Meeting the First Lady of Kentucky

Well, my father Morgan has made a good start on his stories, and he’s got plenty of them that he and mom have built up over the years. Having grown up in the family wood shop, I  have a few of my own as well. For now though, since it was mentioned in our local paper (Central KY News Journal:K&M Crafts of Kentucky), I’d like to share my story of meeting the First Lady of Kentucky, Mrs. Jane Beshear.

            Early each year, generally February or March, the Kentucky Arts Council puts on the Kentucky Crafted: The Market. This wholesale and retail show is one of the top ranked in the nation and brings together all of the juried Kentucky Crafted artist, as well as select artist of sister groups out of Ohio, Indiana and even Tennessee.

            The Market is always a good show for us, generating good business, and affords us an opportunity to see the other artist and exchange stories from the year before and where we hope to be in the coming year. During the wholesale days of the market, buyers come from all around the country to purchase merchandise for their stores, museums and gift shops.

            It was early in the morning of the wholesale day of the show. Generally you’ll notice that the majority of the buyers don’t start making their rounds till late morning, but there’s always a group that get their buying done early so as to enjoy some of the other activities at the show and around Louisville. I noticed a handful of buyers soon after the doors opened that were impeccably dressed, the suit and tie types. It’s not unusual to see business attire, but it’s not exactly common either.

            I had already written a couple of orders when the suits stepped in to my booth. Where as I had seen them in ones or two walking through the show, they had all converged on my booth en mass. Every time someone walks into my booth I can’t help but get a little bit excited. You never know what may be coming your way, and even if I don’t make a sale, I’ve learned that I always get something out of the conversation with them. Whether it’s an interesting personal story, a piece of business advice or insight, or even just comparing our “battle wounds” and stories from our time in our wood shops, everyone is well worth the time to talk with.

            As they were walking into my booth, two ladies of the group were already focusing in on our inlaid jewelry boxes and asking questions about doing custom inlays, designs and a little about the process and what we could accomplish. I was sharing with them about the history of our company, how my parents started it back in the ‘80’s, my experience growing up and being the second generation in the family business; all the while trying clandestinely to read the name tags of the ladies and figure out what business or group they represented.

            Have you ever run into someone that you recognized, perhaps an old friend whose name you couldn’t quite recall, or where you knew them from? And then had a conversation with them, the whole time trying to recall their memory before they realized that you couldn’t place them? If you have, then you probably know of that anxious feeling that accompanies that.

            We had moved on to our ornaments, and again where talking about customizing them towards their needs, but I still didn’t know what company or group they were with.  With the suit coats and scarves, I couldn’t quite see what was on their name badges, and staring at a woman’s chest area, well, I didn’t want to make the wrong impression! If I was going to be able to give them a better idea of what we could do, I was just going to have to knuckle down and ask.

            “Excuse me, what company are you with again?”

With the silence and looks of surprise I was getting, for a split second I thought I could hear that fabled cricket somewhere in the distance.

            One of the ladies: “This is Jane Beshear, the First Lady of Kentucky”--most doctors would tell you it’s not possible, but I’m sure my face both paled and flushed bright red all at the same time.

            It’s hard to recover from that big of a gaffe, I mean, “foot in mouth”, but Mrs. Beshear was extremely gracious in accepting my apologies. My father, when he heard of my meeting the First Lady, where as I had been tongue tied, with out missing a beat my father knew exactly what my response should have been: “Why Mrs. Beshear! I didn’t recognize you from your tv spots, you look so much younger in person”

            The definition of Experience: “something you don’t get till just after you need it”; and with 30 years of marriage, my father has lots of experience.

            From our meeting with the First Lady, we were afforded the opportunity to present a design to the Centennial Committee for the upcoming Centennial Celebrations for the 100^th anniversary of the “new” Kentucky State Capitol. Working with the Centennial Committee, members of the First Lady’s staff and even Mrs. Beshear herself, we were able to put together a custom ornament for the celebrations. For us, the project was both a challenge and a reward to work on. We always enjoy new and exciting projects, and it was a great compliment and honor to be selected to produce the official centennial ornament.

            We were thrilled at the reception that the ornament garnered at the Centennial Ball, and that the sales of the ornament help to fund the Kentucky Division of Historic Properties in maintaining the state capitol and other historic properties in both Frankfort and around Kentucky.

 

 

Us with Governor and First Lady Beshear at the Centennial Celebration Weekend

Don't embarrass me boy

        In writing about my adventures in crafting I began to think about the first experience I had with making something.

second best looking car

         I immediately remembered the first thing that I work hard at and was proud of how it looked and performed . I won some awards for it, not for how it looked, but for another reason. The real award, I received was something much deeper and far more important than any trophy that I could have received. It's something that I have carried with me for my entire life. 

       I was in cub scouts. My dad had gotten a pinewood derby car kit. I drew up a design that was cool and dad helped me cut it out with a coping saw. Dad gave me some scraps to cut on so I would know how to use the saw properly before starting on the kit. I think the practice was more to keep me occupied, dad was very smart like that. I recall he helped a lot because it looked, really, pretty good.  I sanded, and sanded. I didn’t know at the time that sanding, and sanding, and sanding some more was going to be a big part of my future.

           I still remember him taking the car from me and looking at it and asking if I thought I had sanded it enough. I remember showing him how I still needed to get all the lines out like he showed me. 

"Boy, you have all the lines out ."

"No I don’t, see look at these." He chuckled and said," If you get those lines out it will be an awful thin car. Those are the lines of grain in the wood they go all the way trough." He explained the nature of wood and what wood grain was. 

             I know now why wood workers are suckers for every new and improved sanding device that is made.Slap a label on it claiming It will save you hours, tell one tell all.  It will remove warts, fix lumbago, and make you the world’s greatest lover.... I’m  sure when snake oil salesmen were outlawed they realized there was a much easier and more lucrative way to make a living. Hey just tell these guy’s it makes sanding easier; they’ll buy anything, at any price.

         We assembled the car, in the “old days” you had to glue on an axle holder. Of course it needed some more sanding. Then it was time to get serious, painting. We didn’t just go to walmart and get a can of spray paint. Come to think of it there was no walmart. My dad got a ½ pint can of oil base paint, in the blue color I wanted.  I had to learn to brush the paint on just so, and then, "leave it alone son, and let it dry." The leaving it alone part was the hardest.  I’m not sure how dad knew I was playing with it when he came home.  I figured it must have been some dad secret thing but more likely my sister ratted me out. It never dawned on me that finger prints all over the tacky paint was a dead giveaway.  

          Again the most important thing was more sanding. I used a different paper and a little bit of water. Man it was smooth, but I was going to learn the proper way and it was just the beginning. A couple  coats of paint later dad said I was ready for the last step. Man this thing was perfect what else could there be? More sanding! But not just any sanding. He got me a piece of felt and some rotten stone. That and a little water and I was rubbing that thing as if a genie would appear. If one had, I knew what my first wish was gonna be, here you rub this thing for a while!

          It was almost done. Dad had taken the plastic wheels to work and turned them on a metal lathe. They were absolutely perfect. It was years later after dad was gone that I found out that he was one of the best machinists. Tradesmen from Phillip Morris told me that he was the best they had ever seen, bar none, though I never had the privilege to see for myself. 

         We did the final assembly and it looked great. I was like "wow, I’m gonna take this thing and roll it and make it fly across the ground." You can do that son but by the time you have the derby you won’t have a car. He said. You did a lot of work to not have a car in a week.  So it went into a box and it sat and tempted me all week long.

            Saturday came. It felt a lot like Christmas. I just knew I was going to get the best looking car award, and I knew it would be fast. We arrived early so dad could help assemble the track--which he had fabricated. Dad was putting up the track with the help of some other dads. All of us scouts wanted to show off our cars, but every dad there wanted to avoid the inevitable disaster that would happen if they didn’t keep a tight rein on all the cars. 

          We had a big table to put them on so everyone could oooh and ahhh over them. There were some great cars, the dads had given it their all. I noticed a couple of pretty plain cars but one in particular. I still remember thinking, "man, they don’t know anything about what it takes to make a derby car."

         Finally it was time to get ready to race. At the weigh in of the cars, they could only be a few ounces, mine was perfect, not a gram off. The dads were making their way through the racing field of cars--"Boy, this was going to be something!"

      Then a car, really a black block of wood, was being handed to my dad to be weighed. I couldn't contain my comments: "Dad, that car isn’t built the right way it’s against the rules."

     Hush, he said. 

"But dad, he didn’t do anything but paint the wood and look at the wheels they put washers on the wheels!" Hush boy! he said quietly. 

I wouldn’t be deterred that easily. His car was to heavy, and I wasn’t going to be  beaten by a ugly rule breakin cheater.  "Dad..." I started to say something louder, he looked down at me and said “ don’t embarrass me son” it was in a tone that I had not every really  heard before. He leaned over and quietly said he would talk to me later and that “was enough”. I was upset , he had taught me that "the rules were the rules." I guess the rules were the rules except when they weren’t. Why was he so special?

             I couldn’t believe it when all the adults  “unanimously” decided that this kid had the best looking car. They must be blind. The only sandpaper that car saw was if he walked past a piece on the way to the can of paint he dipped the rough block in. This isn’t fair I wanted to scream. 

         We finally got to racing. My car was good, real good.  It won that day, and it won a lot more days. It was good enough to go to scout-o-rama at the state fair grounds. I remember going a long way in that also. I believe I got to the semifinals,maybe the finals.  I was happy to win but the trophy was bitter sweet. I  should have gotten the best looking car too.

          Dad knew I was disappointed. On the way home he told me to be proud of my accomplishment and to be thankful for my blessings. "I deserved the best car" I said." I worked hard, a whole lot harder than that kid. His was a piece of junk."

"His mother had to help him son, she did the best she knew how."

"To bad, it was ugly, everyone could see it was ugly. Just because his dad didn’t help, why should we have to lose!" 

"Son, his dad is gone, and probably won’t come back" he said.

"So why is that my fault , my car was better, everyone’s car was better."

  Son, his father sacrificed for you, me , all of us. He is missing in action in Vietnam. You watch the news on it every night with me. 

           I remember seeing all the women crying when that little boy went up to get his trophy. I though his mom was so happy that he won--but that wasn't why she was crying, I guess it was becoming clearer. I looked at my car, our car, my dad and mine’s car. I didn’t say anything more.

        The time has come and passed since the next generation of pinewood derby cars. My sons learned the same rules, mostly sanding. I suppose if I have grand children they will receive the same thorough training. I was able to help a lot of kids make derby cars. I would open my shop and have derby car night.

Left: Jordan Right: Gene

             We would cut and sand anything they could design. We added the weight and even found instructions on how to make great cars with all the secrets. I gave each kid what ever they needed to enjoy that great car. We did it for years. When we moved to Campbellsville I had a new friend who was the scout master. And sure enough I was opening the doors for scouts to use my shop to make their dream derby cars. I even had the opportunity to design and build the new racetracks for the scouts.

         It is closing in on 50 years since the day that the ugly derby car won. I still see the look on that young boys face when he received that trophy. My dad gave a  kid, missing his father,  a small gift that day. The gift he gave to me, is still living. All of my children have continued to give of themselves, helping others when they can.  Sometimes it doesn’t work out the way you think. You may think it’s a waste of time,or that it’s not appreciated, but in the end there will always be trophy waiting for you.

"I'm from Valley Station KENTUCKY"

 From time to time I will write the stories of Life as a Crafter. It has been a very interesting, difficult, and very rewarding life. I will try to convey the experiences and the background for how they have come about. It seems that most things in life are a combination of your experiences that cause or create new events, maybe a lot like dominoes falling.

I am writing these stories not only to give customers insight into what life is like for a small business owner, but also for my children and their children to know I existed and why I was the way I was.

Generally most people begin at the beginning; well a crafter is not most people. I will begin with what my children like to say is the story “ I’M FROM VALLEY STATION KENTUCKY”.

Exhibiting at the New York International Gift show was a big deal for us, the majority of our budget for the year went to this show, and well worth it. The show always generated a lot of orders for us, gave us a presence in the mind of buyers, and though strenuous, it was always a good time as well.

This story actually begins months before, at the end of summer in the mid 1990's. I was working away in the shop and a salesman from a trucking company walked through the door. He really wanted our business, but he didn’t realize we didn’t have much business that was sent freight. We mostly shipped through UPS, USPS, and Fed Ex. He was very persistent but to no avail, we just don’t ship by freight carriers and when we did, the customer had their own arrangements.

He was crestfallen as he slowly made his way to the door saying good-bye. He grabbed the door handle and was about to leave, “You don’t do trade shows do you?” .

We did several trade shows a year. “Yes”, I said, “several”.

 His eyes lit up, he grew taller and informed me that their company was the best in the industry at getting trade show deliveries done. I told him I had been using the same company for several years and they had always been reliable.

“Oh we’re better and our prices are better. And to prove how important you are, we’ll do the pick up for free.”

 “OK I’ll give it a try.” Had to admire his persistence and the company track record.

The new year came around and Kathleen and I were preparing for the big show in NY. Our booth was loaded and sure enough the trucking company showed up on time and off our stuff went to the Javitt Center with out a hitch.

 We had been going to the NYIGS for several years now and we had our system down about as good as you could. We were living near Louisville at the time and were able to fly into LaGuardia early Saturday morning with the show to start Sunday morning at 9am. Over the years we had gotten our set up time for our booth down to just a few hours, so arriving on Saturday was an option we liked to use to take as little time away from our young children as possible.

The weather in New York that time of year was always cold, this was something else, but we were at, as Ed Sullivan would say, “the Big Shooe”.

 Entering the Jacob Javitts Center always gave me a real sense of excitement. You just new that next big order with “that” company everyone wanted was only hours away. It always reminded me of fishing, the energy of reeling in the big one.

We made our way to our aisle. In Kentucky we are extremely fortunate to have the Kentucky Crafted Marketing Program (http://artscouncil.ky.gov/aboutkac.htm)

They helped us and many, many crafters make it to New York and get the exposure that’s the difference between success and failure as a business.

Our aisle had a block of several crafters from Kentucky; over the years and various shows we had all become friends. As we came up to our space we were surprised to see it empty.

Our first thought was that “Well, they just hadn’t been able to get everything to the booths yet.” We said hi to everyone in our group and asked if we could help anyone while we waited for our stuff. One of our fellow crafters, Brack, informed me that he hadn’t seen any freight being delivered today, it was all out the day before. “They set my stuff in the wrong booth one year” he informed me, “you better check around and see if it is around”.

A fruitless search, our stuff was nowhere to be found. It was now well after noon. I made my way to the shipping office and asked if they could help me find my stuff.

“Ya ,we’ll get right on it after lunch”

It was of course already after lunch, but I thanked them and they said that they would track it down and get it to my booth soon.

An hour later I made my way back down to the freight office.

 “ Oh ya, we couldn’t find your stuff.”

(Wonder when were they going to get around to telling me? And it gets worse)

“It’s not in the building and all the trucks left yesterday.”

“WHAT?” Irritation had just turned into panic. (Calm down I told myself, you gotta call the truck company NOW! ) So I was able to reach some guy in the closest terminal, which was in New Jersey.

  “I can’t help, it’s Saturday” he told me and said to call back in the morning.

That just wasn’t going to be an option so with “Who’s your boss? I want to speak to him.”  

“I’ll see what I can do, give me a few minutes”

 30 minutes later, approaching 3pm and wondering if I was going to have to call back, his boss called with much the same response

“I can’t help, you will just have to call back in the morning”.

It took a bit more emphasis but much the same as before of “Who’s YOUR boss?” and 30 minutes later:

 “I can’t help, we can’t do any thing until tomorrow.”

 “WHO IS YOUR BOSS!?!”

“Sir,I am the regional manager, the CEO is my boss”

 “Good. That is exactly who I want.”

 “He is on vacation in the Pocono Mtns. I don’t think I can reach him, but I’ll try”

Thirty min later I got a call from the Ceo and had to explain the problem as to why it couldn’t wait till “tomorrow”.

“I am a very small business; your company came to me and guaranteed me they were the best and that not only would I save in expenses, but that I had nothing to worry about. I came all the way from Valley Station. Kentucky and that not having my booth here will bankrupt my company and ruin me.”

“I’ll call you back in 30 minutes”.

Sure enough he called back.” The freight is still on the truck I have no idea why they didn’t unload it, all you paper work is in order.”

The dock workers were probably going to get to it after lunch” I told him.

“I have a driver and helper coming in at 12 midnight, that is as soon as I can get someone, will that help?”

( Oh great I’ll be setting this up in the middle of the night I thought)  “Sure that’s great”

 “Oh, they won’t be allowed to go in the building but they can unload the truck out on 11th avenue”

( How the heck am I supposed to get that giant crate down the escalator and to my booth?) but instead I said:  “No problem, that will be great.”

 One last thing they will not be able to get there before 1am, here is my personal phone number,. call me any time if anything goes wrong.

(What could possible go wrong!)

 Oh and tell the freight office what we have worked out, you shouldn’t have any problems.

I proceeded to find my buddy <sarcasm> in charge of the freight office. It was now at the end of the work day and the office was full of freight guys, carpenters, electricians, and all their helpers.

I found my buddy and told him the good news of finding my shipment and that they’ll have it here for me to unload late tonight.

 “You can’t do that.”

“What? Why, I already got it set up.”

“That truck can’t be unloaded until Monday after 6am, we won’t have anyone here.”

“ I can do it myself.”

 “You don’t understand, If I don’t sign that paper they will not unload that truck.”

“You don’t understand. (my anger starting to show in my voice) I came from Valley Station Kentucky, and you had your chance to unload that truck!”

 We had begun to draw a crowd. (In retrospect I doubt that many people ever challenged this guy, he was a big barrel chested guy, and I still can picture him looking at me from behind his “throne”)

“You don’t understand, If I don’t sign this paper you can’t get into the building the doors will be locked.”

 “You don’t understand I came all the way from Valley Station Kentucky to do this show and I’m going to!”

“I will not sign your paper , they won’t unload the truck, and that door will be locked!”

My sons tell me that when they’ve done something foolish that really upsets me, there’s a vain that pops out in my neck, my eyes start to bug out, chest gets puffed up, and it puts the fear of God in ‘em, and well…I also may have played up my accent a bit, but…

“BUDDY. I CAME FROM V A L L E Y, S T ATION, K E N T U C K Y, I DON’T CARE IF YOU SIGN THAT PAPER. (and now in that quiet voice) I will unload that truck by myself, come through that door locked or not and carry that crate down the escalators and set up my booth. If you want stop me, I suggest you be here at 1am!!!”

 The crowd had a real sense of anticipation. I’m sure they were thinking that their boss was gonna kick this guy’s butt. I was surrounded by guys with tool belts, claw hammers, crow bars, and other tools of the trades. I was like Custer at the Little Big Horn. I was shocked that instead of reaching for a crow bar “Buddy” reached for my paper and signed it.

I am sure that with my eyes bugged out and the veins on my head and neck bulging he had second thoughts about fooling with a guy from Valley Station Kentucky. Not out of fear from me, but perhaps all my “kin” from the hills coming up and starting a new feud to rival the Hatfields and McCoys, and perhaps scenes from the movie everyone had seen, “Deliverence”, and how could he not be certain that it was my relatives as extras in the movie?

 That would be the last thing he would want to start, a generational feud. The room was silent, it wasn’t just my face that showed shock, it was on everyone’s face as if Joe Louis or Mohamed Ali had been ko’ed by a girl scout. I grabbed my paper and went to see the person I was most worried about dealing with, my wife.

It was probably about 5pm at this time most of our friends were set up and gone, enjoying the evening in NY.  I got back to our booth and Kathleen was sitting there trying not to get teary eyed.

 “Honey great news they found our stuff and their going to get it to us” (presentation is everything.) She was so relieved, “How long will it be, do we have time to go get some dinner?” (Oh boy) “Ya we have time to squeeze in something to eat.”

 On the way to dinner I explained the whole affair to her, it didn’t go over to well but she took the news in true crafter form--we could salvage the show and survive to fight another day.

I noticed again how cold it was as we went to grab some dinner. We were staying at our friend Patty’s place. She was also from Valley Station and an old friend I had grown up with. I told Kathleen she could stay and get plenty of rest and be ready for the show in the morning, but in another example of true crafter form, she would help with the set up. It was getting close to midnight so we were going to make our way over to the Javitts Center. It was so cold I decided to get a cab so Kathleen wouldn’t be so uncomfortable even though it wasn’t too far and we usually walked.

 We were almost to the Javitts Center when our cabbie said

“Look at that, Do you believe it?”

I don’t know if you have ever had a cab ride in NY, but if a NY cabbie is asking if you believe your eyes you know you are seeing something that doesn’t happen every day. Outside the Javitts center there was a least 50 women in almost no clothes working the evening trade. It was unbelievable. Had I mentioned it was cold, probably in single digits with the wind chill off the Hudson River? I had never seen a thong at the time, but there was plenty of them on display at that location. The scene reminded me of a WWI aerial dog fight. They would swoop in and make a run at any person that could possibly be a customer. Kind of hover around in formation and take turns having their shot, if one didn’t get him that next in line would go in for a strafing run. I was freezing but they seemed completely impervious to the cold.

Kathleen and I showed the guard ‘Our papers’, I guess all the signatures and stamps were in order. We parked ourselves at the entry and waited for our truck, and had entertainment as good as any Broadway show. It is amazing how much traffic there is in New York City in the middle of the night. I would go out each time a truck approached hoping it was ours. Off course each time I went out the girls would get into formation for another strafing run.

 I was in and out so much that I finally just stayed out. Man it was cold. I had lots of company though, I thought about just paying the girls to cuddle with me but I figured with Kathleen watching just a few feet away, I would be better off freezing to death. I had heard it was just like going to sleep, which would certainly be better than whatever my wife may do to me!

 At last the truck arrived. The guys were really kind and helped as much as they could. They apologized several times and said they were sorry to keep me outside in the cold. They were getting the truck closed up and asked “Hey Buddy were ya from anyway? They were curious who had the clout to get their boss to have them working this late on a weekend.

 “I’m from Valley Station Kentucky.”

I guess they couldn’t piece it together so with a shake of their head and a nod they continued,  “Look at that Do you believe ?” (nodding towards the girls,I guess I really was seeing something ya just don’t see everyday.)

“Funny” I said “I been asked that before, and  thanks guys for all the help.”

We were able to get our booth set up with enough time to spare to get back to Patty’s for a shower, breakfast, and a change of clothes. Yet, it was a great first day at the show, perhaps our best one to date.

 Late in the day I had a guy come into the booth. Up east when people see that your from Kentucky they picture a not so sophisticated individual, perhaps even surprised to see us wearing shoes (we all know the stereotypes that persist of us) and I could tell by his comments he was running down our heritage.

 He asked what it was like being up here in the big city:

 “I bet it’s nothing like where your from”

I guess I was tired, no sleep last night and little sleep leading up to the show, so I gave him the hick he expected and had a little fun of my own.

<in my best southern hick accent> “Aw no, people haf been real nice t'us.” told him.

“You gotta be kiddin”.

“No, No, jest last night ah had 3 gals ax me eff'n ah wanted a date, an' ah didn’t knows enny of’em! They was pow'ful friendly.”

 (He stared at me like I had two heads. I sure he was thinking this guy won’t survive a week here.)

 “Hey where are you from?”

Buddy, I’m from Valley Station Kentucky.