! He won’t fire his shotgun again this trip.

The hunters form ranks and march across another field. And Loop gets treated to an amazing site. Shiloh points a bird. Zeke and Jack honor that point like the well-bred canines they are. How do they train dogs to do that?

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Zeke and Jack honor Shiloh’s point

Loop draws in a lungful of cold air. What a great day! Everybody gets at least three birds. Even John shot birds, but he claims it happened by accident.

On the way in, he pulls out his phone and snaps off a photo of the group.

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Hunting party

Then they head back to the clubhouse to clean up, drink beer, smoke the compulsory cigar, and tell lies.

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Meat on the Table

Back at the lodge, Loop makes a proposal that they all immediately accept. Dinner at his downtown penthouse.

He phones home. “Yeah Meadows—tell Anatole t’ dig out dat recipe fer Pheasant Zummer. I’m brinin’ da birds. And pick out da best wine. Yeah, all da trimmins, too. I’m showin’ up in an hour with seven happy guests in muddy boots!

He hears a professional, Very good sir,” and can hardly wait to experience the joy of a feast with his friends. These aren’t just any birds—these are HIS birds—birds he hunted down alive and killed himself! He’s sure every one of those hunters feel the same way about their kill. And he remembers something John said—words that got him here: “That feeling of satisfaction lasts for days, maybe weeks.”

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By accident?

Loop’s fallen in love with this place. A hunter’s paradise! It’s gotta be one of Chicago’s best startups and he wonders if they need another investor. The place looks prosperous enough. There’s no membership fee—no monthly dues—no volunteer work—you pay for your birds—that’s it. Nice clubhouse and bar. Good fields. Extended season and no bag limit. You can hire a guide and dog here. They even clean your kill. Wanna go?

And he decides to ride home with the same crazy driver that got him here.

..

Erienna Hunt Club is located one hour south of downtown Chicago. The season runs from September 1st to April 15th. If you’ve got any primeval instincts left in your modern mind, check it out!

http://www.eriennahuntclub.com/

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Favorite club

 

All photography by John Jonelis and Loop Lonagan, with thanks to all his hunting mentors, especially Gregg Patz, Rick Bohning, and Frank Spellman.

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Chicago Venture Magazine is a publication of Nathaniel Press www.ChicagoVentureMagazine.com Comments and re-posts in full or in part are welcomed and encouraged if accompanied by attribution and a web link. This is not investment advice. We do not guarantee accuracy. It’s not our fault if you lose money.
.Copyright © 2017 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved
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TAKING ONE FOR THE TEAM

20161201-_jaj0288tby Mark T Wayne

Howard Brookins Jr, the alderman for Chicago’s 21st ward, was biking along Cal-Sag Trail on Nov. 13, when a squirrel darted into his path. The squirrel wrapped itself in the spokes of the alderman’s bicycle. [The Washington Post.] According to the alderman, “I can think of no other reason for this squirrel’s actions than that it was like a suicide bomber, getting revenge.” [The Chicago Tribune.]

If this is revenge, there is good reason for it. Yes sir! As the Post also reports: “Brookins denounced the eastern gray squirrel in a Chicago City Council meeting and has publicly spoken out about a toothy menace.” He complains of “aggressive squirrels that undermine efforts to overhaul the city’s trash carts.” [Chicago Sun Times] He claims that squirrels are gnawing through garbage cart lids at a cost to the city of $300,000!

According our own Alexander Harbinger PhD, such behavior is perfectly normal. “Like all rodents, the teeth continue to grow during an entire lifetime. It is gnaw or die.”

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Posted on Facebook by Alderman Brookins

As proof of the squirrel’s malicious intent, Alderman Brookings posted a photograph of the unfortunate animal on Facebook, caught in the wheel of his bicycle.

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Closeup of Brooking’s dead squirrel

Brookins did not escape injury from the ferocious creature’s attack. “The alderman flipped over the handlebars, fractured his skull, broke his nose, and knocked out a handful of teeth.” [Tribune]

The remedy proposed is extermination of all urban squirrels.

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Mark T Wayne

Revenge of the Squirrels

Of course, when faced with annihilation, any red-blooded squirrel is compelled to take action! Who can find it in their heart to condemn this animal?  But for the protection of the residents of our fair city, we must guard against further malevolent behavior perpetrated by these scheming creatures.

So far, this activity appears unique to the gray squirrels in Brookins’ 21st Ward.  The implications are startling and frightening.  These particular animals exhibit traits that must not be permitted to spread.

  • Brookins’ squirrels take a keen interest in civic matters and monitor city council meetings.
  • When action is required, Brookins’ squirrels organize in secret and plot the required counter-attack.
  • In this case, one squirrel soldier carries out a kamikaze raid on a leading enemy, Alderman Howard Brookins.

Jim Kren, our assistant editor, offered this opinion: “Squirrels are good-for-nothing vermin. They look out for their kind and know who is persecuting them. If you thwart their plans, they figure a way to take care of the problem. Nothing can stop them from getting what they want!”

But renowned squirrel expert, B. A. Christie MLS, holds a different view. “Squirrels are attractive, with fine coats and tails—a benefit to any neighborhood. They are strong, brave, loyal, intelligent, entertaining, and acrobatic. Squirrels prune and plant trees. And tough? I saw one fall fifty feet to the pavement—but after a few minutes, the little dear just hopped to its feet and ran off. Every levelheaded individual knows that squirrels are friendly. I believe Bill Murray said so in a motion picture.”

No, I am not entirely satisfied with the alderman’s flippant slur against these creatures. Nor do I entirely agree with the other opinions ventured damning them. No sir! Permit me to propose a few alternative theories on the matter:

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Greedy Guts the squirrel, outside my window

Cruelty to Animals Theory

Does it not seem a whole lot more believable to you that this squirrel lodged in the spokes of the good alderman’s bicycle during his hightly successful attempt to run it down? A fat squirrel lounging on a path can present a tempting target to certain personality types, and such behavior may seem quite natural to a politician, particularly an alderman. Has Brookins intentionally misrepresented the facts and blamed the true victim for the consequenses of his personal indulgence in an urban blood sport?

One strong indication of the veracity of this theory is seen in the alderman’s photograph. The squirrel is lodged in the front wheel, which indicates an attack by the alderman, not the squirrel. If, on the other hand, the animal lodged in the rear wheel, the alderman’s story might carry some weight.  Take dogs as an example.  Dogs are known to snap at automobile tires and invariably go for the rear wheel. It’s a question of catching the vehicle as it speeds by. Perhaps the ASPCA should investigate the matter. The evidence is clearly on display in the photograph published by the man himself!

 

Guilt by Association Theory

Squirrels will eat just about anything, and have been known to forage during daylight hours, when they find trash conveniently strewn about—but they do not do so at night! They sleep at night. Does the timid squirrel gnaw through a garbage can in broad daylight, vulnerably exposing its hide to every kind of predator for an extended period of time? No sir! The thought seems akin to a neighborhood bunny rabbit attacking a Pit Bull in the act of sullying somebody’s front lawn!

Nighttime is the rat’s domain, not the squirrel’s. Nighttime is the likely period for damage to ensue. Could it be that, during the daylight hours, the alderman observed some squirrels in the civic-minded act of cleaning up the nocturnal mess left by sloppy rats? This is guilt by association of the worst kind! Both are rodents, but the similarity ends there! I propose that we are dealing with an unsuccessful rat control problem.  That is where the battle must be fought.

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Greedy Guts gets fed

Mistaken Identity Theory

Permit me to relate a perplexing personal incident. After one fine Christmas afternoon dinner, I noted a scurry of cold and hungry squirrels—sweet, harmless, and industrious animals that every normal person loves. My wife calls the big one Greedy Guts—an admirable fellow, in my opinion. I slid open the window and tossed out a handful of peanuts to the little beggar. Little did I know that my benevolence would provoke a strong reaction from my houseguest.

Jim Kren, our guest, turned violently red and spoke in loud and vitriolic indignation, “You feed those rats?” This man hails from an affluent tree-lined neighborhood teeming with a large and healthy squirrel population. Imagine his constant horror, living in such exquisite surroundings and unable to distinguish a squirrel from other rodentia. Unbearable! It explains that nervous tick.

For those that share Kren’s malady, permit me to quell such unwarranted and hysterical fears:

  • Rats hide in dark, filthy places—squirrels live in trees.
  • Rats carry rabies—squirrels do not.
  • Squirrels behave more like neighborhood bunny rabbits.

 

Scapegoat Theory

As noted, Brooking’s 21st ward appears to be the only area of Chicago suffering squirrel damage. No other alderman or city councilman has taken up the cause. That raises some questions. I own a home in the country. Its peaceful environs swarm with squirrels, rabbits, hawks, turkey vultures, and deer. Yet our garbage bin remains intact. How can this be? Are the alderman’s cans of less quality than others? Impossible! Those receptacles reportedly cost the city hundreds of thousands of tax dollars! Is it possible that squirrels are a scapegoat for some sort of political shenanigans? I put it to you, sir! Chicagoans have learned to accept business-as-usual in our longstanding tradition of machine politics as long as one keeps quiet about it. There is no call to harm the wildlife.

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A squirrel is not a rat

Noble Savage Theory

But what if Alderman Brookins’ allegations were true?  Could it be that we are witnessing an altruistic and noble example of squireldom? Yes sir! Such an image of heroic sacrifice warms my heart. Faced with the the personal hatred and vendetta of one malevolent alderman—faced with the annihilation of family and friends—faced with the end of a way-of-life-as-he-knows-it—one of Chicago’s bravest takes matters into his own paws.  He takes one for the team!

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Go to Part 3 – SECRETS DARK AND OLD

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Mr. Wayne’s speculations are his own and do not always represent the opinions of this journal.

Image Credits: Bicycle photo by Alderman Howard Brookins. All other nature photography by John Jonelis.

 

Sources

Washington Post – ‘Suicide bomber’ squirrel hospitalizes Chicago politician who spoke out against squirrels

Chicago Tribune Kamikaze squirrel gets revenge on Ald. Brookins

Chicago Sun Times – Alderman says ‘aggressive squirrels’ eating through garbage carts

 

Chicago Venture Magazine is a publication of Nathaniel Press www.ChicagoVentureMagazine.com Comments and re-posts in full or in part are welcomed and encouraged if accompanied by attribution and a web link. This is not investment advice. We do not guarantee accuracy. It’s not our fault if you lose money.

.Copyright © 2016 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved

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Filed under Characters, Chicago Venture Magazine, city, Conflict, Education, gentrification of the city, Jim Kren, Mark T Wayne

ALIEN ABDUCTS FISH, THROWS FISHERMAN BACK

20161004-_jajdscn0159tby Jim Kren

Avid fisherman John Jonelis was enjoying some late night fly-fishing on the Pere Marquette River in Michigan when he had a close encounter with something not swimming upstream.

“I’m casting a fly called a Crystal Bullet with a number 4 hook on a sink tip,” said Jonelis. “This beautiful Chinook Salmon practically bends my number 10 Recon in half but after about an hour, I land it. Al snaps a picture, then all this happens. Me and my salmon get lifted by a glowing ray into some giant saucer-like ship that smells of fish inside.”

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Taken moments before alien abduction – Photo by Al Faleskin

“A tiny man in a silver suit approaches me carrying a long stick with knobs and buttons. He points it at me and the salmon I caught, and babbles something I can’t understand. Then in a flash, I drop like a lead sinker back in the river. But the alien keeps my fish!

“I think those aliens are fishing with some kinda tractor beam.” said Jonelis  “That’s not sporting and it’s against the regs for sure.”  

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Pere Marquette River, Michigan

Jonelis was found by his fellow fishermen at 5:00 am the next morning and carried back to Bueter’s Salmon Camp. His fishing partners, Al Faleskin and Bob Paine, were not available for comment.

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Small flies, big fish

John Bueter examined Jonelis. “He was soaked through and babbling about losing the big one and space aliens and whatnot, and still trying to cast even though he lost his fly and tippet and was sitting at a picnic table. I’ve seen fishermen act like that before, so I administered a stiff belt of Wild Turkey bourbon. Someone should let those spacemen know it’s catch-and-release around here. The warden will get after them if they don’t throw their fish back. He could confiscate their ship.”

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Taken the following day

Even after losing his salmon, Jonelis displayed an upbeat attitude. “The fishing’s great—and it’s an easy drive from Chicago!  I’m definitely coming back every year. I just hope those aliens catch their own fish next time.  They shouldn’t steal mine—that’s just not the way fishermen treat each other.”

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Jonelis’ classic Eureka Timberline

Jonelis refused any more questions and retired to his tent with the bottle of Wild Turkey. “He’ll be okay after he sleeps it off,” said Bueter. “I’ve seen it before. A good fisherman always gets back at it.”

Also read – HOW TO TREAT THE OLD MAN

WARNING: Angling is addictive and expensive can be hazardous to your health. Please fish responsibly.

Bueter’s Salmon Camp runs every year, the last weekend of September and sometimes the following weekend too. It’s walking distance from Bueter’s Cloud 9 Resort and an easy day’s drive from Chicago.

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Bueter’s Salmon Camp

For more information, contact John Bueter: j.bueter@sbcglobal.net

Cloud 9 Resort, 3360 S M-37, Baldwin, Michigan 49304, phone 231-745-3070 www.cloud9baldwin.com

Read a great article on Bueter’s Salmon Camp.  Also Bueter’s Salmon Camp Facebook Page Then see more Salmon Camp on Facebook

 

Image credits, Al Faleskin, John Jonelis.


Chicago Venture Magazine is a publication of Nathaniel Press www.ChicagoVentureMagazine.com Comments and re-posts in full or in part are welcomed and encouraged if accompanied by attribution and a web link. This is not investment advice. We do not guarantee accuracy. It’s not our fault if you lose money.

.Copyright © 2016 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved

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Comments Off on ALIEN ABDUCTS FISH, THROWS FISHERMAN BACK

Filed under angel, Characters, chicago, Entrepreneur, Entrepreneurship, Fishing, fly fishing, Information, investor, pike fishing, salmon fishing, Social Entrepreneur, Social Media, the great outdoors

THE SAY/DO RATIO

Jack 2by John Jonelis

You lose him. Jack Heyden was your father, your brother, maybe your son. A deep, intimate relationship. You know his profession—not the details, just what he did for a living. Normal so far. Then things start to turn.

His business colleagues invite the family here, and you all come, nerves raw from the shock that death brings. You arrive early, numb from the flurry of duties, people, and rituals that clutter such times and obediently take your seats in front, gazing about the room.

You have no idea what to expect.

 

A Place for Ideas

One thing’s certain—this doesn’t look like a place of business. The walls burst out with a massive and eclectic assortment of memorabilia. It’s visually overwhelming and you need just one place to anchor for the first time in days.

Perhaps you select a photograph, a poster, a toy on on a shelf, and focus on that. It makes you think. You wonder why Jack always spent his Saturday mornings here when the family wanted him at home.

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The Flintmobile

The atmosphere is the genius of Joe Levy, one of Chicago’s prolific entrepreneurs and philanthropists, who started this group about 60 years ago. The assortment of unique items stretches from Joe’s early days—before they started naming streets and buildings after him. Business people meet in this hodgepodge every week, air opinions, ideas, and stimulate thought, and much of the collection speaks directly about luminaries in this group.

Joe Levy by Natan Mandell

Joe Levy

Before you fully collect yourself, over 30 professionals take seats facing you. This is the Levy Group, that boasts some of the most brilliant business thinkers in Chicago. Jack Heyden was their leader. Today, they’re here for Jack and for you. Unusual, right?

QUESTION: Is the way you conduct business meaningful to those left behind?

 

Who is Jack?

The moderator calls the meeting to order: “We lost a friend this week. Jack led this group for 20 years.” Many in the group sigh and nod and he turns to the family. “And maybe you didn’t know what’s special about this room that kept him coming back.”

The moderator singles out Jack’s son. “Why don’t you introduce the family? And then we’ll have Jack’s Saturday morning family introduce him to you.”

 

The Son

Your dad invited you to these meetings, so you’re the one member of the family with an understanding of what this means. Everyone in the room is with you in spirit as you halt for a painful moment, then begin to talk: “It’s easier to speak at a funeral than in front of you guys,” you say, choking back emotions. “He loved this so much.”

Then you indicate your family: “I’m looking forward to hearing afterwards what they thought this was really going to look like.” Everybody quietly laughs.

“Normally you guys start with introductions and an elevator pitch. Dad would always say, ‘I’m Jack Heyden and I help leaders win,’ and today, my best elevator pitch is—‘I’m just the son of Jack Heyden.’”

 

The Group

After the applause, the moderator calls on individuals via some hidden, efficient system, and they testify about Jack one by one:

  • “When I first came to this group, I looked around at these eclectic surroundings and said to myself, ‘Okay, there’s gonna be a lotta character in this group.’ One thing was magnetic—one of the big differentiators—it was Jack. He’s very to-the-point and structured and it was always very productively efficient, always in a good vein and in a good way. How impressed I was! That made me want to come back and give back. As you grow older there are two sets of people you meet at a very high level. Those that you admire for whatever reason, be it charm, achievement, financial success. But there are very few people you want to model. There’s something about this person—what they do, how they interact—I want to deconstruct it and figure out how I can absorb it into what I do, how I interact with people. Jack is one of the people about whom I’ve said, ‘I want to model this guy.’”
  • “In life, you meet a lot of people. When they say things, you think, ‘…Uh huh.’ But when Jack said it you really understood what he meant, then he showed you how to do it.”
  • “He always talked about the ‘Say/Do Ratio.’ Successful people have an incredible Say-Do Ratio. Don’t say things to your family, to your co-workers and clients and not follow through. If you say something, do it.”
  • “Whoever he was with, he gave 100% of his attention.”
  • “The first thing when I came to any meeting, he’d give me this big giant smile, whether it was last week or six months since I’d been here.”
  • “At an event, Jack asked me to introduce some of my friends because he wasn’t sure he’d know anyone. I figured, okay, he’s done so much for me and he’s bound to know someone. Pretty soon there’s a gathering at our table. It appears that Jack was the hub of a wheel—and some of the spokes didn’t know each other. So Jack spent the evening introducing me to all the spokes I didn’t know.”
  • “When I started coming, it was a low time in my business life. I’d say, ‘I’m a member of the CIO—‘Everybody I see I owe.’ And Jack was so welcoming. ‘I’m so happy to meet you. I’m so glad you’re here,’ and I’m looking over my shoulder like, ‘You’re talking to me?’”
  • “I grew up with giants in my industry. Since I’ve left, I’ve met a few people I consider giants. Jack was that leader. We all looked up to him.”
  • “Like all first companies, mine was a struggle. Jack said he’d come to my office and talk. He wound up interviewing all seven of my employees. He came back with this big document that showed, here’s the guy that does this and the gal that does that and here’s what needs to happen. He was spot-on. When he came to me for help on technology, we had that going. So we had a relationship.”
  • “When he put on his mentor’s hat, he’d say, ‘You got 10 minutes. Tell me why I should spend more time with you.’ He was trying to draw you out.”
  • “When I joined this group, I had a lot of patents. I mentioned to Jack that the odds of a little guy commercializing a patent are about 3%. Jack said, ‘Don’t think about the obstacles.’”
  • “I looked very hard for a word that encompasses what Jack was. The word I found is “Olympian.’ Jack was above the crowd. A wonderful thinker. Very important to me as I consulted with him many times. I can’t say enough about him. To me, he’s a towering presence.”
  • “I asked him to have breakfast and talk over a problem I had. His advice was really outside the box. I had not realized the wealth of experience he had—what you had to do next and how to deal with that—and I said, “Wow, this is good, Jack!”
  • “I’m very fortunate in my life to have great mentors at a very high level. Jack was of that calibre.”
  • “In a few days it will be the second anniversary of my wife’s sudden death. Jack sat in the back yard with me talking with me about the tree house, his problem with the landscapers, and he took me to a level of understanding that life goes on.”
  • “A man who was very giving. He helped people understand what they were and what they could do. Gregarious people can give cheer, but they don’t have that depth. And it’s that depth of character we all really embrace.”
  • “I had a great affection for Jack. I feel honored to be here.”
  • “I wanna make a difference. I think that’s what Jack looked forward to every day.”

The moderator stands to close the meeting. “We’re hearing stories about how giving and how public and how embracing he was. One of the things I found remarkable about Jack—he would not let us know how sick he really was.

It wasn’t an issue. He was gonna be here. He was here 4 weeks ago—strong, present. He was a very sick man at this particular point but he did not let it be known. Being for the other person is very, very powerful. And that’s what this group’s all about—giving and sharing.”

QUESTION: Is the way you treat people meaningful to those left behind?

 

 

Graphics courtesy Joe Levy, Nathan Mandell, and the Jack Heyden family.

Chicago Venture Magazine is a publication of Nathaniel Press www.ChicagoVentureMagazine.com Comments and re-posts in full or in part are welcomed and encouraged if accompanied by attribution and a web link. This is not investment advice. We do not guarantee accuracy. It’s not our fault if you lose money.

.Copyright © 2016 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved

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