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Davis Young
- Jul 26, 2022

DY: In Just a Few Words (#93)

You can't say I didn't try.

When we moved to Shaker Heights in 1967, our intent was to stay five years, then to go further east. In fact, we ended up staying 18 years, eventually moving to Solon in 1985.

Shaker works a little differently than most other cities. No need to hire a home inspector when purchasing a house here. The City handles this. When one sells a home in Shaker Heights, you’re required to undergo a City inspection. And, these inspectors don’t mess around. They’re excellent at protecting home values.

So, we called the Housing Department in early 1985 and asked to have someone come over and identify any issues we needed to address before selling the house.

Well, sir, you need to fix the sashes in a couple of windows. You have some bad paneling in your basement. The brick work on the chimney needs some pointing. Etc. You get the point. We had work to be done.

I got the name of a reputable home fix-it guy and he came over to scope out the extent of the work. He took a hard look at everything and said, I think we can do this for about $2,500. That sounded fine to me and we shook hands on that amount.

Next day, some lumber and bricks arrived, along with some power tools. Bzzzzz! Work was underway. A couple of days later came a knock at our front door. All done. Wow, what service!

Great. Send me a bill as soon as you can.

A couple of weeks went by. No invoice. So, I called him. Hi, just a friendly reminder to send your bill.

Another couple of weeks and I called again. We’re moving tomorrow and I want to make sure you have our new Solon address and phone number. Let’s get the bill taken care of.

Fast forward another two or, possibly, three weeks. I’m calling once again to say you haven’t sent us a bill for the work you did on our Shaker Heights house.

Yes, yes, I have the address and I’ve just been too busy to get it to you. But, I will do so very soon.

Folks, that's the last time we ever talked. It's now been 37 years since that call. No further contact. No invoice. Zero.

But, the good news is that he did send us a Christmas card in 1993.

I honestly do not understand how people can stay in business when they don’t charge customers in a timely fashion - or ever. Tracy and Keith had a landscape service for years that charged them maybe every 18 months. Another family member has a pool man who charges with about the same frequency. Pretty sure they don’t teach this business model in school.

At this point, though, I am moving on. I asked for an invoice several times. So, don’t even think about sending one now. 37 years. Incredible.

DY: In Just a Few Words is a blog that comes out when something needs to be said or every Tuesday - whichever comes first. Davis Young is a communications professional who adds 50+ years of experience and perspective to issues of the day. His emphasis in DY: In Just a Few Words will be humor (a touch of sarcasm here, a pinch of facetiousness there...). Once in a while, he will touch on something a bit more serious - but hopefully not too deep or depressing.

This blog is a product of DY Author & Speaker LLC. Feel free to quote content with attribution. Respond. Agree. Disagree. Share the content with your friends. Heck - even invite him as a speaker for your group! Enjoy!

Davis Young
- Jul 19, 2022

DY: In Just a Few Words (#92)

Sometimes I truly cannot believe Karen has stuck with me all these years.

My son Denny – now rapidly approaching AARP membership – was once a really cute little boy.

Even as a young lad Denny was like a lightning rod collecting other people to help with his important work. The little girl next door – Barbara – worked side-by-side with Denny to pick every blossom off my many tulips, gently laying them on the ground for all to see.

Another sidekick was our dog, Thumper. Denny hated the glasses that he had to wear at an especially young age. He would just happen to lose them in our pachysandra not to be seen again. Having no shame, he even threw one pair in the sewer. And his buddy, Thumper, was always happy to eat a pair of Denny’s glasses as an appetizer before a dog food feast. We had WA Jones Optical on the 1968 version of speed dial.

But what we all really remember about young Denny Young was his carrot red hair. That hair was his calling card. (Today, his long gray hair is what stands out.)

One summer when he had just turned two, Denny’s Florida grandmother was coming for a visit. Denny needed a haircut. He must look his very best when we go out the concourse to meet her plane. You could do that in those days.

His mother, AKA Karen, assigned me to take him to the barber. Of course, I took him to my barber, who had always done a good job on me. We got to the barber shop and I slouched into a chair with the latest edition of Sports Illustrated. His grandmother is coming for a visit. Just shorten his hair a bit so he looks good for her arrival. And, I went back to reading SI.

Finally I heard the barber say, All done. I reached for my wallet and stood up. There Denny was, his head full of beautiful red hair reduced to the closest buzz cut I had ever seen, maybe being an eighth of an inch. He looked like a two-year-old Marine in basic training.

I knew I was in big trouble. I put him in the car and we drove around for an hour-and-a-half or so until I pulled up to a pay phone outside a drug store. Karen, an awful thing has happened.... No, we haven’t been in an accident. It's worse than that. Denny’s wonderful red hair is gone. I should have paid more attention when he was getting his haircut, but I confess I was engrossed in a Sports Illustrated article. I wanted to warn you before I brought him home. We’ll be there in about 10 minutes.

My late mother-in-law was so upset she burst into tears at the airport when she saw him. Turns out she had spent the ENTIRE flight from Fort Lauderdale to Cleveland bragging about little Denny’s red hair to her seatmate. That hair was now on the barber shop floor. She felt stupid. I felt stupid. Karen felt mad. Denny felt bald.

I have never forgotten this haircut. All that beautiful red hair is but a memory. Yes, it did grow back. But, it’s been replaced now by long gray locks.

That AARP card is out there somewhere in the mail.

Davis Young
- Jul 12, 2022

DY: In Just a Few Words (#91)

My shining moment on the links.

My blog buddies here, there and everywhere know how much I love the game of golf. And, it is a game. I frequently remind playing partners (and myself) that it’s only a game. That’s good therapy after a bad shot. I hit one or two of those every year. Sometimes three if I am having an off year.

Something I always enjoy is watching historic golf – great competitions on great courses between great players. Thank you ESPN for sharing those times. Hogan, Nicklaus, Watson, Palmer, Player – guys who actually play a different game than those of us who are just wannabes. Man, were those guys good.

Golfers tend to find opportunities to play in the same events year-after-year. College reunions, charity events, client outings and so forth. Thus it was that I played in the Cleveland Cavaliers Charity Golf Outing for many years. As you can imagine, there were lots of tall people at these events. And lots of highly visible people with one connection or another to the Cavaliers. The great broadcaster, Joe Tait, was always there, along Lil’ John Rinaldi of Big Chuck and Lil’ John renown. The two of them conducted the charity auction after dinner and their banter back and forth raised a lot of money for good causes.

You might think that professional athletes are reasonably good at all sports, not just the sport that pays their bills. I am here to tell you this is not true. There were always some NFL players at the Cavs’ event. I recall one year playing with a large human being who was a defensive lineman for the Green Bay Packers. He hit a screaming line drive off the 17th tee that just happens to parallel Rte. 306. No point in yelling FORE when your ball is heading right into a line of cars coming up the hill. I waited for the awful sound of a collision and for glass to break. I don’t know how, but he missed every single car. I think his ball is still out there alongside the road waiting for somebody to find it and bring it back for some more pounding.

All of which gets me to my greatest moment in golf. And, now that I am an octogenarian, I think this qualifies for ESPN consideration as an historic golf vignette. It happened probably 20 years or more ago at the annual Cavs’ outing at Tanglewood Golf Course. That day I experienced what will go down in history as the proudest moment of my sporting life.

The second hole at Tanglewood is a real par 5 or, as I like to say, an adult par 5. It was the site of that year’s Long Drive Contest. As I stood on the tee, I was filled with pride thinking I was living the American Dream just a kid from a public school in New Jersey. Beautiful day. Beautiful golf course. Beautiful people. And, I was there. Wow!

Way down the fairway, I could see a small flag had been placed in the ground. It marked the spot where that day’s longest drive had ended up. Golfers are always asking for a line. That little marker was my line. I had no chance to reach it, but it was my target.

I teed it up and much to my total amazement my shot trickled a couple of feet past this marker signifying the longest drive of the day – not just by me, but by anyone. I couldn’t believe it, but I had just won the day’s long drive contest. Only when I reached the marker did I discover – much to my everlasting sorrow – that I had just won the Women’s Long Drive competition. The winning male shot was at least another 75 yards down the fairway.

I’m not sure this qualifies for ESPN Historic Golf, but it was my proudest moment ever on the links.

Fore!!!

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